#enough with the enigmas i need answers no matter how devastating they might be

[pommunist]

mister fit em cee i will support whatever ending you choose for your character but please don’t have it be an ambiguous ending or i will have to check myself into the nearest mental institution

[angstgremlin]

I didn’t mean to turn you on and Flirting under fire!

So like… I 100% am aware that the list these prompts are from only say to describe how I would write these mixed aus/tropes but you know what, all of the ones I have sitting in my inbox sound really fun and it would be a fun challenge to make each au/trope match work so have an actual little ficlets~

This first one was a little more straightforward but still fun. I also never did my own take on the trope of firing the Dragons through Peacekeeper so here’s that too.

Also, I’m sorry this took so long I’ve been clawing my way through writer’s block, and my attention has been mostly on my big bang and another project and also the Mix and Match prompts still chilling in my inbox.

The Mix’d prompts for this little ficlet are “I didn’t mean to turn you on and Flirting under fire”!

You can read it on ao3, if you wanna.

Everyone assumes Hanzo would be one to have the utmost focus on the battlefield, and they’re right. Mostly. Hanzo is in his element, an archer without peer, but even he can get distracted. 

There are few who Hanzo believes match his skill in sharpshooting, and one of them is Jesse McCree. To say Hanzo is not infatuated with the gunslinger and his skill was a completely false statement. Hanzo desires to know if the light flirtations Jesse sends his way have any meaning or is he is reading into things too much. Placing his wants where they are not returned. They have only just begun to be friends, and Hanzo already wants more.

It doesn’t help the matters of Hanzo’s budding affection that Jesse’s flirtatious remarks often occur on the battlefield, where Jesse showcases just how much of a cocktail of beautiful and deadly he is. Hanzo denies that he swoons at the report of Peacekeeper, of Jesse’s wild grin present only in the most dire of situations where the gunslinger has nothing to lose. Finding himself distracted in their current circumstances, taking cover from Talon gunfire inside of the only room at the end of a hallway, would have once been something Hanzo would berate himself mercilessly for. 

Part of him does, the part still clinging to the grooming he received as heir of the Shimada. Hanzo ignores it in favour of nocking an arrow to whip around the metal doorjamb he’s taken cover behind as Jesse reloads. His arrow finds its mark through the throat of a Talon goon, and as the body slumps to the floor Hanzo retreats again to hide from the retaliation fire. 

“Pretty handy with that bow,” Jesse drawls, sending Hanzo a wink, spinning Peacekeeper’s chamber into place. “Now lemme show ya how it’s done.” 

Hanzo watches Jesse round the corner, hears the smooth drawl of it’s high noon and listens as Peacekeeper fires and bodies hit the floor. Hanzo’s more interested in watching Jesse then watching the results of Deadeye at work. He knows already how devastating it is, he’s seen it used time and time again. It’s hard to describe as an outsider looking in, how Jesse’s seemingly supernatural ability works, but Hanzo figures his own dragons are as much of an enigma. 

Now isn’t the time to ponder it, anyways, Hanzo’s focus is torn between the still ongoing battle and trying to tramp down the wave of desire watching Jesse fight causes. Jesse rolls out of the way of more return fire, and now he’s sharing cover with Hanzo, huddled much too close for Hanzo’s comfort, in more ways than one. 

“Howdy.” Jesse tips his hat with Peacekeeper’s muzzle, sets about reloading her again, and conversationally adds, “Kinda cozy now, ain’t it~?”

“Not my idea of cozy.” Hanzo replies automatically, peeking around the corner quickly to check on how many Talon members remain between them and escape. 

There’s only a few left. Hanzo reaches for an arrow and when he comes up empty, curses softly. Some of his arrows protruding from Talon corpses are still serviceable, but Hanzo is in no position to collect them. 

“I’d like ta see your idea of cozy.” Jesse responds as he flips the chamber of his gun closed again with a grin and a wink directed at Hanzo when he turns back to face Jesse.

The gunslinger loses his flirtatious smirk a second later, as it clicks that Hanzo is out of arrows. Jesse seems to have the same idea as Hanzo, as he peeks around the corner to check how many of Hanzo’s arrows are still in good condition. Jesse retreats and more gunfire follows, and he sends Hanzo a calculating look. 

“So. I got a handful of bullets left. I think Imma need those for actually gettin’ out of here.” Jesse pulls a cigarillo from the depths of his pockets and sticks it between his teeth to chew on the end thoughtfully. Hanzo’s seen him do this often enough to know it’s simply a tick of Jesse’s to help him think in these situations. “…Yer dragons can be channelled through any weapon, yeah?”

“Yes, within reason.” 

Jesse grins around the cigarillo, spins Peacekeeper on his trigger finger and holds her out to Hanzo, “Wanna take ‘er for a spin?”

Hanzo can only stare wordlessly at the offered gun. He’s witnessed others pester Jesse for a chance to wield her in the practice range, and from his look on his face then you’d think you’d asked him to hand over his firstborn. Hanzo’s a little hesitant to take Peacekeeper, and it must show, so Jesse crowds closer to Hanzo and places her in Hanzo’s hand himself. 

“If I didn’t trust ya with ‘er I wouldn’t offer ‘er up.” Jesse fits his hand over Hanzo’s to position his hand on Peacekeeper’s grip. “Fair warnin’, she’s got a helluva kick back.”

“I’m aware.” Hanzo answers, lets himself get a feel for Peacekeeper’s weight in his hand. 

She’s heavy, as expected, and Hanzo motions for Jesse to remove his hand over where it still remains over Hanzo’s. He might be simply far too aware of Jesse at his side, but he swears Jesse’s hand lingers a second too long, thinks he sees Jesse move minutely closer before he rocks back on his heels to give Hanzo space. 

Good thing too, as the dragons are already rising to the promise of food. Even though he knows they would not kill his allies, being caught in their storm is nauseating even for Hanzo himself. He’d rather spare Jesse the sensation. 

Hanzo waits for a lull in the gunfire before he rolls out of cover, his incantation already leaving his lips and the dragons cresting from his tattoo. Peacekeeper flashes blue and the dragons surge from her barrel, the Talon agents having advanced down the hallway to further trap Jesse and Hanzo immediately caught in their jaws. Soon their screams and the roars of the dragons die down to an eerie silence. 

Both Hanzo and Jesse wait crouched behind cover, holding their breath, listening for more personnel on the way. When a good few moments pass both relax and Hanzo moves and holds Peacekeeper out to return her to Jesse. Jesse takes her back, but his hand does linger on Hanzo’s this time, and when he lifts his gaze to Jesse’s he finds it dark with a hunger he’s never seen before. 

Jesse pulls Hanzo’s hand to his mouth, kisses each knuckle, staring at Hanzo intently. Watching his reaction, Hanzo realizes when his thoughts catch up to him. Hanzo merely flips his hand out of Jesse’s hold, runs his fingers through the scruff on the cowboy’s jaw before he’s tugging Jesse close by the hair at the nape of his neck. 

They stop millimetres apart, breath ghosting over each other’s lips. Now isn’t the time for this, more Talon agents could be swarming on their position, and they need to collect Hanzo’s arrows and move. Jesse seems to understand, he brushes his nose against Hanzo’s, and it kills Hanzo how he can feel Jesse’s lips move so close to his own but not close enough.

“Later.” Jesse’s voice is a low growl, like he’s barely holding back his own wave of lust and the thought makes Hanzo’s mouth dry. 

“Later.” Hanzo agrees, fights the urge to dip his head for a taste of Jesse’s lips and pulls back, tries to clear his head. 

His still serviceable arrows are collected, and soon he and Jesse and fighting their way back to rejoin their team. It feels like a blur, and when they pile back into the Orca, still firing on Talon personnel trying to hinder their escape, Hanzo can feel Jesse close. As the Orca finally lifts off and the door closes, Hanzo feels himself being tugged away from the group, to a more private corner. 

When both of them are relatively out of sight, Jesse presses Hanzo against the wall and rests his forehead on Hanzo’s. It feels more intimate than even their moment back inside the Talon base, and Hanzo lets his arms come up under that worn serape, tugging Jesse closer still.

“I need ya to understand a few things.” Jesse’s voice is kept low between them to keep this conversation private. He’s not lost that hungry look, only now there’s something else in his eyes that makes Hanzo’s heart twist in an entirely different way, “I ain’t wantin’ no flings, I’ve had ‘nough goddamn one night stands. If we do this, you’re mine, an’ I’m gonna be yours.”

It is more than Hanzo was expecting, really. Jesse has always been a flirt, Hanzo figured if anything would happen between them it would result in an awkward morning after if either of them even stayed the night. It would be something they would never speak of again, and that would be that.

An actual attempt at a proper relationship was something Hanzo never expected to be on the table. Especially not for him.

“Your terms are… agreeable.” is as much as Hanzo feels he can reply without making a fool of himself.

Jesse knows Hanzo enough to recognize the answer for what it is, and wastes no time closing the distance between their lips. Hanzo lets Jesse’s kiss and touch consume him, letting the taller man press him further against the wall. He can’t help the smirk that paints his face after earning a shocked yelp from Jesse after grabbing a handful of the cowboy’s ass. Jesse retaliates with a grin and a grind of his hips that has Hanzo softly moaning against Jesse’s lips when he dips to kiss Hanzo again. 

“Excuse me.”

Both men part from each other at the voice, finding Hana standing at the top of the ramp and glaring at them both. She crosses her arms in front of her and frowns.

“I’m happy for you guys, really, but at least wait until we get back to base.” she then turns on her heel and walks back down the ramp. 

Jesse has a little bit of decency to look chastised, “Hate ta admit it, but she’s right. The Orca ain’t no place for this.”

“No, it is not.” Hanzo agrees, trying to compose himself once more.

They part, but not far. Hanzo catches Jesse’s hand with his, rubs the top of it with his thumb. Jesse responds by giving Hanzo’s hand a squeeze and sending Hanzo an easy smile. Hanzo tugs Jesse back to him for a quick kiss.

“Drinks later?” he voices when they part, corners of his mouth lifting in a rare, soft smile.

“Later.” Jesse agrees.

Together they rejoin the group, hand in hand. 

[z-wonderland]

Start Again/1

Fanfiction

Part 1

AU TVD/TO story

Klaus Mikaelson x reader/Elena Gilbert

Joel Goran x reader/Elena Gilbert

Prologue: Y/N/E moves to Toronto getting a job as a surgeon in Hope Zion, to start over, after her husband dies. it is part human, part supernatural story,

a/n: I hope you like this story. Thanks for reading xoxo

___________ 

Y/N/Elena Gilbert grew up in Mystic Falls, she was a doppelganger, a vampire and became human again. She fell in love with Damon Salvatore, her High-school sweetheart, who was a vampire, and then also became human again. She went to study medicine, and he studied sociology. After they graduated, they got married and she got a job at Whitmore Hospital and he was a teaching job at the Whitmore High-School. Some five years after, he dies in a car crash. Devastated Y/N/Elena one day decides to take a job in Hope Zion Hospital in Toronto. 

tags

@rissyrapp20 @captainshurley @elejahforever @cassienoble2000 @goddessofthunder112

■■■■■■■■

Preface

A couple of years after

"Why are you moving all the way to Canada?"- Bonnie asked.

"I need something different. New. An adventure. I don't know. But I decided that I am going and I will go. I'm sorry, Bonnie, but I just need to do it."

"I get it. I hate to admit it, but I get it."- Bonnie said.

¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤¤

Six months after moving to Toronto

Y/N/E walked into the bar across the road from the Hospital called Klaus', and like the first morning when she came in as she had arrived to Toronto, she ordered a black coffee without sugar. Now the bartender/owner poured her a cup.

"Make it triple, please"- Y/NE said.

"Tough night?!"- Klaus stated as he topped the cup up.

"Yeah. The crash on 402 was really a mess."- Y/N/E replied now taking a good sip of coffee.

"Something tells me there is more to it?"

Y/N/E sighed a little and said-"This thing with bartenders being psychotherapist is actually real."

"Yeah, if you actually have a degree."- Klaus said.

