#and it nasty and too big but. maybe it god like. a big old throw blanket? eh....

[istherewifiinhell]

Carpet cleaning! Fucking done. Room cleaning. Almost very nearly done. Think I'm gonna go at the walls and baseboards. And then it's time to. Fucking Reconstruct a Room.

[skatingbi]

WELCOME TO PART 3 OF MY SANJI WITH HETEROCHROMIA SERIES!!!!

Oh my god. Yall are insane. 700+ Notes for part one of this series alone is crazy (Crazy? I was- *gets shot*). So heres part 3. I'll probably have to publish all this onto AO3 soon bc shits getting outta hand, but I like posting on this silly little site so I'll still be posting on here.

Uhhh this was posted WAY later than I anticipated bc i had a gnarly depressive episode and had to enroll into uni, but there aint no way id abandon this series, its too fun and i love experimenting with my baby writing style as i call it.

Okay thats it, just thank u all sm for enjoying my silly little series :) u guys are so sweet!!

P.S. Constructive criticism is OKAY! I havent written fanfic in like...10 years so since middle school. Im a baby at this and I understand if I may have several errors so pls lemme know if theres grammar mistakes!

Sanji With Heterochromia Series Part 3 below 🔻

Sanji lied. He does like the idiot. More than he's willing to admit. A few days after their conversation, Zoro distances himself. It leaves a nasty feeling in his gut similar to nausea but different from actually wanting to throw up. It feels apprehensive. He's waiting for something, but he doesn't know what yet. Sanji hates it. He hates how confused he is and how much he actually wants Zoro to touch him again. He hates the burning linger of scarred knuckles on his cheekbone that follows him wherever he goes.

He hates these feelings because he never learned how to really process them. He doesn't know if he has to blame himself, his shitty excuse of a father, or Zeff. Well, maybe not Zeff. The old man had enough on his plate while raising him as it was. Sanji decides to blame it on Judge because honestly, the root of most of his issues stems from that shitty old man anyway. Placing the blame on someone does little to actually help, but it's a distraction from his growing realization of how much he cares for Zoro.

He cares for Zoro. No, he holds an unreasonable amount of affection for the scarred swordsman that haunts his thoughts now more than ever. Fuck questioning sexuality when it's undeniable that he's absolutely whipped for the big idiot. Theres no room for denial anymore, not when his touch had become branded across Sanji's skin for the foreseeable future.

Stress cooking does little to soothe him and it's the same with smoking. At least Luffy gets to enjoy snacks to his hearts content. Its the little things, he tries to tell himself. He also reflects on his conversation with Zoro. How he honestly felt afraid of what he felt when the swordsman confronted him. He felt afraid of someone genuinely caring for his emotional wellbeing. He's anxious over what that means, what it would do to him if Zoro truely meant what he said. All the things voiced about him and the implications that he's...handsome in the eyes of Zoro.

Sanji is emotional. It comes with him being sentimental as well. He's the black sheep of his biological family in every way. He loved too hard, and got hurt too fast. He loved even when it ended in betrayal. Secretly, he loves unconditionally. What would happen if he loved Zoro like that, and what if it already happened and he's too late to stop it? Would Zoro hurt him just like everyone else has? Would he be pushed away eventually after the thrill of their theoretical short lived relationship?

It keeps him up at night, that conversation replaying in his head as he stares at Zoro's sleeping silhouette. He falls asleep to his breathing, echoing throughout the room over everyone else's breath and snores. He wakes up every morning before the sun greets him and pretends nothing happened in his dreams where Zoro's gentle touch and admiration lingers softly over his mind.

Zoro knows. Well, not exactly. He's not a mind reader like how Luffy seems to be, but he knows that distancing himself from Sanji is actually doing the opposite of what he thought it would do. At this point, the swordsman isnt sure where to go from here.

Sanji's actions contradict his words. Sanji stares at Zoro. Not so much that it's s uncomfortable but it's enough to be noticeable. Sometimes he swears he can see Sanji's eyes dart across his face and down to his lips before looking away. It's confusing. Didnt Sanji hate Zoro's advances towards him? Because thats what they were in hindsight.

Zoro was unconciously flirting with the cook in his own weird way. And yeah, he's a little stupid for not realizing the implications behind his actions at first, but it all started as genuine curiosity. He didnt mean for it to affect their rivalry. Now, he's not sure where to go from here.

It's driven him between a rock and a hard place and unforfunately for him, Nami decides to intervene again. This time, Nami drags Zoro to her and Robin's shared room on the Sunny for privacy and possibly interrogation. He's certain that this time he wont be able to escape. Unfortunate.

"Okay, so heres how this is gonna go," Zoro and Nami are now seated across from each other, where theres two beds and enough room for decent sized dressers on each side. Zoro sits on what he assums is Robin's bed with his arms crossed, "You will tell me everything- And i mean it! I will know if youre lying -and I will help you. Im sick and tired of you both being miserable and gay! It's giving everyone second hand embaressment." She demands, narrowing her eyes with a challenge for Zoro to protest or say no.

Zoro is smart enough to know what is and isn't a losing battle. This is one of those. Nami can be terrifyingly persistent once she sets her mind on something, and today it seems to be resolving the weird and awkward tension between him and Sanji. The swordsman resigns himself to his fate quickly and prepares himself to be trapped here on Robin's bed for the foreseeable future.

"Fine witch," Zoro sighs, "But if you tell anyone I will not be responsible for my actions." He huffs out in acceptance for his inevitable interrogation.

"Oh please like that'll actually scare me. Plus besties never snitch." Nami rolls her eyes. She gets comfortable on her bed and look at zoro expectantly. He rolls his eyes and relaxes his posture a bit.

Zoro starts talking, beginning with the first instance of his realization of Sanji having dual colored eyes, leaving out a lot of "unimportant" details. He mentions the second, and the third instance, and their conversation from a few days ago and how he tried to respect Sanji's establishment of a boundary and how he's confused now that Sanji stares at him. Nami listens with her chin resting on her fist and nodding along the way, surprisingly not interrupting once. He finishes speaking and he knows his face is red with embaressment, but he feigns nonchalance and waits for Nami's input.

"Zoro," Nami sighs, "Youre the dumbest bitch I know." She says while giving the man a look of sympathy, but not one that actually means it. More like the look of someone who is so incredibly done with your shit that they have no choice but to tell you so.

"What the fuck, Nami!? Im not dumb!" The swordsman retorts loudly.

"Anyways," his best friend ignores his arguing in favor of getting to the task at hand, "Luckily, this is fixable. For making the entire crew feel awkward for two weeks, I'm adding a 200 percent tax increase to your debt." She smiles mischeviously, and thats when Zoro realizes that one, he's never getting out of debt, and two, he's been forced to accept Nami's help in unfucking up his unconcious attempts to flirt with Sanji.

"First order of business is that you have absolutely no game." Nami begins with a shit eating grin to match the absolutely insulting statement. Zoro briefly reconsiders their friendship.

"Shut the fuck up I obviously do." He rolls his eyes. Nami gives him the look. The one where her eyebrows are raised and her chin is tilted down slightly, matching the frown. It's that look she makes when she's trying to say 'Are you sure?' or 'Reconsider what you just said.' and it grates at Zoro's already increasing agitation.

He decides not to entertain her with a reply.

"Anyway," Nami sighs, massaging the space between her eyes with her thumb and forefinger to stave off a growing headache, "Im teaching you how to flirt. No, you cannot work out in front of Sanji- dont give me that look you muscle brained idiot!" She says while looking at Zoro's ever increasing looks of annoyance and audacity, because first of all, no he definitely was not going to do that, and second of all, it could hypothetically work. Probably.

"Fine," He huffs. He'll let the witch do whatever. It's not like theres anyone else he can talk to on the ship about this anyway, "No promises that I'll actually do what you tell me."

"Fucking- oh my god why am I friends with you?!" Nami complains before flopping down on her bed, groaning loudly at Zoro's malicious cooperation. Zoro basks in the momentary power he has in this situation.

For the next few hours, Nami allows Zoro to stay in the womens quarters for the sole purpose of learning how to actually flirt. He's not sure if shes a reliable source, being a lesbian and also having a girlfriend already, but if he voiced this opinion out loud the redhead would probably kick him out. He only restrains himself because this room is the only one so far where he feels the least amount of awkwardness regarding his situation with Sanji.

Robin stops by every now and then and gives him a smile. It doesnt make him feel very comfortable but it's the thought that counts. She doesnt say anything about him being there, anyway. He makes an effort to at least not lay on the bed he's sitting on, though. He may be lazy but he does hold enough respect for the women in the crew to not fuck with their shared safe space.

Suddenly, it's the evening and dinner is around the corner. Nami shoves a barely enlightened mossy swordsman out of the womens bedroom to finally be free of that headache. Also known as a crash course to flirting with your rival/friend/whatever the fuck else they got going on.

Zoro makes his way to the gallery, taking his time to look out and observe the oncoming sunset that bathes the sky in shades of pink, orange, blue, and yellow. It would be a pretty sight to fall asleep to, he thinks, but the cook would kick his ass off the ship if he decides to sleep through dinner again.

Entering the gallery, everyone except Nami is already there. She's right behind him a second later and taking her seat at the kitchen table.

Numerous conversations are heard as food is served. Franky and Usopp are wildly talking about different types of projectiles the sunny could use, Nami and robin are talking amongst each other in low voices, giggling in between sentences. Chopper and luffy are laughing together, and Zoro goes to sit next to luffy like he usually does. Just as he sits down, the cook lands a kick to his mid back, making Zoro scowl.

"The fucks that for!?"

Sanji rolls his eyes while placing plates of food down for the crew, "For being late, dumbass."

"Nami is late too!"

"And? She'd never be late on purpose, Marimo." as Sanji speaks, he dodges the hilt of Zoro's sword to his side instinctively and has the audacity to give a cheeky grin.

Dinner passes by normally. Everyone's loud conversations meld together gradually and soon everyone except Sanji and Zoro leave. Zoro takes his usual spot beside the cook, drying dishes and leaving them on a towel afterwards so they can both put them away.

Zoro has half the mind to bring up Sanji's staring, but decides against it. It leaves the air silent, neither him nor Sanji speaking up as they finish their side work for the night. Even then, Zoro's unable to speak when Sanji immediately leaves afterwards without a word.

The kitchen feels empty without their bickering, and Zoro is determined to bring that life back into it. He just needs to figure out how.

Despite Nami's advice, Zoro has an idea. If the idiot cook doesnt see what he sees (His pretty face first of all, but Zoro thinks of his strength too. How Sanji easiely brushes off conflict like it's nothing despite the injuries that'll heal far faster than his own), then he'll make him see it. Frilly words never were Zoro's style, anyways.

One night before they all go to sleep and Zoro takes night watch, he corners the blond in the bathroom. Nami would probably be kicking his ass because of his timing, but a mirror is needed for his plan to work and the bathroom is the only place with one other than the women's bedroom.

When Zoro enters, Sanji turns to look at him before going back to washing his hair, his back towards Zoro. "Leave me alone, Moss, I'm im not in the fuckin mood," He grumbles to Zoro, who stands there waiting for Sanji to stop talking.

"Nope, I need a mirror for this and for you to listen for five minutes." Zoro replies, and when Sanji turns to argue his protests are gone from his lips when he sees a look of determination. Confused, annoyed, and also curious, Sanji doesn't reply.

Zoro walks up to Sanji until he's standing right behind him. The swordsman moves to kneel so they're relatively at the same height, but the stool makes Sanji slightly taller as he sits there and eyes Zoro warily.

"Whats going on with you, Moss? I'm trying to wash my hair." Sanji says, and Zoro can tell an insult dies on his tongue when he places his hands on Sanji's shoulders.

Zoro turns Sanji in front of the mirrior in the bathroom, the stool Sanji is seated on creaking lightly and scratching against the tile. Sanji remains speechless, still unable to brush off Zoro's palms on his bare shoulders like how he'd usually do.

"Tell me what you see, cook" He says, uncharacteristically soft underneath the edge his voice always seems to have. Sanji flinches when the swordsman's calloused hands tuck his frings behind his ear, displaying his face to them both.

"What the hell is up with you? Did Luffy hit your head too hard?" Sanji furrows his eyebrows at the mirror and looks at Zoro. Zoro huffs and rolls his eyes.

"Just tell me what you see about yourself, shit cook, I'll leave ya alone after or whatever." He grumbles back, the baritone of his voice vibrates against Sanji's back. It reminds him of Zoro's compliment, his face too close to his while they stand on the deck of the Sunny just days ago. He chooses to ignore how it makes him shiver.

He looks at himself in the mirror, and his first instinct is to look away. Zoro, being the perceptive bastard that he is, notices and squeezes his shoulders in a way thats strangely reassuring.

"It doesnt have to be fancy, cook, I know you like to use big words 'n shit so don't make your brain fuckin explode." Sanji bristles a bit at that but bites back a nasty insult so he can entertain Zoro's weird exercise on his own self reflection.

In the mirror he always sees his mom at first, but with both eyes uncovered and his hair pushed back for once, he sees himself. The first thing he sees is his eyebrows and eyes. He decides not to bring up his eyebrows.

"Well, for your information I see my eyes, but you already know that."

Zoro stays silent, and Sanji shuffles in his seat. He's suddenly aware he was literally in the middle of rinsing his hair of shampoo a few minutes ago and the entire situation is both awkward and uncharacteristic of Zoro in multiple ways. It's out of character, and he should have kicked out the moss ball when he had the chance, but now in the too small bathroom of the Sunny he feels like it's only him and Zoro. It leaves a weightless feeling in his chest, settling in with the creeping anxiety of looking at his own reflection. The contrasting feelings make him hesitate before he speaks.

"I see.." He hesitates, not knowing exactly what Zoro is getting from this or what he wants to hear, "My eyebrows, I guess. Wait, you've never seen both at once." Sanji chuckles at that, because his eyebrows are certainly something. The curl points in the same direction, but it's unnoticeable with how he wears his hair.

"Yeah, they're weird as fuck." Zoro mumbles, and the blond has to laugh or else the swordsman's voice would get to his head.

"Okay, I also see freckles. Those are new. Only started showing up when I joined you all." And Sanji now notices how the freckles cluster on the bridge of his nose, his cheekbones, and his shoulders. They're scattered everywhere else on his body.

Sanji starts to realize the point of Zoro's questioning now. He looks at the fogged mirror, just visible enough to notice how his blush not only spreads across his cheeks but also down his neck. Embarrassing. This whole situation is embarrassing not only because of where they are but also because he's realizing that Zoro is trying to make a point that is too close to unearthing his insecurities. He would have expected this from Luffy, but sometimes he forgets how Zoro's intelligence is masked behind his swordsmanship and how much he sleeps during the day.

And he's naked, but honestly thats the least of his problems at the moment.

"I see my hair, I guess?" Sanji tries to only focus on his face. Its not easier, but it also sets up a mental boundary. Zoro hums, looking at Sanji through the mirror. Sanji hesitates before speaking again, "My hair is actually wavy," He thinks about his mom's wavy blonde hair, and how he always thought it looked pretty even before she passed, "Its damaged, though. Straightened to hell and back with one of those hot combs."

Sanji thinks back to the hot combs. They were old as shit, the kind that needed to be heated up with a flame. The memories make him chuckle a bit, and Zoro smiles back. The same smile he wore when they sparred on the deck, with his dimples visible yet again to confirm to Sanji that he does have them.

His smile makes his heart skip a beat, like drums he'd hear in one of those old instrumental CDs he kept in his room as a kid. Before he has the chance to back away, to push Zoro out the door and forget this ever happened, Zoro straightens his back again.

He turns in his stool to look up at Zoro and he's not sure what the swordsman sees right now, but he's afraid to ask as his gaze is soft. So damn soft as he looks at him and his hand reaches again to pull his hair hair back over his eye like it was before. Stringy strands of heat damaged locks fall back into place.

Then he leaves. He just...leaves. The damn idiot just turns around and walks out the door like nothing even happened.

Thats the second time this has happened yet the first where Sanji is the one on the receiving end of it, and it makes him grab his towel to bunch it up in his fists and let out a scream into it as he processes everything. He processes how he was forced to notice how Zoro looked at him, and it was Zoro's own weird fucking way of saying "You're beautiful".

"He's so fucking ridiculous oh my god.." Sanji mumbles into the towel. His hair routine is officially long forgotten.

[taralen]

wowee 😭

I'm in the process of answering the ASKS in order. I'm having a lot of fun so far! It keeps me motivated and helps get the juices going so I can actually work on proper art again.

I've also received some really nice tags on some of my posts, and I, um... You guys are too much. You're going to make this old bastard cry.

The amount of compassion I've received is astounding. GOD, what I'd give to have this kind of kindness earlier in my life. Maybe I wouldn't have turned out to be such a sour, black-hearted SoB.

It is true, though. BTW, I REALLY DO LIVE IN A DUMP. Please, for the love of GOD someone take me out of this TRASH ZONE. I hate that I relate to Spamton this way. HOLY #%^&.

WARNING: RAGE RANT BELOW

Do I mean a literal dump? UH, depends on who you ask. It's not MY junk, though, and that's the worst part. If it were mine, then at least I'd be able to toss it?!

Well, how should I put it? The house I live in has become a DUMP for everyone BUT me! All this stuff that's not mine, just DUMPED into this house. It's aggravating, and every time I want to get rid of this stuff, I get told, "That's not yours."

It's like #$%^ING HELL. You don't use it. You barely see it. WHY DO WE STILL HAVE IT. GET IT OUT. TOSS IT. Why can't I toss it? IT'S TRASH, AND YOU KNOW IT. I haven't been inside my garage in OVER A (*&)ING YEAR. A YEAR. There are NASTY Things in there I swear you need a HAZMAT SUIT. I AM not KIDDING [[tumblr]] IT IS THAT BAD. I am NOT making any of this up. EVERY DAY IS MISERY.

I've been advised by friends to just toss or sell things without anyone knowing, but you know, in a hoarder situation, it makes things worse!

Do you know how UTTERLY defeating this is? I WISH I could just throw it all in the [[REAL]] trash, but I can't without fearing my OWN stuff getting tossed. Oh yes, MY STUFF, that is worth THOUSANDS OF KROMER at this point. Stuff I take care of... Stuff that has value! I am a cOLLECTor, NOT A HOARDER! I have TREASURES! Hell, I get rid of them sometimes, too... TO OTHER COLLECTORS.

YOU WANT TO LUMP IT TOGETHER WITH THAT TRASH YOU PICKED UP FROM THE STREET? ARE YOU #$%^*ING @#($&ING ME RIGHT NOW. ARE YOU? ARE YOU?!

HAAAHEAHEAHEAHEAEHAAHEAHEA VERY $#**ING FUNNY. VERY........

UH. Haha... So yeah! That's my living situation. It's um.. PRETTY BAD!

I told my therapist all this crap and he said, "Goodness. There is a lot on your plate that's out of your control. The hoarding situation on your [[family's]] part is not helping."

OH, DON'T I KNOW IT.

Can I just get a legit BIG SHOT to get me the *&^# out. PLEASE? HEAVEN ARE YOU LISTENING? HAHAHAAH

[nightswithkookmin]

What's this obsession of some people in the fandom so abruptly just decide JK can't stand Jimin and toss him aside like he's nothing just because he's doing restaurant tours and goes out with friends recently and Jimin is off line by choice? especially if Tae is around him? it's honestly bizarre how creepy and toxic that narrative is because that's not how real life works. do they think the guys wake up one day and just cutting people out of their lives changing who they like more or less by the day? "He has a new BFF" "that is a proof jkk were always fake" and the funniest "JK moved on from Jimin". howw??? when????? we know nothing about their private lives now more than ever yet they still spew this nonsense based on not knowing where Jimin is and tkk chilling. JK uploaded a birthday video only 2 months ago and talking about how his mom made him soup just because Jimin ate soup so how on earth it makes sense to think such drastic negative thing happened between them. seriously some people in this fandom need to go outside and stop projecting their creepy mindset on others. I noticed they also fail to see the big picture again and again, fans tend to judge or gloat according the content that drops by the day (even if the moment happened months ago) and don't realize that what they see sometimes is not what actually happened today and vice versa, and that every relationship is unique and important in different ways. we don't even know what Jimin or JK are doing right now (who knows maybe they watch the football final. maybe all 6 watch it together- we don't know). the concept of bonds and relationships in real life VS what people analyze and mocks gets twisted too quickly and turns into something very ugly and it happens mainly (only) to jikook. I never see the same treatment towards tajin or soup or tkk or vmin when they go radio silence or even after admitting on having past tensions, fans always give them the time and support and love and know they are good. it's bizarre and alarming how fast people choose to see the bad in jikook and only them based on... 60 days. it's going in circle for years. Insanity

My cranium hurts at this point

All duh- TRUE. And isn't it crazy how Vmin remain soulmates even after battling it out to the death over dumplings? DUMPLINGS. WASN'T EVEN THAT DEEP.

No one admits to the ghettory that goes on behind scenes more than Vmin AND YET

SOULMATES

They are soulmates even though Tae's most epic songs were all inspired by his quarrels with JM.

At no point in time throughout those nasty fights were their soulmate status revoked- EVER even though the members literally voted them as the pair that fights the most. Even though their tensions sipps through most times such that even we on this end of the screen could sense it.

Hobi and Namjoon literally throw shoes at eachother when they mad, Jin made Tae cry like a six year old, Yoongi nearly tripped Tae down the stairs on gis way to edit his fansfics-( the exaggeration is mine if cos)

Vmin can be ghetto and soulmates in spite of Jikook and Tae Kook but God forbid Jikook throw cock roaches in eachothers pants cos the other didn't text back fast and suddenly they were never friends and whatever they had was fake.

Jikook comes off so real everyone trynna prove them false at this point. Tae Kook come off so false every one looking for the least evidence they are real.

And at first I used to think it was JMs Kumabaya ass that was driving him to always present their relationship positively out here but no. Now I think it's cos of all these pumpkin heads roaming the streets in 2D brains.

It's ok. Jikook can have issues too and STILL BE THE COUPLE OF THE GROUP.

It's okay if JK "toss" JM aside, when JIMIN THREATENED NEVER TO CARE ABOUT THAT MAN EVER AGAIN. Or did we forget about that? Their most slamdunk moment came after one of their MOST nastiest fights.

Yes VMin fight but guess what? They protect eachother from bullies too. They are complex human beings with complex emotions.

Jikook clearly have their own relationship struggles. They are human at the end of the day.

But I think I know where all these is coming from. Vminkook is a trio.

And wherever there is a trio, I feel these issues are bound to arise every now and then.

Tae Kook is part of vminkook just as much as Jikook is a part of Vminkook. Whenever Jikook bond- tuktukkers are bound to feel they do so at the exclusion of Tae. Just as some Jokers feel right now that Tae kook are excluding Jimin because they don't see "evidence" of those two hanging out with JM.

But that is not our place to decide.

These men- I SAID MEN- Can decide for themselves. If JM feels left out nothing stops him from letting those two know.

I mean we've been through this phase already haven't we? Jikook complaining Tae don't have time for them because he was filming with all these other actors?

And didn't JK just say publicly, call JHope out publicly for leaving his dance out of a compilation?

Do we not have a video of Jungkook starting his own Vlive in impulse because Jinmin left him out of their Vlive?

Don't members say when they feel left out? Sometimes more expressly, other times passive aggressively?

I try to approach these matters with a little bit of sensitivity and understanding most times but i swear sometimes I feel my sphincter snapping.

But yea sometimes the members themselves feel excluded, left out and Isolated every now and then. It happens. They feel lonely, they miss this, they miss that and they say it. Hobi says he misses JM, Tae says he misses JM.

Suga got ill and JM turned into OliLondon carrying his cutouts around so he feels included.

They hit eachother up, show up at eachother's homes, go for drinks, catch up- DO WHAT NORMAL HUMAN BEINGS DO WHEN THEY MISS THEIR FRIENDS.

So no, I'm not about to stress my edges off over two grown adults navigating a three way friendship.

But I can understand where jokers are coming from. Everyone wants their ship to thrive. Everyone wants assurance their OTP are doing fine and that there's nothing wrong with them and they going strong.

Yet I am in no position to offer that assurance to anyone. Nor am I open to any angsty supposition. I take Jikook as they come. It's their relationship not mine.

That said, if they try to break up I will find them, put a water pistol to their heads and intimidate them into exchanging vows🙂

If Jimin misses Tae Kook HE CAN CALL THEM UP.

And who even is to say he is not doing just that?

They went out to Harry styles' concert ALL THREE OF THEM

They post their VMINKOOK power photos every now and then.

They are aware they are a three way friends group- THEEE MAKNAE LINE OF BTS

Most times I feel people deal in extremities- on one hand, there are those delusionally pessimist gang who think the worst case scenario is playing out with Jikook, and on the other hand there's the delusionally optimist who think nothing could ever be wrong.

After listening to Jimin explain how much Tae had changed, listening to tuktuk talk out their problems and hearing how the Busan bros nearly disbanded, I would be a fool to dismiss any tensions.

But the truth i feel sits somewhere in the middle.

Jikook really could be going through something( worse case)

They really could be going through nothing( best case scenario)

Or they could be JUST FINE but then having very human moments of being petty out of missing eachother, feeling left out, feeling the other is too busy, or becoming too overwhelming, being too prideful to pick up the phone to call and leaving words unspoke or just struggling to recalibrate their relationship because they are on different paths, with different goals and different objectives- not to mention schedules.

And I know I joke about this but for Jungkook, for someone who goes to another member's room to just sit there at 1am, I don't suppose he takes too well with being lonely.

Jimin equally talked about how he used to struggle being by himself because he was scared of his own thoughts.

These people deal with some serious stuff out there.

Jimin even intimated to Jungkook how lonely he feels.

They all nearly went crazy when they were forced to isolate because of covid. It's not easy.

Personally, I have always been one of the view Jikook were too close to codependent for their own good and have always advocated for independence and just a little space for each to nurture and foster healthy relationships with other people.

Jungkook cannot just substitute JM with Taehyung. Because then, like you said it would be the same cycle. You can't fill the void left by people with people and things and Jungkook is a smart guy to know this.

Tae Kook begun laying the foundation for whatever dynamic we are seeing out here long before they announced their Solo. From their sope conversation, to end of year selca, Tae Kook min vlive, to them posting eachother and liking the others post.

I don't know why it has some people in a twist😆

You can literally draw a straight line through their relationship. It ain't deep💀

People are busy worrying bout tuktuk but all I want to know is WHY JIMIN DYED HIS HAIR 😫😫😫😫

Is it for a concept shoot? MV? Variety show?

I don't want to spend my money on that bag only for him to drop his album and I'm broke as hell😭😭😭

As for Jokers we miss our ship, we miss everything they stand for, we all wanted them- expected them to be posting each other like crazy, liking each other's posts and commenting just like old times on Twitter-

We all miss Jimin playing cheerleader to JKs Quarterback.

We all wanted to see them out here supporting each other above all else- even haters thought that's what was going to happen.

Let's take our Ls in pride and hope for the best

And let's all be honest and say we just hate that tuktukkers are happy

Chilee lemme speak for myself it kills me to see Tuktukkers frolicking around laughing like hyenas

Time to sacrifice a Virgin on my jikook gods alter

The jikook karma is brewing I just know it

What we are not going to do is lie on Jungkook, villainize him and make him out to be some traitor to our course. Cos if Jikook has taught us anything, it is that no one forces Jungkook to interact with anyone.

Neither are we going to hate on Taehyung and blame him for "stealing" Jungkook and wrecking Jikook's relationship.

As with everything, let's just wait it out and see how Jikook unfolds in this new phase.

It breaks my heart knowing very well if JM dares to like or comment on Jungkook's post- THEY WILL DRAG HIM FOR FILTH😔😔😔😔😔

But let's see.

I mean it's two posts up and already he shut his DMs.

Tuktukers turn my anus hair gray I swear to GGGOD!

[abbatoirablaze]

Tig's Daughter, Chapter 1

Word Count:  2.1k

Tig’s POV

"I don't know what to do with her anymore," she sobbed over the phone, "that girl is an absolute demon. She drinks. She parties. She whores herself out to any man that looks at her. And it's all your fault."

"What?" I all but yelled at her through the line, "how is this my fault? You took Alex away the second you found some other dick to ride, Brenda! I wanted to keep my daughter here, but you said no."

"You weren't even allowed unsupervised visits with your first two daughters," she scoffed, "do you really think I was going to let you take care of her?"

"How in the hell is this all my fault then?" I asked, "I wasn't even allowed to see her! I haven't seen her since she was six."

"Well maybe if you and your stupid friends didn't give Dawn and Fawn your guns to look at it would be a different story," she wailed, "our baby would be a good girl. But instead, she's a whore, and a dropout just like her father!"

"That's a crock of bullshit and you know it, Brenda."

"You're taking her now though!" she exclaimed loudly, "you get to deal with the little tramp that she's become!"

Without anything further, my ex hung up her phone, leaving me empty on the other side of the call.  My heart raced as I thought about what we’d just argued over.  I would have Alex…my youngest daughter.  Yeah, I loved my daughters, but could I handle raising one of them?

I didn't even have a house. I just had my dorm room.  What about Charming?  She hadn't lived here since she was a little kid. Would she be able to readjust, or would it be too much for her?

What did she mean that she was a dropout?

"You okay, Tig?"  I turned around to see my president, Clay.

"I gotta talk to you about something, brother."

"Yeah," he agreed, sensing something was off with me, "everything alright with you, Tig?"

"You look a little pale," his old lady sighed, coming up and touching my face.  I brushed Gemma off and she gave me a concerned look, "is everything okay, sweetie?"

"Yeah, look Gem," I sighed before looking to my president, "Clay. We got an issue. My old lad-"

"Colleen?" Gemma asked, cutting me off, "oh god, is everything okay with Dawn and Fawn?"

"No.  No.  It’s not Dawn and Fawn or Colleen for that matter," I said, shaking my head, "the girls are good. It's Brenda."

"That nasty crow-eater!"

"Yeah, Gem," I sighed, “her…she just called me.”

Clay started laughing, "she finally getting on you about not paying child support?"

"No, I paid up more than enough to her," I said, shaking my head, "She said I have to take my youngest or she's kicking her out. Alex is only seventeen."

"Oh my god," Gemma gasped, "she can't kick that baby out. She lives in Oakland."

"How do you know where my old lady moved to?"

"I keep tabs on people," she shrugged as though it were no big deal, "plus, I send the kid a birthday gift from you every year."

"You do?"

"Well, someone had to let that kid know that she was loved," Gemma shrugged, "I only have Jax in my life. I wish JT gave me a baby girl."

"I coulda given you something," Clay chuckled deviously, “but you got that locked down tighter than Fort Knox.”

"Yeah…given me something with what," she scoffed, "all snipped nine inches."

"Listen," I laughed, very grossed out about hearing about Clay's dick, "I don't need to know some shit. I just wanted to know if I could bring Alex here. You know, at least until I get a place. I can't let Brenda throw the poor kid out."

"Of course, brother," Clay smiled, "she's your kid."

"I'll make sure we prep the extra room," Gemma smiled, "does she need anything? You know what, I've gotta run to the store for Jax anyways, I'll get her some toiletries."

Before I could say anything against it, she was out the door.

"Women," Clay laughed, “swear she’s looking for reasons to run and do shit.”

"You think it'll be alright here, Clay?"

"You sound nervous," he chuckled, "what makes you think she won't be safe here?"

"Just in Charming," I admitted, "I know shit can get kind of dangerous around here. Guess I just don't want her to be part of that. It's why I didn't fight Brenda very much with the custody. Just like I didn't fight Colleen."

