#last time i watched this was when it was still airing omfg i think i was in like 8th or 9th grade ?

[shamemp3]

would you guys hate me if i teen wolf posted

[heavenbarnes]

Work for it

Spencer Reid x Reader

Part one

Warnings/contains: no mentions of reader’s gender or genital description, dirty talk, unprotected sex, finishing inside, riding, semi-public sex

Here’s part two since you all asked so nicely! I really do love writing for this man so keep asking and you’ll keep receiving (also this gif? i’m gonna’ pass out omfg)

“This is all for you, baby,” He sighed, feeling your hand reach into his pants. “You take whatever you need.”

Spencer had this really intense way of always knowing what to say, always knowing which words were going to drive you insane. Today it was those ones.

Your stomach clenched, eyes nearly rolling back in your head as you watched him watch you. His eyes were hazy, following the movements of your fingers as you stroked his cock.

Slightly restricted by the fabric of his pants and boxers, you slowly twisted your hand around the length of him as your other hand lay flat against his FBI vest.

“It’s hard to think of a time you haven’t looked good,” You gasped, feeling him start peeling off your trousers. “But you’ve never looked this good.”

Spencer laughed, his eyebrow raised like he was challenging you. His fingers tugged at your pants, making you shuffle back to get them down your thighs.

“How about you take these off and show me what you mean?”

There was never any denying him, never any way around it- not like you’d ever want to. Kicking your pants into the footwell, you situated yourself back in Spencer’s lap as he pushed his pants down his thighs.

You watched him bring long fingers to his mouth, tongue swiping up them as he brought his hand back to his cock. All you could do was watch, completely fucked out before he’d hardly touched you.

Watching as he wrapped his hand around the head of his cock and wet it for you, his eyes locking with yours as he did it. His other hand came to your chin, holding it gently to get your full attention.

“Go ahead, I wanna’ watch you while you put it in.”

Your whole stomach flipped, a desperate moan slipping out as you raised onto your knees. Lining up Spencer’s cock with your entrance, you pressed your chin to your chest to watch it slip in.

A hiss came from between his teeth as he disappeared inside of you, taking him to the hilt. Both your hands secured back around the straps of his vest for leverage as you began to bounce in his lap.

Spencer’s head fell back against the car seat, his lips pouty and wet from where yours had been all over him. You just had to lean in and kiss him, you tongue running around his mouth and your fingers slipping into his hair.

The noises, the noises he made when you tugged on his hair and pulled him in closer. His hands secured around your hips and began to pull you down into his lap as you bounced on it.

“There we go- just like that, baby.” Spencer moaned brokenly, words muffled against your lips.

You didn’t know how you could hold on, part of you knew very well that you wouldn’t. Continuing to bounce on him, you took one hand off the vest and pressed your palm flat to the roof of the car.

Spencer looked up at the sight of you above him, he felt like he’d died and come back with a quest to be more grateful.

Long fingers pulled your hips onto his, car filled with sounds of skin on skin. His curls pressed against his damp forehead. Chest rising and falling against the firm hold of the bulletproof vest.

As you rose up again, Spencer held you in the air for a moment before he began hammering his hips up into you. Your mouth fell open, unintelligible sounds that could have been his name came out in quick succession.

You felt the coil in the pit of your stomach begin to unravel, unmistakable feeling of your orgasm fast approaching as you began to clench around him.

“I can feel it, baby,” His voice was a whine, fighting for what little composure he still had. “Give it to me- let me have it.”

Your eyes had been screwed up in pleasure, you made the conscious effort to pry them open and get one last look. It nearly killed you.

Spencer, completely debauched, sweat sheen across his face and blush on his cheeks. One hand holding your hips as he pulled you down on his cock. Other hand gripping the neck of his vest again, like he knew just what it did to you.

You nearly screamed, your voice breaking as you cried out for him- white hot feeling rushing over the entirety of you as you came for him. Clenched tight around him, you felt like your heart could stop.

Spencer only watched, fucking you through it but sure not to miss a moment. He could spend the rest of his life under you, watching you just like this as you came for him.