"And something tells me that you have a degree?!"- Y/N/E then said.

"I might."- Klaus replied with a bit of a smirk.

"You are actually serious?! How come you- never said?"

"You never asked."- Klaus replied continuing-"and now goes the question of why am I actually not working as one, but tend the bar?!"

"Hey, everyone does what feel is best. At least that is what I hope people do. I am for one glad you are making coffee."

"I do it because there are nurses and doctors, who work unbelievable shifts, and most of the time the machine coffee is vile."

"It really is."- Y/N/E said with a little smile.

"So, whose foot did you step on?"

Y/N/E made a face like not going to spill.

"It's not going to go further. It's like doctor-patient privilege."

"I stepped on the feet of a fellow. I saw that he wasn't - well, his hand is not properly healed and- I asked him to leave the OR."

"Oh-"- Klaus said-"That didn't go down well!"

"You're kidding."- Y/N/E said-"but the patient comes first."

"Did you get reprimanded?"

"No. He did. And I just feel bad for some reason."- Y/N/E said.

"So, you are not such a cold heartless witch after all."- Klaus said.

"What?"- Y/N/E now looked stunned at him.

"Ahm, sorry. I don't know what possessed me to say that."- Klaus said apologetically.

"That's what everybody says about me, don't they?"

"You have not really made any friends, have you?"

"I- came here - to work. And that's what I do. I work."- Y/N/E said.

"Something bad had happened, right? You were once a very kind and warm person, the heart of the party."

"Not doing this, Dr Freud."- Y/N/E said getting up now paying for her coffee, leaving a generous tip behind.

"Don't go."- Klaus now said-"I was way out of line here."

Y/N/E stopped for a second and said taking a long deep breath- "I - just not ready to talk."

"Fair enough."- Klaus said now pushing the money back to her saying-"this one is on the house."

Y/N/E shook her head a little, taking her jacket from the other stool and her bag now.

"That's for the session."

She exited the bar then.

Klaus cursed himself mentally for stepping over the line, but ever since she walked into his bar six month ago, she was like this enigma that he wanted to decipher. But, she was a hard nut to crack. He now took the money and put in the box for tips. 

¤¤¤

In the Hope Zion hospital, somewhat earlier

      "Dr Goran, in my office, please!"- Dr Dana Kinney now said to the fellow to follow her.

Joel Goran went with the feisty chief-of-staff. He knew that the incident in the OR would have repercussions.

"Please close the door behind you."

Joel did as he was asked.

"Stupid, stupid, stupid."- the Chief-of-staff raged a bit at the surgeon-"a bar-fight? A fractured hand?!"

"I know, but on the upside - these are insured."- Joel said.

"That is not the point. We are paying you for those hands. But that is not the most what really pisses me off. It's the fact that a resident has asked you to leave the OR."

"I didn't leave. I stayed."

"You followed the protocol. Thank God for that. But, what were you thinking. Why didn't you have the hand looked at?"

"There was no time."- Joel said-"we were all paged and I got in. I scrubbed and - "

Dr Kinney was feeling somewhat less mad at her colleague.

"I know. It was an emergency. But, this doesn't excuse you. You always have to be on top of things. That is what your station requires of you. Thank God Y/N/E is - an overachieving genius, and she could do the job, but- I will not tolerate this cowboy behaviour of yours again. No matter how good you are. I am going to put you out for two weeks."

"No, please."- Joel now said serious- "I can still work."

      "You can't do surgery."- Dr Kinney said.

"I can diagnose. I can still consult."- Joel said nearly in a pleading voice.

"Joel, you have just lost a patient."

"It comes with the territory."- Joel said.

"The man committed suicide. It affected you even though you are not willing to admit it."

"Dana, I am fine."- Joel said trying to reassure the Chief.

"I don't think you are. Still, I will think about it and let you know."- Dr Kinney said and now took her tablet, and looked at her e-mail messages.

Joel still stood there looking at her. He was not happy with the decision she had made. As he wanted to add something more, she now raised her head and said-

"You are still here?"

"This is it?"

"As I said- I will think about it and give you a call. I am sorry, but I have to attend to these."

"All right"- Joel said and left the Chief's office miffed. But, he knew that he made a very bad call and now he was reaping the consequences. Walking down the corridor, he shook his head not believing how this spiralled into a mini- nightmare for him. With his thoughts wondering all over the place he walked into the cafeteria and asked for a sandwich and a coffee.

"You're still here?"- Dr Maggie Lin said as she saw Joel zoned out.

"What?"- he looked at the resident.

"I thought you'd be long gone. Didn't you just pull a triple- shift? Oh, what happened to your hand?"- she now saw the splint.

"I had an accident"

"Accident-?!"

"Yeah."- Joel said.

Dr Alex Reid now walked in and seeing Joel asked him straight out-

"A resident whooped your ass- ouch!"

Maggie now looked at Alex not understanding what had happened. And Alex now told her friend and colleague about Y/N/E telling Joel to step away, taking over the operation.

"You are loving this way too much."- Joel said.

"Yep."- Alex said-"I really don't want to be mean, but- it serves you right."

Joel was about to say something to it, but his phone rang, and he now answered-

"I thought about it, and I am allowing you to diagnose and consult. I am also assigning you to help Dr Y/N/Gilbert with all her cases."- Dana said.

"Excuse me?"- Joel couldn't believe what he was hearing. The last thing he wanted was to work alongside Y/N/E for a while.

"She has a couple of cases she's writing a paper on, and since I am assigning her to take over some of your surgeries. You have a presentation to give at the ICORS Conference in New York in a couple of weeks, and I found out that you still need to put it together. Dr Y/N/Gilbert is willing to help you."

"She is?"

"Well, I have kindly asked her. "- Dana said. But in other words, knowing the Chief, it actually meant that this was a way to deal with what had happened in the OR earlier that morning.

■

The next day, Joel arrived at the hospital in a taxi. Y/N/E was approaching him from the parking lot, giving him a small hello.

"Hello."- Joel said back.

"Dr Goran, I apologize for the way I acted in the OR. It was out of place."- Y/N/E now said.

Joel sighed a little and now said looking at her seriously-

"I should have known better. I am your superior. But for what's worth, you made the right call."

Y/N/E nodded kind of relieved. And now continued- "Dr Kinney said to take over your scheduled OPs. And the presentation for New York."

"Yeah. I can't really type and do it with the left hand will take forever."- Joel said, both now entering the building.

"Right."- Y/N/E said and instead of going to the elevator with him she turned to take the stairs.

"I thought we cleared the air Dr Y/N/Gilbert"- Joel now said.

Y/N/E turned back to him and said- "Yes. But I just prefer the stairs. I will see you later."

Joel was like ok, and went to the elevator. Y/N/E was a puzzle to him and others as well. She had not made friends, but she was nice and good with everyone. She worked hard and exceled in all she did. And she kept to herself. They thought of her as the nerdy overachiever ever and a recluse.

And she would go for a drink after work at Klaus' like everyone did whenever they had time off. But stayed only for one drink.

Little flashback

"What is her deal?"- Dr Maggie Lin said to Dr Alex Reid once as Y/N/E left the bar after a celebration.

"She- well, she lost her husband in a car crash. And ahm- she went to the crash site with the paramedic, and - she couldn't save him. After his funeral she just shut down, and she is the way she is."- Alex said.

"How do you know all this?"- Maggie asked.

"I met a colleague of hers, Jo Parker, when I was at the Cardiovascular Congress in July."

"Oh! This is tough."- Maggie exclaimed.

"Yeah. They've been together since High School. I can't even think how I would feel if I lost the love of my life."- Alex said.

"Talking about love of your life"- Maggie said-"what is going on between you and Joel?"

"Me and Joel?"- Alex looked stunned at her friend.

"Yeah. You were once - and it feels like there is unfinished business there between you two."

Alex knee that Maggie was actually asking if it was ok to get it on with Joel.

"Oh, we are so finished."- Alex said-"a little warning - make sure you wear protective armour for your heart."

"I don't plan to fall in love. Just have fun."- Maggie said.

"Then Joel is your guy."- Alex said.

¤

A couple of weeks later in New York

Y/N/E and Joel travelled together to the ICORS Conference, to give the presentation on a new surgical method. As Y/N/E improved the method even more, Dana thought the should present it together.

Already  as they set off, on the way from the city to the airport, they had to stop as there was an accident on the part of the highway that was under construction. A man's leg was caught in one of the pipes that tumbled over. Both Joel and Y/N/E were there hands on, dealing with the situation before the ambulance arrived.

As they finally arrived and checked-in the hotel, they had something to eat and Joel suggested they go out for a drink. Y/N/E was reluctant, but then said yes.

"What are you having? Bourbon?"- Joel said.

"Yeah."- Y/N/E said.

Joel got their drinks and brought them over to the table Y/N/E sat down at.

"They didn't have Elijah Craig, so I got you Jefferson's."

Y/N/E looked surprised that he knew that she only drank one particular brand of Bourbon.

"It's ok."-Y/N/E said.

"Why do you only drink Elijah Craig?"

"Because it is the best. And I like the name."- Y/N/E said.

"Elijah or Craig?"- Joel asked.

"Elijah."- Y/N/E replied-"I don't know why, just- there is this something- old, noble about the name."

Joel smiled now at her charmingly.

"What?"- Y/N/E uttered taking a sip of the drink.

"My father wanted to call me Elijah."

"What? You are making this up."- Y/N/E now said.

"No. It's all true. You can ask him when he comes for a visit. He always comes for a visit for Christmas."

"So, I guess your mom wanted to call you Joel."

"Yes."- Joel replied-"And you?"

Y/N/E took another sip and said-"I don't know. Both of them, I guess. I was adopted."

Y/N/E then got up and said-"Let's play darts. I haven't played - like - forever. We always played pool."

"Yeah, ok."- Joel got up and joined her for a game. And Y/N/E had fun. She was beating him.

"Is there anything you are bad at?"- Joel asking jokingly.

"A lot. I am a bad friend. I am a bad daughter. I am a bad sister. All I can do is be a good surgeon. That is the only thing I am good at. One thing, I am good at that one thing- so pathetic."

"What I saw there today, wasn't just surgery. I was inspired. I have never seen anyone so cool and collected. It was like you switched your emotions off  and you saved the guy's life."- Joel said.

       "Can you not do this."- Y/N/E said back.

"Do what? Y/N/E, it was - insane, it was dangerous and it was monumentally sexy."

      "Please, Joel.  Really. Don't. I am not that amazing. And - just- stop hitting on me."

"I am not hitting on you. Well, maybe I am a little. Ah, but, really - I think you are kind of amazing, Y/N/E. You are amazing. I think you should probably acknowledge it to yourself." 

      Y/N/E looked at Joel and the words he said transported her to her High-School days, when Damon told her the same flattering words. And there it was, emotions charging up. Emotions, she thought she had under control.

Y/N/E put the darts aside and said that she needed a drink, walking away to the bar. Joel turned around and followed her not understanding her abrupt behaviour.

"Bourbon large"- she said to the bartender.

"Are you all right?"- Joel asked.

"Yeah."- Y/N/E took the glass as it was poured and downed the drink in one go. She then put the glass down on the counter and looked at Joel-

"I am going back to the hotel."

"What just happened there?"- Joel asked looking at Y/N/E seriously-"I- sorry if I was coming on- I thought that -"

"No, I am sorry, if I gave you any kind of mixed messages. I really didn't want to."

"You were not. But- I - just- the last couple of weeks- we -" Joel paused for a second and then continued-"we worked so well together on the presentation and  in the OR. And - I saw - you- it's like you showed me you, not Dr Y/N/Gilbert, the cool, level headed medical genius. You are so beautiful and sexy- and-"

"Yeah, we worked well together. And- this is how I want to keep it. Night."

Saying that, Y/N/E went out of the bar.

Joel stayed behind gazing in the direction she had just exited. For a moment there, he thought he saw a glimpse in her eyes, a  glimpse that had a certain sweet, loving warmth.

Outside, the bar, Y/N/E fought her emotions that rippled open. Again she shook her head. No. Where were these emotions coming from? Y/N/E now took a deep breath, and stopped her heart from humming.