"You didn't fight either of those bitches because you and Kozik were dumbasses that left your piece out around children," Clay chuckled, throwing an arm around my shoulder, "but you're a different man now, Tig. If those kids could see you, they would know that. And trust me when I say we'll keep your little girl safe."

"Thanks brother."

"Now you go call that crazy bitch back and tell her that you're picking up your daughter," he laughed, "I'll get you out of the protection run tonight and Gemma can ride up with you to help get some things that she can bring back."

"Thanks Clay."

I turned around and reached for my phone once more to call my exes number. She picked up on the second ring, "What in the hell do you want now, Alex?"

"I'll pick her up tomorrow."

She scoffed, and I could hear something going on in the background.

"Well tomorrow isn't good enough," she said very matter-of-fact, "I just told that little bitch to pack her shit, because she's out tonight."

"Tonight?"

"Yeah, tonight," she laughed, "I'm giving her an hour to pack, and then I'm throwing her shit out and I’m done with her.”

"She can't be that bad, Brenda," I sighed, running a hand through my hair, "come on. Just let her stay tonight, and I'll pick her up tomorrow. I gotta get shit ready for her."

"Well guess what Alex. I'm sick and tired of raising this little monster. She's every bit as much like you and I'm out of my mind trying to keep her in line. In an hour I'm kicking her out of the house, and she can find her own way to Charming.  She’s not my problem anymore.  She’s yours.  You can figure it out.”

"Shit," I growled, "Brenda, I can’t even get up there in an hour, let al-“

“Not.  My.  Problem.  Alex.”  

"Dad?"

I nodded at my little girl. It looked like the breath was caught in her throat as she stared at me, "hey pumpkin."

"Wh-what are you doing here?"

"Your mom."

"What did Brenda do now?" she asked sadly, "is she in jail again? Did CYS reach out to you?"

"She's letting you come live with me," I said simply, pulling out a cigarette and lighting up, "thought you knew.  She was on the phone with me earlier."

"No," she said, shaking her head, "I thought she was joking when I came home between shifts. It didn't even look like she was on the phone when I was leaving for work again. She really called you?"

"Yeah," I nodded, "told me that I had to take you tonight. After a few calls back and forth she finally told me that she was throwing your shit out and you were on your own."

"Stupid bitch. It's probably because of the new guy that's been living with us for a few weeks. He'd been eyeing me up lately and last week he tried hitting on me," she growled, "you know, I pay for that apartment...she hasn't had a real job in years. Before I started working under the table here, she would whore herself out to the closest guy."

"What you mean?" I almost yelled. A few people looked at me, and I lowered my voice, "you said a man's been living with you and your mother. That fucker didn't touch you, did he?"

"No," she said quickly, shaking her head, "but mom's treating me like I'm fucking him. That worn out cunt won't believe anything I say."

"Hey, that's your mother," I said simply, "regardless of how you feel about her, don't say that shit."

"Why not?" she asked, folding her arms, "do you know the kind of life I've had to live since she took me away from you?"

"No, bu-"

"Alexis," a voice called from the back, "order up! Table eighteen."

"I'll be back," she sighed. She grabbed a cup and saucer from under the counter and poured me a cup of coffee, then handed me a menu, "you're probably hungry. Pick something out. It's on me. I'm technically done once table eighteen is gone. We can eat dinner and talk."

"Any suggestions?"

"Stay away from the fish," she laughed, "it's turning."

I watched as she walked away from me and over to the food window. She picked up the plates and rushed over to a table of guys in their twenties. Fighting back every urge to beat the shit out of them when they flirted with her, I forced myself to look at the menu instead.

She ran between them and a few other people that were along the bar of the diner before coming back to me.

"What do you normally get?" I asked.

"You'll laugh," she smiled, "but I remember when I was little...when mom would leave on her benders you would make the best chocolate chip pancakes. They make them the exact same, I swear. After a day like today I usually get that."

I felt a small pang in my heart as my little girl told me that.  I was her comfort.  I was her safe space.  Her fond memory that she held onto was of me burning chocolate chip pancakes because that was the only thing I could make.

"Chocolate chip pancakes it is then," I smiled. She took my menu and put it into the pos. When she'd collected the bill from the table of jackasses and a few others the bell dinged, “damn it…”

"Go sit down," an older woman laughed, playfully elbowing my baby girl, "your food's up. Clock out."

"Edie, I'm fine," she laughed, “I can take this table for you.”

"No, no," she cooed, shooing her from behind the counter. I watched as Alex sat next to me and she put her apron on the bar next to her, "so, who's this gentleman you've been chatting up."

"Oh, uh, yeah," she sighed, "this is my dad."

"The father of our little Alexis?"

"Yeah," she smiled. She looked at me and it felt like her eyes were glowing. Like I was some amazing figure to her, "I haven't seen him in forever.”

"Well, I feel honored to finally meet you, Mr. Trager," the old woman smiled, "finally getting to meet the person our amazing little one was named after."

"That's me." I smiled, throwing my arm around my daughter as I was unable to hold back my enthusiasm.

"You know I've heard so much about you," she laughed, "Alexis has told me so many stories about when she was growing up."

"Nothing bad I hope."

"No," she laughed, "she said that you work as a mechanic and that you love motorcycles. She's told me about her childhood dog, Missy, and her older sisters. I'm so glad that she has someone positive in her life other than that wretched woman."

"Is she talking about your mom?"

"Mom," the woman laughed, "more like pimp. That woman comes in here every Friday acting like she was the one that worked. She tries to get everyone to give her Alexis' pay checks."

"Edie."

"No," she sighed, "I'm glad someone's finally here to be in your corner. Maybe your father can set your mother straight."

"That's the last thing I wanted to talk to you about," my daughter sighed, sliding her apron across the table, "my dad is here because my mom kicked me out after my first shift. He drove up from Southern Cali because I'm going back with him...I uh-I guess this was my last shift."

"Oh sweetie," the woman cooed, “oh lord.”

She shot around the counter and spun Alex around, wrapping her in a big hug, I swore I could have heard the two of them holding back a few sniffles.

"You better call me once a week," the woman sighed, "I want to know you're doing okay."

"I will Edie."

"And you," she said, turning to me, "you better make sure this baby gets to be a little girl. Her mother robbed her of that."

"she will ma'am," I sighed, putting a hand on my daughter's shoulder as I saw the little girl my daughter really was instead of the picture my ex had painted.  My heart ached for her, "don’t worry ma’am, she will." 

Chapter 2

[phillipsgraves]

youre gonna hate me for this. all the evens for grazie

on god hoe u are so lucky i love you and them... the rest are under the cut because this, as you can imagine, got long LMFAO

2. How did they get together?

It’d be after Graves and Kelly have their talk and they open their relationship, but there was a lot of fumbling on Graves’ part on trying to convince Apollo that no, he absolutely wasn’t homewrecking and yes, Graves is terribly smitten with him and would he please consider going out with him

4. What’s the relationship like? Smooth? Rocky?

Rocky, at first. Partially because Graves is married and partially because the man is walking in the biggest crystalline glass closet you can imagine and Apollo’s throwing stones at it. But it’s fine. He’s working through his issues… slowly.

6. Who cleans the most? Contrary to that, who is the messiest?

Apollo cleans the most, and it drives Graves crazy because it messes up his whole System. You know the one. “If you’re looking for a paperclip, there’s a black one under the bed” headass

8. Who tends to worry the most?

Graves, but it partially comes with the leadership position. He worries about all his Shadows of course but… he’s especially worried about his decisions getting Apollo killed. Especially after the… y’know. Incident. The one that may or may not have involved the Russians getting a hold of American missiles. I imagine Apollo was there, just managed to sneak away before he was spotted.

10. How do they resolve their arguments?

Silent apologies from Apollo… not so silent ones from Graves. Apollo’s a big fan of the whole silent treatment thing, but he can’t stay far away from him for too long so he ends up making him come back to bed around an hour in… he’s so lame. They also have some nasty, disrespectful sex, but… y’know. After talking about it. Apollo just gets so touchy.

12. Who has the most nightmares and how do they deal with them?

Graves, and he either paces around until the sun comes up or he smokes before heading back to bed. Either way, Apollo’s always there to pick up the pieces

14. Who gets cold the easiest?

Graves again, but mostly because I imagine him to be naturally cold anyways so he’s always bundled up and leeching heat off of both Apollo and Kelly. They’re probably annoyed he keeps putting his cold ass feet on them.

16. Do they enjoy dancing?

It’s absolutely one of their favorite things to do together, whether it’s them swinging along to whatever song is playing on the radio or Graves pulling him in because he wants to do a line dance, they’ll do it

18. Do they ever go swimming together?

When they get a chance to, yes. Definitely prefer pools to beaches and night swimming to day swimming. And if they get a chance to skinny dip? Well, no one needs to know what they get up to in the water.

20. Do they give each other nicknames?

Just the usual pet names. Like I said before, Apollo likes calling him amore and Graves settles for babe or baby. Baby’s a little more private, though.

22. What movies do they enjoy watching most?

Cheesy romcoms, they love laughing at them and questioning stupid plotlines

24. Have they dedicated songs to each other?

Absolutely. Don’t ask me what though I haven’t thought about it yet. But they would. Probably something they heard on their first real date

26. Have any pets? (If not: would they get any?)

Apollo has a sphinx cat! It’s a lil ugly thing and she’s his whole world. Graves doesn’t actually know her name but Apollo calls her his princess all the time so that’s just her name in his head. She also hates him. You said this but Graves in turn has a bloodhound that he got for Kelly early on in their relationship… her name's Betsy and she’s an old sleepy thing now

28. How often are road trips?

Maybe twice a year, summer and winter on their off hours. Apollo prefers flying but Graves insists on driving and stopping by every landmark they can find on the way

30. Do they attend any clubs or formal parties together?

Graves absolutely loathes them, but yes they do. He’s still running a company after all, so formal parties I imagine are a pretty common occurrence. Worth it to see Apollo dressed up, though. 

32. What are their morning rituals?

Between Apollo’s 15 step skincare routine and Graves’ 15 step hair care routine… they’re in the bathroom literally all morning.

34. What do they do when the other is stressed?

Small shows of comfort like little backrubs here and there, but sometimes they just listen quietly while the other talks about what was bothering them that day

36. Do they enjoy going camping together?

Apollo’s probably a little too high maintenance for it (but not extremely so, he’s still a soldier, after all) but he does enjoy it every once in a while (especially when Graves is around to make it better… sue him)

38. Thoughts on each other’s friends?

I imagine they’d be relatively in the same circle of friends, so they all get along fairly well. I also think Apollo would have his own friend group within Shadow Company, which Graves doesn’t mind so long as they do their jobs (and that his boys don’t touch what’s his)

40. Thoughts on kids?

Absolutely love the idea of it, but never really thought they’d have the time for them until now. The kids are their whole word

42. Thoughts on each other’s family?

Graves is just surprised (and relieved) that he has in-laws that don’t completely hate his guts. On the other hand, the only family of his that Apollo’s ever met is his sister and it’s going to stay that way. Apollo loves her, though. They embarrass Graves together

44. How are the holidays spent?

No corner is left undecorated and no tradition left undone. Holidays are definitely something they value a lot so they go all out on them every single year

46. What do they like the least about each other?

Graves chews with his mouth open and Apollo’s just the tiniest bit of a control freak in the kitchen

48. What was their most memorable date?

It wasn’t exactly a date because it was during a mission, but they did have to stay at a hotel for a week or so and Graves was absolutely abusing CEO privilege by getting them the most expensive suite to themselves (favoritism, am I right?)

50. Who makes the best flower crown?

Apollo, but Graves would get the hang of it… eventually

52. Who has awful taste in music?

I know you’ll be inclined to disagree with me but… Graves, by Apollo’s standards. For obvious reasons. At least, until Graves pulls him in for a dance and then– okay, it’s not so bad. He guesses.

54. What do others think of them dating?

Ness thinks they’re gross, the other Shadows like poking fun at them about it (especially during the time they showed up wearing each other’s jackets) but don’t really care because I imagine this PMC has not heard of any sort of protocol whatsoever. Borrowing @shellibisshe’s boy Levi real quick to say he also finds it gross and thinks Apollo needs to get some taste… ASAP. 

56. How did they get together? 9. Who is more inclined to be jealous or possessive?

Picking number 9 instead because this question shows up twice, but both of them. Graves just seems more inclined towards it because he’s more open about it, full on will do PDA if he feels even a little threatened. Heavy usage of pet names, snaking an arm around Apollo’s waist, things like that. Apollo just silently fumes until Graves gets the message (but he does like the extra attention when he does).

58. Do they have similar taste in movies?

Not in the slightest, but once in a blue moon they’ll find a movie they both like and settle for that until one of them falls asleep. Or someone decides to get touchy. Whichever happens first

60. Who will punch someone out if they are rude to their partner?

Graves, 100%, to Apollo’s embarrassment. He’s a complete guard dog when it comes to him. Some asshole at the bar won’t take no for an answer? Yeah, punches are absolutely flying.

62. What other couple would your otp get along with the best? 13. Who steals the blankets?

Skipping again but it’s Graves more often than not. Like I mentioned before, he just gets so cold easily (and it’s also a ploy to get Apollo to scooch over closer, don’t tell anyone)

64. What would they dress up as? (for Halloween)

Graves goes as the most obvious choice (cowboy, because of course he would) but he’d go all out on it, bolo ties and fringes for days. Apollo doesn’t even know where to begin trying to match him so he just goes as a sexy cat or something

66. Do either of them have a crazy ex?

Definitely not. For one, Graves has been with Kelly straight out of highschool, and Apollo has the emotional intelligence not to date anyone like that

68. What do they do for Valentine's Day?

Nothing too crazy, they’d probably settle for a regular dinner date if they have free time though I imagine Graves goes just a little over the top with it

70. Who is the hopeless romantic?

I imagine they both would be, but Apollo would just be a little bit more of one. Can you blame him? He’s Italian. It’s practically hardwired into him

72. Do either of them want to go skydiving?

Apollo wouldn’t say no to it, but Graves would definitely be more into it than he is. He’s a complete daredevil

74. Is either one confrontational?

Like I mentioned earlier, Graves is completely confrontational and will start a fight at any given opportunity. Apollo’s more subtle about it but he does like inciting fights every now and then if he feels the need to. I feel like this also extends towards each other, but their fights reach a fever pitch fairly quickly and they’re apologizing before it turns into anything ugly.

76. What are their parenting styles?

Typical good cop bad-cop type of parenting! The exception is Graves is only the good cop because he’s terrible about spoiling the kids, so Apollo ends up being the bad cop because no, Kelly said no McDonald’s for dinner.

78. What is their favorite photo of them two together?

It’d be one they took after a pretty tough (but overall successful) mission, I’d imagine. Ness probably felt nice (and annoying) and insisted on taking that photo of them. They’re about ready to go home, Apollo took his shades because the sun’s in his eyes and he just wanted to nap

80. What do they love about each other the most?

Graves is completely obsessed with his laugh and he’ll do absolutely anything to hear it. He’s not above acting like a complete idiot to get it, either. Apollo on the other hand loves his hair and will spend the entire day just petting it if he gets the chance

82. What is an inside joke they have?

Something really dumb. Like along the lines of, “this is my ex-boyfriend, Apollo” “Commander, that’s a terrible way of telling people we’re married”

84. What is their favourite game to play together?

Unironically, Monopoly… but Kelly has to step in before it gets ugly because Apollo had the audacity to put a hotel on Boardwalk.

86. Who’s concert would they go to? 37. Thoughts on PDA?

Skipping again ❤ But they’re the worst offenders of it for sure. They’re completely handsy with each other, and they’re absolutely that couple that makes it obvious they’re talking about you.

88. Who would get up on stage and make a fool of themselves just to make the other laugh?

Do you even need to ask this… it’s Graves… Apollo will say he’s absolutely mortified but Graves would argue that his laughing says otherwise and that it was completely worth it. Apollo would never admit it but it makes him melt every single time.

90. Who is the one that would bring the puppy home?

Graves, absolutely. Apollo can’t judge because he’s exactly the same with kittens.

92. What does their room look like? (If they shared/have share one)

Graves has his minimalist bachelor’s pad whenever they’re on base but back home it’s everything you’d expect in a country bedroom, wallpaper and all

[spitzyyyy]

The Twins

Heyy this is a fic! I’ve written for Terraria before but never actually posted it since most of the Terraria fics are for Calamity Specifically. Here's the link for ao3 if you would rather read it there!

There’s some descriptions of blood and gore, and lots of cussing and death, so be warned. Also, second person POV!

There’s a completely perfect reason as to why you’re blocked into a singular room with the windows bashed in. Really, there is, you swear, as you stare at the door from the slits in your mask, arrows notched into your shoddy crossbow that you use some of the titaniumyou mined earlier to make. Your arrows are made of wood and stone—a perfectly fine and not so shoddy choice of materials, you swear—and aren’t particularly impressive, but they get the job done.

A drippler floats by the window, only alerting you by the sound of the blood and gore dropping onto the wood of your floor. Damnit, that’s going to be the worst to clean. You kick the thing, in an attempt to get it out, and it flails and tries to eat your golden boot in response, but you get it out and shoot it.

There are guts all over the front lawn of your house. This sucks. Maybe you should just leave them there for the flowers to eat.

There’s a pounding at the door, and you really don’t want to have to block the entrance off with dirt, so you rip the thing open and jump back, and you shoot the fleshy zombie straight between the eyes. It falls over with a nasty splat, and you have a moment to contemplate your disgust, before another one slides in, then trips over its once undead, now dead-dead friend, and you shoot that one too.

You slam the door before another zombie can look in and see you.

Another drippler, another corpse on the front lawn. You can already hear how Emily is going to be complaining about there being blood all over the concrete, and you’re thinking of telling her that if it bothers her so much that she should clean it herself. It’s your house, and the blood is a day of scrubbing, so you don’t see a point.

A werewolf scratches at your door. So much for keeping the thing in one piece.

Gods above, you hate blood moons.

—

You also kinda hate the normal night, too. Less gore everywhere, given that there’s more possessed armor than anything else, but now it’s pieces of old armor that can’t be used for anything that litter your front lawn. And unlike the blood, it doesn’t partially wash away during a monsoon, so you have to collect it and throw it away manually. Safe to say, you don’t like possessed armor.

The one nice thing is that series of scaffolds and platforms that you built above your house, which, when not covered in the crawlies of the night and the slimes that like to spread their disgusting goop everywhere, is a great place for fighting the big ones.

You’ve just settled into bed when you get the feeling that it’s gonna be a terrible night.

Gods damn it all.

You grab your crossbow (and your dart rifle, and your ichor arrows, and your titanium armor, and your ankh shield, and your terraspark boots, and your magic quiver, can’t forget those) and march outside. You have some light wings hidden under your cloak that you don’t like to talk about, which flash purple as you fly up, and you notch one of your gold dripping arrows into your crossbow, pointing it up at the sky.

Now’s the fun part: waiting.

No, really, that is the fun part, because you know exactly when they’re gonna show up, so you have the perfect amount of time to calculate how you should shoot while weaving between lasers and fireballs. There’s movement from above, closer, and it’s here.

There’s a roar as the Twins spring into action.

This isn’t the first time you’ve fought them, but you’re a pretty big idiot with the double fights, and more times than not you’ve had your shooting arm burned away by the cursed flames. You get the first hit on Retinazer, which sprinkles gold as it’s covered in ichor, and you notch another, and another.

Cursed flames lick at your cloak, which you decide to unstring as you’re weaving through them to turn around, taking your hand off the trigger for long enough to release the golden chain across your chest. Your wings thank you, and you touch the ground for just a moment before shooting back up.

It goes smoothly, all things considered. You can see that you’re chipping away at the Twins, their flesh steadily oozing weird black blood and chunks of meat falling off, and really the worst thing that’s happened was a lazer shot to the hand, which stunned you for long enough that you had to ram into Spazmatism to get a health potion down. You’re great, the Twins aren’t.

Suddenly, Spazmatism stops moving, and so does Retinazer, and then it spins.

You’ve seen that before! That was what that big old eye—the thing that started your quest to kill the moon—did when it took enough damage from you.

Except, no, that isn’t a grotesque mouth full of real teeth beneath the layer of flesh. That, you realize with a hint of horror and some odd fascination, is a mouth full of razor-sharp steel teeth, with a nozzle where the uvula would be, which is spewing cursed flames. It’s a machine.

Retinazer spins too, all of its flesh flying everywhere (a slab strikes you in the chest and knocks you over) to reveal a metal casing as well. Instead of a mouth, a red dot protrudes, clicking as it extends, and that is a laser. Huh.

Oh shit those lasers are red—

You make a mad dash away as the two mechanical nightmares start attacking again, loading stuff into your crossbow before you make the odd decision to use the dart rifle with some cursed darts. It sets one of them on fire, surprisingly, and you shoot an ichor arrow at Spazmatism, just to see, and, sure enough, its plating is stained with the blood of slain gods.

That answers your question, as you continue frantically notching arrows between shots of the dart rifle, slinging each weapon over your back when you need to switch. Spazmatism has a flamethrower that sets you on fire with cursed flames a few times, but that’s not nearly as scary as a rather close encounter with it’s gaping maw and an angry, synthesized screech. You get a bit too ballsy, and you nearly lose your legs, but you’re fine. Spazmatism is pretty avoidable if you keep an eye on it.

Retinazer, on the other hand, is not. The thing knows where you’re going to be in one second, you swear, as you hit the ground to gain flight again and a laser pierces your abdomen. Chug a health potion, and another laser shoots through your shoulder, then another one in your thigh, before you figure that maybe your shield can take a beating. It does literally nothing, and you’re pretty mad about that, but at least you aren’t being juggled between lasers.

Everything hurts, real bad, when you hit the ground again, just in time to catch Spazmatism’s dash. You fall one platform row lower, wings spreading and grapple out to launch yourself up, dodging another dash. You’re not keen on getting killed by something with that many teeth again, not after the amount of mimics you were swallowed by trying to get your rifle and stormbow that you don’t use.

Retinazer, of course, has a different idea in mind than you surviving this encounter, and it shoots a lazer at just the right angle to pop straight through one side and out the other. You’re pretty sure that’s bad, like, real bad, but you don’t have time to think about that as you go lightheaded and fall.

Right into Spazmatism’s gaping maw full of giant, metal teeth.

Which slice right through your armor and, by extension, your far softer skin. There’s this nasty splurting noise; You get to hear your guts spill and your neck pop away from your spine, and the quiet noise of the flamethrower starting again.

You die because the fucking thing ate you.

Gods damn it all.

—

If you were anybody but you, you might’ve found your frustration funny. It sort of goes beyond frustration, at this point, as you snap awake in your bed and toss things in frustration, because you’re all sorts of pissed off now. You haven’t been this mad since Skeletron repeatedly crushed you with its fists—which you haven’t forgiven the old man for—or when Queen Bee somehow always knew exactly how to pierce your heart with a lethal stinger.

Even that fucking wall of disgusting gore and tortured souls wasn’t that bad, in hindsight. But it seems like this already horrible world just wants to put you back in the underworld, because apparently you aren’t supposed to kill super big and grotesque demon guardians, so it keeps throwing bigger and badder enemies at you.

Which you kill, because despite what the world says, you’re a badass. And badasses don’t take shit from dirt and soil and dead gods.

Then again, getting killed by the same creature over, and over, and over again is not a badass thing. It’s quite the opposite, as your gravestones line the platforms that you use to fight, your own viscera having fallen onto your front lawn.

Yeah, it’s disgruntling to be able to pick up your own head and look into your dead eyes, but that’s why you wear the timeless traveler’s mask that you nicked off of a skeleton in an impromptu campsite deep in the caverns. So that you don’t have to look. And, beyond that, because it makes you look cool and mysterious. It also hides your babyface, but you don’t talk about that.

You kick away a past version of yourself, which is starting to stink, because bodies do that when you leave them laying around. You should toss a bucket of blue bubblegum on your front lawn. (Don’t do that, you dumb idiot. Your lawn will look horrible, still have blood and gore all over it, and will probably stink worse.)

You then kick another version of yourself off the platform where you fight those big enemies at, seeing the sun setting over the horizen. You can call the Twins now, so you do that, winding up a toy mechanical eye and watching it fly off. The actual mechanical eyes come down seconds later, and into the fight you go.

You don��t have to worry about the flamethrower this time, since you don’t have your cloak on, but Retinazer is still a problem. Those red lasers really like killing you, and you’re not happy about it. You should probably focus on it first.

You notch a hellfire arrow into your crossbow, dashing along the ground at the same speed the thing’s flying. Your eyes narrow further, matching the slits of your mask, and you make a split second calculation and pull the trigger.

The arrow soars, and for a moment you watch it, before you need to jump—

The laser scope cracks right off Ret—since you’ve been fighting them so much, it’s only fair to give the two murder robots nicknames, as you’re sure that neither has done for you—with a loud explosion, and the thing stops moving, then explodes.

Wires, bolts, sheets of metal, and whatever remaining viscera there was goes shooting in all directions, and you drop down a platform to ensure you don’t get hit by the stuff. It’s just Spazma, which is now dashing at you with an increased fervour, and you’re having to counter dash it so aggressively that the world has sort of turned into a blur around you. Its you, the robot, and your weapons.

Teeth knock into your boot on one bad counter, and you’re nearly tossed into the thing’s mouth with a shout of anger, before you use the momentum to kick off and gain a little more flight. You hit the ground with a wounded leg, stumbling backwards, and Spazma goes for another dash. You don’t have time to get out of the way.

Gods damn it all, you’re not dying again.

Not right now.

You toss your crossbow up, notching an arrow faster than ever, and you shoot. Ichor flies through the air, some of it getting onto your mask, gloves, sleeves—a little on the exposed part of your face, too—as the arrow flies. Right into the mouth of Spazma, directly into the nozzle where the cursed flames come from.

It falls to pieces just centimeters from your face, metal casing flying every which way and knocking you from your platform to the ground, six stories down. Safe to say, you die, hitting the ground with a splat and the loud cracking sound of all your bones splintering and going every which way—as well as a little noise that you’re pretty sure is made when your brain slams into the concrete.

But you’re not really mad about dying.

You killed the things. That’s enough to warrent you, resident party hater, to throw a party, because you killed those fucking things.

You are mad about the mess. Sixteen renditions of your corpse are laying around on your front lawn, seven decapitated, three still on fire, five as some other rendition of dismembered, and one with brains splattered all across the concrete path that leads to your house’s main door. That’s gonna be a bitch to clean.

[erodasfishtacos]

Not So Easy

prompt: Harry and Y/N have both had a rough week. Ivy is in the prime of her terrible twos. It’s a disaster waiting to happen.

word count: 6.2k

warnings: swearing, smut, a little angst

AN: Fulfilling this request ***. This is part of the CEO!Harry verse. If you enjoy please like, reblog, and come chat with me about it x 

*** <--- click for visuals

-----

It was a gorgeous, cool Saturday evening and Y/N had been cooped up in the house all week due to nasty rainstorms that lasted the whole week. All of Y/N’s friends had canceled plans for one reason or another. Anne came down with flu and couldn’t visit like she was suppose to.

Harry had an extra awful week at work - which was saying something - and hadn’t been able to let it go. The frustration and irritation he usually was good at leaving at the office at the end of the workday hadn’t been happening.

Ivy was in the midst of her terrible twos and quite frankly it was disaster for all of them.

They decided on one of their favorite restaurants about an hour outside of London near the beautiful, green countryside. ***

It was a family-owned Italian establishment with outside seating on the patio. The tables were filled but Harry always managed to squeeze himself into a non-existent reservation with his charm (and wallet).

When they’re escorted onto the deck, Ivy had Harry hitched up on his hip and wriggles her into her wooden high-chair with little difficulty - she had just woken up from a nap and was in a seemingly okay mood.

Y/N notices a few pairs of eyes watching them from the table close to theirs but decided that she was just being paranoid. And if she brought it up to Harry she knows he’d immediately tell them to fuck off and mind their business. 

They get Ivy settled with her favorite little sensory book and her plush baby doll ***, as they look at the menu, “I’m so hungry,” Y/N grumbles, unable to decide what she wants to eat, Ivy literally running her around all day with no time for refueling.

“Me too, y’didn’t let me finish my meal earlier,” Harry murmurs cheekily, looking at his wife over his menu with a raised eyebrow, “Guess I’ll just have to wait for dessert.”

“Baba’s asleep, she was out as soon as her head hit the pillow,” Harry tells his wife, trotting in their bedroom. He’s already stripping the shirt off his head and wriggling his running shorts down his narrow hips.

Y/N’s laying on the bed, too distracted by her romance novel to notice Harry’s actions - well until he yanks at her ankles until her bum skids towards the end of the bed, she lets out a surprise yelp at her husband’s strength.

He plucks the book from her hands and tosses it to the floor with a thump. His hands are hurriedly reaching to pull down her shorts and panties with impatience at having his wife bare before him.

“Someone’s a bit horny,” Y/N teases, raising her hips to let him slide them down before they join the book on the floor. He ducks down to bite at the soft skin of her hip bone, suckling a dark mark there in ownership.

“Have y’seen yourself, pet?” Harry replies lowly, unable to help himself as he dips down and swipes a long, languid lip up her center with no warning. It has her moaning and pushing herself into his mouth.

“We don’t have long, H. Need you in me,” His wife whines, pulling him up by his hair until he’s slipping his tongue right into her mouth, wasting no time to hike her hips up around his waist and pushing in with one strong, directive thrust.

Y/N blushes and darts her eyes back down to the menu, “If you’re good, maybe I’ll let you.”

Harry laughs, eyes wrinkling around the corners, “Y’know even when I’m not good, y’let me.”

It was very very true.

“Oops!” Ivy squeals when her doll falls to the ground. It was one of the new words she’s finally understood in context and it’s unbelievably cute to hear her high, little squeaky voice.

“S’alright, here you go bab,” Harry titters, reaching down to toss it back onto the table for his daughter. She looked so fucking adorable tonight in what Y/N had dressed her in a little Gucci jean jacket with matching jeans. ***

Ivy manages to keep herself pretty occupied until she needs a diaper change. The meals had just arrived, steaming hot and smelling like heaven, but Y/N slings their diaper bag over her shoulder and totes the baby off to the bathroom.

Harry watches them, like the protector he is until they make it to the bathroom safely. He can sense eyes on him (the same group Y/N thought was watching) but unlike his wife, Harry makes eye contact with the table who were staring directly at his wife and then him.

“Can I fuckin’ help you?” Harry asks bluntly, not hesitating to stare down every single person at the table. He didn't want anyone staring at them, staring at Y/N, staring at Ivy. He wanted to enjoy his dinner in peace with his family. He assumed they probably worked for him.

They avert their gaze from the intense man, acting nonchalantly and sipping at their glasses filled with wine as if they weren’t just staring at them. It makes Harry scoff loudly enough so that they can hear it.

When Y/N appears back with Ivy and attempts to plop her back into her seat, her limbs go wiggly and her eyebrow knits with refusal, letting out little kicks, “No mummy, no!”

“Baby, we’ve got to eat now. How ‘bout after we’re done?” Y/N hums in her daughter’s ear, attempting to steady the toddler’s legs to slide into the slots of the chair. 

Y/N knew it was going to be a struggle since Y/N told Ivy she couldn’t have the big stuffed animal that was in the gift shop on the way to the bathroom.

“Mummy! Don’t wanna!” Ivy protests loudly, her face pinched with her terrible twos anger as she squirms and twists in her mother’s grip.

“S’okay, give her to me,” Harry tells his wife, taking Ivy in his lap. She smiles with deep dimples up at her father before going to reach her little fingers into his pasta. “No, Ivy. S’hot, it’s goin’ to burn you.”

Ivy pulls her brows together, decidedly not liking what her dad had to say, because she’s reaching out once again. “Ivy, daddy said ‘no’. Be a good girl and listen.”

“Mine.” Oh god, her favorite word at the moment.

“Ivy Elizabeth, s’not yours. S’daddy’s. Mummy ordered you chicken, which she very nicely cut up for you. You need to eat that, lovie,” Harry uses a bit of a firmer voice with the little girl, pulling her plate of cubed of food over.

“Here, bub,” Y/N takes a small piece, bringing it up to her daughter’s full lips. Only to be met with a hand batting it away until it’s being flung limply to the wood floor with a screech.

“No, want that,” Ivy huffs, once again reaching for her father’s steaming plate. She’s nearly close to getting her finger into the burning sauce so Harry has to scoot his chair out a bit so she can’t reach it anymore.

The parents give each other a knowing look because of what is surely about to come. The baby was struggling with being told ‘no’ as of late, as well as claiming nearly everything as ‘mine’. Tantrums were in their prime right now and they thought the pre-dinner nap would have helped.

Spoiler Alert: It doesn’t.

When Ivy realizes she’s no longer able to reach the food, she furrows her brow and pulls back her little fist, hitting at her father’s shoulder. It wasn’t often she tried to hit, likely because most times it landed her on the step for two minutes, but it’s like she knew they couldn’t do that here.

“Ivy,” Harry takes her small hands between his, “We do not hit, do you understand Daddy? S’not nice. If you can’t behave, you’re not getting ice cream before we go home.”

At that point, the little girl would normally calm down a bit and readjust because she really loved ice cream but it didn’t do anything to quell her anger tonight. She shakes her head, curly hair bouncing, before the tears start rolling.

“Should we just get this to go?” Y/N asks, knowing that the whole restaurant doesn’t want to hear the sobbing baby throwing a fit over not being able to dig her hands into her father’s dinner plate. 

“Probably best,” Harry grunts when Ivy wriggles and twists in her father’s grip with a frustrated whine, “She’s not goin’ to settle.”

“Down, let me down!” Ivy demands against her father’s grip, like she’s the one running the show. 

“Here, give her to me,” Y/N mutters, wrangling the toddler into a tight hold while Harry gets the waiter’s attention to get take away boxes and the check. He’s pulling out his wallet to slide out his black amex and put it on the table.

“Ivy, I’m going to put you down so I can get the diaper bag and your toys. Are you going to stay right next to mummy?” Y/N asks her daughter firmly, making sure her daughter’s little green eyes are meeting hers. 

Ivy nods but as soon as her feet hit the solid ground, she lets out a giggle and dashes from beside her mother. She doesn’t get very far because she’s running straight into the legs of another patron and tumbling on her bum.

She’s not at all hurt but takes it as an advantage to throw herself onto the floor, screaming and tears - the whole dramatic show because she’s not getting her way and well....she’s a two year old - that’s all the reason she needs, right?

Harry’s in full dad mode now, “I’ll get her to the car. Y’got this, love?”

Y/N nods, sighing at the loss of their nice dinner as her daughter has all eyes directed on their family - the last thing she wanted to happen. But she just focuses on shoveling the still hot foot into the plastic containers to take home.

“S’enough of that, Ivy. This isn’t how we act, hmm?” Harry hums, pulling his daughter off the floor and into his arms  - “What’s gotten into you, bug?”

Ivy sniffles, knuckling at her wet eyes,  “Home, daddy.”

“We’re taking you home, don’t you worry,” Harry chuckles, smiling softly when she tucks her head into the crook of his neck, thumb finding her lips. His large palm came to rub at her back and bounce her lightly.

When Y/N finally gets everything together, one of the waitresses - an older woman, stops by the table, “How old is your daughter?”

Y/N smiles, “Just turned two a month ago.”

The grey lady has a kind, knowing grin on her face, “What an age, huh? She looks like a little replica of your husband.”

The girl laughs, they can’t go anywhere without hearing that from someone, “Oh, believe me. They have the same attitude too,” She jokes, slinging the bag over her shoulder.

“I wish you two luck. Two is a very hard age, I have five kids of my own. Just appreciate it, even though the tantrums are a pain in the arse,” She says, patting Y/N on the shoulder before heading back to a table who was waiting on her.

---

Both the parents were frustrated, more so than they usually are with Ivy’s tantrums. They thought she’d simmer down once they’d gotten home but it had just revved up again when she realized she really wasn’t getting any ice cream.

“Shouldn’t have even promised her ice cream in the first place,” Y/N mutters with frustration as they stand near the staircase. Ivy sat on the step for two minutes in timeout, kicking her little feet against the marble.

“Right, because I knew she’d decide to have tantrums all night,” Harry shoots back, matching his wife’s tone. The screaming was echoing through the house, high-pitched and it just made you want to cover your ears from it.

Y/N rolls his eyes at him, motioning towards their daughter, “Well, this is your doing because you reminded her that she wasn’t getting it. You deal with it, I’m going to shower.”

“You’re not doing much to help anyways,” Harry hisses, their voices both low so that their daughter doesn’t hear - not like she would over the screaming match she’s having with herself. 

They rarely fought to be honest. This wasn’t even a fight - really. It was hard raising a two year old and they were learning as they went along. The couple was good at communication and working through their problems most of the time.

“I’m not doing much to help?” Y/N asks in disbelief, “Then if I’m no help at all, why don’t you put her down for bed? You don’t need me, obviously.”

Harry narrows his eyes at her, his hand gripping the railing with a hard grip, “Don’t go twistin’ my words, that’s not what I said. Now you’re just lookin’ for a fight.”

“Yeah, because on top of a fussy two year old - I want to deal with a childish husband. I’m surprised you're not on the stairs, cryin’ about ice cream too with how you’re acting,” Y/N laughs - the sound crawling under Harry’s skin with irritation at her fake carefree attitude when she’s just as annoyed as him.

“You’re being an even bigger brat than our daughter right now,” Harry tells her, trying to keep his voice at a low volume but it comes out louder than intended. He felt himself straighten up and kept direct eye contact with his wife.

Y/N’s lips form into a tight line before gritting out, “Do not raise your voice at me. We agreed that no matter how frustrated we got we wouldn’t do that in front of our daughter.”

“Then don’t act so immature, ever think of tha’?” Harry bites, hating the he hears his work voice being directed at his wife when he never wants that. 

“How am I being immature? You promised her something that she didn’t get, then reminded her that she’s not getting it. I’m allowed to be frustrated with you!” Y/N whisper-shouts, Ivy is now distracted by taking her little shoes off and watching them tumble down the stairs.

“I have so many better things I could be doing right now than stand here and fight with you over our daughter having a stupid tantrum. I’ll be in my office,” Harry replies, because when he doesn’t know what to do and refuses to admit he’s wrong - he falls back to his best excuse, work.

And he automatically regrets it when he sees a flash of hurt cross his wife’s face. Harry wants to swallow back those words and wrap his wife up into a hug. Never wanting to make her feel like his work is worth more of his time.

Deep down, they both know she knows that it’s not the truth but in the midst of the fight it doesn’t sting any less. He opens his mouth to apologize, to tell her that he’d rather put their daughter to bed together any night than be in his office.

But he can tell she’s already past the point of being pissed when she replies calmly, “I’ll put our baby to bed. Go work on whatever is more important than us, Mr. Styles.”

Harry wants to reach out and grab at her arm, tug her into his chest, and murmur in her hair how much he loves her more than anything. He said that because he knows it’s hurtful and it’s his only way to win an argument with her.

However, she’s moving up the stairs, scooping the somewhat calmed down baby into her arms and trudging up  without another look at her still brooding husband.

Harry hears Ivy shout back down the stairs, “Daddy, come on!” 

He hears his wife tell his daughter, “Daddy’s too busy with work, Ivy. S’just mummy.”

But that has Harry absolutely fuming, storming up the stairs after then, “Do not make it seem like I’m ever too busy for my daughter. That’s completely uncalled for, Y/N.”

Y/N doesn’t turn back to face him, instead keeps walking, and says with a monotone voice, “Oh, but you just said you had better things to be doing than dealing with your family. So go take care of your work, hot shot. I’ll take care of our daughter.”

“Why are you making it seem like I put my work before Ivy? I’ve literally never let that happen and you know that. You’re blowing this whole thing out of proportion because Ivy’s been having tantrums and you can’t put on your big girl pants and deal with them.”

That’s when Y/N spins around on her heel, letting Ivy down and encouraging her to go play in her room for a little before bedtime. Her face is turning red - which rarely happens unless they’re really about to get in an argument. 

“Big girl pants? Really, I’m at home dealing with her tantrums twenty-four seven. You get to come home from work and only deal with it half on the time. Do not act like you know how stressful it is to stay at home with a toddler in their terrible twos all day.”

“Do not act like it’s harder than running a multi-billion pound business,” Harry scoffs, his voice becoming lower with frustration with an argument that was going nowhere. He had a cocky lift to his voice that made her want to scream.

“Oh, because it’s so difficult half the time?  Last week, you got to go on your private jet to Paris for three days for business aka dinner and golfing while I sat at home alone!” Y/N raises her voice, angry tears forming over her lids.

“Sat in our 35 million pound house with a pool, playground, plenty of shops in town, unlimited money doesn’t sound like a hardship, love,” Harry replies, jaw clenching but his fingers itching to brush the tears away.

“You know what? It’s Sunday tomorrow. I’m going out. You watch her for the whole fucking day and see how easy it is. For now, enjoy the guest room,” Y/N spits out, storming down the hall to Ivy’s room to get her ready for bed.

“With pleasure,” He tells her, retreating back into his office and slamming the door. He wasn’t a fucking inadequate father. 

He never put work before his family. He knew it wasn’t easy being at home and as soon as he sat his arse in his leather chair - he realized what a douchebag he was being to his stressed out wife. 

Harry didn’t want to sleep in the guest room, he wanted to be spooned up next to his wife, whispering apologies for letting the stress of the week get to him. Remind her what an amazing partner and mum she is to him. How lucky he is.

The issue was - Harry had pride issues. He wasn’t one to admit defeat even when he should. He thrived on challenges so he was eager to show his wife that he’d have no problem taking on his terrible twos daughter.

He sneaks into his daughter’s room after she’s fast asleep in her crib, checking on her to make sure she’s okay before hesitantly entering their bedroom where his wife is fast asleep but a pile of clean clothes for him on the floor tells him she was serious about him sleeping in the guest room.

It was torture, not being able to be in the same bed as his wife. The love of his life. He thought about it multiple times - going in and groveling but his stubborn brain wouldn’t allow it. After such a long week, he was looking forward to sleeping in and his head hit the pillow in no time.

--

“Rise and shine,” His wife's voice wakes him up, it wasn’t with her normally cheery tone but with the same irritation as the night before. She definitely hadn’t magically forgiven him yet - dammit. Her voice is nearly drowned out by a fussy curly-haired baby.

“Wha’s wrong?” Harry grunts, sitting up to see Ivy still in her pajamas with sheet wrinkles across her face. Skin pink and warm from her nice, peaceful sleep. 

However, she decided to wake up today with a massive chip on her shoulder.

“Ivy’s upset because she can’t find her ballerina doll,” Y/N replies.

 Harry notices she is already fully dressed *** and made up for the day. “Might want to get up and help her find it. I’m heading out  like we agreed on.”

“Fine,” Harry replies with a tight lip, rubbing his eyes as he’s still half asleep. “Y’look pretty.”

“Thanks,” Y/N replies nonchalantly, leaning over to kiss Ivy on the forehead, “I’ll see you later bug, I love you.”

Ivy looks at her mother in betrayal as she leaves Harry to manage their little ball of fury. He tries to tug her in for a big, warm hug but she shrieks and screams at her father, “Ballerina!”

“Ssh, okay. We’ll go look for y’ballerina, dove. No need to yell, s’too early,” Harry grumbles, sitting up and automatically being pulled by the hand off the bed to search for this doll that could be anywhere in this thousands upon thousands of square foot home.

After extensive searches, Harry realizes that he’d left it on the roof of the car when he was tucking her into her carseat last night. The cute little plush doll is now mostly likely roadkill on the country stretch.

“Ivy, y’literally got a whole room dedicated to stuffed animals and dolls. Let’s go pick somethin’ from there, yes?” Harry tries, his daughter’s arms crossed and glaring at Harry like he had just killed her hopes and dreams.

“No! No!” The toddler absolutely wails, plopping her little diaper-clad bum on the ground before kicking her feet against the marble. She had herself worked up until her cheeks were cherry red and tears were staining her shirt.

Harry couldn’t lie - he’d only been watching her for about two hours and he was starting to feel anxiety creep up in his throat over what to do. It wasn’t that he couldn’t parent her, but it was a lot of crying and he hated seeing her upset.

“Why don’t we go eat some breakfast? Does that sound good, lovie?” Harry offers hopefully, having to contain a laugh at how much she looks like him when he’s angry. The little crease between her eyes, the green in her eyes sparkling a little darker than usual.

Her eyes peek up at her father, “Yes, Daddy.”

Harry sighs in relief, scrubbing at hand down his face, taking her into the kitchen, strapping her in the highchair before whipping up some cheesy eggs for her.

When he puts down the plate in front of her, he has to say she’s surprised when she slaps it off the tray and onto the floor, spilling everywhere. “No, want mummy’s breakfast.”

Her father looks at her with a comically bewildered expression before turning on his dad voice, “We do not throw things on the ground. Do you understand me, Ivy Elizabeth?”

Her full little lips are drawn into a tight pout as she tosses her baby fork on the ground to join the still warm eggs in a heap.  

“Mummy’s breakfast.”

The scolding goes in one ear and out the other, she doesn’t acknowledge her father but continues on her demands.

He caves after trying to no avail to decipher what ‘mummy’s breakfast’ means.

Ivy threw her eggs on the ground. She’s demanding mummy’s breakfast.

She’s hated eggs for the past two weeks now. Vanilla yogurt with diced strawberries and blueberries in her red baby bowl.

He does as she says, arranges a nice little bowl of yogurt with the fruit. He couldn’t find the red bowl so he substituted for a blue one. 

It results in the yogurt also being smacked to the ground. 

She threw that on the ground too.

Did you put it in a red bowl?

I couldn’t find it, just put it in a blue bowl

She only wants to eat breakfast out of red bowls right now

Harry groans, he didn’t know his daughter was this difficult about breakfast time. He was usually gone by the time she’d woken up for the day. Y/N usually let him sleep in a bit on the weekends until ten or so.

After digging for the specific red bowl, doing up her breakfast again - Ivy happily begins eating until it drips down her sleep clothes, rubbed all over her cheeks, and it even manages up in her tangled locks.

“S’that just so yummy, Vee?” Harry hums after she’s finished. “Looks like it’s bath time.”

He really should have guessed at this point when she shakes her head and squeaks, “No!”

“Yes, s’bathtime,” Harry says sternly, traipsing upstairs with the wriggling toddler who is doing everything in her power to fight against her father’s hold. 

“No, no, no. Ballerina,” Ivy brings it up again, making it a near impossible task for Harry to wrangle her out of her clothes and diaper. 

While he’s running the bath, she darts from the bathroom and through the hallways, right towards the grand staircase where the baby gate isn’t closed. Harry really really didn’t want to yell at his daughter but she could seriously get hurt.

“Ivy Elizabeth Styles, if you don’t get your little bum over to Daddy right now, you’re going on the step and y’not having playtime at all,” Harry orders loudly, but breathing a sigh of relief when his daughter skids in her tracks to a halt.

The little girl turns on her heels, eyes wide in fright at her dad’s raised voice - which rarely ever happened unless she really wasn’t listening. She begins to cry but not in her now typical anger-induced haze but in a legitimate sad wail.

His heart aches as his daughter toddles obediently back over to him with her little head hung low in regret, “Daddy, hold me?”

Harry can’t deny her so he scoops her up into the crook of his arm, “M’sorry for yellin’, bug. But y’need to be good for Daddy? You could have gotten really hurt and that would have made Daddy sad, okay?”

Her eyes are watery as she looks up at him, her hand curling around his neck before burying her still yogurt-sticky face into his skin, hiccuping with sad whines, “Sad Daddy.”

“Mhm, now are you going to be nice and get a bath f’me? Y’dirty, bubby,” Harry smiles down at her to brighten back up her mood and it works because her dimples pop out of her cheeks and she flashes her small blocky baby teeth.

Ivy surprisingly does well in the bathtub, allowing her father to get her all cleaned up until she accidentally opens her eyes and gets baby soap in them, it’s another round of tears that cannot be controlled.

Harry totes the sobbing toddler into a cute little Moschino onesie and brings her into their bedroom. He’s so fucking exhausted and it was barely noon. His stress level was near a hundred as he couldn’t keep her from being pissed off for more than twenty minutes at a time.

Luckily, it seems like the screaming and crying for the last how many hours had taken a toll on her because as soon as she sprawled on her stomach on Harry’s chest, she’s out like a light. The cutest small snores coming from her as she smacks her lips together while she dreams.

He gives her a few minutes to fall into a deeper sleep before tiptoeing her into her nursery and laying her very carefully into her crib. She doesn’t wake, just whimpers softly and turns on her side, away from her father.

When he’s sure she’ll be okay, he goes back into their bedroom, and well...he just breathes. He didn’t realize how high his anxiety had been up to this point and his whole morning had been nothing but trying to get his daughter calm. He didn’t even have one moment to think about himself.

It really wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate Y/N being a stay at home mum - of course, he did. He already knew how bloody amazing and strong she was as a person, he didn’t need this to prove what he already knew. It was his stubbornness to not decline a challenge and they both knew that was the case.

Y/N really didn’t think that Harry doubted her abilities. He nearly spent most of his days telling her how proud he was of her and her abilities as a partner and mum. It doesn’t mean it didn’t sting when he brought up his job compared to hers.

Harry’s in his own world of thoughts that he doesn’t notice a figure leaning against the doorframe of the bedroom, “You got everything under control, H?”

His eyes darted up to meet his wife’s, “Not really. She’s a little terror,” He jokes (kind of).

“It’s easy compared to your job, right?” Y/N asks but it’s obviously rhetorical. She drops a few shopping bags on the floor before leaning down to unstrap her high heels, kicking them off along with throwing off the blazer to the floor.

“I never said your job was easy. Y’puttin’ words in my mouth,” Harry argues, sitting up straight and moving to sit on the edge of the bed.

“No, you’re right. It’s just not as hard as your job,” Y/N huffs, unbuttoning the tight jeans and shucking them off her thighs. She didn’t have any idea what she was doing to him right now, his mouth nearly watering when her thighs jiggle a bit.

“You’re right, it’s not as hard as my job,” Harry replies, studying his wife’s face when she looks up in surprise - that he was really going to take the fight that far.

“Wow, you re-”

“It’s not as hard as my job, it’s harder,” Harry murmurs, reaching out to pull his wife to stand between his legs, her looking down at him with her hands on his shoulders. “

What I’m doin’ is nothin’ compared to your job. Y’raising our little baby, shaping her into a good person, spending every moment of y’day with her, giving up a lot of who you are for her. That’s more difficult than what I do any day.”

“Har-”

“M’sorry, lovie. Y’know I think you’re the most amazing mum and wife. You do everything for the baba and I. I shouldn’t have taken my anger from my week out on you yesterday and then said the things that I did,” Harry apologizes, his face sincere and open as he leans forward to nuzzle at his wife’s stomach.

When her hands come to run through his unruly locks, he knows he’s forgiven, “I appreciate how hard you work too. I really do, H. You’re the best husband and daddy to Ivy we could ask for. I’m sorry I took my frustration out on you as well.”

“Do you ever feel like I put work before you or Ivy?” Harry asks softly against her thin tank top, his hands come to massage at her full hips. There was a hint of insecurity in his tone that made Y/N’s heart sink a bit.

“No, I really don’t. I was just...I was just upset and I knew that would upset you. I’m sorry, baby,” Y/N murmurs softly, leaning down to kiss at the top of his head.

“Y’going to let me show you how sorry I am, how good of a wife and mum you are?” Harry drawls, his hands going to tug up the fabric of her top and humming appreciatively when she lifts her arms to let him do so.

“Yeah, remind why I married your crabby ass,” Y/N teases playfully, reaching behind herself to let her bra fall down to the crooks of her elbows before tossing it to the floor with everything else. As she’s doing that, Harry takes it upon himself to shimmy off her panties.

“Y’sayin’ you just married me ‘cause I fuck you good?” Harry grunts, standing up suddenly and pulling her up into his arms until her legs are wrapped around his waist and arms around his neck.

“Mmm, mostly. Also for your bank account was pretty good-looking too,” She lies blatantly but he still rewards her with a bruising kiss to her lips as he backs her against the wall so he can use one hand to tug down his running shorts.

“I’d still have married you, best decision I’ve ever made,” Harry says, sobering up from their playfulness. He slows down to be careful as he slides up into her warm heat, her head falling back with a thud against the wall.

“Harry,” She moans approvingly, heels of her feet digging into his backside to goad him into moving faster, “Right there.”

“So bloody in love with you. Please tell me y’know that baby, c’mon, tell me,” Harry begs, leaning down to smear kisses against her collarbone.

“I know, H. You’re so good to me, I love you,” Y/N whines and Harry knows that whine like the back of his hand, she needs more. He reaches down to rub tight, rough circles against her swollen bud until she’s tensing and coming.

“You feel so good, every single time. Don’t know how you do it, s’like you were made just for me,” Harry chokes out, stuttering and coming with his lips suckling a deep spot onto her breast as he rides it out.

After they redress and are cuddled on the bed, murmuring sweet little apologizes and affirmations of love, they interrupted by an angry squeak from the baby monitor - signaling their daughter’s woken up.

“Ballerina!”

hope you enjoyed. please inbox me what you think, like, reblog.

[mvttsvn]

Good Little, Liar

Literal sadist😳Toji Fushiguro x bratty fem!reader

warnings: 18+ smut, ABSOLUTE FILTH,  cussing, reader is a masochist, dacryphilia, manhandling, choking, pain kink, daddy kink, impact play, degrading pet names “whore, slut”, use of “princess”, Toji threatens to kill you like once👩🏻‍🦯, no prep, mentions of blood, stomach bulge, size kink, mind break, dumbification, no aftercare :/, angsty at the end.

authors note: 2k words, UNEDITED holy fuck this was supposed to be a short drabble but I got carried away. this is completely self indulgent, it so nasty literally how did I even think of this??? I cannot get this shitty ass dad out of my head... literally just ib this one pic🤒

You convinced him alright. Convinced him so much that he whole heartedly believed he picked up and took home a totally different person tonight. You and Toji and been together a couple of times prior, nothing too serious, went out for a drink, maybe kissed, probably rode him in his backseat. Each and every time you put on your good girl façade, always so sweet, and submissive. Following his each every command. Taking exactly what he gives and thanking him for it every time.

He thought you were sent from the gods, how could he have found someone like you, who fit just perfect under his thumb, so willing to do anything just for his attention. Yet here you were, same pretty little girl, same pretty little face, telling him “no” ???.

You were straddling his lap, on his rough leather couch, the tv lowly played a old movie which by now has left both of your minds. The dim light from the kitchen buzzing due to the bulbs starting to burn out, which completely unfazed Toji, but left you slightly annoyed.

“No?” He scoffed.

You adjusted your hands to fit onto his built shoulders had his began gripping you hips tighter and tighter.

“Nope, I don’t want my jaw to hurt in the morning” you gave him a coy smile, while tilting your head down to stare at him through your lashes.

His right hand came up and  roughly gripping your jaw. “Does it look like I fucking care?” He practically growled in your face. In all honesty he was more confused than pissed, of course he was going to immediately put you in your place, but you had him genuinely concerned, we’re you always like this? Did he do something wrong?? You tried to shake you head but due to his grip you could only move so far.

“Now, on. your. knees.” He released his grip only for his hand to move to the back of you neck waiting for you to comply. You slowly leaned in kissing the scar on his lip to kiss down to his jaw then leaning back up to whisper two little words that could make or break your night, probably both.

“Make me”

the millisecond your breathy whisper hit his ear it was over, you were done for. Say goodbye to you legs you’re probably never walking again.

The force in which he pulled you hair made you shriek. He stood up tossing you over his shoulder furiously stomping into the bedroom. He threw you onto his mattress, you couldn’t help but giggle, this is exactly what you wanted it only added to his rage. He threw off his shirt, then gripped your ankles pulling you to the edge of the bed. He was immediately on top of you, his knees digging into your calves holding down your legs, has one hand gripped both of your wrists and the other tightly around your throat. You were already breathing hard due to anticipation but now he practically had you life in his hands.

“What the fuck did you do with my good little girl hmm?” His voice darkened by lust.

“I don’t know who your talking about” you laughed again, his grip tightening around your throat.

Before you could make another comment his knee was pushed up between your thighs has the hand holding your wrist bunched your shirt up exposing your bra. He ripped the right strap off  making you choke out a gasp, then he slid the rest of garment out from under you to throw it across the room. Toji mouth immediately on your breast teasing you to no avail.

“M..m..more” you choked out, you were in no right to be making demands but you really wanted to see how angry you could make him. His only reply was catching you nipple on a canine and biting down hard. You almost screamed, you thought he probably wanted to see you bleed.

He continued his teasing, you wanted to keep this game up for longer but your vision was starting to get hazy from the lack of oxygen. You started pawing at his shoulders, while wrapping you legs around his waist, quietly pleading, “I’m.. I’m sorry... T...oji..I’m...” the hand on your throat let go to harshly slap your thigh making you yelp in pain once again.

“That’s not my name. C’mon what is it?”... you met his harsh gaze, maybe just a little longer... “Toj-“ he slapped you across the face. You didn’t make a single sound but the tears pricking your eyes said enough. Lucky for you, Toji’s into that.

He met your lips in a sloppy kiss shoving his tongue down your throat. You tapped his collar bone silently signaling you needed to breathe, once he moved away he removed his pants and helped you wiggled out of yours.

“Who knew you’re such a fucking brat” he slapped your thigh again watching you squirm. His hand hovered over your already drenched cunt, as he starred right into your eyes. The flush on your chest started moving to you face. Why were suddenly getting all worked up now??

“Are you gonna give in already?, gonna be my good little whore again?”, you wanted to answer no again because he looked so hot when he was angry. The words got caught in your throat and all you could do was nod.

He lightly slapped your clit “Hmm need to hear it little girl, tell me who owns you?”

“you do....daddy” you admitted, you tilted your down, you couldn’t meet his eyes.

His calloused palm came up and caressed your jaw leaning in closer. “Are you sorry? Tell daddy your sorry for being such a brat.” He mocked making a fake pout. “M’sorry daddy, j..just wanted to make you angry.”

“I know you did princess...” He reeled his hand back to full on slap your cunt, squirming up the bed you let out a pathetic whine.

He slapped three, four more times now, and the tears started running down your face. He moved to tuck his face in the nape of your neck, leaving deep red bruises as he moved down your torso.

The muscles in his back rippled as he held himself up but the palms of his hands. God he looked so..big... not sure if he would ever explicitly admit the he liked how he overpowered you in almost every single way...but you liked it too.

There was no way you could’ve played you act for any longer, he would’ve choked you out. And would’ve done it with ease since his hand was bigger than your actual face. You knew how dangerous this was, yet still tilled wanted to play fire, but alas here you were once again, bowing to his every command.

“D..d..ddaddy..p..please..”

“Aw there she is” he lifted his face from you chest giving you one of his sickening grins. “I thought he wanted to play the little bitchy brat huh? What happened?” His voice dripping with mockery.

“N..need..you”

“How princess, you know daddy can’t help if you don-“

“please, PLEASE! need daddy’s cock! ….” you were getting impatient now, was this the most he was going to? you expected at lea-.

The scream ripped from you chest was silenced by the strong hand around your throat in a death like grip. He shoved his whole cock inside your tight little cunt, there was no prep not even when you were on the couch, he didn’t he stuff his fingers in your little cunt to stretch you out. You knew he was big, since the time he shoved his entire cock down your throat but feeling it twitch inside you making you feel like your being absolutely split open on Toji’s cock.

He gave a deep throaty chuckle, you knew how much he was enjoying this. New tears pricked from your eyes, wetting your cheeks, he moved his free hand pinching your clit between his fore finger and thumb, watching your eyes roll to the back of your head. The hand on your throat gripped your hair moving so his face was flushed with yours, spatting in your ear, “You don’t cum until I say, understand?” All you could do was whine in response.

“I give you rules for a reason break them and I’ll kill you where you lay.” A threat, empty of not, it had you clenching hard around his dick. You glanced down to where you were connect, to be met with a indescribable bulge in your lower stomach.

Dear god, bless your poor cervix, he hasn’t even started moving yet  and you could feel the intrusion all the same. He started rocking his hips slight against yours, at least he was giving you sometime to adjust, all while staring two lust filled hole into your head as you writhed and whimpered underneath him. He pulled his hips back to pull out but when he’s met with the slightest sign of blood mixed with the milky white arousal coating his dick, he could’ve came right there.

He gripped your hips sinking right back into you making you scream once again. “DA-DADDY..fuck..shit..” the tears running down you face only egged him on.

“So god damn tight, maybe I should never prep you again, if you’re gonna feel like this every time” he groaned. “Such dirty little words, I would’ve punished you if you didn’t already dig yourself a grave”.

The pained moans falling from your lips were music to ears. Profanities fell from his as he continued a rough pace, your tits bouncing with every thrust. He had fucked you completely and utterly dumb, no coherent thought where making their way to you consciousness. Only daddy, Toji, and cock.

You have gotten numb to the pain but right now you were putting all you effort into not focusing on the way his dick was bruising you cervix, trying so hard not to come just from the way his pelvic bone catches your clit. You didn’t realize he was speaking to you till he lightly slapped your cheek. “Aw look at you, you’ve gone all stupid. Too bad, if you played nice I would’ve let you cum by now.” The malice in his voice made you clench around his cock, squeezing more of your arousal on his thighs. “ at least you’re taking me so well.” His breath hitched as his thrust stared getting sloppy.

“Holy fuck, keep squeezing just like that-“ you saw his abs clench, “remember you don’t cum till I say” his eyes flicked right back into yours you nodded, more like messily rolled your head around. “Holy fuck princess...” he was practically already using your cunt like a toy. With a last few harsh thrust he filled you cunt to the brim with hot, thick cum.

The groans falling from his mouth sounded almost angelic. All you could let out was a low whine met with heavy breathing. The sweat dripping down his toned chest shone from the dim light of the lamp on the corner the side table. He pulled out watching his cum drip out of you down to your asshole and onto his dark sheets.

Your body laid motionless barely opening your eyes to see him move away from edge and walk to his discarded pants. Your brain couldn’t even process this as you licked you’re tongue to wet your now dry lips.

Then it dawned that he didn’t let you cum... that fucker. You couldn’t do a single thing about it.

Because here you were unsatisfied, speechless, practically crippled, staring blankly at the ceiling. As he sat and lit a cigarette on the opposite end of the bed.

Notes: I am so sorry. There’s just something about Toji Fushiguro that I just forget how to function correctly. Um I hope you enjoyed! And that I didn’t rot ur brain too much<3

ps: ppp..ppart 2??? fluff???😏

[lord-explosion-baku]

Trident Tale

Merman!Shinsou x reader, Kirishima x Reader

Warnings: adult themes (Minors DNI)

A/N: read the prologue on AO3

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

(Original image by @maewoahoah)

Synopsis: Moving to an island where everyone is big on the surf scene and other oceanic happenings might not have been the brightest idea for someone so afraid of anything that has to do with water, but you make do by spending your days looking after the Bed & Breakfast, trying not to burn the house down when you fry a few eggs, and obsessively scrolling through Eijirou Kirishima’s social media page. He’ll never notice you, and you think you’re fine with that, until a mysterious force washes into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool after a particularly nasty storm.