The next day, both of them didn't talk about what had happened at the bar. It was like nothing ever happened. They both acted professional and the presentation was done as such.

All the way back from New York to Toronto, Y/N/E was like absent-minded. They didn't speak much. Y/N/E kept herself busy reading different medical papers. As they touched down and went through the border control, Joel asked if she wanted a ride back into the city as he had his car there.

"Thank you-"- she started and he cut in-

"But you prefer to take the taxi."

Y/N/E then changed her mind suddenly and said-"I was going to say- but can you drop me off at the Hospital."

"Right."- Joel was surprised-"but you start tomorrow."

"I just need to see a patient."- Y/N/E said.

"Yeah, ok."- Joel replied and they went to the parking lot.

As the arrived at the hospital and Joel pulled in front of the building he said-

"I know we are colleagues, but can we be friends?"

      Her heart beat fast and completely erratic fighting a new flood of emotions as she looked at him and replied- "Yeah, we can."- and got out of the car.

¤

Days after

"New York was good."- Y/N/E said to her friend Bonnie-"I wish you could have come."

"No can do. Have to keep this Vampire Central under control."- her friend Bonnie replied.

"Did you hear from Kai?"- Y/N/E now asked.

"No. He is not answering any of my calls."- the witch said.

"So there are no bloody trails?"- Y/N/E referred to Kai, who was very unstable after his best friend's death, and they had a hard time keeping track of him.

"Alaric has promised to keep an eye on him."- Bonnie replied-"Ok. Now I want to hear gossip. Tell me you will have fun today, and that you will not work all day long on your birthday."

Y/N/E sighed a little and then said-

"Well, I - ok- I - well, I started to have feelings- for this guy. Actually, there is two of them. And- it just- oh, it feels like- it is all so- then I feel so bad, because I have these feelings, because-Oh, I am so messed up, this is so not right-"- Y/N/E said-"I really don't know- what to do" -"

"Y/N/E, you have to get out of this. The whole reason of moving away was that you get on with your life. It's been nearly two years now, and it's ok to - go on. He would want you to move on."

"Go for it, Y/N/E. It is good that you started to have feelings and- yeah- Just - get out there. Date. And - live again. You've like through Hell and back ten thousand times."- Bonnie said.

"Literally."- Y/N/E said.

"Exactly, so- it's ok to love again. "

"Yeah, I guess."

And she got dressed, and  went to work. This was going to be a day that she will - go on. Move on.

And the first thing she did as she saw her colleague Alex to invite her for a drink at Klaus'

"It's my birthday."- Y/N/E said-"and so- if you don't have anything afterwards."

"No. Great. I'll be there."- Alex said and then went off as she was paged.

Y/N/E also got on with her patients. The morning was busy and as she finally got time around lunch, she went to find Joel. Approaching from the side corridor, she saw him with Maggie and then heard him say this-

"It's time for me to try and be more generous with you"

"Is that code for you wanna be exclusive?"- Maggie asked.

"I think we should give it a shot?"- Joel asked. 

                 Maggie now latched onto Joel in a kiss, and Elena stepped backwards and went to an opposite direction.

Klaus' bar that evening

"See you"- Alex said to Y/N/E picking up her bag-"Happy birthday."

"Thanks. See ya."- Y/N/E said sitting  back at the bar.

"So, is it's your birthday?!- Klaus stated, having overheard them obviously.

"Yep. But it is not a big deal."- Y/N/E said.

"Which one if it's not a secret?"- Klaus said.

"30th."- Y/N/E said.

"Oh, You should have said- I would have made it to be a blast."

"As I said it's not a big deal."- Y/N/E exhaled a little.

"Here"- Klaus now put two glasses down and poured them the Bourbon-"Happy birthday."

Y/N/E looked at Klaus and he at her.

"I should go."- Y/N/E muttered.

"I guess you should."- Klaus muttered back not taking his eyes off of her. She was not moving,

He now neared her and kissed her.

[johobi]

When You Least Expect It | 09

Pairing: Jungkook x Reader x Taehyung

Word count: 11.6k

Warnings: depression, anxiety, a very vague allusion to self-harm, graphic, penetrative sex, vulgar language etc.

AO3 link: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16732419/navigate

A/N: I’m sorry this took so long to edit!!

Next: 10 || WYLEI Masterlist

You’re in love with your childhood friend, Taehyung. The problem is, you treasure your friendship with him far too much to ever risk losing it. Oh, and he’s quite the Casanova. At your wits’ end with feelings you can no longer hide as diligently as you once did, you ask him to set you up with someone, anyone, in a last-ditch attempt to avoid a heartbreaking conversation.

The three days following that ill-omened evening passed with as much ease as a spell in the Underworld. You could have been swayed into believing that that was where you were now sentenced, perpetually, to reside, but for your familiarly unextraordinary surroundings. The Black Dog had become Cerberus, and tirelessly upheld your condemnation. Never too far astray, and possessed, always, of a voracious appetite for your misery, the hound snuck its way into the sanctuary of your home and watched you reduce to a melancholic soup between the stale, rumpled sheets of your seldom-left bed.

And you still functioned, yes – to the casual eye. But only to deter interrogation over that most unbearable of subjects. Adopting a frivolous front was so mentally taxing, that you attended only those obligations that demanded your appearance. Like at work, for example. Your sole method of coping, there, came in the form of the new hire Hoseok presented to you on Day One, Post-Taehyung.

In the wake of such devastation, it was far easier to assume a different role; a different life.

So, on Day One, you became The Trainer. The Trainer was bubbly, comedically clumsy and ever so relieved to have the extra pair of hands. Even Hoseok loved The Trainer. So much so, you began to wonder if he preferred her to the real you. The you that slept little, ate less, and, when at home, did nothing. Even when the roots of your hair came to shine like you’d been baptised in a font of grease, you did nothing. And when the blank page of your perennially unstarted assignment began to blend in with the walls surrounding it, you did nothing then, either.  

On Day Two, as you lay there in the comforting—for its sheer suffocation—murk of your apartment, the laptop winked its final goodbye as it gave up hope.

And on Day Three, the day that should not have been Day Three but the date with Jungkook you had so been looking forward to, you gave up hope.

As the intervals between his determined door-knocking grew, hailing his weakening will, the path to him felt far too long; far too treacherous to tread. The exhaustion that dogged you saw corridors and rooms outstretch the paltry floorspace detailed in your tenancy agreement, casting Jungkook beyond reach.

You would never make it.

The rapping stopped.

So, this was loneliness. Four blank walls and sour-smelling sheets.

You rolled over, eager to succumb to the lethargy that lapped at your toes. That buffered you from the vulturous circling of your more serrated thoughts.

But then you saw him. Saw his kind, softly-sloping features. A face that granted you succour for its sheer existence.

Your phone cast you in a cool glow, not far removed from your waxen complexion. Jungkook vibrated incessantly, and would not go unignored. When his attempt to reach you passed its fourth minute, the gamble of picking up had your heart hammering. If you answered, what would you be met with? An anger that burned so hot, it could disintegrate what fragile matter of you that remained? You just didn’t have the strength.

But if you didn’t, Jungkook would be gone.

Just like him.

And the crippling fear of that possibility had your thumb swiping in a panic-stricken fumble to admit his call. “H-Hello?” you mumbled, voice uneven for its prolonged disuse.

“____?” came Jungkook’s sweet, agreeable – oh, so, so agreeable – tones. They cracked under concern. “Noona, are you okay? Where are you? I’m at your apartment, like we arranged.”

No, you hadn’t even possessed the decency to cancel the meeting you knew you would never make it to. But that’s what you did, when things became unbearable. Avoided them. Like you did, now, with anyone or anything related to the man who had cut you to ribbons. Even Yoongi, who, by mere association, had become painful to be in the presence of.

“I’m sorry, Jungkook,” you rasped flatly. “I’m not feeling well. Hiking is too much.”

The fury would come, any second now. You didn’t even care to brace for it. Just a hope remained, that it would push you a stage past numb and into an anaesthetised utopia.

But it didn’t. Only warmth trickled forth from the speaker. “That’s okay, noona. We don’t have to go hiking. Are you sick?”

“Yeah, something like that that,” you mumbled, as indistinct as the enigma of an answer you’d given.  Had you the strength, you’d have berated yourself for harbouring reservations about expressing your mental anguish to him. Jungkook had, after all, sworn himself to be nothing but a willing ear to your woes. As always, though, your reluctance to add to his burdensome load prevented you from voicing them. “It’s nothing to worry about.”

Wise to your tendency for deflection, however, he wouldn’t allow you to withhold it from him. “Not feeling well in yourself?”

Such a gentle, considerate way to put it. Dare you say, the faintest of somethings tickled your necrotic heart? Maybe it was still capable of sensation. “No, not at all. I’ve been having some very bad days.”

A sigh filtered through your phone, but it wasn’t one of frustration. Nor despondency, which you feared more. “Noona, I know you have this thing where you feel like you have to keep everything to yourself, but even when we can’t be together in person, I’m at the end of a line, at the very least,” was Jungkook’s tender appeal to you. “Texting is great at hiding emotion, because I had no idea you were struggling. That, or I’m an idiot and should have realised.”

“You’re not an idiot,” you immediately dismissed such undeserving slander.  “I mislead you on purpose. I was trying to dig my own way out of this hole, but, uh,” you cast a despairing look around the disarray surrounding you. “That didn’t happen. Sorry.”

Jungkook was swift to scold you. “Stop apologising, seriously. We don’t have to go hiking, but I don’t want to leave you alone—I mean, unless you want to be alone, that is,” he added hastily. He was trying so hard to say the right thing. A blooming warmth began to thaw you. “But I don’t want to leave you alone. I want to be with you. We could just spend the day inside and chill out? That sounds just as appealing to me.”

You surprised yourself. Spurning his company had seemed like a dead cert. “No, I don’t want to be alone. But you can’t come in, my place is a fucking pig sty and I’m—I’m embarrassed.”

At your confession, he addressed you with an impassioned softness. “Noona,” he murmured, the word like a velvet-wrapped embrace as it kissed your ear drums. “There’s no need for you to be embarrassed. But, I understand, and I won’t ask to come in. Why don’t you come to my place?”

Now that it was he himself proposing it to you, the prospect of a fresh environment and more Jungkook became the only appealing suggestion to broach your shroud of gloom since its descension over you. Nothing could be better for you than to gain distance from the pungency of unlaundered clothes and the ecosystem that now thrived in your kitchen sink. You grasped the opportunity with both hands. “I-I’d love to. That sounds like a really nice idea. Can I have, like, ten minutes to make myself somewhat presentable? I’m sor—”

“Of course,” Jungkook cut through your forthcoming apology. He wasn’t having it today. “Take as long as you want. I’ll be waiting in my car, okay?”

“Okay,” you hugged the phone closer with both hands. “Thank you, Jungkook. Really.”

“It’s cool. Selfish, really. I wanted to see you so badly,” he admitted with a bashful chuckle, the pure noise summoning the makings of a smile to your face. And thank God, because you’d been convinced future appearances of the expression would prove elusive.

It was imperative that he knew this. “I wanted to see you, too. I really did, I was just—so—I don’t know. Well, you do know. And you didn’t give up and leave me to it. You could have done, probably should have, but—”

“Stop, noona. Go get yourself ready, and—” Jungkook paused to draw in a sharp, excited breath. “Hey, why not get some stuff together to do some baking? Not that I’m any good at it, but I know how much you love it. Why don’t you show me how to make something?”

A faint chuckle threatened to shake free the device you clasped so weakly. Jesus, you really needed to eat something soon. “That does sound fun. You probably won’t have all the utensils I’ll need, so I’ll bring what I can. Uh, just—”

“Hm?”

“I look like shit, so try not to look too horrified when you see me,” you rushed out with a grimace that couldn’t be seen, but felt all too well in your self-deprecative humour. Even as physically and emotionally weak as you were, you were incapable of giving yourself a much-needed break from criticism, no matter how undue. Indeed, had you been laid out on your death bed at this very moment, dragging in your penultimate breaths, you’d likely be apologising to Jungkook for the haggardness of your appearance, or how abrasive to the ears your final gasps might be. “I’ll try and lessen the damage if I can,” you continued, though the appeal of applying make-up was a zero on a scale of I can’t even be bothered to breathe to Do I really have to comb my hair?