Hitoshi Shinsou is a pain in the ass from the get-go, but you put up with him, fins and all, when he promises he can help unite you with your soulmate. The catch? The fish is hellbent on taking back what was stolen from him, and he won’t lift a gracious finger until he gets what he came for.

You’re helpless to lend him a hand, so long as you stay dry. Unless, of course, he has other plans.

You know how the saying goes: you rub his fins, he’ll rub yours.

Storms have never really been your cup of tea. Though you keep yourself locked inside a good percent of the time, there’s nothing quite as suffocating as the compress of clouds overhead. It’s not like you always have to see them to be uncomfortable, but you definitely feel them pressing down, closing in, and caging you, even when you’ve got yourself tucked under a blanket on Ms. Shuzenji’s couch.

It’s been a little over a year since you first moved to the island. All you needed was a new beginning, and you got that, but you got that, and the tropical weather that you’re still getting used to. It’s currently typhoon season, and holy seaweed-on-your-doorstep, is it storming.

There’s little you can do to distract yourself while staying and working at Shuzenji’s bed and breakfast. There are currently no guests, aside from you, so all the rooms are made, and the old lady is on another one of her long vacations, so you’re basically being paid to lounge. You’re grateful for that, at least. But the only thing that’s keeping you physically separated from the terrifying weather is a thick glass pane that water sloshes on every time a wave laps over the backyard walls.

The things that separate you mentally are the old-timey recordings of Shuzenji singing alongside an ensemble cast, and the little device in your hand. If you didn’t have your boss’s haunting melodies echoing throughout the house, and some big, beefy, tatted eye-candy to gawk at during the storm, you’d surely go insane.

Eijirou Kirishima, one of the island’s best surfers, is out on his board, live-streaming his current fight against the waves. His whoops and hollers can be heard over the crashing tides, getting even you excited for what’s about to come. That’s the thing about Kirishima; he’s wild, you’re not, and it’s hot as hell. Oftentimes, you catch yourself daydreaming about joining him out in the surf—he guides you through the waves, maybe yoou impress him a bit with your sudden affinity for wave-riding, and the two of you wash up on shore where you’ll both share your first kiss. It would be feasible if you could swim. It would be feasible if you bothered to learn how to swim, but for now, you’re content with your imagination. At least he can make you hate the terrible weather a little less.

The conspiratorial smirk he shows the camera is borderline swoon-worthy when the swell begins to pull him further out. It’s impossible not to bite your lip every time you catch a glimpse of his arms forcing themselves through the sea. He makes this look easy—like the storm is child’s play, and as the winds blow Shuzenji’s trash bin into the sliding glass door, you welcome the delicious distraction.

As Kirishima stands up on his signature trident board and rides one of the biggest waves he’s seen all day, you’re once again struck with how much of a coward you are. He can fight the elements, while you can hardly bring yourself the courage to talk to him. Mind you, he’s constantly surrounded by a close group of friends—a close group of friends you find intimidating—and when he’s not with them, he’s out in the water. Where there’s water involved, you’re spoken for. Unless, of course, you’d like for the first time you guys actually speak, to be when he’s giving you CPR.

Not the most ideal “meet cute”, but if it works, it works.

A loud crash snaps you out of your admittedly salty daydream. Mango, Shuzenji’s orange tabby, yowls at the blanket of water cascading down the windows, and your stomach sinks. There’s only so many minutes you can pretend that the storm Kirishima is facing isn’t the one that’s destroying Shuzenji’s yard.

With a sigh, you roll off the velvet couch, and grimace when crumbs that were nesting in your shirt fall to the carpet: a mess to clean up later. Without any guests to mind, you don’t have to worry too much over keeping the place spick-and-span, so long as things are nice and tighty by the time the old lady gets back, which will be awhile.

You have an easy enough job—at least, when there aren’t bunches of thick seaweeds crashing over the yard’s wall, flooding the pool.

“Shit.”

Water sprays in every direction. The already trash-infested pool overflows as more kelp rolls in with the maniacal waves, and angry, white foam bangs on the back door. It's a disaster outside, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Fingers wrapped around the back door handle, you struggle to think of a way to prevent a bigger mess, but even if you could manage to clean anything, nothing is stopping the tempest from wreaking anymore havoc. Best case scenario, you stop a plastic soda-chain from washing out to see and becoming a deadly necklace for an unlucky seagull. Worst case scenario, you slip, crack your head open on the pavement, and drown before you can ever utter the words “mahalo” to Kirishima.

Needless to say, you’ll take your life over a gull’s any day.

Another sigh.

A greater wave collides against the wall, bringing more of the Great Unknown into the pool. This is going to be a fun job to clean. Good thing you’ve got Shuzenji’s service boy, Denki Kaminari, on speed dial. You think if you sound particularly distressed in the morning, he’ll show up to help you out with just about anything in the matter of minutes. God bless desperate fuckboys.

So, for now, you cuddle back up on the couch, watch Kirishima shake saltwater out of his thick, red hair, and pretend that his storm is not the same thing as your storm.

It’s early morning when you finally rise out of bed. You hadn’t gotten a whole lot of rest—something to do with the wailing winds shaking your bedroom window nonstop, but after you finally drifted into dreams about snakes and dragons, you woke to clear skies, and light seagull calls.

From the second story, you can see early birds have already gotten the jump on cleaning up the beach. The sun is shining, the ocean blue and vast. The only trace there was ever a storm is already being taken care of. There are lifeguards riding around on ATVs and younger civilians with trash bags and grapplers picking up seaweed and absconded debris. The respect everyone has for the island is something to be admired, and you half-consider going out there yourself, after you’ve dealt with your yard, which is sure to be a wreck.

There’s no interest in picking out a cute outfit for the morning you’re going to have, even if Denki might see you, so you throw on a already-worn-this-week crop top, some pink shirts, and you’re good to go.

The first thing you do after Mango’s fed is check your socials. Kirishima posted a picture of his breakfast: a hefty plate with three eggs, sausage links, bacon, cut avocado, and what seems to be low-carb toast. The post reads, gotta eat ur gainz 2 gain ur gainz, and it’s so ridiculous that you’re infatuated with this reckless himbo. You wonder if you’d ever be able to hold an intellectual conversation with him, if you could ever manage to speak to him in the first place, but conversation wouldn’t matter if his mouth was between your thighs.

Following his example, you crack two eggs over a frying pan, sigh at the mostly empty fridge, then agonize over the state of Shuzenji’s yard. It’s worse than you thought it’d be. The pool is a sickly green color, and from where you’re standing inside, its murky depths seem to be almost opaque from the seaweed and garbage stewing together. Kelp litters the beige pavement, and there’s trash hiding in the shrubs. There’s a chocolate donut floaty bobbing around in there, too, and Shuzenji doesn’t own any floaties.

What a drag.

Before you get too far in your head about everything you’ll need to do to clean up, you quickly dial Denki’s number. He picks up after a ring and a half.

“I know what you’re about to ask,” says the boy on the line, and from his cocky tone, you can assume it’s not going to be about the cleanup. “I am absolutely free tonight. If you wanted to grab drinks at the Salty Barrel, maybe go on a romantic rendezvous out on the beach, watch the sunset on or in a couple blankets, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m not calling to ask you on a date, Kaminari,” you say as you step outside. The pavement is cold underneath your bare feet, and you have to tip-toe around to be sure not to let any kelp touch your skin. Yuck.

“But you’re not, not calling about a date, either,” he counters. By the volume of his voice, you can tell that he’s in his van, talking to you over the speaker. Good. So he’s already out and about.

“I need you to tell me how to drain Shuzenji’s pool.” Call you cold, but you’re used to Denki’s flirty nature by now, and you’ve learned that the best way to deal with it, is to not acknowledge it. Of course, you can’t be too callous when it comes to him, especially when you actually need his help. You eye the dangerously complex-looking valves off to the side of the house, and grimace. “There’s too many twisty thingies! I’m not sure what to do!”

“Now, hold your horses, little lady! Don’t go twisting any thingies just yet. Draining a pool is a process.” There’s a long pause, the loud growl of an engine, then silence. He’d pulled over to talk to you. “How’s your TDL? And what kinda PVC pipes you got?”

“The huh and what?” You don’t need to pretend to be in distress—you have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Listen, don’t touch anything. You’re calling because the pool’s a mess right now, right? You don’t need to drain it; at least, not yet. I can swing by in an hour or so to clean it, but I’ve gotta make some stops first. You’re not the only single woman who wants to watch me do my thang, especially not after yesterday.”

“It’s so bad, Kaminari.” The water in the pool sloshes around, like there’s actually something in it causing the water to ungulate and burble. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head over it. You've got me, okay? It’s my job to protect and serve.”

“You’re not a cop.”

“Nope, I’m better than a cop. I’m a pool guy.”

He goes on to ask you to check out what kind of drain the pool has, if you can find the drain, then loses you when he starts talking numbers and gallons. While still on the phone, you send a few texts to Shuzenji, explaining the predicament, then Denki mentions rates. You’re getting the cutie pie discount, doubled because he counts Shuzenji as a “cutie pie” too—something you mention to her because she’ll get a kick out of it—then he drops all business to ask about food.

“I’m cooking my breakfast,” you say with a wary glance back at the house.

“But is your breakfast fries and a shake from Tiki Burger?”

You bite your lip as your stomach growls its empty sorrow. “No.”

“Would you like it to be?” His knowing grin is heard through the line.

“…I’m not gonna go out with you.”

He chuckles and you’re grateful that he can’t see your answering smile. “We’ll see how you feel after you see me work my magic. And hey, if you’d like me to wear a Speedo while I work—“

“You’ll be here in an hour?” You cut him off, because Denki in a Speedo is the last thing you need on your mind. The thought of Kirishima in a Speedo, however, gets you a little hot, which is saying a lot, since you’re a part of the Speedos and Dolphin-shorts Are Abominations To Swimwear belief system.

“Maybe sooner. I think my next client just needs me to check out their chemical levels. Inside pool and all. Everyone else knew to put a tarp out.”

The tarp you had blew away, but you don’t bother explaining that to Denki. Let him believe you’re the dim-witted “little lady” he wants you to be. If it means Shuzenji gets a discount, not that she can’t afford any bill Denki’s company throws at her, then let him believe you can’t open a pickle jar without a man’s help for all you care.  

“See you then,” you say, and end the call. There will be time to work on your charm once Denki gets here. Until then, you figure you could do some investigating so you’re not completely helpless.

Leaving your phone on the pavement so you don’t accidentally drop it in the water, you make your way around the pool to where you think you remember the drain being. You can’t say you’ll know what kind of drain it is, but if you remember correctly, it’s circular, and like, kinda meshy? That description simply won’t do.

Dropping down to your knees, you peer down into the pool, squinting, as if that can help you see through all the muck. There’s definitely a lot of kelp and algae, sand drifting through the water, someone’s wayward brazier, and oh. A school of fish—little babies circling about. It’s wild, but you suppose it could be possible if all the chlorine washed out and there was enough salt water to sustain marine life.

The fish move together, bopping into each other, mouths gaping open to eat whatever they find in their temporary home. You don’t know enough about marine life to know what kind of fish they are. Silvery little things. Maybe Denki has something that can help transport them from the pool to the ocean. It’s not far—Shuzenji’s house is on the beach. It would be a shame if all the little fish had to die. You don’t particularly care about touching or feeding fish, but a life is a life, and if they can be saved, you’d at least like to try.

But all your thoughts of saving fish life stop when you catch something moving in the water. It’s not the fish—they’re not that big, but it’s definitely fishlike. Fish plus. It moves like a shadow, serpentine and fluid. You catch a glimpse of scales, so it’s definitely not a dolphin—even then, it’s bigger than a dolphin, and more graceful than a shark. You begin thinking of leviathan, and other mythical creatures, as ridiculous as that is, when you see a long flowing fluke.

Okay. This thing is not just big. It’s gargantuan, and to see this much of the creature without seeing its head makes your skin crawl. You imagine falling in and being swallowed whole, suffocating in the dark, drowning in a monster’s belly.

The thought spooks you static, just in time to meet a pair of eyes in the water. This is your overactive imagination—you’re scaring yourself insane, but you don’t look away, and those eyes, almost human and curious, don’t disappear.

You’ve consumed enough media to know how these impossible interactions go. The creature is inquisitive, but keeps its distance. It often has to be coaxed out of hiding, and even then, the thing is skittish and untrusting. You’re certainly not one to go “pspsps, hey little guy, I’m not gonna hurt you,” but even if you were, you don’t get the chance, because this thing you’re looking at isn’t the least bit skittish, and in one second, you’re making eyes at at it, and in the next, the thing is exploding out of the water.

A large, broad chest towers over you. The thing pushes itself up with arms, human arms, but it’s anything but human. Sure, it has hair, although an odd purple color, framing its angular face and jaw, which are both human enough. Also framing its face are a pair of long, pointed fins sticking out from where human ears should be. Water dribbles down its chest, down to its navel—its navel. Your brain screams mammal, but underneath its navel are scales, rippling down to where its legs should be. Not human. Not fish.

Fish plus.

Man.

Fish plus man.

Fish-man.

Its eyes are almost the same color as its hair, only a shade lighter, and much sharper, narrowed in on you. It’s glaring. You realize this at the same time you realize that you're staring at it with your mouth agape. This would be so rude in any other setting. It’s also rude to pop out of a pool that isn’t yours without any other warning, but you’re not about to chastise the thing. You’re far too scared.

Then the thing reaches out to you, sprinkling water on your thighs and your shirt. Its hands look like a man’s hand, but its long fingers are connected by thin, indigo webbing that matches its tail. Its tail. You lose focus trying to find the word for this creature that’s barely on the tip of your tongue, when you realize the palm of its hand, its fishy, webby hand, is hovering over your cheek, the other carefully placed next to your knee to keep it upright.

You open your mouth to speak, but only a hiss comes out. The creature, wary, brings its hand back, but only slightly. Not enough to put you at ease, but enough to allow you to gain your composure, and scream.

“H-help!!!” You screech. “Help! Somebody! Help me!”

It claps its hand over your mouth, knocking you back. Water drips down on your shirt as it leans in, mouth curling up with distaste. Then, it does something impossible.

It speaks.

“So loud,” it growls in a low, masculine timbre.

It speaks, you think, it speaks and it has no manners!

You try to yell back, probably something with little thought, but you have a mouth full of fish-man hand, and the more you warble in its palm, the more apathetic it appears.

“Be quiet and still,” it commands, as if obeying it is supposed to be the most natural thing—something it expects from you. It catches you so off-guard that you actually listen, only trembling a little bit as those indigo eyes scan over your form. It’s uncomfortable having an unknown but cognizant creature observe you so closely. You shiver when its gaze roams over your belly, down your legs. You want to curl your legs up, move away, but you’re afraid if you even twitch more than it’s comfortable with, it’ll grab you and drag you into the pool. Your nightmare.

Instead, it does something slightly less worse. It moves its hand from your mouth to your cheek. The palm of its hand warms your skin in an unnatural way, like you’ve been laying in the sun for half an hour and it’s only your cheek that heats up. The creature's eyes widen as light begins to emanate, either from you, or from it, you’re not sure, but definitely from where it touches you. Tingles run from your neck down to your spine, and you wish you’d put a bra on before going outside, because this thing’s touch is making your body react in a way that it shouldn’t.

“So easy,” it purrs appraisingly, somewhat less insolent, but you’re still taken aback, ears hot with embarrassment.

Un-fucking-likely.

“Easy?!” You squawk out. “What do you mean by easy?”

It doesn’t answer you, and instead, moves its fingers from your cheek, down your jaw, to your chin. It begins leaning closer, heavy lids closing. You notice its lips for the first time: a defined line and a pretty bow. If you were in a less dire situation, you’d be able to admit that they’re very nice lips, but they’re getting closer to you, closer still, and you realize with a jolt what it’s trying to do.

Your foot meets its chest in a heartbeat.

“Nope!” You belt out, extending your leg so there’s more distance between you and the impolite beast. “Not today, fish-breath!”

Unperturbed, it lifts a lazy brow. Then, to your absolute horror, it presses both of its hands into your bare leg, and again you’re lit up, warm, and tingly, only far worse than before. Stomach tightening, you make a choked noise, trying to hold in the sigh that claws at your throat.

“Fish-breath.” It repeats your insult like it’s a balled-up piece of paper to be thrown in the trash. “I’ve been told that my aroma is quite appealing.”

“By whom? Other fish-breaths?!” You wriggle your leg out of his embrace, or whatever you could call that invasion, only to have it slip down so your foot rests in the fish-man’s hands, bright as the stars in the sky. “Eww ew! Don’t touch me! Get away!”

The creature scoffs, but let’s you go, and you both watch as the light disappears from the arch of your foot where he’d been touching. Fish-man slinks back into the murky water, hiding under a blanket of algae.

You have enough time to gather your composure, wipe the water droplets off your face, and rub your eyes. For a moment, you try to convince yourself that this has all been a sleep-deprived hallucination, but you’ve never really been one to delude yourself, unless your Kirishima fantasies were involved, and you know that you’ll have to try another tactic to accept the reality of your situation. Perhaps you can try to be civil with this creature, ask it if it’s…hurt, or if it needs a late night escort to get it back to the sea. But then, the thing resurfaces on the opposite end of the pool. It faces you, and leans back against the wall, arms spread out against the pavement, basking.

“You know,” he says, “your decorum is severely lacking. Don’t humans have classes that teach them proper etiquette—how to be more polite towards their guests and such?”

What’s lacking is your patience for marine life.

Standing up, you take in the thing, which you’re now pretty sure is in fact a man of sorts, in its entirety. His tail is long, longer than human legs, extending past the halfway mark of the pool, if your measurement counts his fluke. There’s a golden cuff on his right arm that spirals around, accentuating his large biceps. You stubbornly admit that it’s attractive—he’s attractive, at least, he would be for people who were into fish and not surfers. You brush whatever you’re feeling in the pit of your stomach off by telling yourself that you’re simply awestruck, and move on.

“Where I’m from-“ you begin, straightening your sodden crop top- “we offer our guests various beverages and snacks, depending on the time of day.”

Annoyingly, he looks interested.

“Since it’s the morning, I’d offer a guest tea, or coffee, and if I’m looking to impress, I’d maybe cook them a hot meal.”

The creature offers you a sardonic smile. “I happen to be famished.”

“However, with home-invaders, we’re more likely to pull a gun on them before heating up the earl grey.”

He loses the smile, and you’re glad that he might have an inkling of what a gun is. You’ve never owned one, and they don’t allow firearms on the island, but the threat stands. But if he was intimidated, even for a moment, he doesn’t show it anymore, and proves just that by turning his back on you, and resting his head in his arms. He has a dorsal fin with what looks to be a deep, x-shaped scar near his tailbone. You try not to wonder what that could’ve been from.

“Then how do you propose I go from a home-invader, to a house guest?” Asks the creature with little interest.

Cautiously walking around the pool with your arms crossed, you begin to list things off for the far-too-comfortable fish-man.

“You can start by telling me who you are, what you are, why you’re here, what you want, and why you think you can lay your webbed hands on me.”

“Oh, is that all?” He hums noncommittally. Content. Aggravating. “Why don’t you start then? Who are you, and why are you here?”

The back of your neck grows hot and uncomfortable. “How entitled do you have to be to—!” You start, but you’re swiftly cut off by the shrieking of the fire alarm. Smoke plumes from outside the house’s windows, and you curse under your breath before darting towards the door. You’d completely forgotten about your eggs.

In your haste to move the pan off the stove, you burn your fingers and drop the pan to the kitchen floor, two blackened egg crisps flaking off and diving in different directions. Mango yowls at the commotion and investigates one of the fallen egg crisps. Before you can tell him to buzz off, he loses interest in your mess, not bothering to give it a taste. You don’t blame him, but the eggs didn’t appear to be cat-bad. Ah, you can’t kid yourself. They are cat-bad. They’re completely inedible. Now you’re going to have to head to the market, while worrying about a man trapped in Shuzenji’s pool.

Your stomach roars at you.

After cleaning the mess as best as you could while desperately and ruefully wanting to return to your guest—no, not guest—invader, you get the alarm, half-heartedly fan the smoke out of the house, and return. Angry. This guy better start talking soon, or things are going to get ugly.

To your utter displeasure, he looks all the more amused at your newer, messier state.

“Was that supposed to be the hot meal,” he asks, cocky. “Because if so, I’ll pass.”

Instead of biting his head off like you’d like to, you present him with the still-dirty frying pan, pointing it at his head like you intend to use it.

“Start talking, fish-for-brains.”

The beast snickers, raising his hands in the air in mock-surrender. “Easy there, tiger shark. You know how to use that thing?”

You refuse to humor him. Instead, you keep your scowl tight, your arms steady. If he’s not threatened, he’ll lose interest in this game, then he’ll have to talk.

Lo and behold, you’re right. The fish-man rolls his eyes, and looks at you, again, with apathy.

“My name is Hitoshi Shinsou,” he says, lackadaisical, like he’s already bored of himself. “I’m one of Ryūjin. What humans have learned to call merpeople are actually descendants of the sea gods who lived centuries ago. I’m here, simply because the storm washed me here. What I want is to retrieve what’s mine. I thought I could lay my webbed hands on you—well-“ the corner of his mouth tilts up-“darlin’, it was because your body reacted to me.”

Mouth forming the beginning of a question that never comes, you stare in disbelief at this myth. Then the last thing he said dawns at you.

“I did not react to you!” You rebuke, steady hands now shaking.

“Oh no?” He says, but it’s not a question. It’s a challenge.

Hitoshi grabs the flat end of the frying pan and yanks it, and you, closer to him, closer to the water. You cringe and whine when a wet, webby hand closes around your wrist. Inadvertently, you drop the pan, but he pays it no mind as it sinks past his tail. Your skin begins to glow underneath his palms, and the tingles come back, shooting up your arm, causing tiny goosebumps to appear.

“Would you look at that,” Hitoshi croons, slow and almost sensuously. His indigo eyes narrow on your index finger where you’d burned yourself. To add to this nightmare, he closes his lips around it, and begins to suck. Your stomach flips, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re disgusted, or scared, or…enjoying the feeling of his warm mouth, his tongue, touching your skin.

“Stop.” It’s a whisper. It means nothing. You think you want it to mean something, but your thoughts are buzzing into a blur. Knees growing weak, you descend, leaning closer to him, not caring about the water or the seaweed or the fish, and instead, entirely focused on his mouth. It’s glowing, his mouth. Faintly. Like a single candle lit in an otherwise empty room.

When he eases off of you, he runs his thumb over your now-healed finger, and let’s your arm fall limply at your side.

“All better,” he whispers back at you.

There are prickles all over your skin once you regain an ounce of dignity.

“What the hell was that?” You ask, breathless for no other reason than shock.

“The glowing?” He asks. “The healing?”

“Both.”

“Your reaction to me.” He’s cocky again. This is something sick. Mythical creature or not, this has got to be a game he plays, washing into people’s pools, causing problems, sucking on lonely girls’ fingers. He probably gets his kicks this way, and uses whatever other kind of magic he has to erase whoever he’s tormenting’s memories, if he doesn’t end up eating them when he’s done. Bogus.

You won’t let him get to you.

“Alright, Hitoshi Shinsou, how would you like me to get you back into the ocean? You healed my finger-“ although it’s essentially his fault you were burned to begin with, if you take into account the sequence of events-“so helping you out is the least that I can do.”

“I could use your help,” he muses lightly, turning his body back around to his chest and abdomen are turned towards  the sun. You tell yourself not to stare like you know he probably wants you to. Though his eyes are closed, he peeps at you, sneaking a glance. “I don’t want to go back into the ocean, though. Not until I get what’s mine.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and scroll through her phone, you swallow your bite, and ask, “what would that be?”

“Oh, this and that-“ he waves his hand around dismissively-“other things.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and find another frying pan, you say, “alright, listen. Someone is on their way to the house to clean the pool. I don’t know what one of Ryūjin means, but I’m guessing people like you don’t always want to be discovered by people like us. So you either tell me what it is you need, or see how my pool guy reacts to a mermaid lounging around in my backyard! I wouldn’t put it against him to call the local news station. Get this place flooding with cameras. Does that sound like a pretty picture to you?”

Absolutely none of your threats penetrate Hitoshi’s cool nature. In fact, he laughs.

“When he gets here,” the merman drawls, knowing he’s got you hanging on every word, “invite him to swim.”

[thunderheadfred]

🦅Hawks HC’s🦅

This is SO unnecessarily long. Some NSFW. Minors do not interact.

- - - - -

General

Has zero social life or hobbies outside of work. He knows it’s unhealthy, but like, who has the time?? Oh? Lots of people do?? Haha what are healthy work/home boundaries? He desperately wants to retire and always talks about a world without heroes, but the truth is he would have no idea what to do with himself if he got his way. Take him to a park at midnight and watch him turn into a giant repressed child on a swing. He’ll do a standing-360 and it will be terrifying.

Listens to music way too loud in his headphones to drown out wind noise. Probably half deaf at this point. His musical taste is wild; listening history all over the fucking place. Algorithms have no idea what to do with him.

That visor? It’s prescription. Wow is he far-sighted. He wears glasses. He’s not blind without them (rather the opposite) but they help him see things directly in front of him without massive eye strain. Yeah, he looks really hot in glasses.

Prefers communicating via text. Sometimes it’s a lot of dumb memes, but mostly it’s sincere. He can say what he means when he doesn’t have to put on a public front.

Smokes like a chimney. Self medicates with stimulants. Coffee, tobacco, sugar. Fidgety, likes things in his mouth or hands. Gnashes on toothpicks and popsicle sticks. He really should go back to therapy, huh? His teeth are sparkling white for the cameras but his breath could use some work. Chews gum a lot to compensate, and always does it really loudly with a big shit-eating grin.

Impatient as fuuuuuck. Rude about it. If you take too long doing anything, you’re going to hear a foot tapping. He’ll smile and laugh it off, never ever directly criticize you about it. But lord, the dramatic sighs. He WILL nudge you out of the way and take over in order to finish a task faster, and it’s truly fucking annoying.

LOVES food. Has the metabolism of an actual bird. Will seize upon any excuse to eat. No need to be self-conscious about eating in front of him; he wants you to enjoy it. Steals bites from you and talks with his mouth full. Prefers street food and take-out, usually eats while walking or flying. Sit-down restaurants are an invitation for gawkers.

He’s one of those celebrities that looks way taller on TV. In real life, he’s small and compact. So you’re surprised the first time you see him in person. He has a big head. Literally.

If you’re taller or bigger than him, he does Not Care. He treats everyone like they’re four feet tall, even Endeavor. Everything you do is cute. If you’re actually short, he’s going to carry you around all the time, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

Collects big chunky overpriced watches. All the better to tell you you’re late.

Half his clothes are brand fucking new. Sometimes he forgets to take off the tags. (Don’t look at the prices, do NOT) He never seems to wear the same thing twice. He also never seems to go shopping. Brands just give him stuff, and he shrugs and goes “yeah okay.”

The other half of his clothes are old, faded, and patched up. Every item he acquires for himself has deep sentimental value. If you tell him to throw away that nasty ten-year-old pair of frayed cargo pants, be prepared to find out how wrong and evil you are for even suggesting it.

He doesn’t snore; he coos. Loudly. Like a fucking pigeon trapped in a megaphone.

- - - - -

Dating

Gift-giving is his love language. Bringing your favorite snacks. Leaving novelty magnets on your fridge. He found a copy of that book/game/movie you mentioned like a month ago, don’t you remember? If he has to go out of town on a job, he’ll bring back the ugliest possible souvenir, just to annoy you.

He likes gifting jewelry especially. Covering you in shiny baubles, little golden things. Not expensive, but unusual. Antiques or handmade, even bizarre vending machine crap. Gets really handsy if you wear or show off his gifts.

Since you’re the first person who has given him The Feels, if you are resistant to his advances (like, say, because he’s way too famous and you’re terrified he’s gonna break your heart) he’s going to go fucking nuts trying to woo you. Doesn’t have a single patient bone in his body but will wait as long as it takes for you to come around. He’ll act like he’s cool with just being friends at first, just hanging out, haha. Oh you’re busy today? That’s cool. Inside he’s shrieking like a tea kettle. Go ahead, make him wait.

Don’t bother giving him a key to your place. He’s coming in through the bedroom window or patio door. Just put out a damn welcome mat on your balcony... or a bird feeder.

A bit of a voyeur. He likes to watch you do your normal routine without interruption. He can see from miles away so if you’ve got your lights on at night, he’ll creep for a while before he comes in. It comforts him immensely, seeing a little slice of the world that isn’t constantly in need of saving.

Is super talkative and funny but a terrible communicator. Makes more jokes the worse he feels. Will almost never tell you what he needs. Most of the time, he doesn’t even know. You will learn to read between the lines and gradually notice his tiny unconscious cries for help. Back rubs make him emotional.

He shows up at your place at the weirdest times. All hours. You’re never ready. At first it was infuriating, because you wanted to look your best and have time to prepare, but you figure out pretty quickly that seeing you in your natural state is his favorite thing. He never gets to be around normal people, doing normal things. A boring, lazy afternoon is his idea of paradise.

He’ll pick through your things and ask a world of invasive questions. A medicine cabinet raider. He wants to know every fucking tiny thing about you, live vicariously through you.

He actually lives in a top floor penthouse. Because I mean, where else? Never spends any time there; mostly he seems to roost on the balcony. He has used the front door maybe once. He much prefers your place, and will only take you back to his after months of dating. It’ll take like, an entire emergency. You’ll end up in his bed by mistake.

Because when you finally come over, he’s embarrassed. Its sparse. White. Things in boxes. A new furniture smell. Like he’s not done moving in, though he’s lived there for years. He wants you to move in So Bad but doesn’t want to be pushy. If you don’t start leaving your stuff there, he’ll steal things from your apartment. Where the hell is your favorite t-shirt? Or that pillowcase you like? Dammit Keigo.

He’s a decent cook, a habit he made himself pick up because he thought it might make him feel more normal. It... didn’t. He never actually cooks until you give him an excuse. He’ll bring you breakfast in bed and watch you eat every bite with big hungry eyes.

He’s got a separate wardrobe for his hero costume and all his feathers. Yeah. His feathers. Because he can detach and control his feathers at will, when he’s alone at home he kind of just... shucks off his wings. The first time you see him do it, your eyes fall out of your head. He walks around in a tee shirt and boxers with these ugly little stumps covered in brownish, blood-red down. It actually looks kind of gnarly, like he got mauled by a bear.

He’s never dated until you. No one has ever been in his apartment until you. No one has called him Keigo until you. He has some bigass intimacy issues. Because. Y’know. The trauma. But god, he wants you in his life so bad, even if he has no idea how to make time for your relationship.

He’ll want to keep you to himself for a while. Once you go public he’s going to have an arm around your shoulders at all times. Publicly Displays his Affection way more than is socially acceptable in Japan, and gives precisely -100,000 fucks.

His fans either love you or hate you. There is no in between. He will immediately take your phone and threaten to drop it from a great height if he catches you reading shitty gossip about the two of you. Does NOT care about his public image anymore, doesn’t want YOU to care about it either. He’s gonna retire soon anyway, remember? That’s a lie.

Being a charming motherfucker is the core of his public persona, so you will get jealous. A lot. He will flirt shamelessly without realizing it. He will get photographed in compromising positions with gorgeous people.

Once you accept that he’s basically an actor 80% of the time and that Hawks and Keigo are separate identities, you’ll both feel better. When he comes home (to YOU) and falls over exhausted and stops being Hawks(tm), when he scratches his ass or burps in front of you, when he yells to you from the bathroom, when he groans childishly about his shitty day while laying face-down in your lap, you’ll know you have nothing to worry about. Keigo is all yours.

Boundaries? Never heard of ‘em. He’s either a million lightyears away or he’s glued to your hip. The whiplash is astounding.

Absolutely says “I love you” wayyyyyy to soon. It thrills you but scares you off at the same time, because there’s no way Hawks - The Hawks - can actually mean it, right? (He does)

Rings? Nah. When things get serious, he will make a necklace out of a feather for you, and if you ever take it off, you better be asleep or in the shower. Even then you’re on thin fuckin ice. If you’re not wearing it he knows. He’s never mean about making you put it back on, it just makes him nervous if he can’t feel your heartbeat.

- - - - -

SPICY CHICKEN NUGGETS

High sex drive. Horny like 25/7. Probably a symptom of having way too much pent up stress.

Often takes care of it himself when he doesn’t have the emotional resources for anyone else, even his S.O. Figures you don’t want him coming on to you as often as he would like to, but he’s too stupid to talk to you about it first. Morning masturbator.

Yes he’s fucked around a lot but he’s not exactly a playboy either. People have always thrown themselves at him, and before he met you he let them do it. Especially when out of town and staying in a hotel. Whatever happens in Vegas stays in Vegas, etc.

He’d never be unfaithful to you though; his loyalty and dedication are frankly a little unsettling. Sometimes you feel like the only thing in his life other than hero work. Teach this man to knit. Make him join a book club. Christ. Anything.

Does in fact have seasonal mating patterns and it’s super embarrassing.

An underwear-sniffing perv. He’ll definitely hump your pillow.

Gets a sick thrill out of breaking in and startling you. Coming up behind you in the dark, sneaking into your bed. It’s probably his worst habit, and even he hates that he does it. If you get better at detecting him he’ll be so proud. Land a slap on him and he’ll be a horny mess.

Dog-whistles at you. Often from rooftops, and you have no idea where he is but you know he’s leering.

He will call you a lot of really stupid pet names. He likes the way you blush when he finds a newer, stupider one. Calls you angel when he’s really far gone.

Likes to scratch you with his stubble until your skin turns raw and sensitive. If it annoys you or hurts a little? Even better. Making you squirm is his new favorite thing. Especially when going down on you. Your inner thighs are always exfoliated.

His cock is average in every respect. This is not a bad thing. He knows how to please you with every totally normal inch of that cock. He has some kind of homing beacon installed on your sensitive spots.

Goes absolutely insane for blowjobs. Any time, any place.

Likes to bend you around in all kinds of positions with an assist from his feathers to hold up an ankle here, an arm there. Get used to floating mid-coitus. It just seems to happen.

Spanky.

His number one priority is making you feel adored and at home in his bed. Ohhhhh he likes to make you smile. But if you encourage him to get pushy and dominant with you, you will have a good, good time.

He’s switchy, and will lose his shit if you initiate or take control. Again, he’s always horny for you, because he can finally let go. Breathe in his direction and he’s hard.

Doesn’t moan much, but Babe, he’s a dirty talker. He’s not smooth or deliberate about it, it’s more like he can’t fucking believe you let him do whatever he wants to you. You like that huh? Like he’s in stages of shock. He’s singing your praises to high Heaven and muttering oh shit oh shit oh shittttttt and laugh-crying as he cums. He never talks about his feelings; he fucks about them.

After. Care. King. He loves pampering and clucking over you anyway, this is simply another excuse to do it. He knows exactly how much water you drink in a day. Can’t take care of himself for shit, but you? You’ll never have a need he won’t try to fill. What’s all that hero work for if not this? Yeah, soak it up. You deserve it.

[vendettaparker]

What a Dumbass [P.P]

Summary: Peter’s mistake leads to you being injured. 

Pairing: Peter Parker x Avenger!Reader

Word Count: 2.1K

Warnings: Swearing, like a substantial amount, suggestive content kinda, gun shot wound, and flustered!Peter 

a/n: I really liked writing this. I couldn’t stop laughing at some of the dialogue. and the mistake peter made to cause the whole set-up of the story is so funny to me. like i can legit see him making this mistake. also, i’m gonna make a permanent tag list, so please send me an ask or message me if you want to be on it! <3

        ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

     Peter Benjamin Parker is a fucking dumbass. All the time mostly. Most of the time his dumbassery leads to a lot of annoyed avengers, a lot of clean up, and a lot of spilled secrets. Hence why like three people who definitely shouldn’t know he is Spider-man do. But every once in while his idiocy can lead to an unexpected happily ever after, at least until he fucks something up again. 

     This particular fuck up has yet to be determined as a happy accident or your new 13th reason. It all started when that spider bitch decided it’d be a good idea to watch some explicit content on his laptop. Now, this wasn’t particularly an unknown activity for him to partake in, since we all know about his little impromptu purchase in Germany, but unbeknownst to this dork, his aunt was in the next room over working on a tear in his suit. And to make matters worse, he accidentally just so happened to purchase a subscription using said aunt’s credit card that was pre-setup in his laptop. 

     Now May is a very understanding woman. Very sex-positive, very loving, and inclusive; the whole shebang really. So when she happened to catch this idiot doing what he most certainly shouldn’t have been doing, she wasn’t mad, just thoroughly disturbed. Then she got the notification about the purchase. That was a bit more taboo in her eyes. So Peter was grounded from patrolling for a week and his laptop privileges were revoked for two weeks. That was fucking merciful compared to what this whole fuck up put you through. 

     At the school that following Monday, Peter spent the whole first, second, fourth, and lunch period trying to convince you to take over patrol for a week. Sure, you could definitely handle it, not to pat yourself on the back or anything, but you were significantly stronger than Peter, so it shouldn’t have been that big of a deal. But you just really didn’t want to. Peter had his ‘Peter Tingle’ to help him find danger, while you’d actually have to look. It just seemed harder for you to do than it would be for him. 

     “Why are you even grounded?” You sighed after Peter's 3rd time bringing up the possibility of you patrolling for him at lunch. 

     “He got caught watching and buying p—” Ned started laughing.

     “Ned! Shut up!” Peter yelled, slapping his hand over his friend's mouth. 

     “How has your identity not been leaked yet, Jesus Christ.” You mumbled, giggling. You flipped through your chemistry textbook, writing notes to prepare for Friday’s quiz. 

     “Yeah, and how come you didn’t know May was home?” Ned pushed Peter’s hand away. “Where was your ‘Peter Tingle’ then?” 

     “She’s not a threat, dude. But shit, I really wish my tingle detected her.” Peter groaned, a deep blush covering his features. “Please (Y/N). I really, really don’t wanna leave Queens without any protection for a week. I’ll try to convince May to let me go out on the weekend, so really it’s only five days.” 

     “I guess I could help you out, but you owe me. I should really spend this time studying for my chemistry test. Iron bitch is gonna have my head on a spike if I fail another chem test.” You said, highlighting more notes. 

     “Okay! Delmar’s for a week, anytime, anywhere.” Peter said putting his hand out for you to shake. 

     “Make it a month, I know my worth.” 

     Peter hesitated, but eventually gave in, “Fine, but you better do a good job.” 

        ─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

     So now you were stuck patrolling from 8:30 to 11:00 every night. It wasn't bad per se, and nothing too eventful happened. You stopped a small convenience store robbery, gave a few kids some tips at the skatepark, ran some errands for an old lady, and saved a cat from a tree. Thursday night was the real kicker though. Your night had barely started and you accidentally got in the middle of a drug deal between some smaller mob and a real messed-up junkie. This should’ve been an easy takedown, only six people in total that needed to be taken out, but like was mentioned before, you don’t have Peter’s goddamn, stupid fucking tingle. So after taking all six of the perps out you started to walk away after alerting the police. Unfortunately, one of those assclowns had come to, and grabbed the gun a few feet away from him and shot it towards you. The bullet went through your thigh and out the other side. Screaming in shock and pain, you used your own throwing knives and knocked the gun out of the mobster’s hand, then you proceeded to knock him out again with a few good punches to his noggin, maybe a few more, just for good measure. But this wound would need to be cleaned and stitched up. And if you went back to the Tower, Steve and Tony would give you an earful about “watching your surroundings” and “being more careful”. So in a moment of pure adrenaline and desperation, you texted Peter. 

You: are you home

Spider-Dork: Yeah, why?

You: i’ll be there in 5 

Spider-Dork: What? Why? Is everything ok?

Spider-Dork: Hello??? (Y/N)????

(Y/N) declined (3) calls 

Spider-Dork: Answer my calls idiot. 

     Peter’s texting and constant calling was cut short from a crash in his room. 

     “(Y/N)? Is that you?” Peter called from the couch in the living room. 

     “Yeah, can I borrow a t-shirt?” You called, fumbling around accidentally knocking over another lamp. “Oops, sorry!”

     “Uh, yeah sure. In the closet!” Peter called back pausing his show, prepared to make his way over to you. 

     “And some sweats?” You called back, blood dripping all over Peter’s hardwood floor. 

     Peter got up to make his way to his room. “Yeah, second drawer on the left side.” He said as he made his way to his bedroom. Knowing you were in there, most likely changing, he knocked. “You decent?” 

     “Nope, not really. I need a pair of your boxers too, though.” You called through the door, now seeing that the blood splattered on your underwear as well. “Also, bring the first aid kit when you come in.” 

     ‘What? Why?” Peter said in a more stressed tone, pushing his way into the room, completely ignoring the fact that you were very much not decent. “Holy shit.” He said seeing you out of your suit, in your bra and underwear, blood dripping down your right leg, pooling onto the floor. Your hand, red and bloody, pressed onto what he only assumed was the wound and blood seeping through your fingers. 

     “Bring a mop too.” 

     Peter ran out of the room to grab the first aid kit, plus some extra bandages and a cleaning solution. When he came back in he found you in the same state, standing in the middle of the room, eyebrows furrowed in pain, clutching your right thigh. 

     “What the hell happened?” He gasped, motioning for you to sit on his bed. You hesitated, not wanting to mess up his sheets. He seemed to notice your thought process quickly adding, “I have to wash my sheets anyway.” 

     “Gross.” You mumbled, scrunching up your face in disgust and finally settling down on his bed. 

     “Move your hand and tell me what happened,” Peter said kneeling on the floor next to the bed, positioned right at your hips. You removed your hand, bloody instantly seeping onto the bed. Peter winced looking at the hole in your leg, quickly grabbing the peroxide and dumping heaps of it onto your leg, much to your distaste. 

     “I got shot.” You stated as he cleaned the blood around the hole with alcohol pads.

     “Well, no shit. I mean by who and how?” 

     “Mobster. Sneaky bitch got me while I was walking away.” You winced as Peter inspected the wound further. 

     “I need to stitch this up. Did it go all the way through?” He said lifting your leg to look underneath for an exit wound. 

     “Yeah.” Peter found the exit wound and held your leg up with one hand, pouring peroxide on the back of your thigh with the other. 

     “You have to be more careful, (Y/N)! This looks really nasty.” Peter scolded, setting your leg back down and prepping the needle and sutures. “What if this was in your chest? Or—or if you didn’t get here in time? You could’ve bled out!” 

     “Well sorry that I don’t have your stupid tingle to help me out when I’m being fucking shot at!” You yelped, gripping the bedsheets. 

     “You don’t need spidey sense, you need fucking common sense,” Peter mumbled, stitching his first suture.

     “What the fuck did you just say?” You looked at him incredulously. 

     “I— uh, nothing.” Peter huffed, focusing back on stitching you up.

     “This is your all your fault, to begin with!” You accused, shifting uncomfortably, due to the needle constantly being stuck into your leg. “You’re the one that begged me to go on patrol for you! You’re the dumb bitch that got caught watc—” 

     “Ok! Shut up! For God’s sake, you’re never gonna let me live that down.” Peter groaned, finishing up the last stitch. “Flip over.” He commanded, pushing at the side of your waist to help with the movement. 

     “Well, it was fucking dumb. Don’t you check to make sure nobody’s home? God, we all know you’re a vocal bitch too.” You said, fully situated on your stomach. 

     “What the fuck is that suppose to mean!?” He gasped, prepping another needle. 

     “You’re a sensitive boy.” You shrugged, wincing when Peter started his next stitch. 

     “I-I am not sensitive! I’m emotionally and physically staunch!” He defended, going in for another stitch. 

     You just raised an eyebrow in amusement. “Sure, whatever you say, babe.” You winked at him, blowing an exaggerated kiss. 

     “You're a jerk,” Peter mumbled, finishing up his stitching job. “A jerk with a fucked up leg.” 

     You hummed, quite amused. Peter got up and started to collect his medical supplies. He shuffled out of the room to put everything away. When he returned you were trying to get up and walk, wincing at every slight movement. 

     “Here, let me just—” Peter lifted you up, bridal style. A small yelp coming from you when a sharp pain shot through your leg. “Sorry.”

     “It’s fine. Can you help me get dressed?” You said as he walked you over to his desk and set you down in his desk chair. 

     “Sure.” Peter blushed, painfully aware of your lack of clothes. He picked out some clothes from his closet and drawers. He helped you into them, wallowing in the uncomfortable silence, taking in each whimper and wince from you whenever he brushed against your thigh. 

     “Fuck, I’m so sorry.” He sighed after you were all dressed. “This is my fault.” 

     You looked at his distraught face, feeling bad for initially blaming him for the events of tonight. “No, Pete. It’s fine. I should’ve made sure all of the guys were knocked out.” You put a hand on his shoulder, giving it a comforting squeeze.

     “No, I should’ve been more careful when I was watching that stuff. I have my spidey sense, I would’ve been able to avoid getting shot. It’s not your fault that you didn’t get bit by a radioactive spider.”

     “Pete, really, I’ll be better by next week anyway. It’s fine.” 

     Peter shook his head, sighing. “I just feel so bad, I shouldn’t have forced patrolling on you.” You hugged him and rubbed his back soothingly. “It’s my fault you got hurt.” 

     “Peter stop. It’s just an unfortunate accident.” You mumbled, hugging him closer. “It could’ve happened to anyone.”

     “But it didn’t happen to just anyone (Y/N), it happened to you. And I caused it. I-I don't know what I’d do if something ever happened to you. What if it was worse?”

     You sighed, pulling away from Peter and cupping his face, seeing the regret and shame pooling in his eyes. Without much thought, you pulled him closer, slowly connecting your lips in a sweet kiss. Truly getting lost in the feeling of his lips against yours, the feeling of perfection. 

     Peter’s eyes widened in shock for a moment, before he was kissing you back, reveling in the feeling he’s been dreaming about for months. You finally pulled away to catch your breath. Peter flushed at your actions, unable to stop the wide smile crossing his features. 

     “Sorry,” You mumbled sheepishly, “just needed to shut you up for a second.”

     “Maybe I should talk more, just to see what happens,” Peter smirked, pulling you in for another shorter, but just as sweet, kiss. 

     You hummed against his lips. “I really like you. Even when you're a dumbass.” You sighed against his lips.

     “The feeling is mutual.” 

     “Rude. I’m not a dumbass.” You gasped in faux offense. 

     “You’re the one with a bullet wound.” he deadpanned 

     “You’re the one who got caught watchin—”

     “(Y/N)!”

[kpopfanfictrash]

L is for Lunacy (M)

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader

Rating: 18+

Genre: Established Relationship / Light Angst / Fluff

<< A FOLLOW-UP ONE SHOT TO THE ART OF WAR MORE >>

Synopsis: After two years of being sworn enemies (and 42,000 words of shenanigans), you and Jungkook had finally begun dating. As it turned out though, dating wasn’t any easier than coming up with the perfect witty retort to wipe the smirk from his face. When you came to the first Big Decision of the relationship, it was honestly anyone’s guess as to how things would go.  

Warnings: handcuffs (male + female), oral (male + female), very explicit dirty talk, degradation, semi-public making out, spanking, condom-less sex, cum play, things get soft (except Jungkook’s dick). Seokjin randomly procures invitations to formal events; no one really knows how.

Word Count: 15,790

Author’s Note: In order for this to make the most sense, I would recommend reading The Art of War More first! Thank you :)

“One thousand bottles of Smirnoff on the wall, one thousand bottles of Smirnoff!” sang Seokjin, wildly off-key. “Take one down, ice someone with it, nine hundred and ninety-nine bottles of Smirnoff on the wall!”

As the bus jolted over a pothole, you were launched sideways to land on Jungkook’s thigh. His response was a grunt, steadying you with one hand – lingering longer than necessary on the small of your back.

When you looked at him, Jungkook wriggled both brows.

“Fine,” he sighed when you withdrew from his grasp. “Just know that my lap is always available seating.”

“For anyone?” Taehyung popped over the seat in front of you. “Or just for Y/N?”

Jungkook’s brow crinkled. “Why would you want to sit on my lap?”

“You have solid thighs.”

“He has a point,” you agreed.

Jungkook looked at Taehyung a moment, then you. “Only you on my lap, thanks. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me.”

Feigning outrage, Taehyung opened his mouth only for Seokjin to hit a high note at the back of the bus. All of you winced.

“How’d Seokjin get an invite to the hockey midseason banquet, anyways?” you wondered out loud. “He’s not even on the team.”

“I’ve long given up on asking pointless questions like that,” Jungkook said. “Seokjin’s going to go where he wants to go.”

“I guess.” You paused and then shrugged. “At least he decided to bring Gina as his date. Now we can all hang out together!”

Jungkook made a non-committal sound. “Is Gina still hooking up with Hobi? Surprised he was cool with her being Seokjin’s date.”

“No. That kind of fizzled,” you said, disappointed. “I don’t think he was ready for the whole boyfriend thing. Gina’s been kind of bummed, so hopefully tonight’s a good distraction.”

“Good thing distraction is Seokjin’s middle name.” Jungkook grinned. “Plus, I hear this hotel’s amazing. The banquet is being held on the fiftieth floor with this amazing view of the lake.”

Horrified, you stared. “Fiftieth floor? Sounds dangerous.”

“It’s all enclosed, babe.”

“Still. I wouldn’t put it past Taehyung to fall out.”

Taehyung popped back up over the seat. “You rang?” When Seokjin hit another high note, Taehyung winced and threw a crumpled-up tissue in his direction. “I swear to god, Jin!” he yelled. “If you sing one more annoying verse, the next tissue I throw won’t be clean!”

Seokjin immediately shut up, much to Gina’s laughter beside him.

Taehyung returned to you and Jungkook. “Anyways. What’d you say?”

“My girlfriend thinks you’re going to fall out of a window tonight,” Jungkook said cheerily. “Bets for or against?”

“Hm.” Taehyung considered. “I mean, it’s in my best interest to bet against me falling out, but what’re the odds?”

“Taehyung,” you laughed, reaching up to smack his arm. “Stop.”

“You didn’t say which window!” He shot you a grin. “I could just tumble from the first floor and make a fortune.”

“Well, now we know your plan,” Jungkook pointed out. “So, that’s out.”

Before Taehyung could respond, Gina plopped down in the seat across the aisle from you. Stretching both legs, she lifted her arms overhead.

“Hey, guys,” she yawned. “How much longer until we reach the hotel? I’m beat.”

“Half an hour. And maybe you wouldn’t be so tired if you hadn’t stayed up until 4:00 AM…” You gave her a pointed look.

“I had to! I was studying.”

“Oh?” You arched a brow. “And what about after that? When you were just re-watching old episodes of The Vampire Diaries?”

“Y/N.” Gina looked at you, appalled. “You can’t just end things right when Klaus shows up in Alaric’s body. I’m not a monster.”

“Clearly.”

With another large yawn, Gina settled into her seat. “What’s the plan for tonight, anyways? Do I have time to take a quick nap?”

“Depends on how long your naps are,” said Jungkook, leaning over. “We’re supposed to reach the hotel at 4:00 PM, check in and then have until 6:00 PM to get ready, which is when the banquet starts. You could probably sneak a nap in there.”

Grinning, you turned. “Look at you,” you cooed, poking his cheek. “Memorizing the schedule and everything.”

Jungkook’s cheeks turned faintly pink, but he seemed pleased with the praise.

“Aw.” Gina made a face. “Gross. Anyways,” she said, turning to Taehyung. “Where’s your date?”

Reluctantly, Namjoon popped his head over the seat. “Hey.”

When he appeared, Gina cracked up. “Wait – you’re Tae’s date? Hope you put out. I hear that’s expected at these things.”

“Really?” Taehyung arched a brow. “So, are you and Seokjin planning on doing the nasty?”

Gina made another face. “Don’t be revolting, Tae.”

“Huh?” Namjoon looked around in alarm. “What’re you talking about?”

“Bad timing,” Jungkook laughed. “Gina had just finished asking who Tae’s date was.”

“He came with Maria.” Namjoon pointed at the back of the bus. “She’s back there somewhere with Nichole.”

Gina glanced in the direction he pointed. “And how are you invited to hockey formal?” she asked, turning back. “Aren’t you like, afraid of sports, or something?”

Namjoon looked somewhat offended. “I’m not afraid of sports. I’m a student athletic manager! I have a place at this banquet, which is more than I can say about you and Seokjin. How’d you two get here?”

As they started arguing, you felt Jungkook stiffen beside you. Namjoon wasn’t the only student athletic manager for the men’s hockey team. Last year it was a guy named Luis, but he recently transferred to women’s soccer, sticking hockey with a new face. 

A familiar face. Park Jimin.

You happened to see him when you first boarded, settling the question of whether or not he would go. He had decided to go; he was here.

It had been almost three months since you’d found out about Jimin’s lie. Back in freshman year, you and Jungkook had flirted and made plans to hang out at a party one weekend. Jungkook had to bail and asked Jimin to tell you – which he then didn’t. The resulting spiral of miscommunication resulted in you and Jungkook being enemies for almost two years.

Obviously, it wasn’t entirely Jimin’s fault. At any point, you and Jungkook could’ve gotten over your pride and just talked to each other and cleared up the whole thing. Neither one of you did though, which let the dumb feud continue – it was Jimin’s lie which started it though, and that was a hard thing to forget.

It was also something you had yet to talk to Jimin about. When word went around campus that you and Jungkook had started dating, it could’ve been your imagination, but you saw less of Jimin after that. It seemed pretty clear he had been avoiding you.

He had seated himself as far away from you and Jungkook as possible; all the way at the back, where Seokjin was taken a seat. Based on his uncomfortable posture beside his date, you got the feeling Jimin was having second thoughts about coming.

Squeezing Jungkook’s thigh, you waited until he turned his head. Even if Jimin was here, you weren’t going to let him ruin your weekend.

“We ended up together,” you murmured, only loud enough for him to hear. Resting your head on his shoulder, you sighed. “It really doesn’t matter.”

“I know,” he said quietly. “I just… get so annoyed when I see him. If it weren’t for his lie, I could’ve been with you this whole time.”

“Maybe.”

Jungkook blinked. “Maybe?”

“Maybe,” you repeated, glancing up. “Or – maybe we would’ve both argued over something dumb and because we were young and immature, we would’ve broken up.”

Jungkook bit his lip. “But we’re still young and immature.”

“Touché. I’m just saying things happen the way they do a reason,” you added. “Or maybe they don’t, but you can’t change the past. What’s important is we’re together now.”

“I guess.”

Reaching for his hand, you entwined your fingers. “And more importantly – if you don’t stop sulking, you won’t get your present later.”

Jungkook perked up. “Present? You got me a gift?”

“Maybe. If you keep asking what it is though, you won’t get it.”

Mouth snapping shut, Jungkook stared out the window and you began to count down in your head. 5, 4, 3, 2 –

“So, is this present in addition to my Christmas gift?”

Bursting into laughter, you smacked his arm. “It’s just a fun gift, okay? You’ll see later tonight. Gosh, can’t a girl spoil her boyfriend?”

Jungkook’s gaze darkened, caught on a singular word. “A gift for tonight, tonight? Or for the banquet?”

“We’ll see,” you said smugly, sitting back.

“Y/N…”

His voice dropped an octave, sending a shiver down your spine which you pointedly ignored. Turning away, you faced towards the aisle.

“You could always take a nap now, Gina,” you offered. “Before we reach the hotel.”

“And have Seokjin take pictures of me drooling with my mouth open? No thanks,” Gina sniffed.

She was right. Seokjin would do that.

Taehyung popped back up over his seat. “Are you and Seokjin sharing a room?” he asked, curious.

“What’s with your weird, pervy interest in Seokjin and I? Unfortunately, yes,” Gina sighed, slouched low in her seat. “I’m too poor to afford the single room rate.”

Seokjin finally appeared over the seat back behind you. It seemed he had managed to convince Parnce to switch seats – something he’d been texting about in the group chat since you boarded over an hour ago.

“Hey!” he blurted, offended. “I’m a delightful roommate, I’ll have you know. I leave chocolates on the pillow and everything.”

“Seokjin, it’s a hotel,” you pointed on. “They already leave chocolates on the pillows.

“Shhh,” Seokjin said. “I’m trying to impress a date here.”

Gina threw her scarf at Seokjin’s head. “I’m only your date because no one else agreed to go!”

“That’s not true!” 

“Is so!”

“I mean, it’s kind of true,” Seokjin fake whispered to you, as though Gina couldn’t hear. “Allison and Elaine found out about each other.”

“Well, why did you keep them a secret?” you huffed. “No wonder you’re alone if you pull douchebag shit like that.”

“I didn’t keep them a secret!” Seokjin protested. “I told them both we weren’t exclusive, but…” Trailing off, he sighed. “What can I say? The ladies always want more.”

Another wadded up tissue hit Seokjin square in the face.

“Thanks, Tae!” Gina flopped back in her seat.

“There’s more where that came from,” Taehyung said, sitting down.

Seokjin stared in horror at the tissue on the floor. 

“Hey! That... that one wasn’t used, was it?”

Sliding her sunglasses onto her nose, Gina pretending to sleep as the bus descended back into chaos. 

Reaching out, Jungkook poked you in the side. “Seriously,” he whispered. “What’s my present?”

“Oh, would you look at that?” you said, sitting up straight. “There’s the hotel!”

Although Jungkook pouted, he allowed the conversation to be redirected and even helped gather your things off the bus.

As soon as you entered the revolving doors, you were immediately met with a blast of warmth from the lobby. You sighed in relief – and then came to a stop. Based on the lobby alone, this banquet was going to be fancy as fuck.

Jungkook had explained what the purpose of this banquet was once or twice, but you weren’t really listening at the time. Apparently the hockey team had a midseason and an end of season banquet. The midseason one tended to fall during their time off around finals, since it was one of the few times during on season when the players could drink.

“Whoa,” Seokjin breathed, coming to a stop alongside you. “I definitely didn’t pack nice enough underwear for this place.”

“Underwear?” Gina looked up in alarm. “Nobody’s going to be seeing your underwear this weekend, Seokjin. Except maybe the mirror.”

“I’ll know though,” he said. “Deep down, I’ll know I’m wearing cotton boxer-briefs instead of silk, like I should.”

Jungkook turned to face you. “Is that the present? Did you get me silk underwear?”

“No.”

“Did you get you silk underwear?”

“Still nope.”

“Huh.” Slightly deflated, Jungkook began to walk towards check-in. “I’m becoming less interested in what this present is.”

“Hey!” you laughed, punching his arm.

Check-in in was luckily fast – the hotel had set people aside for your group and before you knew it, you were loaded onto an elevator and pressing the button for the twentieth floor. Even though it wasn’t as high as fifty, you still warily eyed the panel.

“What?” Jungkook set his bag on the floor.

“Nothing.” You paused. “The windows all lock, right?”

“Oh my god.”

“I’m just saying! If Taehyung really fell from the twentieth floor, he would die.”

“Well, I guess Taehyung will just have to stay out of our bedroom, huh?”

Jungkook arched a brow when he spoke, gaze dark with something which made your skin tingle. Suddenly, the long hours of banquet ahead seemed like too much. It was fairly tempting for you to skip the whole thing and spend it in your hotel room with Jungkook. In bed.

The elevator dinged to announce your floor.

“This is us,” Jungkook said, grabbing your suitcase.

Slinging his duffel bag over one shoulder, Jungkook wheeled your suitcase out of the elevator. Your room was all the way at the end of the hall, past the ice machine and neon red exit sign. Dubiously, you glanced at this as you passed.

“If there were an actual emergency,” you said, slipping both arms around his waist to rest your head on his back. “Those stairs would be a death trap.”

“Hopefully there’s no emergency, then.” Jungkook pushed open the door. “Here we are.”

As you glanced over his shoulder, you froze. 

“Holy shit.”

Wandering forward, Jungkook set his bag on the floor. “What?” he asked, turning around. “Is there something wrong?”

Staring at the room, you somehow managed to close the door behind you. 

The space was airy, light and gorgeous. The décor was simple in that way which made you absolutely certain each item cost more than the entirety of your suitcase. Fluffy, white pillows were piled on a bed with an actual metal latticed headboard. Gauzy curtains covered the windows, and –

“Champagne?” you blurted, rushing forward. As you passed the front hall, you caught a glimpse of the closet. “And oh my god – robes. Robes, Jungkook! Plural!”

He grinned, watching you run about the room in excitement. “So, you like it?”

“Like it?” You came to a sudden stop, crystal champagne glass in hand. Realizing something, you frowned. “Wait, Jungkook. How the fuck did you afford this?”

“I came into some money overnight.”

“Sounds ominous.”

Jungkook grinned. “Actually, Seokjin’s Uncle got us a room as a favor. There’s no way I could’ve afforded this.”

Setting the champagne glass on the table, you scanned the room as you crossed to his side. “Not yet,” you teased. “Not until you make it big in the NHL. Then you’ll be able to afford all the presents for me!”

A shadow crossed Jungkook’s expression, gone before you could determine its source. He laughed, turning around and bent to unzip your suitcase. Lunging forward, you grabbed for his hand. 

“No peeking!” you scolded.

Jungkook froze and looked at you innocently. “Whoops.”

“Don’t ‘whoops’ me,” you said, slapping his wrist. Huffing, you pushed your suitcase into a corner. “You’ll get your present later. We’ve got to get ready for the banquet now.”

“That’s not for hours,” Jungkook whined, flopping down on the bed.

As soon as his ass hit the sheets, his t-shirt rode up to reveal a flat strip of abs. Momentarily distracted, you stared before you shook yourself free.

“Nice try, Jeon!” Spinning around on your heel, you entered the bathroom. This obviously prompted a new round of exclamations. (“Oh my god, there’s a heat rack for the towels!”)

An hour later, you were putting the finishing touches on your make-up while Jungkook changed in the next room. Taehyung had texted fifteen minutes prior and invited everyone to drinks in the lobby. Reading his text had made you laugh, since it made you all sound so grown-up and formal.

The entire event made you feel this way – as though you and Jungkook were two kids playing dress up. College was such a weird time. On the one hand, you lived on your own and were forced to make decisions about your future and on the other, you had barely reached legal drinking age.

College was a strange limbo of job interviews and beer pong in the same twenty-four-hour period. This, though – fixing your make-up while Jungkook changed in the next room – felt scarily adult.

Although you had only been dating for months, you could already see this becoming reality. The realization was startling, making you stare at yourself in the mirror.

“Hey, babe?” Jungkook called from the next room.

“Uh, yeah?”

Somewhat dazed, you screwed the cap on your mascara.

“When are you going to be done? I need to go to the bathroom.”

Sliding your make-up bag off the sink, you gave a final pat to your hair in the lights. Inspecting your face one final time, you turned in your robe and walked from the room.

“Coming!” 

The moment you exited the bathroom, you stopped in your tracks.

Jungkook had already gotten dressed and stood beside the window to survey the city. His hair was parted on one side, slightly slicked back with several loose strands hanging about his face. He was dressed in a suit – grey with a black shirt, and by far the fanciest outfit you’d ever seen him in.