Now Jungkook was frustrated. But only enough to target you with a playful chastisement. One that had you swooning like a silent movie starlet. “Don’t you dare, or I’ll come up there and throw you over my shoulder before you have a chance to,” he warned with an authoritative growl. “Just keep yourself comfortable. We’ll probably get messy anyway, I’m notoriously clumsy with food. Especially if I’m wearing a white shirt, which I am.”

“Okay, okay,” you relented, his encouragement invigorating your faltering limbs enough to haul yourself from bed. You fished around in the pile of clothes that, while a little creased, were still unworn. “I’ll get my ass into gear. I’ll be down soon.”

“’Kay. I’m just outside,” was his parting comment before he hung up.

One brisk shower, a hesitantly adorned romper and a perilously pinned bun later, you were ready. Well, not ready, as such, because you still considered your appearance lacking, but Jungkook’s sternly-worded warning rang in your ears and prevented you from making further embellishments. Bare- and fresh-faced was how he was going to receive you. Okay, so maybe not fresh, more weeklong, sequestered neglect-faced, but at least it was bare, as ordered.

Having haphazardly shoved into a box what culinary implements and ingredients you could think to bring, you hauled the cargo with great difficulty down the narrow staircase descending. Your choice of flats afforded you, at least, the agility to catch yourself on the next step when you nearly met your neck-breaking end a few times.

With an incredibly unattractive scowl, you sandwiched the box between the wall and your body as you fumbled with the lock, and wore the expression still when the door opened into Jungkook’s immediate face. Abruptly, you wiped your features free of their unsightly crumpling and, quite of their own accord, found them curving to accommodate a giddy smile. One he wrenched from you with such ease. And giddy, because how the fuck did he get more beautiful with each meeting? The party felt so long ago now, but in reality, it had only been a week or so. The heart — and, indeed, the eyes — evidently grow fonder with time. “Jungkook, I thought you were going to wait in the car? You made me jump.”

“Sorry,” your guts twisted at the crooked grin he slapped on as he immediately relieved you of your load. “I thought you might need help carrying stuff.”

Forever obliging to lighten your figurative and physical strains, Jungkook’s attentiveness sent you into an inward flap. And the re-emergence of his beautiful fucking buck-teeth only intensified the party-for-one taking place in your stomach. Luckily, you were adept at channelling an outward serenity. “Thank you,” was your predictably unimaginative response. Honestly, he deserved so much more than that – not just for carrying a stupid box –  but the words to express complex sentiment often abandoned you.

One side of his mouth pitched higher as he led you to his car. “Wow, this is a lot of stuff. Are we preparing a seven-course meal?” he jibed, gently setting the culinary collection into the trunk. He treated even the most inanimate of objects with the care and consideration with which he handled you, as though he considered anything by proxy just as precious. Why, exactly, had you been so unwilling to spend this day with him, again? Free from insidious thought – momentarily, at least –and rooted in the reality of his uplifting presence, the hopelessness of 30 minutes ago seemed lifetimes past.

Jungkook caught your quiet smile as he darted around the car with an adamance to hold open its door for you. “There she is,” he grinned openly when you neared him, hands on hips. “I love your dress, by the way. You look beautiful, as ever.”

“Oh my God, stop,” you groaned, plopping into your seat with a huff and whipping the seatbelt around you. “And it’s not a dress, it’s a romper.”

He closed the door and leaned through the open window to scrutinise the garment in question. “I don’t know what that is.”

It was the most throwaway of comments, but it tore a bark of laughter from you, as though he’d hammered on your chest to extract it from you himself. It was an odd, but welcome, sound. “That’s so funny, and I don’t even know why.”

Giggles continued to hijack you as Jungkook rounded the car and took to the driver’s seat, an eyebrow hooked high in amusement. “If I just say random words, will you laugh?”

“No,” you were perceptibly shaking, now, exposing you for the flimsiness of your denial. And even when you perched an elbow on the door to better adhere a hand to your mouth, it did little to stifle the string of hiccups you were now stricken with. Your chest ached for each sharp intake of breath they prompted. “Fuck, I can’t s—hyuh!—stop!”

As the engine turned over, Jungkook adopted a brassy voice that was comedically dissonant from his usual, reserved tone. He strained his vocal chords into breaking. “Cucumber, squash—oh, this fucking car—moist, cheese, moist cheese,” a hyena-like cackle, interspersed by loud, abrupt squeaks, resounded as your attempts to hinder the noises fell flat. His unrelated interjection — as passionately voiced as the rest of his nonsense recital — only heightened the hilarity of the situation.

“Fuck,” you tittered, wiping away a tear born, for once, from something other than melancholy. “You’re—hup—insane.”

Jungkook yelled victoriously when the car finally growled to life. “I was getting worried, there.”

A snigger. “Yeah, me too. Not for the car, though.”

“I’ve got more where that came from,” he tongued his cheek like the appealing bastard he didn’t know he was, peering behind the both of you to check for blind spots. As he pulled away: “Especially if I get to hear more of your ridiculously adorable hiccups.”

Your cheeks bulged with captive air. “Please, no,” you sighed, releasing a long, restorative breath. When no further hiccups came, you wrapped your stomach in a wary hug. “I’m aching. Sounds like your car’s on its way out, though.”

Jungkook’s face fell slightly. “It is. I’ve been told to expect it. I can’t afford anything else, though, and it’s already had some emergency maintenance,” you watched, distracted, the way his mouth puckered and slackened as it shaped every enchanting syllable. Receptive to the allure of the sight, your lips parted in harmony.  “It won’t go on for much longer. I’m looking for better paid work, actually.”

That drew you back. “You’re leaving the school?”

“It’s not that I want to,” Jungkook nibbled on his lower lip like the long-eared mammal he so endearingly resembled. “I don’t have much of a choice. I won’t be able to afford rent, soon. The car trouble is only adding to the list of money troubles I’m having. And I really don’t wanna be stuck in this situation for too much longer,” his addendum was voiced with an understandable, though subtle, distress.

You wanted to draw his hand into a consolatory hold, but it was more pressingly occupied. “I’m really sorry to hear that. I know how tough things can get.”

Jungkook delivered a heartening slap to your bare thigh, sending you rocketing up in your seat. “Don’t worry, I’m surviving. To be honest, I was doubtful of whether I was going to bother sticking around this city. Until I met you,” the volume of his admission plunged dangerously close to a whisper. He stole a meaningful glance your way, the coyest of smirks twitching upward his mouth. Jungkook had an aptitude for pulling off such contradictory expressions. “Moving away from home definitely seemed like the best decision at the time, but I began to doubt it a couple of months ago. When I got poor, basically,” he snickered. “Things are really tough on your own.”

The breath you’d been inadvertently holding since the – by no means unwelcome – introduction of his hand, flowed free. “Right? Bit of a culture shock. I should’ve gotten a roommate, really, but my studio is just about manageable.”

Your heart fluttered to an unsteady rhythm when Jungkook became conscious of where his fingers were so intimately situated. Lingering along the innermost of your thigh, they skimmed the supple flesh beneath them as he corrected the bold manoeuvre and removed them entirely. “Sorry, I wasn’t thinking,” he begged his pardon with a clear of his throat, eyes glued a little too firmly to the road.

“Now it’s my turn to tell you off for apologising,” your lips plucked up slyly. “Not after the things we’ve been talking about. Anyway,” you drizzled the last word with a stomach-turning sweetness. “What were you saying about not sticking around until you met me?”

Jungkook’s flushing subsided somewhat with the diversion from altogether more sordid topics. “It’s simple, really. I want to stay here, now. Because of, uh, you,” but ruby kissed his cheeks all the more avidly for the heart-pounding proclamation.

God, you needed to kiss him.

Unfortunately, unless a kiss was worth the certain, gory decapitation the distraction would bring, you’d have to go hungry.

And you were positively starving.

You clenched fists around your seatbelt, like you didn’t trust it to hold you in place for much longer. However, even if your traitorous hands didn’t uproot the meddlesome restraint, the blaze of adoration raging against your ribcage would easily incinerate it. “Wow,” was your eloquent response.

Jungkook didn’t allow you to elaborate. “I—I mean, don’t think that I’m putting pressure on you to like me, or anything—”

“Fuck’s sake,” you growled, all a shackled beast burning with the frustration of being denied its master’s touch. Jungkook’s eyes widened fretfully. “I really gotta kiss you right now, but I can’t. You’re driving.”

The heated exclamation alone was enough for him to momentarily forget the importance of steering the death contraption you were both belted into. When you realised he was no longer adhering to the highway code, but instead lavishing you with a protracted, open-mouthed ogling, you pushed his face frontward. As heart-stopping as Jungkook was, the magnetism of his stare would, for sure, guarantee your collision with something far more fatal than each other. Nevertheless, he spent much of his time casting you vital, sidelong looks. “I—I can stop. I can stop right now. I can pull over right here.”

Your head hit the headrest with a dull thump, overcome with mirth for his urgency. “We have all day. Keep driving, I have some refrigerated stuff in the back.”

Jungkook emitted a desirous whine. “I don’t know if I can wait that long.”

“Tough,” you snapped merrily, spotting a camera case in the backseat as your eyes perused its hazardously stacked contents. Guilt gored you when you caught sight of his thoughtfully-packed backpack. He’d clearly been prepared for your originally intended date activities. “You brought your camera, after all.”

He peered over his shoulder. “Hm? Oh, yeah. Well, now I can take pictures of you in the comfort of my own home, instead.”

Turning in your seat, you propped your chin upon the heel of your hand. There was no way you could let pass such a fortuitous opportunity to see him squirm. “Yeah? What kind?”

His mouth hung open a fraction at the bait, but avoided the snare. “Whatever you like. You’re my muse.”

The sincerity of the compliment threw off your sultry play. You’d never met a guy who countered coquetry with kindliness. Undefeated in all your many bouts of flirtation thus far, Jungkook was the only one to frequently give you pause. Who knew your Achilles heel was not, in fact, obscenities so appalling that Eros himself would recoil in revulsion, but plain old flattery? Flattery that spilled with such liberty from behind those exasperatingly darling teeth? “Stop being so nice.”

“Why do you always say that?” his brows met in bemusement. “It’s as if no-one’s ever treated you the way they should.”

He had no idea how close that hit to home. “Maybe. Or maybe you’re just particularly kind.”

“I’m not,” the furrow deepened. “Sounds like you dated some douchebags.”

“Quite a few,” you began, then thought better of elaboration. Jungkook didn’t need to hear the true extent of your hormone-fuelled regrets. “But that doesn’t matter, now. You’re opening my eyes to a lot of things.”

“I’ll take that as your roundabout way of admitting that you really like me and wanna spend all your time with me. Forever,” Jungkook’s jesting crinkled the corners of his eyes and the bridge of his nose.

And, yes, you did.

Because you no longer wanted a life that was absent of something so diminutive, so tremendous, as the way his features puckered around joy. You wanted to watch those creases, with time, score themselves between his brows and atop his cheekbones.

And you wanted to be the one who engraved them there.

“Forever is a long time,” you cautioned with a wink. But inside, you were already living it.

You were enamoured.  

When he parked beside an obnoxiously up-market apartment complex, you presumed it was to grab some snacks from the gentrified establishments opposite. However, as he lugged the box of utensils to your window, he ducked his head in, confused. “Why aren’t you getting out?”

“Wait, you live here?” you gawped, eyeballing the building that emanated affluence. “No wonder you’re fucking broke!”

As you exited the car, mouth still unflatteringly ajar, Jungkook developed a sudden interest in the – miraculously unblemished – paving beneath your feet. As one of the great unwashed, you felt at risk of apprehension for even daring to tread there. “It’s nowhere near as expensive as it looks, but, yeah. All my savings are gone. I didn’t really budget all that well, but I kinda left home in a hurry. This was the first place I could find.”

Was he really that naïve about financial matters? “Why not just downsize, then?”

“The landlord won’t release me from my contract. I have another six months left on it,” he huffed in vexation, tapping a six-digit code into the pad adjoining the gate. With a buzz as grating as the needlessly extravagant entrance it controlled, the lock released. Jungkook stood aside, stubborn in his chivalry, to allow you entry. “If you ever wanna get in, the code is 093457. Can you remember that?”

Wow.

Without a whisper of doubt fogging his eyes, he’d placed a ghost of a key in your palm. Like it was of no more significance than those digits of his stored in your phone.

Boy, things were progressing rather quick.

And you were clinging, white-knuckled, to the front seat of this rollercoaster as it barrelled down a track conspicuously free of obstacles, squealing for it to go faster. The opportunity to alight had long since passed. All you could do now was throw up your hands and scream. “I think I can, yeah. Thank you. I’ll make sure to come here in the middle of the night to relieve you of all the rich-people possessions you probably own.”

As you entered the lobby, as plush and immaculate as it could only have been, Jungkook ushered you into one of the immediate elevators. The cubicle alone, less of walls and more of mirrored panelling – you know, so you can better appreciate how wealthy you look when en route to brunch with dahling Cressida – was bigger than your only bathroom.

“I’m far from rich,” he muttered into the box staunchly cradled to his chest. A billow of powder stirred under the gust of his breath. Looks like the flour didn’t survive the journey. “Not anymore. My parents are, though. Maybe that’s why it was hard to let that lifestyle go. I made a lot of mistakes learning, that’s for sure. Still am,” was his barely audible addition.

You stood a little straighter. This was his first time mentioning more than their existence in passing. “Why did you decide to leave?”

“They started pressuring me into things,” the offering was vague and ominous in tone. Eyes rising to the mirror image of him opposite, Jungkook engaged his counterpart in a steely staredown. “Business stuff. I didn’t want anything to do with it.”

The hum of the ascending elevator filled the hush left by your introspective pause. “You’re not part of a family-run crime syndicate, are you?” you posed, only half-joking.

Jungkook’s scowl broke with a bob of his shoulders. His laugh could be corked and peddled as a cure-all. And you’d be first in line. “No, it’s not quite that bad. Though, that’d probably be infinitely cooler than the reality. My parents—well, my father—is the head of a pretty large conglomerate. My mother is a member of the board.”

Your eyebrows shot up into the stratosphere. “Whoa. Hella rich, then.”

“Hella? Have you been playing Life is—”

“—Strange? Absolutely. I’m hella fond of that word, now,” you expressed that fondness with a toothy grin that tripled his. But your glee faltered somewhat when you recollected his earlier visitation of your apartment. “Shit, and you’ve been in my hovel of an apartment. I bet that must’ve been like dumpster diving.”

With a ding of announcement, the lift drifted to a halt. Taking the lead again, Jungkook shook his head. And like a cat stalking the metallic shimmy of a bell-toting toy, your eyes snapped to the quiver of his helix piercings. There wasn’t a thing about this man that wasn’t sexy as fuck. “I loved it so much I considered asking to move in as soon as I stepped foot inside.”

You rolled your eyes at his back. “Let’s swap, then. What do you have, a three-bedroom? Four?”

Jungkook crowed. “Okay, I’m stupid with money, but I’m not that stupid. It only has one bedroom. As you’re about to see,” he gestured to the door he now stood before. “Can you take this for a sec?”

“Sure, I should be carrying it anyway,” you relieved him of the box that clanked with the promise of sweet concoctions. “Did you just say I’m about to see your bedroom?”

He fished in the pockets of his jeans for his keys and, with a smooth turn of burnished brass, let you into the awaiting opulence. “I—I meant the apartment,” he spluttered, and you watched, with a kittenish smirk, the tips of his ears tinge red. “You know what I meant.”

“So, are you famous enough for me to Google y—whoa.”

Okay, so it wasn’t on the same scale as Yoongi’s gratuitous bachelor pad, but it was sumptuous all the same. “Nice,” you whistled, your focus fastening to the splendour beneath your feet.  Rich, restored mahogany kissed your unworthy soles – something you were all too aware of, as you hastily slipped off your scuffed excuses for shoes –  and played host to a number of tastefully-placed shag rugs. Rugs that just cried out to be rolled on. You eyed one, transfixed, a cat again. A cat that had located its next nap spot.

Juxtaposed with the knife-point angles and frigid decor of Yoongi’s apartment that so became him, Jungkook’s was warm- toned, with soft furnishings and of a lived-in air that appealed to you immensely. “This is probably how I’d decorate my place if I had any money,” you lauded, resembling a Nodding Dog for all your vague head-bobbing. “I like it.”  

Like Yoongi’s, though, Jungkook’s apartment was open-plan but for the bedroom and bathroom tucked away to the side. Shafts of light, streaming from a slanted glass wall – a fixture imposing in its sheer immensity – brought forth golden tones latent in the dark wood. The sight further compelled you to flop down, belly-up, and bask, feline-like, in the warmth of its glow.

Jungkook deposited the the box – its contents, now, as tossed as a salad – on the asymmetrical countertop of his rustic breakfast bar. And with an expectant hand poised to catch his four-digit camera, he shrugged the strap free from his shoulder. “I’m glad you like it,” his voice took on that fondness for you that you could never quite understand.

What, in all actuality, did he see in you?

When you had drunk in your legal limit of his pleasantly sedative abode, you turned to him, giddy. His eyes played on you, cryptically astir at having won your acclaim. Chin in hand, he propped himself against the counter, looking nothing short of smitten. “I’m glad you like me.”

The boy had a talent for sending you off-kilter.

You tugged at the hem of your shapeless one-piece, jerking your head at the wonder of his affection. “I don’t understand why, but I’m glad you like me, too.”

“Don’t make me list the reasons, or we’ll be standing here all day,” he cracked over his shoulder as he rattled his way around an array of hammered-gold cannisters. Lifting each one free of its lid in turn, he peered dubiously into their depths. “I can never remember what’s what, here. You want coffee? Tea? Something else?”

“Just some water, thanks,” you croaked. God, you sounded like shit. Like a frog had taken up permanent residence in your windpipe and insisted on strumming your vocal chords for you. “I’m trying to keep away from caffeinated drinks at the moment.”

“Ah, of course,” Jungkook acknowledged with a click of his fingers. You watched with a vested interest as he rolled up the sleeves of his—indeed, white, and imminently on course for soiling—sweatshirt to oblige you. A succession of dulcet half-murmurs and airy croons drifted past his lips.

Fucking hell, he could sing, too?

“Voice of an angel,” you muttered, more an aside than anything, but the volume of your contemplation was enough for him to hear. With the full weight of his stare pinning you in place, you threw one of your own, much heavier, at the works of Bernini he called legs. “Thighs of a devil.”

Jungkook turned to the sink, a suppressed grin warping the corners of his mouth. “I didn’t realise I was singing.”

“Oh, you didn’t realise you were singing,” you pitched deeper to mimic him. “You just happen to have a voice that explains the immaculate conception, and you didn’t even realise you were using it. I see,” in a mannerism most certainly acquired from Jungkook, your tongue planted itself firmly in your cheek. “It’s not like you were trying to show off for me, anything.”

Whatever danced in the dark depths of Jungkook’s eyes, then, hit your circulatory system like a stimulant. “You’re asking for it,” was his harbinger of a warning.

You drew sullen circles into the countertop, jutting your lip to bait his scrutiny. “For what?”

The devious twitch of his lips was tacit enough. Leaving you to braise in the juices of your own undoing, he returned to the task at hand; your all but forgotten glass of water. 

With a flurry of excitement, you pulled objects indiscriminately from the box, not caring where or with how much might you unloaded them. Your attention was better spent elsewhere, namely leering at the prominent veins that scaled Jungkook’s arms like ivy. When you tracked their descent to his generous hands, wet from the faucet, your want for him manifested in a bitten bottom lip.

“What are we making?” Jungkook startled you out of your indecent introspection, catching you on the edge of exposure. His lips curled tellingly. “Something sweet?”

“Something creamy,” was your proposal, steeped in suggestion. For some reason, Jungkook seemed oblivious to the water now surging over the rim of the glass. “I’m thinking a pavlova, because I’ve forgotten a lot of things. Got lots of eggs, though!”

Not a glint of recognition. “I don’t know what that is, either. I’m not doing great today, huh?”

“You’re doing just perfect,” you hushed him, taking the proffered drink. There was about as much clinging to the exterior of the glass as there was inside it. Looking up from the bowels of your emptied box, you affixed a sceptical smirk. “You don’t have an electric whisk, by any chance?”

Jungkook scratched at the back of his head. An imagined itch, to be sure; the gesture another of his wholesomely appealing habits. “Nope. I’m not exactly Gordon Ramsay, I’m sorry to say.”

“Then I’m gonna need your big, strong, man-arms, probably. Beating eggs is fucking exhausting.” 

Flipping open the dozen you’d successfully remembered to bring with, you cracked one against the rim of your mixing bowl with a precision and fluidity that impressed Jungkook enough to provoke a gasp.

“Holy shit, I’ve never seen anyone do that except on TV,” he gaped, studying the art of yolk separation in an awed trance. He could catch flies with the amount of air exposure his mouth was getting.

And there he went again, affecting you in the smallest, most trivial of ways.

Teasing him was fast becoming a prized pastime. “You’ve never seen anyone break an egg before, Jungkook? Do you just live on instant ramen, or something?”

The swipe was barely glancing, but he played up the wound with the eyes of a Disney critter. “First of all, yes, I have seen someone break an egg. You know exactly what I meant. And, second of all, this is exactly what I was talking about.”

“What is?” you chuckled, siphoning your fourth egg into the awaiting gloop.

“All the bad things you say are gonna get you into trouble, one day.”

You stilled. That was a very direct attack. So direct, your pussy throbbed in the wake of its impact.

Feigning virtue was always fun. “I have no idea what you mean. I’m just crackin’ some eggs.”

Jungkook’s silhouette loomed closer. “You wanted me to beat something for you?”

Whisk in hand, your knees felt dangerously close to knocking themselves out and rendering you a floor-bound Salmonella risk. Unprepared for this lobbying of impurity, it took you a second longer than you’d prefer to formulate a counterattack. “I’ll need to see how capable you are, first.”

Yeah, not your best.

Jungkook, however, took it as his cue to mold himself to your back, granting your upper arms an explicit squeeze with the hands you were so fucking obsessed with. The sleevelessness of your romper had been a point of internal contention for you in your earlier clothing deliberation, but now it was the most valued of selections. You experienced, unobstructed, the softness of his unmarred palms as they ghosted down your arms’ reach and engulfed your fingers whole. Never had you felt so delicate as you did, then, swallowed in the expanse of his strapping hands.

Decisively, he plucked the implement from your slackening grip and hauled the bowl closer to him. Or you, rather, a little too comfortably wedged between the pressure of his body and the countertop that never asked to be part of this charged exchange. The warm, sturdy enclosure within which Jungkook held you captive tightened when he began whipping the bowl’s contents with a strength that struck you dumb. Like a primitive ape, you fawned over your mate's show of power, because the display was nothing if not to titillate you into a hard, dirty rutting.

And, fuck, you wanted that.

You leered, mesmerised, at the succulent bulge of tendon and vein alike as his hands whisked up a storm, his biceps rhythmically buffeting your shoulders with the effort of the motion. Hot breath met your ear, liquefying your entire being. “How’s this?”

“G-Good,” you couldn’t have given him a more vivid, greener light. All that he did piqued the fierce interest of your every nerve ending. And that was a reality all too apparent in the collecting slick coating the crotch of your panties. You should have been adding some sugar to the eggs around about now, but honestly, who gave a fuck about that anymore? “Until it forms stiff peaks.”

Jungkook pulled the whisk from the mixture to test its consistency, but didn’t return to the task when it proved unsatisfactorily blended. Instead, he dropped the implement into the creamy mess and seized, suddenly, the clothed swell of your breasts, adamant on turning you into a creamy mess, apparently. The switch in intent caught you wholly unawares. Like a boneless fish, you flopped into his built physique, lolling your head against his broad span of shoulder. “Oh, f-fuck.”