Swallowing, you stood there for a moment while you eye-fucked your boyfriend.

Still facing the window, the corner of his mouth lifted. “Are you going to stand there watching me all night?”

“No,” you said loftily, entering the room. “I’m going to get dressed so we can go to the banquet, come back to this room and I can rip that suit off you.”

Jungkook turned, slightly dazed. “Fuck. Yes. That.”

He walked towards you, pausing his stride to brush a chaste kiss to your temple. Grabbing his lapel, you turned him towards you to press a kiss on his lips. Jungkook smiled, melting forward but before you take it any further, he pulled back.

“Oh, no you don’t,” he laughed, squeezing your waist before walking away. “If you kiss me like that, I won’t stop. And then I’ll definitely mess up your hair and we’ll never make it to the restaurant on time.”

Stepping into the bathroom, he shut the door.

You grinned, wandering further into the bedroom. Your dress still hung in the closet; you’d placed it there upon arrival. Thankfully, it didn’t wrinkle too much on the drive here.

“What if that’s what I want?” you called to him through the door. “We can skip the formal, stay here and just have sex.”

Jungkook remained quiet. He hated talking while either one of you was on the toilet – it was a whole thing with him, which resulted in your merciless teasing.

Slipping your dress from its hanger, you moved towards the mirror. "I'll take that as a yes, Jeon!" you said, glancing around for your shoes. "Stay silent if you want to skip the formal, hang out here and have crazy bunny sex."

After a moment, the toilet flushed and the sound of the sink turned on. 

Jungkook yelled back, "What's crazy bunny sex?"

Plopping down on the bed, you set your dress on the duvet. "You know!" you huffed, feeling around when a phone vibrated. "Don't rabbits have like, a crazy high sex drive? Where'd the phrase 'doing it like rabbits' come from?"

"As interested as I am in whatever hybrid fanfic you've dreamt up, maybe–"

Although Jungkook continued to talk, the sound of it faded when you unearthed his cell phone. A name flashed on the screen – BOB SUTHERLAND, which would've meant nothing to you except for the text message.

Hey, Jungkook! Thanks for finally returning my calls. There are a few NHL teams looking for a second-string center and–

The rest of the message was cut off, but it was enough for you to understand. You recognized the name Bob Sutherland. He was a recruiter for the NHL and a damn good one, if Taehyung's word was anything to go by. The fact that he wanted to scout Jungkook didn't surprise you, but it was surprising to hear Jungkook had returned his calls.

Staring at your phone, your heart began to beat a bit faster. Jungkook didn't want to go into the NHL now – did he?

The NHL, or the National Hockey League, was the end game for any hockey player. It was a mixed bag if players went into the league straight out of high school, played in lower leagues for a bit, or played in college until they got recruited. Even then, there were only so many good years an athlete had to play. It made sense for Jungkook to want to leave University for his dream job, but you hadn't thought it would happen so soon.

The sound of the bathroom door opening jerked you from your trance. Frantically tossing his phone to the bed, you grabbed your dress and stood to look around for your shoes.

Stepping into the hall, Jungkook smiled when he saw you. "Is that your dress?" he asked, spotting the fabric. "Are you gonna put it on? Can I watch?"

"I thought you said you didn't want to have sex," you said, forcing yourself to smile as you brushed past him.

"It's not that I don't want to have sex," he grumbled, fastening a cuff link. "It's just that if we did, there's no way in hell we'd make it on time."

Although you continued to smile, the contents of that text replayed in your mind. Exhaling lowly, you tried to push this aside. Jungkook would talk to you about it when he was ready. You couldn't fault him for being curious about graduating early. A lot of NHL and MLB players did it – it’s just, you had thought Jungkook wanted to finish his degree.

Shutting the bathroom door, you leaned your head to the wood and willed your thoughts to remain calm. It would be stupid to blow this out of proportion. You and Jungkook had only been dating for three months; it was too soon to expect him to tell you every little thing. Especially something so ambiguous as potential recruitment.

You two hadn't even said I love you to each other yet.

Jaw clenched, you looked at yourself in the mirror. Maybe that was why you were getting so worked up about this. It wasn't for lack of emotion you hadn't told Jungkook you loved him, but lack of courage. 

You did love him. You had for weeks, maybe months and maybe longer than that.

It was self-preservation that forced you to swallow the words each time Jungkook did something sweet, sexy or just plain adorable. For the number of times you had bitten your tongue over the past weeks, you were surprised you had a tongue left to speak with.

Still, you’d only told one other boyfriend you loved them and that hadn't ended so well. You and Jungkook had only been dating for three months. It was too soon to place that kind of pressure on him.

Especially not if he'd be leaving University at the end of this year.

Fear gripped your heart, forcing its way to your lungs while you willed yourself to breathe. You waited, taking deep breaths until the paralysis subsided. Numbly getting dressed, you tried several times before realizing the futility of your zipper.

Dropping your arms, you opened the door a crack.

"Jungkook?" 

"Yeah?"

It was probably your imagination, but he sounded far away. In more ways than one.

"Can you zip me up?" 

"Sure thing, babe."

As you walked from the bathroom, you held your dress with both hands so it wouldn't fall down. Jungkook's eyes widened as soon as he saw you, seated on the edge of the mattress with his broad thighs spread. 

His phone dropped from his grasp.

"Fuck," he breathed, staring hard.

The longer he looked, the more your face heated. Jungkook had a way of looking at you which set fire to your veins, which made you feel seen and wanted and heard. He exhaled, tongue darting out to touch the corner of his lips and almost imperceptibly, his hands tightened on the duvet.

"The zipper?" you reminded him, fighting back a smile.

"Right. Uh," he said, standing up from the bed. Immediately, he winced. "Um. Give me a second."

After another deep breath, Jungkook walked closer, but his gait remained awkward; concealing his boner.

"Are you sure you can dance like that, Jeon?" you teased as you turned around.

"No," he huffed, hands replacing yours on the dress. "Maybe if you could be a little less hot, that would be great."

"I'll try. Maybe if I put spinach in my teeth, or something."

"Nah. Even then, I'd still do you."

"Wow, that's l–" Clamping your lips shut, you stopped the l-word from escaping. "Um, that's lunacy, Jeon."

When he didn't immediately respond, you began to panic but then Jungkook chuckled, moving the zipper upwards.

"Done," he announced, stepping back.

Slowly, you turned. 

Jungkook's gaze darkened. 

Nervous, you smoothed both sides of your dress down. It had taken you a while to pick this one out; several trips to the mall with Gina and eventually, she’d been the one to make the final call. The dress was more revealing than what you usually wore, with a deep-cut neckline and mostly open back. It did wonders for your curves though, highlighting what Jungkook claimed to be his favorite assets.

Then again, Jungkook claimed that about every part of your body.

Still, the way he stared made you feel Gina had made the right choice.

"Whoa," he said hoarsely.

Laughing, you took his hand in yours and dragged him towards the door. "Come on. We're going to be late."

Playfully, Jungkook dug in his heels. 

"We can be a little late," he said, contradicting himself.

"Nope." Cheerful, you stepped into your heels at the door. "You're the one who said you couldn't control yourself if you kissed me."

Although Jungkook sighed, he grabbed the key and opened the door to the hall. You followed him outside, where Jungkook shoved his wallet in a pocket and gallantly offered his arm.

"M'lady."

"Jungkook," you sighed, accepting the gesture. "That line didn't work on me before. It's not going to work on me now."

"Wrong!" he said as you walked down the hall. "It did work. Now we’re dating, right? You're mine. In like, a romantic way. Not in a creepy, possessive one."

You laughed as the elevator doors opened and you stepped inside. Jungkook followed, refusing to let go of you all the way to the lobby. He wasn't being subtle about it, keeping a hand on your waist, his thigh pressed to yours, his fingers drifting lazily over the curve of your back.

His fondness for touch usually made you feel wanted, but now you couldn't help but wonder if there was something else to it. Maybe the reason he wanted to be so close was because he knew he was leaving at the end of the year.

Stomach sinking, you told yourself to stop it. Jungkook hadn't made any decisions and you were sure he’d talk to you before he did. 

Or – you thought that he would.

Anxiety remained even once the doors opened and you entered the lobby. It refused to lessen throughout the entirety of pre-dinner drinks and even as you rode towards the banquet in the elevator, you found yourself in the back, quieter than normal.

Apparently this was noticeable enough for Gina to pull you aside as you entered, shooing Seokjin away with instructions to find them good seats.

"What's wrong?" she asked, tugging you behind a plant.

"Nothing!" you insisted.

Gina gave you a look.

She was dressed in a slinky red number tonight. You had picked it out right after she made the final decision on yours. Had Gina been allowed to choose, she would've worn the same t-shirt and jeans she always did. You had thought it would be funny to see her in something so sexy, but like everything else, Gina pulled it off effortlessly.

Based on the way people were staring, including her date, you knew you had made the right choice.

She narrowed her eyes. "Something's up," Gina said. "Normally, Seokjin's impression of Christopher Walken cracks you up – god knows why – but today, it didn't even make you crack a smile. What's going on?"

"It's nothing," you insisted, glancing around the room. Jungkook had paused at your table, scanning the crowd to see where you were. "Gina, we really should get–"

"Is it lover boy over there?"

Alarmed, you met her gaze. "Gina!” You dropped your voice. “I told you we hadn't said that yet."

"Oh, please." Gina rolled her eyes. "Boy is so whipped for you, it isn't even funny. He probably just doesn’t want to say it too fast and scare you off. Remember how long it took you to admit that you liked each other? This is the same. You're both playing emotional chicken."

Unable to stop yourself, you snorted. "Emotional chicken? Maybe, but…” Hesitant, you glanced around the floor. “Gina, what if he went into the NHL this year?"

Gina paused. "This year?"

"I mean... a lot of players do. There's only so long you can play hockey professionally."

"That’d make it harder to date for sure. Where’s this coming from, Y/N?"

"Nowhere," you said. "Just something I've been thinking. It would make it harder to date, right?"

"I guess. But so what?"

"I… huh?"

"So what?" she repeated. "Even if Jungkook does leave at the end of this year, how does that change the fact that you love him?"

Having no response to this, you stayed quiet.

Gina reached for your hand. "I'm just saying," she said, a bit gentler. "There’s always a million reasons it might not work out. All you can control is what you do now and how honest you are. Starting with... oh, I don't know... telling your boyfriend how much you love that flat ass of his."

"It's not as flat anymore!" you blurted, defensive. "He's been doing squats."

"Yeah, whatever." Grinning, Gina pulled you from behind the plant. "We should probably get back before Seokjin grabs the mic to sing Tiny Dancer. Just promise me you'll think about telling him?"

"Okay, I'll think about it," you sighed, following her towards the tables.

Spotting you from across the room, Jungkook grinned and waved a hand overhead. Seeing his face, a familiar rush of butterflies appeared. Except it wasn't just butterflies anymore; now there was a whole goddamn symphony and from the moment you saw him, you knew Gina was right.

You should tell him you loved him.

Maybe not now, though because as you approached your table, a familiar silhouette appeared by your side.

"Y/N?" Jimin said, sounding tentative.

Feet faltering, you came to a stop. 

Even from across the room, you could see Jungkook's gaze darken. Jimin stepped between you though, blocking your way to the table. Somewhat reluctantly, you waved Gina on.

"Go on," you said with a sigh. "Tell Jungkook I want the steak."

Gina nodded once, glared at Jimin, and continued walking towards Seokjin. She knew you could handle being alone with him.

Jimin waited until she was out of earshot before speaking. 

"Hi."

"Hey, Jimin."

Nervous, he swallowed. "Um, you look nice tonight. I mean you always look–"

"Jimin," you interrupted, folding your arms over your chest. "Get to the point."

"Right." He gave you an uncertain look. "I just wanted to... apologize."

"Apologize for what?"

Somehow, you managed to keep your expression neutral.

Glancing over his shoulder, Jimin saw Jungkook staring. He sighed and turned back. "For what I did freshman year."

"And what did you do freshman year?"

"Wow." Jimin gave you a half-smile. "You really aren't going to make this easy on me, huh?"

"No," you responded. "I don't think I will."

Something serious, almost sad entered Jimin’s gaze and he nodded. "Right. I guess I deserve that. I wanted to apologize for lying to you freshman year. I should've told you what really happened to Jungkook."

"You should have.”

"I know." Jimin bit down on his lip. "It's just that... I really liked you. And you seemed to like me back, so I thought it would be easier if Jungkook was out of the picture...." He trailed off, looking miserable. "It was stupid, I know."

Some of your anger lessened at his expression. He truly did seem as though he was sorry and while that didn’t change what had happened, it didn’t seem worthwhile to hold onto something so petty.

You hesitated. "It wasn't... stupid, exactly."

It wasn’t stupid in the way he implied and in a way, you realized you understood. You had liked Jimin freshman year, which was what made this complicated. You had also liked Jungkook and maybe you would’ve stood a chance back then if Jimin hadn’t lied. Then again, maybe not.

It was like what you told Jungkook earlier. It was pointless to ask what if because what ifs weren't what happened. All you had was the current situation and where you went from here.

A thought popped into your mind.

"Can I ask you something?" you said, lowering your arms.

Jimin blinked. "Sure."

"Why did you end things between us freshman year?" you asked. It was something you’d wondered for years. "If you liked me enough to go through all that with Jungkook... then what happened?"

Because he had been the one to end your fuck buddy relationship. You had been perfectly fine to continue seeing him sophomore year, but Jimin had been the one to pull back. It was something that’d always bothered you, but you’d never had the courage to ask.

Jimin gave a lopsided smile. "I wanted to date you, Y/N."

"What?” You looked at him, stunned. “When?"

"Freshman year," he said. "I mentioned going on a date a few times. Getting dinner together, being my date to my dorm's formal... you always turned me down and after a while, I stopped asking."

Dimly, you recall what he’s talking about. He mostly asked first semester, but you remember Jimin mentioning all those things. You always thought he wasn’t serious, but maybe that was just what you wanted to think. You were still hurt by Jungkook, not looking for anything real and maybe you were the one pushing Jimin away.

“I… I didn’t think you really liked me like that,” you said quietly.

Jimin offered a sad smile. “I could’ve been clearer, I guess. I didn’t want to scare you, so I was purposefully vague…” Considering, he shrugged. “I broke things off with you because I didn’t think you’d ever see me that way. Call it self-preservation, or whatever.”

“Oh,” you responded, voice small. 

Seeing your discomfort, Jimin sighed. “Hey, it all worked out – didn’t it? I’m having a good time with my date and you and Jungkook look happy together. I’m glad you are. I just wanted to apologize to you in person, Y/N.”

“Thanks,” you said slowly. “I appreciate that.”

“No problem.” Jimin hovered a moment, clearly unsure whether to go. “Well. I should be getting back to my table…”

“It’s just,” you said, interrupting. “I’m not the only one you should apologize to.”

Jimin looked at you in surprise.

“I appreciate you saying something to me,” you said. “And I’m not mad anymore, but Jungkook trusted you back then. You were a dick to him just because you liked me. I’m not the only one who deserves an apology.”

Jimin’s cheeks turned a bit pink. “Yeah. I know.”

You paused a moment, but he didn’t say any more and at last, you nodded. “Thanks again, Jimin.  I hope you have a good rest of your night.”

“You, too.”

Turning around, you left his side.

Oddly, your heart felt lighter with each step you took. You hadn’t realized how much the anticipation of that conversation had weighed upon you. Ever since seeing Jimin enter the bus, you had imagined something like this would happen.

Even if Jimin had been avoiding you, it wasn’t like you had been close friends before. Acquaintances, maybe, but even that dwindled once you realized Jimin’s lie to you freshman year. That kind of breach of trust really shook your foundations.

Maybe in the future you could be friends with Jimin again but honestly, you had no inclination to do so now.

Jungkook was already seated when you reached the table, his napkin unfolded and set on his lap. As you took your seat in the chair beside him, he looked over your shoulder.

“What did Jimin want?”

You glanced his way. “He wanted to apologize.”

Jungkook said nothing, his expression inscrutable.

“He said he was sorry about what happened freshman year.”

With a rough sort of laugh, Jungkook sat back in his seat. Playing with the corner of his napkin, he slowly exhaled. 

After a moment, he said, “Now?”

“Huh?”

“Now?” Jungkook turned to face you. “Jimin says he’s sorry now for what he did?”

“I mean, he –”

“He’s just sorry because he got caught,” he muttered, jaw tight.

“Maybe.” You considered, then sighed. “Anyways, it doesn’t matter. He just wanted to apologize. He said he’s glad that we’re happy.”

Jungkook’s next laugh was sharp and he looked away. It wasn’t often he got mad, but when Jungkook did, it was hard to pull out of. He tended to brood, turning things over and over in his mind until the edges were dull.

Reaching out, you placed a hand on his leg. “Hey.”

Jungkook stayed where he was.

Shifting, you reached to place a kiss on his cheek. “Jungkook,” you said softly, squeezing his thigh. “There’s literally nowhere I’d rather be but right here with you.”

Finally, Jungkook caved and turned to look at you. 

His eyes were large and dark, full of something you couldn’t quite place but felt in your soul. Something fluttered in your stomach and you held your breath, anticipating what he was about to say.

His hand covered yours, thumb brushing gently against your palm. “Y/N, I –”

“NOOOO!”

“YES! VINDICATED, AT LAST!”

The sound of the commotion jerked you apart and, craning your head, you spotted the source of the turmoil several seats down at the table. 

Jungkook sat back with a thump, swallowing whatever it was he had to say.

Taehyung stood in front of his chair, one of those silver food platters on the table before him. It seemed dinner had begun to be served and Taehyung had gotten a dish with a lid. When he opened said lid, there had been no food on the plate – only a singular bottle of raspberry Smirnoff Ice.

Dramatically pushing back his chair, Seokjin stood to claim his victory. “Drink!” he declared, spreading his arms. “I’ve finally done it! I’ve bested my enemy, pulled the thorn from my side, tricked the eternal trickster – wait, why are you smiling? Why is he smiling?” he demanded, glancing at Gina.

Gina shrugged.

Taehyung knelt, per the official rules of Icing. He was halfway through what you could only assume to be a very warm bottle of Smirnoff Ice and yet, Taehyung didn’t seem angry. Instead, he had one brow cocked in a way which implied he’d still somehow won.

Seokjin stared at him in confusion.

Continuing to chug, Taehyung gestured beneath Seokjin’s chair.

The next moment seemed to happen in slow motion. Face gone suddenly slack, Seokjin bent and looked under his seat. He paused for a moment, staring at something and then sighed.

“Fuck,” he muttered.

A green apple Smirnoff Ice was under his chair.

“Oh, damn,” whispered Jungkook in sympathy. “Green apple is the worst flavor.”

Finishing his bottle, Taehyung slammed it on the table. “Fuck is right,” he said grandly as he stood. “Don’t forget to kneel, man.”

“But… but – how?” Seokjin cried, looking up. “I checked under my chair before I sat down!”

Mysterious, Taehyung shrugged and sat down. “It’s not your place to question, but to chug.”

As Seokjin sighed and got on with it, Gina leaned over . “Taehyung paid me a hundred bucks to plant it after he’d already sat down,” she whispered, then grinned. “Worth it.”

You snorted into your napkin, hiding it quickly when Seokjin glanced your way. As soon as he was done chugging, Seokjin set his empty bottle on the table and sank low in his seat.

“One of these days,” he muttered to no one. “I’ll get my revenge.”

Gina patted his arm. “Sure you will,” she said, twisting around in her seat. “Oo! They have those mini hot dogs. I love those.”

Seokjin instantly perked up, since he was also a mini hot dog fan. The table settled down after that, once the meals were distributed and people starting to eat. Jungkook cut into his steak beside you, exhaling in relief when he saw it was perfectly cooked. Jungkook had a thing about the temperature of his meat.

You wanted to talk more about Jimin, but the music was loud and the conversation so sensitive, you eventually gave up and figured you’d have time to talk later.

Jungkook’s hand found your thigh midway through the meal, so you knew he wasn’t holding onto a grudge. Or maybe he was and he was just really good at hiding it. Jungkook wasn’t normally the type to be jealous; you knew that wasn’t what this was really about.

It had more to do with what you told Jimin at the end. Jungkook had considered Jimin his friend at one time. It had hurt him as much as you when he’d realized what Jimin had done.

All through dessert you watched Jungkook, trying to read his expression until eventually, his lips quirked and he reached for your hand.

“I’m fine,” Jungkook murmured, arching a brow. “Promise.”

Your eyes narrowed. “Are you sure?”

Jungkook laughed, shoveling the last bite of cake in his mouth. Setting his napkin aside, he stood from his seat and reached for your hand. Pulling you out of your chair, he led you in the direction of the dance floor. Most of the tables had already been cleared, their residents disappeared to start the next part of their evening.

Actual awards were only for the end of year banquet, or so Jungkook had told you on the bus. For the midseason banquet there were superlative awards given out, but they were usually distributed at brunch the next morning.

Jungkook pulled you to face him in the middle of the dance floor. One hand on your hip, he drew you close to the music. 

“I’m positive I’m fine,” he said. “Sorry that I overreacted.”

“You didn’t,” you said, tilting your head up. “I know it’s a sensitive topic.”

“I know.” Jungkook still looked troubled. “It’s like you said, though. Who knows what would’ve happened freshman year? Maybe we would’ve worked out. Maybe not. Either way, there’s no point in worrying. We’re together now and that’s what matters.”

“Right.” Stepping closer, you leaned in and rested your head on his chest. “We are.”

Jungkook’s grip on you tightened. “And besides,” he said with a chuckle. “I don’t really want to spend any more time thinking about Jimin tonight. I’d rather think about you.”

“Me?”

“Mhm,” he said, low in your ear. “You, and how beautiful you look in that dress.”

“Just this dress?”

“All dresses. All clothes. Also – no clothes. Hell, you could wear a potato sack and I’d still think it was hot.”

Laughing, you looked up. “Now you’re just being ridiculous.”

Jungkook grinned, his smile bright in the newly dimmed lights. Within the past half hour, someone had turned down the overhead lights for ‘mood lighting.’ The tables had all been pushed back to clear space for the DJ and make a path to the windows. The sight of the city laid out before you was, indeed, spectacular.

A view rivaled only by the man standing before you.

“What?” Jungkook’s grin widened at your expression.

“Just thinking about how good you look,” you said with a sigh. “Can’t wait to use my present on you later.”

His eyes darkened. “So, it’s something to use on me?”

“Whoops,” you said, delicate. “Did I say that? Must’ve misspoke.”

His grip on your waist tightened as you danced. Lowering his head, Jungkook’s lips grazed your ear.

“Y/N.” He spoke softly, one hand sliding to the small of your back. “Don’t tease me. I’m not above public indecency.”

A thrill ran down your spine. “How indecent?” you asked, just as quiet.

To everyone around you, it merely looked as though you were dancing – turning around the room in time to the song. In reality, Jungkook’s breath quickened while your heartbeat raced, tilting your chin upwards to see him.

His gaze had turned positively carnal. “Y/N, just say the word and I’ll fuck you right here and right now.”

“Jungkook,” you whispered. “There are people around.”

His ensuing smile was cocky. “So? Bet they could learn a thing or two.”

“And you think you’d be the one to teach them?”

“I’d say so,” he said quietly. “Based on how loud you are when you come, I’d say I’m doing something right.”

“I see.” Blithely, you continued to dance. “Its statements like that which are exactly why I needed to bring your present.”

Jungkook’s expression melted to nothing. “Y/N,” he whined, all semblance of cockiness gone. “Please tell me what the gift is?”

“Nope. The build-up is half the fun!”

“When it comes to you,” Jungkook groaned. “It doesn’t take much to get me worked up.”

“Hm. You’ll have to control yourself better than that if you want to cum tonight, babe.”

Jungkook made a tortured sound in his throat. “Y/N...”

“Yes?”

Rather than answer, Jungkook grabbed your hand to pull you from the dance floor. Grinning at the broad panes of his back, you grabbed your dress in one hand so as to not trip on your heels.

“Jungkook,” you laughed, passing knowing expressions. “Slow down!”

Jungkook obliged but continued to walk until he found a suitably secluded alcove. Pulling you with, he turned you around to press your back to the wall, dripping his head for a kiss.

Melting into his touch, your arms found his neck to pull him even closer. Jungkook’s body molded to yours, one arm on the wall while his lips devoured you. You arched against him, fingers sliding up his back to entwine in his hair. Jungkook whined when you tugged, breaking away briefly to rest his forehead to yours.

Breathless, you laughed.

“Why are you laughing?” he murmured.

“Mm, nothing.” Your hands slid to his waist. “It’s just… this kiss reminds me of another one.”

“Which one?”

“You know… the one at that party…”

“Oh, yeah.” His lips quirked. “When I beat you in beer pong.”

“Okay, you didn’t beat me.”

Lowering his head, Jungkook’s lips brushed that sensitive junction between neck and collarbone. A sigh escaped when he slid to rest either hand on the wall beside you. Keeping his body carefully separate, only Jungkook’s hot lips chased over your skin. His tongue flicked a heated path up your throat, holding himself back just to prove that he could.

Pulling away, Jungkook met your gaze. Heat radiated from every line of his body, tempting you further to close the distance between you.

“You’ve gotten better at that,” you whispered. “Less tongue.”

Jungkook’s upper lip twitched.

Before you could respond, he bent to kiss you again and all thoughts of reprimand went out the window. Instead, you arched upwards, craving his touch. Jungkook seemed to be of the same mindset, hips caging yours as he ground his way forward.

Hands returned to his hair, you anchored yourself with each breath you stole. Whatever lipstick you’d had on was long gone by now; Jungkook’s hand found your back and – remembering the backless dress you wore – he groaned.

“What bra do you wear with this, anyways?” he said, pulling back.

“None.” Staring at him, your upper lip curled. “I am wearing underwear, but I’ll admit they don’t leave much to the imagination.”

Jungkook looked tortured. “What are you doing to me?” he pleaded, looking at you with puppy-dog eyes. 

Before you could respond, he lowered his head and pressed his lips to your jaw.

“When we get back to the room,” he murmured, marking his way towards your ear. “I want this dress off. Panties on. Keep the heels on. Splayed out like that on the bed, so I can bury myself between your legs and eat your pussy all fucking night.”

“Sounds ambitious,” you breathed, your head hitting the wall.

“It is.” Jungkook smirked. “I like to set goals for myself. And whether I win or lose, you still win.”

“Oh, do I?”

“Mhm. If I don’t edge you all night, you get to come. And if I do, you still get to come. Win-win.”

Laughing, your fingers curled in his hair. “Well, I –”

“Get a roooom,” Seokjin booed as he walked past. “The bathroom’s right here, guys. People have probably been nauseated walking past you for however long you’ve been back here making out.”

Flustered, you glanced over Jungkook’s shoulder and realized Seokjin was right. The back of his tuxedo disappeared into the men’s bathroom, with the women’s room directly across from it in the hall. Groaning softly, you lowered your face to Jungkook’s lapel.

While you hid, Jungkook started to chuckle. His laughter shook your frame, making you smile until eventually, you started to laugh as well.

“Whoops.” Jungkook pulled back, only to wince. Reaching down, he adjusted the too-tight fabric stretched over his crotch. “Um. Maybe we should head to our room.”

“Already? There’s still a few hours left of the banquet.”

“I know, but…” Jungkook glanced past you, looking into the main room. “We came, we drank, we danced… I just kind of want to be with you now.”

“Well, alright,” you said, allowing yourself to be led down the hall. “If that’s really what you want.”

“It is,” he assured, pressing the down button for the elevator.

You smiled, leaning your head to his shoulder while you waited for its arrival. The lights in the hall were dim, bass thumping loudly from the DJ in the next room. Laughter and shouting echoed down the hall, but the spot by the elevator was relatively quiet.

When Jungkook’s phone went off in his pocket, you jumped. “Oh,” you laughed, glancing up. “That scared me.”

“Sorry,” Jungkook said, fishing around in his pocket.

When he saw who was calling, his expression changed and he immediately pressed off. Stuffing this back in his pocket, he shot you a quick smile and faced forward.

The elevator dinged.

You stared at his back as you entered, uncertainty churning your stomach. Things had been going so well, you had almost forgotten about the events of earlier – the text message you saw on his phone and what it might mean for your future.

Now, it was all you could think about. It wasn’t fair to press Jungkook to talk before he was ready but in all honesty, you were kind of going crazy. As the doors shut behind you, you turned to face Jungkook.

“Who was that?” you asked, innocent.

For a moment, Jungkook looked panicked. He hid this quickly behind a mask of indifference, which looked even stranger than the panic had on his face. Jungkook was not an indifferent kind of person.

“Um, no one,” he said quickly – too quickly. “Just my mom.”

Jungkook was a terrible liar.

Setting aside the fact that he was a classic mama’s boy and would have never have ignored her – maybe he would’ve said he can’t talk right now, but he at least would’ve answered – he now fidgeted anxiously like his feet were on fire. Eyes narrowed, you stared as his profile while the numbers of the floors ticked slowly down.

“You can call her back if you want,” you offered.

Jungkook opened his mouth to say something, then shut it. “Uh – no, that’s okay. She’ll send me a text if it’s important.”

“Oh. Okay.”

Facing forward, you casually stepped from his arm in the guise of being too warm. The numbers had almost reached the twentieth floor, but it wasn’t the descent which had your stomach tied in knots. In your peripheral, you saw Jungkook glance your way while you stared stubbornly at the doors.

The elevator slowed.

“We’re here,” you announced, striding into the hall.

You kept a few steps ahead of him as you walked, gaze focused on your room at the end of the hall. Even though you knew it was unfair to be mad, you couldn’t help the hurt which hounded your thoughts.

When Jungkook had taken out his phone, you had seen the name of the person calling him – Bob Sutherland, the very same recruiter who’d texted him earlier. Each step you took made you angrier, wondering if he’d already gotten the offer, or maybe he’d even accepted. You weren’t sure what the NHL recruiting process was, let alone what your place in it would be as his girlfriend.

Coming to a stop at your hotel room, you halted and waited for Jungkook to catch up.

He did so easily, brow creased as he reached to take hold of your hand. “Hey,” he said gently, turning you to face him. “Is something wrong? Did you want to stay at the banquet longer?”

You looked at his hand for a moment before raising your gaze to his.

“No,” you responded. “Nothing’s wrong.”

Jungkook hesitated. “Want to talk about it, whatever it is?”

You scowled. “I said nothing’s wrong.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Y/N,” Jungkook said with a smile. “Come on. You can tell me – what is it?”

For a moment, you just stared at him. Your first instinct was to push this down, to pretend it didn’t bother you, but that was cowardly. The situation clearly upset you and trying to pretend otherwise wasn’t fair to you, or to him. 

Before you could change your mind, you blurted, “Why’d you lie about your mom calling you just now?”

The words slipped past in a rush and Jungkook froze. The look on his face would have been comical had the circumstances not been making you sick to your stomach.

“I – what?” 

“Right now,” you explained. “Before we entered the elevator, you said your mom called, but she didn’t. Admit it.”

Jungkook stared at you a second longer, then glanced at the door. “Maybe we should talk about this inside…”

“No. Let’s have the conversation right here.”

Gaze narrowing, Jungkook returned to you. “I really think this is more of an inside the room conversation, Y/N.”

“You can’t tell me you want to go into the NHL in the hall?”

Jungkook’s eyes widened. “I – what? Who told you that?”

“I saw your phone earlier,” you said, swallowing past the lump in your throat. “That NHL recruiter texted you – Bob Sutherland, right? I didn’t mean to see it, but it was right there on the bed, and I…”

Jungkook paused, then shook his head. “And you... waited this long to talk to me?”

“Um, hello?” you shot back. “Pot, this is kettle.”

He winced. “Okay, fine. I guess I deserve that. I just... didn’t want to say anything until I was sure this was even an option.”

Bleakly, you laughed. “What does that mean? You were only going to tell me once you’d decided? Maybe once you had your jersey and a new apartment in some other city?”

Jungkook’s expression darkened. “It’s not like that,” he said as you pulled away.

“It is like that,” you responded, stopping before the door. “Can you open this? I don’t have the room key.”

Jungkook didn’t move. “Y/N.”

“Open the door.”

“Y/N,” he said, softer this time.

You waited another moment, then slowly exhaled. 

“What?” you said, glancing sideways.

This was a mistake, since Jungkook was an awful liar and you could tell he wasn’t lying right now. All his emotion was etched clear on his face – regret, uncertainty, and something more, something stronger. The feeble spark of anger in your stomach extinguished with a hiss.

Stepping forward, Jungkook placed both hands on your arms. “I didn’t want you to stress over nothing,” he said quietly. “That’s the only reason I didn’t tell you right away.”

Jaw tight, you glanced over his shoulder.

“I swear,” Jungkook continued. “It’s just… we haven’t been dating long and things are going so well. I didn’t want to mess things up between us.”

“Don’t you think that’s kind of dumb,” you muttered, moving your gaze to his. “You didn’t want to mess things up, so you kept something big from me?”

“Come on, Y/N,” he pleaded, frustration notched between his brows.  “If I went into the NHL this year, I’d have to leave University before you. I’d have to move to whatever city picked me.”

“I know.”

“We only just started dating!” he said, looking tortured. “You only just started calling yourself my girlfriend. I didn’t want you to break up with me. Not when I don’t even know what I want. I don’t know if I want to go into the NHL this year. I just…” 

He stopped and inhaled, looking helpless.

There was such confusion on his face, such ardent sincerity that whatever anger you felt began to ebb away. It didn’t vanish entirely; you still wish he would’ve told you, but looking at him, you understood why he did it.

“It’s... okay,” you said finally.

Jungkook glanced at you, uncertain.

“It’s okay,” you insisted, sliding both hands up his arms. “I… yeah. It’ll be fine, Jungkook. Now, will you listen to what I have to say?”

Although he seemed skeptical, he nodded.

“Jungkook.” You looked at him seriously. “This is your career, okay? This is your future. I’m not going to break up with you just because you graduate early.”

“You don’t know that,” he countered. “That’s a lot to ask. Long distance is hard, Y/N.”

“I know.”

“It’s unfair of me to ask you to do that.”

“I think I’ll decide what’s unfair to me, Jeon.”

“I just...” Running a hand through his hair, he left the strands ruffled in the back. “I needed more time. More time to figure out what I wanted, more time to make you…”

“Make me what?”

“Make you fall in love with me, too,” he said quietly.

You went still.

The hall around you fell silent – so quiet, you heard the sound of your heart beating. Or maybe that was his; the sound was too loud, whoever it belonged to. It drowned out all coherent thought and left a ringing noise in your ears. 

Before you could respond, Jungkook shut his eyes.

“You don’t have to say it back,” he groaned, rubbing his forehead. “I know it’s too soon. We haven’t been dating that long and fuck, I probably shouldn’t have said it like that. I should’ve done something romantic, right? With flowers and music and – I don’t know. I just love you, Y/N and it’s really hard to keep it in, when –”

Reaching up, you pressed your palms to his cheeks. “Jeon.”

He opened his eyes, face squished in your hands.

“I love you, too,” you said seriously.

Jungkook’s eyes widened and he tried to speak, but the sound was constrained by your hands.

“Oops, sorry,” you said, releasing his face. “What was that?”

“You... love me,” he repeated, dumbfounded.

“Yeah.”

“Wow.” Jungkook paused. “Huh.”

Futilely, you tried to hide your smile. “Is that seriously all you have to say?”

“Kind of.” Jungkook grinned but after a moment, his smile began to disappear. “I really am sorry I lied, Y/N. I promise I wouldn’t have kept it a secret much longer.”

“I know,” you said quietly, taking his hand. “I get why you did it. That’s a giant change to be thinking about.”

“It is, yeah.”

“But,” you added, grip tightening. “I love you, Jungkook. I want to be with you. You don’t have to hide these kinds of things from me.”

Wonderingly, his gaze roamed your face. “No?”

“No. We’ll work through it together. Okay?”

“Okay,” he said, expression softening.

“Good.” You smiled. “You won’t scare me off, Jeon. Promise. Just tell me where your new apartment is and I’ll rack up frequent flyer miles.”

When Jungkook smiled, the corners of his eyes creased. “What if I decide to move to the moon?” he challenged.

“I might question your sanity, Jeon, but I wouldn’t be scared.”

“What if I decided to move to mars?”

“I might be a little scared,” you admitted. “Only because then, you’d probably be neighbors with Elon Musk.”

Jungkook laughed, reaching past to press his key card to the door. The light on the handle turned green, letting you in. Jungkook grabbed your hand and pulled you with, not bothering to turn on the lights.

As soon as the door fell shut behind you, Jungkook turned and pressed you to the wood. He immediately bent and began to kiss up your neck, placing one hand on the door and the other firmly around your waist. Pulling you close, he curved your body to his.

You found yourself no better, one hand sliding into his hair to open his mouth with your own. Jungkook groaned, his voice graveled, and the heat shot straight to your core.

“Jungkook,” you said, breaking away.

“Yeah?” he murmured, kissing back down your neck.

Heart stuttering, you forced yourself to focus. “I love you,” you whispered, your curving in the darkness.

It felt so good to finally say it out loud, to stop holding back what you had been feeling for some time. 

Slowly, Jungkook bent to press his forehead to yours. “You sure?” he said quietly. “Don’t feel like you need to say it because I did. Just because I’m stupid in love with you doesn’t mean you need to be.”

“Jungkook?”

“Yeah?”

“Stop being dumb and kiss me.”

Jungkook snorted when you grabbed his tie with one hand to pull him towards you. Elbow buckling, he pressed you against the door while his laughter fanned your face.

Tilting your head upwards, your lips lightly brushed. “Want to know what your present is?”

Jungkook answered immediately. “Yes.”

“It’s going to sound silly now that you told me you loved me.”

“Hey, you said it back!”

“I did.”

“… I still want to know what my present is.”

“Mmm,” you hummed, walking a hand up his chest. “Alright, so maybe I went into that one drawer of your nightstand.”

Jungkook stilled.

“And maybe I brought something for us to play with.”

In the darkness, you heard him audibly swallow. 

“What… what did you decide to bring?”

Placing a hand on his shoulder, you lifted your lips to his ear. “Maybe the handcuffs.”

The next moment happened faster than you could comprehend.

Seizing you around the waist, Jungkook picked you up to carry you towards the bedroom. You squealed, smacking his ass from your upside-down position. Ignoring you, Jungkook flipped on the light as he walked and, upon reaching the bed, deposited you on the mattress.

You bounced on the landing, grinning as you adjusted yourself on the duvet.

Jungkook had already begun to remove his tie. He paused with it half-undone, staring at you on the sheets. Wriggling your ass deeper, you arched a brow.

“Alright.” Jungkook placed his hands on both hips. “How do you want to do this?”

You grinned. “What do you mean?”

He glanced at your hands. “I mean – do you want to wear the cuffs, or should I? Should we do this on the bed? Do you want the cuffs on my wrists, or what?”

“Whoa,” you exhaled, sitting up. “Honestly, I don’t know. I’ve never done this before.”

Jungkook paused, then nodded and smiled. 

Leisurely, he began to walk towards your suitcase. He undid his cuffs as he walked, placing them on the nightstand before he bent to the zipper. Opening the flap, he scanned the inside and immediately spotted the handcuffs on top of your sweatpants.

Glancing over his shoulder, he arched a brow. “Really?”

“What?” you said, somewhat defensive. “I wanted to protect them from damage.”

Jungkook reached out and shut your suitcase. With the cuffs dangling from one hand, he stood and looked once more at you. A hunger had entered his gaze which made you squeeze your thighs together.

“Why don’t we start with you?” he said, moving closer. “I’ll make you feel good and then you can decide if you want to cuff me.”

“That sounds good,” you whispered.

Jungkook came to a stop at the foot of the bed. Gaze raking your frame, he traced every curve with an indecency bordering on obscene.

“I wasn’t kidding before,” he said, gaze lifting. “I want you naked except for those heels and your panties.”

A thrill traveled your spine, slowly extending your legs to stand from the bed. Without looking away, you reached behind your back to slowly unzip your zipper. You caught your dress before it fell, pressing it to your chest and keeping it there.

Jungkook exhaled. “The rest of it, sweetheart,” he said, sounding hoarse. “I want to see those pretty tits of yours on display.”

“Oh, do you?”

Teasing, you lowered the fabric until your nipples were practically visible. They caught at the fabric, pressed against silk while Jungkook swallowed hard.

“Yes, please,” he said.

Without looking away, you dropped your dress to the floor.

Jungkook sucked in a breath as he stared. His gaze trailed your breasts, rounded and peaked; the apex of your thighs, where you could already feel yourself slick with arousal. He glanced at your feet, still in the heels he said not to change out of.

A growl escaped him when he reached for his cock. Palming himself over his pants, Jungkook stared hard at your body.

“Jungkook,” you whimpered, needing him to touch you.

His gaze snapped to yours. “Look at you,” he murmured, stepping closer. Sliding a hand to the back of your neck, he tilted your face up. “Nipples already hard for me.” Reaching out, he palmed your breast. “Is this pussy wet for me, too?”

“You know it is,” you said breathily.

Nose ghosting your neck, Jungkook traced a path down your throat. “I’ll be the judge of that.”

“What’re you going to do?”

“Gonna take a look.” Jungkook pressed a kiss to your shoulder. “Gonna see how wet I can get you – just me, though,” he said, stepping back. “You’re not allowed to touch yourself yet. Understand?”

Eager, you nodded.

It had been a few months since you started having sex and in that time, you had learned to read each other well. Jungkook knew that after a fight, you usually liked him to be in control. The mental exhaustion was tiring and you just wanted to come, and come hard.

“Good,” Jungkook said with a smirk. “Now, sit on the bed.”

Turning around, you sat and scooted until your back hit the headboard. Jungkook’s hands found his belt, slowly undoing each notch while you watched. Pulling this from the loops, he dropped it on the floor to shrug from his jacket.

Once free, he knelt one knee on the bed. “Spread your legs,” he said quietly. “Good girl.”

You obeyed, feeling liberated by the lack of control. You trusted Jungkook to take care of you, to listen to you and to know when to stop. It was part of what made sex which him better than anyone else. He understood you in a way you found hard to describe.

“Here?” you asked, spreading your legs on the sheets.

Jungkook moved towards you. “Here,” he agreed, slipping one metal cuff around your wrist.

You inhaled when he closed it, threading the links behind the bedpost and taking your other hand in his. He clicked the second cuff in place, leaving you with both arms overhead, splayed out on the mattress. Arching experimentally upwards, you found your arms restrained.

Withdrawing, Jungkook sat back on his heels. He stared at you a moment, then slid his hands up your torso. Almost recently, he bent his head to flick your nipple with his tongue.

“Oh,” you gasped, arching upwards.

Your wrists strained at the metal, but the sensation was more discomfort than actual pain. The fact that you couldn’t touch him had your skin on fire. Jungkook’s mouth was sloppy, teasing your nipples just the way you liked, urging them to peaks so he could suck with abandon. You arched on the mattress, the cold metal of handcuffs biting into your skin.

You hadn’t been lying – you’d never done this sort of thing with any previous boyfriend but with Jungkook, you found yourself wanting to explore. No one had ever made you feel this comfortable, this open and trusting he would make you feel good.

Switching to your other breast, Jungkook blew on it gently before taking it in his mouth. When he grazed you with his teeth, you let out a whimper and he sucked in earnest. The noises he made made your cheeks heat, your barely clothed core grinding against the duvet.

Your lace thong was sticky, drenched in evidence of easy arousal. Jungkook seemed to realize this as you did, his finger drifting to dip beneath the edge of the fabric. Reluctantly pulling away from your chest, Jungkook twisted the fabric to stare at your cunt.

Although you couldn’t see, you could feel how indecent it was. Drenched lace snagged in the folds of your pussy, revealing your glistening sex to his darkened gaze.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groaned, brushing his thumb up your folds.

The way you shuddered made him moan and he did it again. Jungkook’s thumb slid lower, lazily stroking the entrance of your pussy. He teased until you clenched around him with need, arousal dripping from your cunt to gather at your ass.

“Feet up.” Jungkook pulled back. “Thighs spread.”

You did as he said, placing your heels on the mattress to spread your legs. Jungkook’s jaw clenched at the sight, staring hazily at you like it was the first time. Immediately, he bent and lowered himself between your legs.

“Y/N,” he moaned, dragging his tongue up your sex.

You shuddered at this, tugging on your restraints, which held. Arching against him, you pushed your hips forward while Jungkook ate you out. He wasted no time, lips immediately wrapping around your swollen clit, coaxing you hard and fast towards your first orgasm of the night.

Sliding both arms under your thighs, Jungkook used them as leverage while he licked your pussy. Burying himself between your legs, he devoured you with such ecstasy, you could barely breathe.

The hard lines of his back strained against his shirt and you wished this was gone, wished you could see his pretty skin, but Jungkook seemed determined to make you come like this – his tongue buried in your cunt and his nose brushing your clit.

Your entire body seized, ready to come but then he pulled back and slid two fingers in at the hilt.

Gasping, your entire pussy quivered when his tongue returned to your clit. “Oh my god,” you blubbered, arching against him. “Oh my fucking god, Jungkook.”

His fingers were relentless, immediately fucking the warm wetness of your pussy. The squelch they made sliding in and out was obscene, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. It felt too fucking good, with them pounding your cunt and making you see stars.

If you could have, you would’ve grabbed his hair and ridden his face, but you couldn’t. Instead, you arched as hard as you could and gripped your thighs together – Jungkook growled between them – unable to do anything but take it when he gave you your orgasm.

It crashed into you like a wave as you cried out in pleasure below him. You shuddered apart; Jungkook kept both arms wrapped around you until you were done. As the pleasure finally subsided, he gradually slowed his mouth to look up.

He grinned, lips red and wet from his exertions.

With a groan, you collapsed back on the bed. The metal bit into the skin of your wrists, your chest rising and falling while Jungkook shifted above you.

“You okay?” he asked gently, dropping a kiss to your lips.

You nodded, turning your head to capture him in a kiss. Jungkook kissed eagerly back, thighs settling on either side of your hips. He finally pulled away, reaching for the bedside to locate the key.

“Yeah,” you said, waiting for him to unlock the cuffs. “I feel really good, in fact.”

Jungkook grinned and released the cuff from your right wrist. You lowered your arm to your side while he undid the other, patiently waiting for your wrists to be freed. When you were, Jungkook bent his head to press his lips where the cuffs used to be.

He then moved to your feet – you had nearly forgotten you still wore your heels, but Jungkook slid them easily off to drop them to the floor.

You moved to sit up but Jungkook bent and kissed you again. His hands slid to your hair, thighs caging your waist while his tongue slipped past your lips. Desire lazily curled in your stomach; rather than sate you, your previous orgasm had left you hungry for more.

“Jungkook,” you mumbled against his lips.

“Yeah?”

“Why’s your shirt still on?”

Jungkook snorted and sat back, reaching for his front. Without looking away, he began to undo his buttons. He moved slowly, pushing each button through fabric at a maddening pace until you whined and pressed your hips up to his.

“Eager?” he teased, tugging an arm from the sleeve.

As soon as his shirt hit the floor, you sighed in satisfaction. No matter how many times you saw him, the sight of Jungkook shirtless never ceased to amaze.

“Wait – stay there,” you said, reaching to run a hand up his front.

One of Jungkook’s tattoos dipped to his pec, swirling above his dusky nipple in delicate lines. When your thumb casually brushed this, he shuddered.

Pleased, you looked up. “Sensitive, Jeon?”

“You know I am,” he grumbled, though he seemed far from perturbed. Gaze glinting in darkness, Jungkook lowered himself to his palms. “Do it again.”

You obeyed, casually dragging a finger over his pert, rosy nipple. Jungkook inhaled through his teeth, staring at you while you began to tease. When your fingers moved to his other nipple, he actually whined and lowered his head.

“Okay,” you said, making a decision. “I’m going to need you in those cuffs now.”

Jungkook lifted his head. “Oh?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled.

He immediately sat back on his heels, shirtless and slacks strained across his erection. It was obvious from the way he sat it was uncomfortable and yet, Jungkook made no move to relieve himself. The sight sent a thrill down your spine.

This scenario had crossed your mind more than a few times, you had to admit. Having Jungkook seated before you, ready to do whatever you wanted. He was just so big and strong – the sight of him kneeling was more than you could bear.

“Scoot back,” you said, jerking your chin at the headboard.

Jungkook obeyed, scooting until he leaned against the latticed metalwork of the bed. Arching a brow, he asked, “What now?”

“Now,” you said, grabbing the handcuffs to move towards him. “I’m thinking about how I want you.”

He smirked. “What’re you thinking?”

“I could cuff you to the bed,” you wondered. “Or… no, I know what I want. Get back on your knees.”

Jungkook licked his lips and nodded, moving into position.

“Wait,” you said, making him pause. “Take off your pants first.”

He stopped and slid his hand under the top of his slacks. Undoing first the button, then the zipper, Jungkook slowly dragged them down muscular thighs. Once his slacks fell to his ankles, Jungkook kicked them to the floor.

“Now your boxers,” you instructed, gaze hungrily roaming his frame.

The handcuffs remained in your hand, but Jungkook paid them no attention while he stripped down to nothing. Keeping his gaze on yours, he dragged his boxers lower. The second his cock was freed, it sprang up to smack his muscled abs.

You nearly groaned at the sight of how hard he was. The tip of his cock was reddened and leaking, a thick bead of cum working its way down his shaft.

“Hands behind your back,” you said, lifting your gaze.

Jungkook did as he was told, the muscles in his biceps bulging as he went. Although you audibly swallowed, you pushed past this and went to attach the first cuff.

“Is this okay?” you asked, glancing up at his face.

Jungkook smirked. “Yeah. Put the other one on.”

Cheeks hated, you nodded and fastened the other behind his back. Jungkook exhaled, dark hair flopping forward while he experimentally tugged with his arms. The cuffs didn’t give. You stared at him a moment, drinking in the sight of him naked, kneeling and utterly yours.

Unable to stop it, you smiled.

Jungkook glanced up. “What’s that look for, baby?”

“Nothing,” you said, scooting backwards. “You just, um…”

“What?”

“Look fucking hot.”

His cheeks flushed, a fact you found endearing – even with his dick standing hard and thick between his thighs. Bending, you placed a hand on either side of his legs.

Curious, you looked up. “Have you ever done this before?”

Jungkook shook his head. “No. I never really… wanted to do this with anyone else.”

Warmth filled you, knowing exactly what he meant. There’d been no one else you trusted this much either. It was a strange thing to relinquish control, to surrender yourself to someone else and trust they wouldn’t hurt you.

“Same,” you whispered. 

You bent and licked a strip up his cock.

Jungkook groaned, head rolling back as you teased his length. Sitting up, you spit in your palm to wrap most of the way around his cock. You began to slide up and down and Jungkook exhaled, thighs twitching beneath your palm. His eyes drifted shut, enjoying your touch as you stroked his dick.

Seeing the way his arms strained at the cuffs, you grinned. “Enjoying yourself?”

He cracked open an eye. “Wanna touch you,” he said.

“Too bad,” you sing-songed, bending to wrap your lips around his cock.

Jungkook groaned, straining once more against the cuffs. You refused to take him all in your mouth at one go, sucking on the tip before tracing his sensitive head with your tongue. Jungkook exhaled, hips pushing forward in an attempt to coax you further onto his dick.

Pulling back, you left him with a pop. “Uh-uh,” you said. “You’re not the one in control here, Jeon. I am.”

“Oh, yeah?” A devilish glint entered his eyes. “Prove it.”

Heart pounding, you pushed yourself up and moved closer. Sliding a hand into his hair, you angled his head to kiss him on the lips. Jungkook melted forward, lips chasing yours before you pulled back. 

Settling just beyond his reach, you smiled and let your hand return to his cock.

“Fuck,” Jungkook whimpered.

“In a bit,” you answered, thumb brushing his tip.

Jungkook’s tongue poked the side of his cheek, staring while you continued your motions. Head lowering, you took him again in your mouth and slid partway down. Lifting off, you trailed his frenulum with your tongue and then bent to take him all the way.

“Shit,” Jungkook gasped, staring while you deep-throated his cock. “Fuck – that feels so good, baby. Ah.”

His hips bucked when you took him deeper and in response, you pulled back.

“Nope,” you said with a smirk. “Every time you do that, I’ll stop. Keep still, baby,” you said, continuing to fist him with one hand. “You can do that for me, right? Be a good boy?”

Jungkook’s gaze turned heavy with desire. “Yeah,” he breathed. “Yeah, I’ll be so fucking good for you, baby. Promise.”

Taking him back in your mouth, you hollowed your cheeks to move faster. Balancing both palms on his thighs, you forced your head down until you gagged on his cock. Pulling back, you let spit break over your lip and fisted him roughly, making him sloppy and wet.

Jungkook whimpered again, straining at the cuffs. His nipples were rock hard and upon seeing this, you lifted to lick over a nub.

“Oh, fuck,” Jungkook blurted, hips thrusting forward.

You let him fuck your hand for a few seconds, his hard length chasing the warmth of your hand. And then you pulled away, relinquishing your grip and Jungkook’s eyes widened, realizing what he’d done.

“No,” he groaned, chest sagging.

He looked utterly defeated by the realization you might stop – or at the very least, you’d make him work for it harder. The only thing wrong with this assumption was that you were now obscenely horny and just wanted him inside you.

“It’s okay, baby.” Using the same hand, you lifted his chin. “You did so well, lasting for me as long as you did.”

Jungkook looked at you, hopeful. “So, you’ll let me come?”

“Oh. No.” His face fell. “At least,” you allowed, positioning yourself over his cock, “not until I feel you inside me.”

It had been a few weeks since you had stopped using condoms. Soon after you started dating, you decided to get tested since you were already on the pill. It was worth it the first time he came inside you and swirled his fingers through the mess.

Jungkook watched you remove your sodden panties, dropping them on the floor and returning to his lap. Lowering yourself, you let the soaked folds of your center gently brush his cock. Jungkook hissed as though you had wounded him, straining against the cuffs like he could break them.

Immediately, you stopped. “Jungkook?” you asked, gaze roaming his face in concern. “Are you still okay?”

“Yeah,” he breathed, practically panting. “Fuck, yeah. I’m good, but I need to be inside you. Now.”

“So impatient,” you tsk-d, reaching to grasp his cock beneath you. One hand on his shoulder, you began to lower yourself on his length.

Just his tip entered at first, parting the velvet walls of your sex and making you moan. You’d already come once tonight, but with how tight you were, that seemed a distant memory. Sliding your hand lower on his cock, you dropped yourself lower to take him inside you.

Jungkook stared; transfixed by the sight of him entering your pussy. “You’re doing so well,” he murmured. “Feel stretched enough, baby? Need anything from me?”

“N-no,” you stuttered, already feeling the burn.

He looked up and arched a brow. “How about this?” he murmured, shifting his weight. “Since I can’t use my hands or my tongue on your pussy, how about I get you wet like this?”

“Like what?”

“Take your hand off my cock so you can touch yourself,” he suggested sweetly. “Put your finger in my mouth first, though. Wanna taste you.”

You obeyed, thighs trembling as you released him and brought your finger to his lips. Jungkook opened, wrapping his lips around your digit to easily suck. You inhaled at the sight, thoroughly aroused as you felt yourself slip another inch on his length.

Jungkook released your finger. “Now put that hand between your thighs,” he said, waiting for you to do so. “There you go, baby. I know how swollen your clit was when I sucked on you earlier. Is it still like that? Still puffy and needy for me?”

Slipping your hand between your legs, you circled your sex. “Yeah,” you breathed, sinking down on him another inch. “It’s still like that.”

“Good.” Jungkook smirked. “Give it a pinch, then slowly rub it.”

The second you did this, a wave of pleasure swept through you.

“Again,” Jungkook said.

You did it again.

“And again.”

This time when you did it, you felt your hips settle against his. Glancing down in surprise, you realized his cock had nestled all the way inside you – his thick girth split you so prettily, the wetness of your pussy soaked into his base.

“Oh,” you exhaled, looking up.

Jungkook’s eyes glinted. “Ride me.”

The way he spoke sparked fire in your veins, reaching for his shoulders as you slowly moved upwards. Once you were nearly empty, you dropped to take him all in one motion. You gasped at the sensation, head tipping back as you did it again.

Gripping his shoulders, you controlled the pace to slowly move up and down. You went purposefully slower, reveling in the feeling of him being inside you, the sight of his chest rising and falling with each breath he took.

Leaning onto your palms, you lifted your hips and sunk down on his cock. You swiveled your hips as you went, letting him feel how wet you were for him.

“Fuck,” Jungkook groaned, taking a deep breath.

His gaze roamed your chest, rising and falling with your hips; your cunt, swallowing him whole to drip onto his thighs. A moan left him at the sight of your clit, so swollen and pretty but unable to touch.

“Baby,” he moaned.

“Yeah?”

Sitting up straight, you let him fall from your body and repositioned yourself above him. Sinking down on his length, you slid both hands to his hair and eagerly kissed him. Your chests brushed as you rode him, rolling your hips over his massive cock.

Growing impatient, Jungkook finally snapped his hips upwards. “Please,” he panted, lips dropping down your throat. “Please undo the cuffs, Y/N. I need to fuck you.”

“Okay,” you agreed, reaching beside you to grab the key.

It took you a few seconds to unlock a cuff and the moment you did, Jungkook moved. He didn’t wait for the other one to be released – pushing you back on the bed, he hiked your leg up and buried himself in you to the hilt. Lips parted, you stared at him dazed as he suddenly filled you. The stretch felt so fucking good, your eyes watered.

Softening, Jungkook brushed a kiss to your lips. “That okay?” he murmured, reaching down for your clit.

It was swollen, like he said and your eyes nearly rolled back as he began to play with you.

“Oh my god, yes,” you mumbled, stretched out beneath him. “Jungkook?”

“Yeah?”

“Fuck me hard.”

His gaze immediately darkened. “Alright, baby.”

Knowing exactly what you meant by this, Jungkook pulled out. He flipped you over, pulling your ass in the air so your pussy was on display. His fingers swiped at your entrance, feeling how soaked you were before he lined himself up and plunged inside you. It was a more intense stretch this way – his cock hit so deeply like this, filling you up with a despondency you craved.

“Oh my god,” you gasped, chest pressed to the bed.

Your thighs were eagerly spread, Jungkook’s hands on your hips while he fucked himself into you. Each time he filled you left you groaning, your pussy deliciously stretched by his massive cock.

“That’s it,” Jungkook grunted, fingers gripping your waist. “God, you take my cock so well, baby. Such a good little slut for me.”

He paused, waiting for your reaction and you moaned in response. You weren’t always in the mood, but sometimes all you wanted was to be called his filthy whore. Wanted Jungkook to use your pussy like his cum dump, fucking you over and over like he couldn’t control it.

“That’s right,” you groaned, spreading your legs wider. “All yours, baby.”

Jungkook grunted and spanked you, jolting you forward. Your ass quivered when he did this again, timing his efforts with each thrust of his cock.

“Fuck yeah, it’s for me,” he panted. “Got you on all fours like a bitch in heat. You just want to be stuffed full of cock – right, baby? Want your pussy fucked full of cum?”

“Yes,” you moaned, pushing back. “Full of your cum, Jungkook. Oh.”

“That’s right – only my cum,” he said, satisfied. “Only my dick knows how to fuck you this good.”

You moaned, unable to be more coherent than that.

“You think the rest of the floor can hear you?” Jungkook mused, his hips never wavering. “Think they can hear you moaning my name, making such a sweet mess of my cock? Think they’re all jealous they don’t have a perfect pussy like yours?”

“Fuck, Jungkook!” you gasped, arching your back.

He spanked you again. “Hope they can all hear what a perfect slut you are. How nicely you take a big cock, how much you like being fucked full of my cum.”

Reaching down, Jungkook slipped an arm under your chest. He lifted you against him, pressing his chest to yours from behind. His hips never ceased, his cock continuing to split you open while he fucked like that. You could feel yourself quivering, core clenching hard on his cock while you neared your next orgasm.

Which is why it felt so sudden when Jungkook decided to pull out.

“Jungkook!” you gasped, sagging in his hold.

Your head spun, wanting – needing­ – to come and if it weren’t for his arms around you, you would have collapsed to the sheets. Jungkook kissed your neck once before he turned you around and laid you down on the bed. It was necessary for him to take the lead since your thighs were still shaking.

Balancing his weight on his palms, Jungkook gave you a shy smile. “I just…” He shook his head. “I wanted to see you.”

Melting at his words, you stared back at him. His gaze was so open, so hopeful that you lifted your arms and pulled his chest down to yours.

“Wanna see you too,” you whispered, kissing him softly.

Jungkook reached down to position himself between your thighs and this time when he filled you, it felt different. He began to move slowly, rolling his hips while he kissed down your throat.

Each thrust he gave was deep, purposeful, and designed to complete you. It did – no, he did, you realized as your arms slid around him. When he fucked you like that, each roll of his hips brushed your clit and soon enough you found yourself right back on the edge.

“Jungkook,” you groaned, pressing your face to his shoulder.

Your fingers dug into his skin, hips chasing his while he buried himself inside you. Over and over, his cock hit that place deep inside which made you cry out beneath him.

“Oh,” you gasped, clutching him tighter. “Jungkook.”

Dropping to one elbow, he began to fuck you faster. Grabbing one of your knees, he hiked this over your waist and began to thrust harder, driving you towards your orgasm.

“Love you,” he murmured, hips chasing yours. “Fuck.” Jungkook sighed. “So glad I can say that now.”

“Love you too,” you whispered, fingers curling into his hair.

With each thrust he gave, you felt yourself closer to falling apart. His heat was everywhere – on your lips, on your neck, with his thick cock inside you. It was nearly unbearable, how full of him you felt.

“Jungkook,” you whimpered, burying your face in his chest. “P-please. Come inside me. Wanna feel you.”

“Yeah?” His breath hitched. “You want me to fill you up? Get this pussy all messy with my cum?”

“Please, Jungkook,” you gasped.

“You first,” he demanded, thrusting into you with an intensity which stole the breath from your lungs.

Gasping him by the shoulders, you felt yourself clench as he fucked you harder. When you came, it was with his name on your lips and his cock inside you. Feeling you clench tightly around him, Jungkook swore and gave several deep thrusts.

It was only a few seconds later you felt him release, hot spurts of cum filling up your cunt. There was so much of it, your pussy eagerly taking until it couldn’t take anymore. You felt some of it dribble out the sides, sliding to your ass from your fucked-out hole. Jungkook stayed there as long as he could, pushing his cum deeper inside you with each lazy thrust.

Your sensitivity was overwhelming but you pushed through it, wanting him to stay inside you as long as possible. Arms wrapped around him, you pulled his chest down to yours and smiled happily upwards, feeling his cock soften inside you.

Jungkook brushed a kiss to your forehead. “Y/N…”

“Yeah?”

“Can we get this other cuff off me?”

Snorting, you looked and realized he still had the cuffs attached to his left wrist. Twisting beneath him – Jungkook whined when he slipped out – you reached for the key. He immediately brightened once the cuff was released.