The fabric of your one-piece wasn’t the thickest. With impressively able hands, he kneaded you like dough, plying you into a putty that bulged from between the gaps of his wolfish grip. It wasn’t long before you were rising to readiness, a glaze streaking the space between your legs. 

Jungkook was priming you for consumption. 

His thumbs grazed to and fro over your budding nipples, wakening them to the chafe of your outer layer. “Feel pretty stiff to me,” he practically purred into the nape of your neck, his lips brushing a template of where he would later revisit. “I’d say you’re done.”

And from the burgeoning bulge making known its presence at the crack of your ass, you’d say he was about done, too.

A hand ventured lower, and then higher, as it slid surreptitiously beneath the hem of your shorts. “Do you want me to keep going?” Jungkook near-whispered, pausing his pilgrimage to your saturated cunt. You craned your neck, with some difficulty, to face him. “If you don’t want this today, I can stop.”

A dazed smile. “I want it. Today. Now,” and, bonding your lips in a kiss that should never have been broken on that night on the balcony, the heated, humid rejoining drew a muzzled moan from the both of you. Immersed, again, in the ambrosia of each other’s unfastened mouths, the steady undulation of Jungkook’s jaw as he received you felt as innate as your own heartbeat. How quickly he had attuned himself to your motions, your tempo; and, with a studious tongue, taken such an intimate cast of your mouth, knowing, already, how best to tease whimpers from you. Together you drowned, caught in a sea of saliva and amassed lust. Lust built from weeks of needless principle.

Oh, why had you waited so long, when this was nothing but right?

The potency of your monstrous, reciprocal desire now unleashed, it spurred your hands, your tongues, to paths they were keen to retread.

Jungkook was particularly quick in infiltrating that one part of you that begged for reunion. But despite his haste to submerse his fingertips in your gooey delight, he skimmed the outskirts of your panties with an infuriating lightness. He tore away from the kiss as though scorched. “You’re already this soaked?” he exclaimed, tormented, knocking his forehead to yours like the revelation had physically weakened him. “How are you so fucking sexy, noona?”

“It’s all you,” there was no need for exaggeration. Not when him simply broaching the meagre cotton barrier snatched the neediest of whimpers from you. Feeling his fingertips glide along the curve of your slippery slit, you briefly fretted that spontaneous human combustion may not merely be a myth. Because as he slathered himself with your syrupy, fervent welcome, you swore you were the pyre of a building inferno. “Don’t you dare tease me, Jungkook, you’ve gotten me so fucking horny,” was your urgent warning, coasting close to shrill. “Put those goddamn fingers--that you know I’ve been fantasising about--inside me, already.”

A husky chuckle tickled the nerve endings spanning your shoulders, every centimetre of your skin pining for the touch of his supple mouth. Kisses that he generously gave, but sprinkled chaotically, like he didn’t want to neglect any one part of you. The cupid’s bow that dipped his upper lip assailed you with volleys of heated adoration, riling you into a squirm that only pressed you closer to the tip of his other, drawn, weapon. “You mean, these?”

Oh how easily they sunk into you; two at once, with an immediacy that spoke volumes of Jungkook’s desire to touch the lining of your most sensitive parts. He half-hummed, half-whined his approval for having been re-embedded in the heat and squeeze of a place his cock wished it could inhabit. For now, it was forced to experience your narrow reaches vicariously, through the nubile probing of his fingers. Jungkook was bewitched. “You feel like fucking heaven, fuck.”

His dick twitched impatiently, pressed flush to your backside as it was. And, though cosy in the pressure with which your asscheeks provided, it answered to a higher call, now; your warm, throbbing pussy. You rocked against his languid insertion, more exploratory than possessed by hunger. It seemed Jungkook had become lost to the wonder of your calculated constriction, each tense of muscle prying further open his mouth and eyes. You snickered at his wonderstruck expression. “Never had your fingers this deep in a girl’s pussy, Jungkook?”

“Not one as delicious as this,” he shot back, leaving an aching void in the wake of his exit. Poised to question his knowledge of your taste, he spun you around so you could better view his sampling. He drew the drenched digits to his mouth, their savoury topping bridging the gap between as gooey strings that lit up his eyes in anticipation. As easily as he had buried them in your sopping cunt, he dipped them past the seal of his lips with an agonised crumple to his brow, like he was partaking of some tantalising elixir he’d been forbidden to let touch his tongue. “I knew it,” he murmured thickly, sucking clean his fingers and allowing your essence to titillate his tastebuds. “You taste as good as you smell, and as hot as you look.”

Enthralled by the vision of him drinking from you with all the reverence of a wizened man supping up the Fountain of Youth, the tail-end of his ardent declaration stole your attention enough to tickle you. “I don’t think it’s possible to taste hot? Unless that wasn’t water I showered with earlier, but sriracha,” you teased, slinging your arms haphazardly around his neck. You did so to close the far too vast a distance between your bodies, but, hands upon your ass and subjecting it to a voracious, possessive squeeze, he was already mashing you to him. Your romper may as well have been non-existent for all the dulling of sensation it granted you. When the top of your mound thudded lightly to the rock-hard protrusion reaching for you from behind Jungkook’s jeans, it did nothing to diminish the utter, raw aching the contact inspired.

“Don’t sass me, noona,” the admonishment was stern, but breathless. “Am I gonna have to bend you over my knee?”

Fuck, the suggestion was enticing. Unfortunately, the drooling maw between your legs had no such patience. It demanded gratification. “Not this time, baby. You can punish me all you like later on. Right now, I need your cock,” you cooed, granting its straining outline the coaxing smooth of your palm.

Jungkook stiffened to a rigidity that could rival his dick. “Ugh—I like that,” was his softly moaned encouragement. “Again, please.”

“I haven’t stopped,” a lone brow raised in bemusement. To demonstrate, you increased the pressure you were applying to his captive length, enough friction to have him grinding into your hand like a randy buck.

“N-No, not that—ah,” you stole his gasp with your determined toying. “Well, that too, but—c-call me baby, again.”

Your other brow arched to match. “Oh? You like that, huh?”

Jungkook sobered a little in his self-consciousness. “Yeah,” the arousal that dusted his cheeks deepened into an irresistible scarlet. “I don’t know why, but, man, that hit a note.”

You caught him before he could pull away. “Then I like it too, baby,” the endearment dripped as obscenely from between your lips as the honey from your lower pair. “So fuck me, already.”

The seconds proceeding your demand hung heavy; almost beyond endurance. But then, in slow motion, you witnessed that sudden click; the wildness that pitched Jungkook’s eyes into an all-consuming blackness that entreated you to an amenable doom. The shiver of energy that shifted through him was near palpable; it resonated from the soles of his feet and upward, until, like a carnivore coiled to pounce, he hoisted you with ease onto the countertop.

With a vulgar smack, the backs of your thighs collided with solid oak, and, God, did you wish you’d taken up his earlier offer of some disciplining. The sting would tingle all the more beautifully for having been dispensed by his hefty palm. “You don’t need to ask me twice, noona,” he puffed, excitement rather than exertion stealing his breath. “I’ll give you the fucking you so desperately crave.”

Jungkook’s arms encased your torso, sheltering your heart better than the ribcage that so freely allowed Taehyung to penetrate. “Whoa,” you hiccupped, steadying yourself with a grasp that landed, fortuitously, on his tautened biceps. They shifted excitably beneath your hands. “What are you gonna do with me?”

Legs free and sprawling, you welcomed him into the space between with an invitation written in your tongue’s ink, blotting his girthy neck with saliva. 

An invitation he accepted wholeheartedly. 

With an appreciative grunt, the mass of his body bore down on and nearly—oh, so nearly—inside you, dancing on the fringes. 

You wanted him to invade you, claim and repurpose you. Dismantle your design; one so sorely built in error.

You would no longer be his, but Jungkook’s.

“So, so many things. But, first, I’m gonna give your pussy the beating it deserves,” he leered over you all stone-cold assertiveness, and you shrunk beneath his emanating power, both gut-squirmingly aroused and intimidated by the absence of the usual fumbled words and averted gazes.

He must have been practicing, you mused inwardly, allowing him this momentary victory over you with a sufficiently servile, doe-eyed pout. “Are you gonna let me see your pretty co—oh, fuck!” your yelp was consumed by a hacking cough, when one, misplaced hand catapulted the box whose only remaining contents consisted of the powdery residue left by your battered bag of flour. Your life, never having run the smoothest course, hit you with the timeliest derailments. This one presented itself as a billowy cloud that powdered most of you ghoulishly white. “Oh, God, look at me.”

Jungkook, who escaped relatively unscathed despite his proximity, cackled openly at your misfortune. But he didn’t surrender his hold of you; not even for a second. He only pulled you closer, marring himself to match. “You could be covered in anything right now and I would still be desperate to fuck you,” he stressed with a bow of his head, charting the topography of your sprinkled cleavage with a hot, open mouth, reducing the offending powder—and you, with every enthused flick of his tongue—to a streaky, viscous sludge. “You taste just as good when you’re a little salty.”

You wrinkled your nose at his willingness to ingest meal. “I guess you want this pretty bad, baby.”

Jungkook’s head shot up like he’d been conditioned into uninhibition on that one word’s command. “So bad,” he virtually snarled, scrambling to undress. Endowing you with your first, unfiltered view of his honed build, he yanked his sweatshirt free of his body, latching a smouldering gaze to you as soon as the obstruction was tossed aside. “Before you covered yourself in flour, I thought I heard a request?”

Your eyes trickled freely down his slopes of definition, steered into the trap that was Jungkook’s sublime anatomy. Cut, bronzed abs and a whisper of hair lay breadcrumbs to an outcropping so stark you could hang something off it. 

Hopefully you.

“You know what I want,” your tongue painted the outline of your lips as he unbuckled and whipped off his belt with a crack that had your cunt quivering for the lashings of its master’s crop.

“Tell me again,” Jungkook barely breathed, peeling down the zipper of his pants at a pace that was far too leisurely for your liking.

“You’re getting a bit too bossy for your own good,” you cautioned, though the substance of your warning disintegrated upon each, agitated breath.

Clearly, it was for your own good.

Jungkook’s fingers fell away from his front. “Tell me again,” he reiterated firmly.

How effortlessly he flitted between subservience and indubitable control. Hopefully the thorough flouring you’d sustained would stave off the likelihood of you completely adhering to his countertop in your current, sodden state.

The thrum of your clitoris compelled you into compliance. “Please, let me see your cock.”

A triumphant smirk sharpened his features. “That’s my good girl,” he hummed, tugging his boxers down enough to allow it to topple into his awaiting palm like a freshly felled tree. Reality was far more generous to him than the feeble fantasies you’d concocted, with increasing frequency, the last few weeks.  His arms weren’t the only appendages lovingly wrapped by veins, green and blue; powerlines supplying the monster that would soon be hollowing you.

Its perfectly pink head enraptured you. “God, you’re so hot—way too hot. I’m so fucking wet, Jungkook, you know I am. I’m so ready,” the sight of his fleshy offering stirred you into near-frenzy. So much so, you grasped for him without pretence; no longer did you possess the constitution to play ruler. “Fuck me, please.”

Jungkook’s calculated façade slipped when confronted with such raw need. He was on you before you could blink, inhaling you into a soul-sucking kiss that saw his tongue tickling the threshold to your throat. Was it possible to swallow and choke on someone else’s tongue?

If so, you gladly would.

He must have been in some state of severe desperation, because Jungkook spared no thought for your poor, flimsy romper as he yanked sharply at your shorts, inadvertently flossing your cunt with the seams. It should have been painful, in theory, and yet the angling strummed your clit to the tune of your resultant, yearnful moans. With a fistful of fabric, he paused suddenly, confused both by your fervid feedback and the stubborn garment that still adorned your body. “What the hell is this thing? Shorts? I thought it was a skirt,” his voice pitched with an adorable curiosity.

Yes, even now, cock out and teeming with pre-cum, he was adorable.

Tongue pinched between teeth, you giggled. “Yeah, and it’s all one thing. Gonna have to take it off in one go.”

With that, you sat straight, teasing two sets of straps down the round of your shoulders. Jungkook was your besotted audience of one, engrossed in your seductive shedding. His chest expanded with a sharp intake of breath when your bra peeled away from your breasts, tips painfully taut from his earlier bullying. “God,” was his succinct, but cock-felt response. And, sure enough, he watched the show unfold with a white-knuckled clench around said cock, spreading its drool the length of it through each your stages of undress.

Unclasping your bra with a fluidity born from nearly three decades of suffering the damned things, you threw the unwelcome item of clothing over Jungkook’s fruit bowl. And, with a jerk of your hips, disrobed yourself of what remained of your layers soon after—including a misguided choice in panties. In fairness, you’d hardly – having been wallowing in the depths of despair not an hour ago – been expecting his scrutiny. Not while you were spread-eagle and, with your fore and middle fingers scissoring the hood of your clit, beckoning him with your pussy like a wanton wench.

You eyed his vigorous pumping of his dick and tutted. “Baby, slow down. Are you that excited?”

Jungkook grunted past the lip caught between his teeth. “Fuck, yes. Ugh—” his gaze was unshakably fixed to the trail that oozed from your tender interior. “You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, the utterance barely audible above the mouth-watering shlip of his rhythmic movements. Whether his comment had been for your ears, you didn’t know. But your confidence ballooned exponentially, banishing the skulk of inadequacy that had intermittently threatened your enjoyment.

Hooded eyes flew wide. “Wait,” Jungkook panted, stalling his overzealous strokes. “I-I don’t have a condom, I didn’t think—oh, no.”

Wow. He really had left this decision entirely in your hands, hadn’t he? Your abdomen crawled with a warmth not possessed of arousal. “I do,” you assured him, pointing to your purse. “In there.”

“Thank you, Jesus,” he muttered, shoulders sagging for the relief of your divulgement. “And you, of course,” was his snort of an aside as he pulled the accessory to him and rifled, behind thinly-veiled excitement, through its compartments. “Aha.”

It relieved you endlessly to witness him tear open the packet with his fingers, rather than his teeth. Every man you’d ever bedded that had been a teeth-tearer, had, without fail, vastly overestimated their sexual prowess. Jungkook’s concentrated fumbling only made your heart more buoyant. “Let me?”

He couldn’t have moved fast enough. Surrendering the wrapper immediately, he observed keenly, how adept you were at removing it. It could have been candy inside for all the pre-cum his dick was salivating, eager to don the sheathe that would allow him access to the sultry stretches of your vagina.

With a practiced pinch of the tip, you wrapped him from end to base in one soft, sweeping motion, never quite allowing him the gratification of a firm grip. He squirmed nonetheless, ostensibly overcome by both the feeling and realisation of having your touch grace his—very nearly—bare cock. “I wish you could fuck me raw,” you grumbled, never having been too fond of the taste or texture of latex, nor the hindrance it posed when all you wanted was to fully appreciate his silken skin as it caressed your insides.

That was, perhaps, the most provocative thing you could have said in that moment. Because Jungkook snapped to you like he was impelled by magnetic forces and, with a squeak of flesh on wood, pulled you to the very edge. The angered tip of his cock hovered directly beneath, inciting you to your grisly end by impalement. “Don’t say that to me right now, noona, or I won’t even survive putting it in. Jesus,” he ran splayed hands over the planes of your thighs, and thumbs along the pulse points that gushed, with urgency, to provide oxygen to parts of you that were fast becoming deprived.

“I’ll let you fill me right up one day,” you teased, hooking a leg around his waist and bringing your throbbing genitals into closer proximity. “But I won’t tell you when. I’ll just pull it off and shove you back in when you least exp—ungh!”

Jungkook silenced you with a hungry bruising of lips and teeth, delving his fingers into your backside to better guide you to the beacon that, now, stood sentinel between the seam of your pussy’s lips, coating itself in your plentiful excretions. He wrenched himself free of your oral dalliance. “Ready?”

As if your entire body wasn’t crying out for his fullness. God, you’d never experienced such a haunting ache between your legs. “I’ve been ready since date one, and failed date three is the extent of my self-control. Hurry, baby.”

And with a smooth rock of his hips, he eased his way past your slit and into the clamp of your unaccustomed cunt. The sharpness of penetration pushed a gasp from you, halting him immediately. “Are you okay?” he whispered to your lips, tracing each syllable with his hovering mouth.

You were okay.

More than.

Beyond okay.

It was formidable, the intensity of this moment. Skin-on-skin, simmering under a sheen of perspiration; the intimate, reassuring canopy of Jungkook’s weight, anchoring you to reality. 

And you needed that anchor, when it was nothing but an unreality that you were melding, after so long, with a man who returned your ardour. A man who pursued you, who desired you, who embraced you without pretence.

That first stab let flow months of unprocessed, pent-up loneliness and desire for companionship. For sexual affinity.

And as he bled you of pain, all that remained was a strengthening, terrifying appetite, brewing in the pit of your being. With an exuberant smile, you cupped the sides of his face. “I’ve never been better.”

Coaxed by the sincerity of your own words, you laxed around your gradual accommodation of Jungkook’s cock, permitting him to share your body; to become the vessel for his enjoyment. He gave in to the pull of your suckling pussy, a breath he had long been holding rushing free to flutter the wisps of hair around your face that had abandoned their hastily styled arrangement. And though it seemed to pain him, Jungkook steadfastly maintained the quiet, intimate exchange that passed between your torpid gazes. As consumed of lust as they were, the darkness that swallowed his eyes was not that same, meaningless, matte void you had seen stare back at you, time and time again. There glimmered, like an uncharted nebula, thousands of stars.

And every one bore your name; shone to be seen by you.

Jungkook allowed you that glimpse of tender emotion before body overrode heart. He pressed welts into your asscheeks with his boisterous grappling. “Noona—God—you’re so tight.”

And you felt it, too; how you hugged him so inflexibly. Your walls spread, burned around the circumference of his cock, hewn wider by Jungkook’s measured descension to your core. The tip of his member brushed conciliatory kisses to your softest spots as it passed, mitigating what little discomfort there still remained.

And soon, there was none.  

Soon, each, sunken inch of him induced only the most moreish, pleasing of sensations.

Jungkook’s sculpted abdomen, drawn tightly under the burden of moderation, pressed flat to your mound as you enveloped his full length. You writhed, feeling his mass so perfectly planted within you.  “I-It’s been a long while,” your voice was more air than sound, the feeble, soft noise summoning his mouth to provide your own succour.

A few sprawling, desperate seconds later he broke away, though his impression lingered upon your smooch-swollen lips. Despite the visible trembling of his arms, he kept his tone considerately even. “Let me know when, ____.” 

Even now, even lodged so deep that his balls kissed at your crammed core, he put you first.

“Now, Jungkook. Now,” you urged, trapping him in a vice of thighs. “F-Fuck me, I’m ready.”

And he did.

Instinct overruled cognition with a hasty, acute snap of his hips. From the very outset he set a hurried, frenzied pace that saw him transform from the attentive man you so treasured, to a rapt beast heeding the call of a pleasure that could only be found at your centre. A centre he plunged with abandon, tapping you for a completion he was racing startlingly fast towards. “A-ah, noona, I—fuck, you’re perfect, you feel so good,” he gushed unfiltered, your clenching pussy torturing him into the most candid of outpourings. His fingertips dug with such resolve into your ass, it felt like he could tear away flesh.

“B-Baby,” you began, but a raucous groan burst forth from him at your weaponization of the term, striking him at his most vulnerable.

He was gone.

Immersed, so deeply, both in your cunt and the effort he was expending to pound himself into its limits, your provocation only served to accelerate his harried thrusting to a dizzying tempo. The furious pacing was nothing but sweet, sweet violence; your plastered, swelling pussy and endless caterwauling was an attestation to that. Each thunderous clap of your flesh battered your clit to inflammation; a willing casualty of the pummelling he was subjecting you to. “You’re fucking me so good, d-don’t stop, oh!—”

With an ear-sundering squeak, he slid you from the breakfast bar and onto the burly shelf of his stiffened forearm, the other more tenderly employed to cradle your waist. In his strong, resolute hold, he suspended you from the floor, legs dangling, as he continued fuck up into you with admirable determination. And though you were quick to ease his burden somewhat by encircling him with your legs, he then began to stagger away from your previous perch. His intended path was unclear, more-so as you ricocheted from countertop to countertop, entwined and blind in a kiss so sloppy you almost missed mouths, drawing the vicinity of your lips into a maelstrom of tongue and saliva.

With the grating crash of unseated pots and pans, Jungkook drove you to the wall, plastering you onto the decor with the momentum of his pussy-rending pistoning. How he was able to maintain such a potent, jarring rhythm despite the strain of your added weight was an absolute mystery, and one you were only sad you were unable to witness in the rippled strain of his muscular thighs.  

“O-Oh God, I don’t think I can last much longer,” he whined, the centre of his face crinkling into agony. “I’m already so close, I’m s-sorry—you’re just so—so fucking—ungh!”

An orgasm would’ve been lovely— okay, that was an understatement— but unanticipated. First encounters were often desperate, grasping tussles that lacked the longevity and attention you required to get you there. And yet, this was the first time it hadn’t bothered you. Ushering Jungkook to nirvana was euphoria enough for this cursory experience. It was a gift you wholeheartedly gave to a man who put you first in all things. And, given time, would master your body enough to pay you back tenfold. With a gentle brush of his cheek, you prompted his unfocused attention. “Don’t worry about me. You’re gonna make up for it later, aren’t you?”

Jungkook loudly moaned his affirmation. “F-fuck, yes. I’m gonna worship your pussy, noona. Just wait,” a series of harsh, broken thrusts was his endorsement. The drag and draw of his rigid cock was so smooth, now, so lubricated by a unified ecstasy, that it truly felt like he belonged. Like he was a part long missing from your malfunctioning machinery, well-oiled and barrelling into you to fulfil a function you’d never quite known.

And now you knew.

“Are you gonna dirty my pussy, baby?” you purred the salacious incitement into his ear to feel him flounder. And, boy, did he. The targeted battering he’d been unleashing on you stuttered to an erratic, madcap blindfiring that struck you in places that you would be sure to tell him to focus on later. A jagged rasp of a moan bruised your vocal chords. “J-Jungkook, f-fuck, fill me! I wish I could feel you fill me, want my pussy full of your cum—”

“Agh!” he spat the strangled response from behind a clenched jaw, your body drooping in increments as his knees quaked from the stress. With a surge of decisive strength, he hauled you up and flopped you onto the dining table directly behind, the surface lower in height than where your entanglement first began and allowing him the unhindered scope of your nude vista. Forfeit of decency for being so deep within you, his eyes dwindled on the hypnotic spring of your breasts, fuelling a passion that raged toward combustion. “I-I’m gonna come, noona, I’m so close—God, how are you so fucking gorgeous—”

With one, final, fatal squeeze of your vagina, you bought him a one-way ticket to his end. A last gasp of breath and the indistinct blurring of his hips saw Jungkook through a climax that thrashed him with such intensity that he no longer appeared conscious of the grip he had of your waist. It tightened as painfully as the vicelike restriction that tormented his cock, and his thumbs delved so far into the supple flesh of your tummy it felt like he was palpating you for medical examination.

“F-Fuck, yeah, oh, noona, yes—” he shouted with such vehemence you became conscious of the existence of his neighbours. That thought was fleeting, however, in the literal face of Jungkook, stubbornly grinding every drop of himself into the true recipient you both begrudgingly permitted to participate. And though the condom, surely, dulled his – and your, because you couldn’t think of anything more soul-rendingly erotic than him emptying the scorching contents of his balls into you – enjoyment somewhat, you were an awed spectator to the seraphic beauty of his bliss. Features free of anything but a meditative placidity, Jungkook, with every whoosh of expelled breath, looked a traverser of Elysium’s peaks.