You grinned. “Better?”

“Better,” Jungkook said, flopping back down.

“Jungkook!” you grunted when he landed on your hips.

“Hm?”

“I need to get up.”

“No, you don’t.” He pancaked on top of you and grinned. “See? Now you’re trapped.”

Laughing, you grabbed for his bare ass. “I really have to get up,” you said. “All your cum is still inside me, Jeon.”

“Damn, okay,” he said, shaking his head. “If that’s a hint, fine. I’ll eat it out of you, just give me a minute.”

Your eyes widened, intrigued by this idea but you pushed it aside. “No – now, Jeon,” you said.

Jungkook grinned. “Alright,” he exhaled, rolling off. “But come back here soon!”

“Or else what?” you said, swinging your legs over the bed.

“Or else I’ll be lonely.”

When he exaggeratedly pouted, you laughed.

Stretching both arms overhead, you made your way towards the bathroom. Your entire body felt sated; full of that heavy-limbed sensation which only came from a mind-blowing orgasm. At the bathroom you paused and looked over your shoulder.

Jungkook remained on the bed, hair rumpled and clothing still on the floor. He looked gorgeous, but that wasn’t what first crossed your mind. The first thing you thought was you wanted more nights like this in the future.

Not just the sex part (although that would be nice), but this. Him in your bed, ready to go to sleep next to you. Ready to wake up in the morning. Laughing and talking and just being together.

It was easy to picture yourself doing this with him five years from now, twenty, even fifty. Realizing this, you paused and waited for the panic to come.

Nothing happened and after a moment, you exhaled.

Jungkook glanced up from the bed, caught you looking and smiled – which sent a wave of rightness through you. This might be it, you realized. He might be it.

Oddly enough, the thought didn’t scare you at all.

© kpopfanfictrash, 2020. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Author’s Note: Thank you very much for reading!

THE ART OF MORE CHARACTER ASK GAME

[hargrove-mayfields]

Back when things were still easy, Billy and Max used to have sibling days on the weekends when Neil wouldn’t be home, setting aside their issues to have just one day that was meant for doing something fun together.

The tradition had been dropped after the move to Hawkins, and Max thinks that’s where a lot of the strain on their relationship comes from. Without those designated times to let go of some of the tension building between them, they fall to pieces.

There’s one day in particular where it’s just Max at home all by herself, her mother and Neil having gone on a trip to the city she opted out of, when Billy shows up much earlier than he said he would be back, ruining the calm when he slammed the front door so hard a picture frame fell off the wall.

Neither of them say a word to the other, all she gets is an apologetic and glossy looking glance for the noise as he storms past her like she isn’t even there.

She doesn’t see Billy again for a long time after that, just hears the angry music blaring in his room. By now, she’s wisened up enough to know that meant he was probably crying in there, and though she doesn’t know what happened, she feels bad.

It’d been far too long since they acted anything like real siblings, not that they were actually related, but they used to be just as close, so after her brother’s been brooding for literal hours, she knows she wants to do something.

Her opportunity to bring it up comes when Billy makes his grand appearance at her door, stopping by to ask if she ate dinner just so he, quote ‘wouldn’t get any shit for it.’ She nods in agreement and asks, “Do you know what day it is, Billy?”

He shrugs, “28th of June.”

“Well, doy, but it’s also Friday.” Billy raises an eyebrow, missing the point, and Max rolls her eyes. “Friday. You know, like, the one day we get to hang out.”

Too cool for that stuff anymore apparently, he scoffs and leans against the doorframe, and she just knows he’s going to say something snarky, so she turns the puppy dog eyes up a notch, “Please? It’ll be fun.”

It works, Billy sighs way over dramatic and steps into her room, throwing himself down onto her beanbag chair. She can’t contain the smile on her face when he asks with fake defeat, “What did you want, shitbird?”

“I want a makeover day. Like we used to do.”

“Not gonna happen.”

“Why?” She crosses her arms, “Just because that’s what I want to do?”

He fixes her with a look that says ‘seriously?’, and explains, an edge of frustration to his voice, “No, because you know what’ll happen if I’m struttin’ around in nail polish and shit when Neil gets back.”

“They’re not supposed to come back until like, Monday though,” in response to her excuses, he mimics her in crossing his arms over his chest, so she tries harder to reason with him, “And we can always just take it off when we’re done.”

“That’s just a waste of your stuff, then.”

“Come on, Billy, please?” she’s out of actual arguments and he’s winning, so she brings out the big guns, the little sister privilege, the one surefire way she knows will always knock her brother off guard, “I miss you.”

He squints at her, seeing through the attempted guilt trip, but he can’t muster a frown, and he must know it wasn’t all fake, because he says, “Whatever.”

She knows that’s his version of a yes and he’s just too proud to admit he caved, so she squeals and claps her hands together, taking off like a shot to dig under her bed for the stowed away beauty kit. It’s a little wicker basket filled to the brim with nail polish and makeup, the same one they’d used years ago before everything went wrong, and it makes her happy, bringing the old thing back out.

She stops to put a record in her player, choosing Queen as the closest thing to a middle ground between their respective music tastes, they at least both weren’t supposed to listen to it, and drops down into the other chair beside Billy.

On the latch-hook rug in front of them, she starts to empty the basket, lining up all her brightly colored bottles of nail polish, slightly dried out after months of not using them. “What color?”

“Why do I have to go first?” Billy asks. All Max has to say in response is a know-it-all “Because I said so.”

“Fine. You pick.” The moment he says it he looks like he regrets it, Max is notoriously bad at making decisions, but she ignores him and starts holding up bottles anyways.

First, after few minutes deliberation, she chooses a pretty dark green, and he scrunches his nose and doesn’t say anything. She picks a purplish color, which he tosses away on the bed, a very firm ‘no’ that makes Max giggle. Then she gives him a bright orange bottle, and he holds in front of his face, studying it before turning that one down too.

“God, if I knew you’d be so annoying I would’ve just painted them all the colors.” She remarks, lining up her polishes so she could do just that.

“That’s actually probably not a very good idea, kiddo.” Looking a little panicked, he digs through the bottles himself, settling on one he pulls away and stares at for a second before handing it to her and telling her, “Just do ‘em red.”

It confuses her, but she agrees regardless, and makes him turn in his seat so he’s facing her and his hands are flat on the floor. His hands are a little shaky, so her paint job isn’t the best, she even drips some on the carpet, which she hopes her mother won’t notice, but Billy doesn’t say anything about the mess.

With his nails done she moves onto his hair, she wants to do double braids like how he taught her to do in her own hair, so she shoves his arm to get him to turn around. “Scoot.”

He lets her push him around until he’s in the right place that she can reach his hair, but once he’s facing the far wall he tells her, “Don’t you dare use that brush on my hair, Maxine.”

“Jeez, relax. I’m not gonna mess up your princess curls.” She mocked, but she still went for the comb to run through his hair instead.

She waited until she could get it through without catching on any tangles before bothering trying to talk to him. When Billy was upset, he tended to clam up, but she didn’t particularly like feeling awkward in the silence, leaving all the talking to the record player. “Can we talk about why you were mad earlier?”

“Nope.”

“Would you tell me if I told you about my day?” She tries, but he shuts it down again with an “Unlikely.”

“I’ll tell you anyways.” Max didn’t know what had happened with Billy, but she knew she hadn’t had the greatest morning herself either. “I had to ask Lucas to bring me home early because me and Mike got in a fight.”

Billy snorted, and spoke with just as much sarcasm as Max had used on him. She learned that from him anyways. “You and Mike? No.”

“Yeah. He was being a total ass about El, trying to like, own her or something, so I told him to lay off ‘cause that’s totally not fair.”

She knew that Billy, having graduated and turned 18 now, was probably getting a little old for this type of drama, but he was a good listener, no matter how much he pretended not to care, always giving little bits of insight and saying things to make her laugh.

She continues, “Well, anyways he like, totally bit my head off for sticking up for her, so then I told him he was just a miserable mouth breather who’s jealous of El being happy, and he tried to kick me out.”

Billy laughed at that, muttering a little ‘ow’ when the action made Max pull his hair, “But you left before he could kick you out right?”

“Duh.” She sighs a little, the fun part of the story over. “Then when we pulled up outside, Lucas said something stupid about it being my fault or whatever, so I dumped him again.”

“Good. I told you not to take any shit from them anymore.” Billy had been less than happy with her friends a lot recently, when she’d come home from school or from hanging out upset over something they said. They never meant to hurt her feelings, but Billy didn’t like it all the same, and made her promise she’d stand up for herself a little more. Like she did to him.

“Yeah, I guess.” It makes her feel light on the inside, to know Billy was proud of her for following his advice, in his own way at least. “So? What happened to you?”

He shrugs again, and blows her off, “It’s nothing.”

“You were crying.”

“Yeah, and it’s none of your business.”

“Maybe not,” she fumbles with the braid and loses it, Billy’s stupid uneven mullet making it way too hard to braid so many different lengths of hair, “But I’m like, an expert now. El says she likes my advice.”

Under his breath, Billy mutters, “‘Course she does.”

Max purses her lips and pretends she didn’t hear that before continuing her offer, “Anyways, I can always try to help.”

“Listen, it’s just stupid dating stuff. Nothin’ you need to be worrying about.”

“But I’m a girl. I can give advice about that.” She thinks about it for a second, “I mean, I know more about being a girlfriend than having one, but it’s probably about the same.”

“Maybe.” Billy mumbles, focusing all his attention on picking at the nail polish that had missed the edges of his nails, and just from the way he tensed up she can tell she’d overstepped Billy’s boundaries in some way or another.

She finishes of the braid she had already started over twice now and puts a blue scrunchie on the end of it, giving him a minute.

When she starts combing out the rest of his hair is when Billy speaks again, not a drop of his distinctly Billy attitude in his words as he admitted softly, “You know, shitbird, I never said anything ‘bout having a girlfriend.”

That’s confusing to her at first, because he had just told her it was a dating thing, but Max’d been hearing all the nasty things Neil said about Billy for years now, and while she might just be a kid, might be the clueless and annoying little sister, she still knew the weight of what he’d just admitted to her.

It had always made her sad, to know Neil didn’t really like Billy, all the mean words he used, ones she wouldn’t dare repeat, to describe Billy and his friends, all the lies he told about him behind his back. But she doesn’t buy it, what her asshole step-dad had to say.

Her brother was cool, and she liked hanging out with him, when he wasn’t being such a jerk. The fact that he had a boyfriend instead of a girlfriend didn’t change that in the least bit.

She hums, trying to gather words and, her voice strained against the outburst of happiness, says “See? I can totally help with boy stuff.”

[rahleeyah]

What's your stance on showrunners actively engaging with fans on social media? I'm old & have been thru many fandoms and have never seen someone who got as involved as 💡 did. You know that West Wing episode Sorkin wrote based on his experience with TWoP? The one where CJ threatens to shove a motherboard up Josh's ass unless he stays off his fansite? I always thought 💡 needed a CJ.

I am a firm believer in "the author is dead". That means I think we should engage with the text, and that the audience's interpretation of the text is just as valid as the author's intent. Sometimes the audience gets it wrong - thinking now about the way Lolita, for example, has been grossly misinterpreted - but for the most part once a thing has been released to the public it belongs to the public. The spn show runners, for example, tried their best to beat back their audience's interpretation of the text, were mortified that their work was not being received only in the narrow way they wanted it to be, but the audience was engaging with what was there, and the show runners could scream until they were blue in the face but that didn't change the fact that it was easy to read their work thru a homoerotic lens, and it didn't invalidate that reading. I think most of the time - that's a big caveat, there is a small handful of examples where it's gone well but only a few - no good comes from a show runner being engaged with fans on social media. It is their job to create something according to their vision; it is the audience's job to watch it, and make of it what they will. Too much crossing of that line invites hurt; you will never, ever please everyone, and reading an endless litany of comments from people who disagree with you is disheartening, and attempting to appease the masses instead of pursuing the original vision hurts art. And it hurts the fans who feel like they've screamed until they're blue in the face but still aren't getting what they want. It invites confrontation and ill will.

My favorite comparison here is Neil Gaiman vs JKR. when asked a meta question about something in the good omens verse that is not explicit in the text, his standard response is "I don't know, what do you think?" He does not try to control the narrative, he leaves room for interpretation - and crucially does not endorse any one word of god answer that fans can use to gatekeep one another. JKR couldn't keep her fucking mouth shut, and lost the goodwill of most of her audience.

The fans need space to dissect and celebrate and mock and transform the work in peace without being told they're doing it wrong, and the creators need space to fulfill their vision without being distracted by the noise of fandom. The two spheres shouldn't intersect, imo.

And Josh learned that lesson when he wandered into a space that was about him but not for him. He wanted to control people's perceptions of him, but none of us can do that, not on any level.

In a perfect world, we shouldn't know the names of the show runners. Let someone in the head office monitor socials to make sure there's not a mutiny in the offing, and maybe throw in a pineapple or two, but don't engage.

And definitely don't be sending dms and snippets of unaired scenes to a small group of nasty fans, either.

[gaiuswrites]

Thread the Needle | Yoga!Din

Pairing: Modern!Din x Yoga Instructor!Reader

Rating: Explicit (minors, goodbye)

Word count: 3.5k~

Warnings/tags: Yoga!Din (yes, he gets his own warning), hurt/comfort, language, smut, good ol' fashioned cunnilingus, piv

Notes: ✨ HI FRIENDS ✨ Yoga!Din rides again. This idea has been stewing (pun intended, you'll get it later) in my dumb brain for a while now and I've finally decided to write it. Technically, this takes place a little farther into the future (perhaps when the pair is more of an item, and less of a fuckbuddy fling, but thorough plot? We don’t know her). Anyways, enjoy! Cheers x

He doesn’t mean to be dramatic, but it’s the most agonizing sixty minutes of his goddamn life.

He’s seated on his mat, legs folded into a fucking pretzel—lotus pose, a calm voice inside his head corrects—and he’s steaming.

She isn’t here.

He is—Din, for all his faults, showed the fuck up to class but she didn’t, and in her place there’s some smelly old bat, this woman’s wrinkly ass – sits bones – plunked down at the front of the studio— occupying her spot, where she should be.

His eyes stalk the movements of this other woman as she putters around the studio—the godawful stench of something earthy wafting behind her— and it looks wrong. It feels wrong; like a violation somehow—of the space.

Of their space.

“The light in me recognizes the light in you,” they all utter in unison like a fucking hippie cult, and he books it out of there, swiping his mat up with an aggressive slap and rolling it under his arm.

“Hey,” he calls out, pacing towards the front desk. The receptionist— Riley? Kylie? Din can never remember—glances up from her phone, bright eyed.

Poor thing.

“Who the fuck is that?” He jabs his thumb over his shoulder towards the studio, the gaggle of ladies trickling out of it already gossiping and clucking away. Din doesn’t mean to sound accusatory; he doesn’t mean to be this intense. It’s not this girl’s fault, he knows that— but she’s in proximity and she’s shit out of luck.

“M’sorry?” she sputters, blinking up at him.

Breathe, that same voice coos—he can feel the tickle of it behind his ear.

“Our usual Wednesday instructor,” Din begins again, clipped. “Where is she?”

“Oh," she shrugs, "she called in sick.”

With a furrowed brow he pitches forward, craning over the desk. “Is she okay?”

The girl— Miley? —all but flinches back from him, a quizzical expression wormed onto her. “Uhm, yeah she has the flu—nasty one, too, but she’ll probably be back by ne-"

Din doesn’t linger long enough for her to finish. He’s wheeled around, striding from the building, the tinny chime of the bell ringing out as the door creaks closed behind him. The women exchange waggling glances in his wake, tittering in mouthwatering delight—more juicy fodder for their post-yoga soiree.

///

He doesn’t remember driving there. He made a quick stop to the grocery store— their grocery store, now— to pick up what he needed and before he knows it, he’s at her front door, bringing his fist down upon it in hard raps.

He hears movement—can sense it there, can practically imagine it: her lithe body tip toeing over— no, she’s got the flu, maybe it’s more of a shuffle—and peeking through the peephole. There’s a weighty pause and then—

The slow, dubious clicks of unbolting locks, the turning of a handle, the yawn of the wood as it opens.

Her voice is made small with disbelief and exhaustion. “Din?”

“Can I come in?”

She cracks the door ajar, standing in the frame of it now, a thick blue comforter slung over an arm, and she can’t quite mask the stupefied look etched onto her face.

He’s never done this. She’s never done this. He’s been to her place twice—three times, if he counts them fucking in the car in her driveway—and he’s certainly never showed up unannounced.

“Uhm, I-”

“Great.”

Din pushes past her, plastic bag swinging heavy at his side.

“W-What?”

She’s left gaping, mouth and eyes opened incredulously, ogling the way he struts through her entryway, before finally having the wherewithal to close the door. “Hey, what are you-”

“You need to keep your fluids up,” he says roughly—as if it’s obvious—making a beeline towards the kitchen.

She follows after him, bunching the throw snuggly around her shoulders. “Din,” she utters feebly, “I really don’t think you should be here right now.”

He doesn’t respond.

“Please, I don’t wanna get you sick."

He thunks the bag onto the granite countertop, producing two cans.

She doesn’t know why she bothers, it’s not like he’s listening to her anyways. If she’s learned anything about Din Djarin, it’s that he’s nothing if not stubborn—impossibly immovable. He’s tossed his jacket off, slinging it over the island, a determined glint in his eye as he prowls around the kitchen, opening cupboards at random.

“Seriously, I don’t want you catching this. I feel like shit… Oh my god, I look like shit,” she groans in realization, burying her head in the blanket, hermitting herself away.

“You look fine,” he replies gruffly, delving through the drawers in search of a can opener.

Frumpy sweats and a baggy t-shirt with some faded logo on it that’s absolutely hanging off her. Hair tossed up and sloppy, coiled into a loose bun, errant pieces rebelling every which way. A little pale, maybe. Tired eyes. Messy.

Beautiful, he meant. She looks fucking irritatingly beautiful.

Din continues to rifle through her cabinets and he exhales in frustration, “Jesus, where do you keep your pans?”

“Bottom right,” she points begrudgingly.

He grunts, finding one big enough and sets it down on the stove.

She can’t stop fussing over him; making comments here and there, asking if he wants anything, needs anything—water, kombucha, tea, a beer, a snack—if she can help in any way possible—and it nearly sends him over the damn edge.

“Would you quit it and just let me take care of you?” he grits out, and her mouth clamps shut with a pop.

She’s quiet after that, picking anxiously at a thread poking out from the blanket she wears like a shawl—observing as he empties the cans into a large pot, lights the gas stove, and brings it to a boil. She gives him space, stationing herself by the kitchen table, leaning a hip into one of the four chairs there.

Honestly she does try to keep to herself; she tries to accept what Din is doing for her, but she can’t help it. As soon as she sees him ladling the soup into one of her favorite cups—it looks so tiny in his grasp— and bringing it over to her like a goddamn patron saint, she breaks.

“You really didn’t have to do all this.”

“Yeah well, you need to get healthy so you can take your class back from that fucking fossil.”

“Din,” she admonishes.

“Baby,” he gives her a pointed look and she gnaws at the inside of her cheek, a blush blotting her clavicle. “She fucking smells. Now sit your pretty little ass down-”

“But-”

He presses a hand to her shoulder, forcing her to sink into the chair with a soft oomf, and places the bowl in front of her. “Don’t fight me on this. Drink the fucking soup.”

She huffs, glancing down, and then back up to Din.

“Progresso?”

He grunts.

She blows at the steam rising from the hot liquid. “Chicken noodle?”

Din crosses his arms over his chest and plops back onto the island.

“Classic,” she praises, mumbling into it.

She loathes to admit it, but the first sip tastes like heaven. It soothes her raw vocal chords, worn hoarse from nights of coughing, and seeps deep to warm her cold bones.

Din remains mute through the whole affair, staring owlishly as she spoons it down, slurp for slurp, until he’s satisfied she’s finished. When she does, she arches an eye brow at him— mouth pressing into a thin line. Happy now?

He tips his head and pads over to her.

“Wait, no you don’t have to-" He swipes it from the table, the spoon clanking against the ceramic rim. Din moves to the sink and she groans.

“Just leave it,” she whines, but he ignores her—stubborn stubborn stubborn— he’s already got soap on the sponge and the water running. Again, she huffs and rises to her feet, hem of the blanket trailing behind her.

“Thank you,” she gives in a hushed tone.

It’s so strange— being taken care of in her own place. She doesn’t know what to do, where to go. It’s ill-fitting, foreign, and she can only hover there, buzzing like a pesky insect beside him.

He’s wiping the dish off with a towel when he chances a peek back at her, practically stuttering when he does.

She’s swaddled in that fucking quilt, awkward and impossibly sincere and precious just standing there—watching him play house in her home. A brush of color has sprung up on her cheeks—more light in her eyes, too—and Din, try as he might, can’t pry himself off her.

She’s sick—she’s sick and gorgeous and he wants her. He wants her to feel better, he wants to fuck her, he wants to hold her. He’s overcome with it.

He swallows.

Fuck.

He abandons the bowl and rag in the drying rack and turns to her, her eyes widening, glassy and bloodshot, as he tucks a stray hair behind her ear— knuckles trailing down her jaw.

“Din…”

Her tongue skips over her lip—mocking him—damp and full and begging to be taken by his own, and her breath catches as he drags a thumb across that plump flesh, enrapt with the way her mouth parts so effortlessly for him—so fucking supple. Din’s gut twists and his blood thickens in his veins—the air between them rippling with something velvet and carnal.

He takes a step towards her. Her throat bobs.

“You’re gonna get sick,” she pouts in protest, rutting her palm into his chest, but there’s no fight in it. The blanket slips from her shoulders, hitting the ground with a dulled splat.

“Din,” she tries again, “I don’t want you to-"

He leans in, cradling her cheek, murmurs fanning over her face. “I’ll risk it.”

And he dissolves the gap, sealing her mouth with his in a tender kiss. It’s almost chaste at first, how they rove tentative and unhurried over each other—an innocent exploration— all until his tongue darts out to touch along her lip and she whimpers into him, letting Din dip into the dark cavern of her mouth. She tastes warm, like comfort and broth and rainy days, and he sighs as she brings her hands up to weave into his hair.

Neither of them fight for dominance like this—their tangle of soft sounds is perfectly balanced— Hatha; effort and ease, breath and body. He pushes, she relents—she surges forward, Din bends. They dance like this, slow as tar, until she catches his bottom lip between her teeth and tugs.

It’s like a switch has been flipped.

He seethes, inhaling sharply as his hands slide possessive and greedy down her body, grabbing fistfuls of her waist hidden under all the oversized layers, and crushing her into him. She’s making these airy noises, panting and urgent and fuck if it doesn’t tear him apart—viscerally, from the inside out.

Din walks her backwards, step for choreographed step, foxtrotting until she bumps into the kitchen table. He breaks away from the kiss to reach past her, frantically pushing away the unopened mail and receipts and loose change, the jingling of her keys cutting through the wanton quiet as they clang onto the tile, and he hitches her up to sit there with one fell swoop.

“I wanna make you feel good,” he husks, inbetween the bites he’s searing onto her neck. “Please, just lie back for me sweet girl.”

“Din, I-“

He silences her with a nibble to her ear, coaxing a breathy yelp out of her. “Lie back, baby.”

It doesn’t take much convincing after that. She acquiesces, Din’s wide palm splayed on her breasts, guiding her to recline back onto the table. He makes speedy work of her sweatpants, yanking them down her legs and flinging them off to land in a crumpled heap.

He sinks to his knees, pulling the cradle of her hips to the edge of the table before parting her thighs. The gloss of her cunt, wet and glistening for him, makes his hardening cock jump up to his stomach, and she twitches as soon as the cool air brushes against her.

“Fuck me,” he groans, whispering into her heat like he’s pained, like the sight alone is torturing him—like it’s slowly but surely ending his fucking life.

Din breathes her in with a sigh, that summer fruit tang— the scent of her aching and pulsing for him— and he starts tracing up and down her inner thigh with his tongue and teeth, nibbling along the path there until he’s at her apex. He’s dimpling her pliant skin with his calloused fingertips, strong hands wrapped under her knees, keeping them splayed as he kisses along her outer lips, nipping at her hip bones, teasing everywhere but where she needs him most.

It’s devastating—debilitating—and she’s shaking now. Every muscle, every fiber of her, convulsing with anticipation—with the promise of being dissected, of being torn apart and stitched back together again. She’s already got a hand covering her mouth, muffling the sobs he’s drawing out as he toys with her— playing her like a fucking fiddle.

Din’s eyes flit up to find her like this, brow pinched tight and cries stifled, and he chuckles— he fucking laughs— heady and ambered into her legs.

“You doin’ alright up there, teach?”

“F-Fuck you,” she hisses out with a weak whine.

God, she’s fucking perfect.

“You need something, sweetheart?” He smirks— she can feel the shape of it against her thigh, the way his stubble grates along her skin— and she can only mewl, speechless. Pathetic.

“Yeah, I know what you need...” Din hums, before finally - finally - taking mercy on her.

With one single drag, he tongues a broad stripe up her slit.

The noise that rips through her sounds like she’s being strangled— it gets caught in her throat like a trapped animal in hot car— a desperate little thing clawing to get out. Her nails scrape against the wood, leaving nicks in the chestnut lacquer. Immediately, she cants up to him, searching for his mouth hungrily and Din all but obliges as he clasps onto her hips, keeping her still while he fucks into her.

He’s carving her out— hollowing her; burying himself in her folds, nosing against her mound. He laps her up in kitten licks, delving the muscle of his tongue in and out of her, leaving her weak and gasping. Din laves up and down and side to side in clever little swivels, before he reaches her clit and sucks.

Her fist shoots from her mouth to grip his wavy locks, grinding shamelessly against his face.

“O-Oh my god, Din - fuck - Din. Oh fuck oh fuck-"

He loves it when she gets like this; that serene and tranquil exterior— the one that can quell a studio full of strangers into a haze with only the sound of her voice, that voice he can’t get out of his fucking head, the one that got them into this mess in the first place— shattered, mutilated beyond recognition and all she has left is her need— her wild, unbridled need.

Her need for his tongue, for his fingers, for his dick. Din Din Din, she only wants him— only needs him.

He slips a finger into her, easing past his knuckle in one movement, and her chin tips back, crown of her head digging into the table, hair mussing against the wood grain.

Her nipples have pebbled through her shirt, her pretty feet arched and contorted, and she’s heaving - writhing - like this above him.

He adds another digit, pumping in and out, the squelch of her pussy sounding lewd and obscene and fucking divine as he grazes her clit with his teeth, pulling at it.

“Fuck-” she rasps, legs quivering on their own accord— instinct and reflex demanding she tremble— and Din moans into her sex, feeling her walls constrict around his fingers, and he curls them up as he thrusts, hitting against that spongy patch insider her that makes her vision go white.

“Din, I- I’m—"

She can’t manage the rest. Instead of words, she cries— high pitched and wounded, as if she’s barely making it out alive. Her legs clamp around his head, bracing him there, and she cums— she loses it for him— her slick coating his nose, his lips, the hair speckled around his chin. She soaks him, and it leaves Din rocking his hips and humping the fucking air— as randy as a teenager, ravenous for anything, even if it’s just the friction of his pants drawn tight around his erection.

He takes her through her orgasm, lapping at her softly until she’s warbling—a slew of nonsense babbling out of her— and he leans back on his heels to admire his work, eyes singeing into her cunt made puffy and swollen pink, fluttering at the loss of him.

He plants one final kiss to the cleft of her pussy before shifting his weight back up to his feet, slotting himself between her.

Fuck, he isn’t as young as he once was— he feels his age in the ache of his knees. All the yoga in the world can’t erase his scar tissue, can’t undo time.

But he thinks maybe—if he’ll let himself—that she makes him feel younger. Lighter.

He squeezes her calf and begins to move away when she whimpers, bolting upright to palm greedily at the bulge pressing painfully against its constraint, her fingers fidgeting with his zipper and Din— in an uncharacteristic show of strength and self restraint— gingerly clasps onto her wrists, holding her still.

“Hey,” he murmurs, and her eyes snap up to meet his. “This isn’t about me.”

“No, but-”

“You don’t- we don’t have to-"

“Din,” she pants, grabbing onto the waist of his jeans and pressing her center into him, smearing herself along the denim there, her pearled clit catching on the rough fabric. Her eyes have gone jet-black with desire, obsidian lust burning through them. “Din, fuck me. Please fuck me, plea-“

Shit.

He’s never moved so fast in his goddamn life, unbuttoning his jeans in a flash, untucking himself— throbbing, leaking already—from his briefs. He gives himself two rough jerks, his blunt tip prodding at her entrance, before pushing into her with a gasp.

Fuck, she’s warm— not just warm, she’s hot. She’s molten, and she’s milking him for all he’s worth, gripping around him, fucking strangling his cock with how wet she is—how tight. God, she’s a fucking dream—a nightmare too, undoubtedly.

“Fuck baby - shit - you’re—hnng-” He groans—can’t even form a real sentence—all of his blood has rushed out of his brain and straight to the juncture where their bodies meet.

His eyes flutter deliriously at the feeling of her stretching around him like this and for a passing, fleeting moment, he considers the fact that he should be gentle with her— that she’s not feeling well, that she’s probably sore with body chills and God knows what else and that she should rest—

But once her knees are split apart and legs spread long— so fucking flexible, fuck she’s killing him— his well-met concern all but abandons him.

He fucks her hard— so hard she falls back, that unforgiving surface bruising into her spine. He probably hurts her a little—just how he likes, just how she loves.

Din plows into her, digging into the meat of her thighs, slamming into the pussy that takes him so fucking well, the pussy that feels like it’s made for him— like she’s made for him— and the table shudders with each roll of his hips, scraping it inch by inch along the tile, knocking against the chairs with loud, clattering bangs.

“W-Wait— wait wait wait-“ she pants, hands scampering up to his arms.

He slows his thrusts until he’s stilled inside of her, worry creasing around his eyes. “W-What? Are you okay—what’s wrong?”

“T-The table," she whines, “it’s from fucking IKEA. I built this piece of shit myself— there’s no way it’s gonna stay standing with you fucking me into it like this.”

Din barks out a laugh, throaty and genuine, and for the second time today, he comes to the conclusion that she’s perfect.

“Bedroom?” she nods down the hall.

“Bedroom,” he growls before scooping her up, lifting her off the table, her legs scrambling to hook around his waist, forearms bracing around the broad plain of his shoulders.

“Din!” she squeals in surprise, “I can walk, you know.”

“Shut up,” he grumbles, giving her a bounce and a light slap to her ass. “You’re sick.”

///

“Onions,” he mutters, leaden eyelids nestled shut.

He didn’t mean to stay over this long—well past sunset, later than he’s ever allowed himself—but how could he be expected to leave? After she came on his cock - twice - and he had filled her up until his cum was gushing from her, extricating himself out of this exact position of woven, spent limbs and sweat stained sheets sounded criminal.

“What?” She cranes groggily up at him.

“The sub. She smelled like onions. And patchouli.”

“Hey,” she tuts in mock offense, “Brenda is nice.”

“Good for Brenda. Doesn’t make her smell any better.”

“God, you are so rude,” she laughs, shaking her head as she nuzzles into Din’s side, lips curving into a sleepy grin against his chest—right above the aching thump of his caged heart.

Taglist (I apologize if I missed anyone!):

@radiowallet @pedros-mustache @djarinsbeskar @chasingdreamers @greatcircle79 @iamskyereads @imnotinlove-thisisnotyoursong @fan-of-encouragement @read-and-rec @helmet-comes-off @keeper0fthestars @hellabaybee @ourmotherofyearning @krissology