“Wow,” you chuckled, rosy-cheeked and more serene than you could ever remember feeling. “You still in there?”

Jungkook’s eyes peeled open, black as night. With him fucked-out and flying, you were better able to access the rawness of him through the dilated pools that stared back at you.

A secret, there, seemed so within reach—

“Only just,” he panted, each word ousted from lungs devoid of breath. “God. I’m just—wow. I lo—I mean, you were amazing.”

You sat up to take his face into your hands – hands that craved him still. “I barely did anything. You rocked my world and I came along for the ride,” Jungkook slipped his wilting cock from you, the desolate chasm it left in its wake soliciting a gloomy pout. “I don’t want you to leave. You feel so good inside me.”

He held the softening appendage in his palm, eyeballing the abundance of cum he’d soiled its latex prison with. “Jesus,” he breathed, flashing you an impish grin. “I submit this as evidence that I also feel really, really, fucking good inside you.”

“More, please?” you simpered, prying wide your legs to tempt him into another round. “I’m hungry for your cock, still.”

Jungkook was enthralled by the ruddied, slobbering sight. His sagging dick heaved a determined breath, levitating precariously from his palm. “Fucking hell,” he threw an anguished look towards the bathroom. “I’ll give you as much cock as you want, noona. But I need to take this off, first. Let’s take a shower, and then—well. I promised you something, didn’t I?”

Your eyes may as well have lit up with jackpot signs. “You’re gonna worship my pussy?”

“I’ll do more than that,” he vowed, stalking away to the bathroom with an urgency to his gait. “I’ll get the shower going.”

Watching his chiselled backside leave was a perk in itself. You were definitely going to bite it at least once in your future tumbles together.

In his absence, you evaluated the trail of destruction your frantic fucking had wraught. As his guest - and the lucky recipient of said fucking - you felt compelled to straighten the place to the best of your ability. You spotted your purse first, dusted with flour, and patted off the excess that stubbornly clung to its exterior, inadvertently dislodging your phone from its compartment. Quite against expectations, you caught the sleek object before it could clatter to the floor and ruin your week, and with a relieved sigh and a habitual click, began mindlessly scrolling through a day’s accumulation of unnoteworthy notifications. In the midst of the unexceptional, Yoongi’s name popped out at you.

[15:33] Yoongi I don’t know if you have already, but can you talk to Taehyung, please?

Your stomach bungeed to your feet.

No.

Not now.

Please.

[15:34] Yoongi I can’t get hold of him since he told me the news.

Oh, God. What news?

Had he really disclosed the grisly details of that catastrophic evening to Yoongi?

[15:34] Yoongi You know he broke up with Tara, right?

Oh.

-

Next: 10 || WYLEI Masterlist

[thephoenix-hq]

☞ NAME: James Potter. ☞ AGE: Nineteen (03.27.1960). ☞ BLOOD STATUS: Pureblood. ☞ HOUSE: Former Gryffindor. ☞ GENDER: Cis-male. ☞ FACECLAIM: Maxence Danet-Fauvel.

+ THE STORY SO FAR +

Euphemia and Fleamont Potter thought they couldn’t conceive. They tried for years with no success, even using non-magic, holistic practices to discover what the problem was with no answers. In 1959, they were elated to find out that their hoping and waiting had finally resulted in something. On 27 March 1960, their pride and joy came into the world. James was a pampered little boy. Though he was an only child and lived in a village that housed mostly older witches and wizards, he could hardly define the word lonely. The three Potters went to church in the square on Sunday morning’s and listened to the minister tell fascinating stories that taught lessons about life. He went to the town pub with his father and sat at the bar yapping to the keep as Fleamont and a number of his mates sat around a small table playing some muggle card game involving chips that they traded for drinkings.

When James got a little older, his dad taught him how to play and James quickly became exceedingly skilled at Poker. They’d leave the pub and play Quidditch in the fields behind the cemetery. Or he would explore the few boutiques lining the center street with his mother dragging him along behind her. On special occasions, they would go to the nearby muggle town of Cornwall and visit the beaches there. Saturday afternoons were reserved for tea with Bathilda Bagshot. James had an extensive knowledge and love of wizarding history because of the colorful stories he grew up hearing from her.

Going off to school meant sadly waving goodbye to his beloved village every fall. James had such a happy childhood, leaving for Hogwarts was equal parts exciting and devastating. Sorted unsurprisingly into Gryffindor, James would find himself on the quidditch team by the time he was in second year and become Captain after Frank Longbottom graduated in 1975. By way of his invisibility cloak gifted to him by his father, he would explore every expanding inch of the school with his three best mates in tow. In his fifth year, he would succeed in becoming an animagus and take on the form of a stag. James would start dating in his fourth year, though his attention was always more focused on quidditch causing quite a few problems for him throughout the years. James was appointed Head Boy in his seventh year, procured the girl of his dreams, and graduated thinking he had the world in his palms.

- J U N E 1 9 7 9 -

In the year after James graduated, he had turned down multiple job offers. From chasing for Puddlemere United to being inducted into the auror program. He had excellent marks, been head boy, a historic quidditch captain… it made sense that people were lining up to take him. And yet, he turned every single one of them away. He loved quidditch, but didn’t want to ruin the joy he found in it by making it a career. And he wasn’t going to work for the ministry. The Daily Prophet remained inadequately positive when he knew that things were growing steadily darker in the world around them. When Albus Dumbledore came to tell him about the Order of the Phoenix, James merely nodded, affirmative and determined. It had been the outlet he had been searching for.

← C O N N E C T I O N S →

← Lily Evans

James would only admit to the first two instances in which he asked Lily Evans out being genuine. The other times were split between a prank, the constant desire to piss her off, and the incessant need to fulfill all of his desires no matter how trivial. Perhaps it was the first time in his life that he didn’t get what he wanted simply by stretching out his fingers and grabbing it. He had to work for her and though he had hated it as a fifteen year old, a few years later, he recognized it as the best thing that had happened to him. James might have never grown up if it hadn’t been for her forcing him to. Lily was an enigma right from the start. The way she approached love didn’t make sense to him and he wanted to learn about it. Then he figured it out and there was nothing in the world he wanted more than to show her what it really meant. They became friends some time in their sixth year, but it was extremely casual. It started with her laughing quietly at something he said and James, perhaps too coolly, trying not to react to it. It progressed to having to maneuver around each other as head students (they had completely different tactics that caused quite a lot of bickering) and ended with a kiss that left them both grinning stupidly. They were great together. They were two opposing forces that somehow met in the middle to form a dynamic, undeniably immovable force. They graduated and she started staying over, night after night. And before either of them knew it, they were basically an old married couple. They reminded James of his parents, and it had a calming effect on him he didn’t know he was capable of. School-age James needed constant excitement and loved her because she was wildfire. Old-man James enjoyed the quaint, quiet life of domesticity. When he decided to propose to her, he had a ring the very next day. There had been no doubts in his mind that she would say yes, but as was unnecessarily common for Lily Evans, she surprised him again. She said no. She said no and while he was sitting there processing it, she apparated. He figured she’d just go home, but when he got there a few hours later, (finally ready to talk about it and tell her it was fine that she wasn’t ready, he just wanted to know that it was possibility) she and all of her stuff was gone. Four months would go by until the first Order meeting, where he knew without a doubt she’d be. She was too passionate, too brash not to be there. His loud-mouth, short-tempered, opinionated muggleborn had always gotten herself in trouble that way.

→ Sirius Black

James met and befriended Sirius Black immediately on the train to Hogwarts for the very first time. They talked quidditch most of the way, inquiring after what houses they wanted to be in and what their opinions were of the other ones. Sirius told James that he hated the idea of being in Slytherin house and James immediately decided that was the house he wanted nothing to do with. Even early on, James could tell Sirius struggled with the way he had been brought up. Most days he wanted nothing to do with his family or their twisted viewpoints, but some days that barrier was blurred slightly and he could almost see where they were coming from. That side of the spectrum was always fleeting. One look at James, the way he had been raised, the friends they had and the friendship they kept was enough to make him see the light. Sirius, unbeknownst to him and most everyone else, was considered James’ first real friend of his own age. No ugly thought his mate had would change the sparkling opinion James saw of him. That is, until their sixth year. Sirius pulled a prank on Snape involving Remus that could’ve resulted in death if James hadn’t stepped in. It made James realize that Sirius saw the wolf as a beast and separate from his nice, gentle friend Remus. James realized that it didn’t occur to Sirius that it was Remus who would have to deal with the consequences of the cruel joke. It didn’t matter if he couldn’t control it, it was still him and Remus would never forgive himself for hurting another human. They made up eventually, James forgiving Sirius for his wrongdoings, but he could tell that Remus lost his comfort in Sirius. They would perhaps never be quite the same. He would never tell either of them, but the rift between his friends weighed heavily on James’ shoulders.

← Remus Lupin

James loved a good conquest. Befriending Remus Lupin had been a valiant one that he won honorably. He took notice of the way the scrawny kid seemed to crawl into himself the second after the sorting ceremony had ended. The excitement wore off and it was like he realized something about himself he had momentarily forgotten. James spent days pondering over how to get his attention. So much so that Sirius got to the point where he would merely roll his eyes and tell him to get over it. ‘I can’t,’ James would tell him. ‘We’re roommates, we might as well be friends, too.’ or even the trivial, ‘Gryffindor’s have to stick together.’ So he watched him. Remus would gather enough food at lunch time to get him through dinner and breakfast of the next day, keep his head down during classes as if putting his full attention into his work, and generally avoid all conversation that didn’t directly pertain to school work. James came up with the idea about a week into classes. Using his invisibility cloak, he sneaked out past curfew and went in search of the kitchens. Bathilda Bagshot had told him a story years before about how there was a rather large portrait of a bowl of fruit at the bottom of the staircase off the great hall. ‘Tickle the pear and you’ll find the kitchens!’ So he put the theory to the test and had (so easily he laughed about it) found the kitchens in no time at all. A house elf came up to him with an empty tray in her hands, asking him what he needed. James drew a blank, realizing he had never actually paid attention to the kind of foods Remus grabbed when he stocked up at lunch. After some deliberation, James simply told her his favorite foods and a few minutes later, she came back to him with a tray piled high. That next morning, Sirius and Peter were waiting for him at the door to go to breakfast when he told them he’d catch up. Confused but shrugging, they left him. James pulled the food out from under his bed, scrawled something on a piece of parchment and tossed it on the tray. He left it beside Remus’ bed without saying anything. He had a feeling it would get the job done. And, amazingly, it had. Remus showed up for every meal after that. He fit in like James always knew he would, effortlessly turning their threesome into a four.

→ Peter Pettigrew

Even when they were only eleven years old, Peter was devious. It was one of the things that occurred to James first about the other boy. He wasn’t quiet and timid, he was pretending to be quiet and timid. James, who was someone who never pretended to be anyone other than exactly who he was, found this oddly compelling, but extremely alarming. Why would a kid need survival skills such as going unnoticed by those around him? So, being the extremely transparent bloke that he was, one day James asked him. There was a bit of spluttering and all-around avoidance of the question. He had caught his small friend off guard. James approached this subject in various different ways over the course of a few months in their first year. In fact, it was the start of his experimenting with different ways of speaking to people. Most people found it endearing that he could recognize that he didn’t always have the best methods. Others (Lily Evans, for instance), found it to be a problematic flaw of character. On about his fourth try, it had just been James and Peter sitting in the quiet common room. They were playing chess on the floor in front of the fireplace when he approached it with extreme caution. Peter pondered in silence for a moment and when James thought he was once again not going to answer the question, he started talking. Peter unloaded to James the story of his childhood and James listened intently. He took in every detail, wishing he had known him back then to maybe change it all in some way. It strengthened their friendship, the honesty that passed between them. In the summers, James would begin to invite Peter over and the small boy would graciously deny it until the last week before they went back to school, every time. Soon it became Marauder’s tradition that the last week of summer be spent at the Potter’s in Godric’s Hollow.

JAMES POTTER IS CURRENTLY CLOSED FOR APPLICATIONS.