It was all enough for him, thighs tensing beneath you and hand clenching tight as you felt hot ropes of cum inside you. He slowed you to a stop, but still held you tight against him to keep it all inside you.

Falling against his chest, part of you was beginning to find the vest comfortable. Maybe it was just the fact you were in his arms. Maybe it was the way he rubbed your back as you came back down to earth.

Walking back into the office, you kept your eyes down as you followed behind Spencer. You knew everyone was looking at you both, you were nearly 30 minutes later than the rest of them.

You’d be crazy not to expect there to be questions.

Lucky Spencer was quick on the response.

“Yeah sorry, it’s my fault,” He threw his hands up as he rounded his desk. “There was something going on with my vest.”

[misc-obeyme]

I like to think that lilith's Angel DNA was still active or strong enough to last generations after generations. So if her Angel DNA got more thinner and thinner after generations, it would make sense for Mc to gain power AFTER forming some sort of pacts with the brothers.

This makes me wonder if Mc is the "special one" in her lineage to awaken this sort of power within themselves. If Mc had siblings, wouldn't that mean that Mc's siblings could also gain/awaken their power, too? Since they all share lilith's bloodline. Which could make some things very interesting.

I completely agree with you that Michael (or god) have their eyes on Mc considering how powerful they are (regardless of whether they're human or Nephilim). Maybe that's why Raphael was sent to the Devildom to keep one eye on Mc. Both realms are currently not at war, but i'm sure neither of them want that powerful being, aka Mc to become the others side weapon if something were to escalate. Maybe this is why Solomon once asked Mc to side with humanity instead. (I can't remember what lessons it was in NB).

Either that or they would try to get "ride of" Mc if they become too powerful and dangerous. and once more, according to biblical lore states that ridding the Earth of these Nephilim was one of God's purposes for flooding the Earth in Noah's time. So they have done it before.

Also, off topic but; You used to watch Supernatural?! Omfg, this brings back memories 😭

-Angsty Anon.

Oh dearest angsty anon. I did indeed watch Supernatural. I started watching while season 5 was airing. For many years, I was obsessed. Though it got to the point that I just watched out of habit because by the time I had invested in twelve or so seasons, I was like I'm gonna see this thing to the end.

Which is funny because I still haven't watched the end. One day, I will watch the last half of season 15. Who knows when it will be, but one day I'll do it. I also rewatched the first 8 seasons, but it's been a while.

Anyway, I think you can go with any of the options regarding the angel DNA. The game's canon on this topic is sparse so I really think you can just come up with whatever you want.

I hadn't previously considered the implications of MC's siblings. I suppose that's why I considered most of MC's power to come from their pacts and so on. My own MC has an older sister and I can't believe I never realized that she would also have some of Lilith's DNA. My MC's mom might, too!! Oh man I kinda feel like that has to be the case because it'd be really funny.

Sorry got a little off topic there. Raphael's cover story is that he's there to be the new exchange student, but I think his ulterior motives are to watch both Simeon and MC. And you know likely to report back to Michael about the goings on in the Devildom in a more general sense, too.

Does the Celestial Realm know about MC's heritage? I can't remember. Lucifer was keeping Lilith's resurrection a secret from his brothers, but I'm assuming nobody else knows? Does Simeon?? These details are eluding me.

I'm just wondering if that would matter to the CR, you know? Just another reason to keep track of MC is their angel DNA, right?

I wonder if they'd even be able to "get rid of" MC, even if they tried. It's hard to say since we don't know how powerful Michael or God/Father is. On the one hand, I would think MC's power would be off the charts at this point, but on the other hand well... that's God we're talking about, right? LOL.

Anyway, here's hoping no floods happen just to take out MC. We get enough of that from Lotan being summoned.

[aquaquadrant]

Deciding to live write (react) (?) this as I'm reading this new chapter (two parts WOW, double the angst) (so part one out of two, hope that's cool). If something happens my therapist WILL be hearing about you.

The title already I'm sobbing /pos

I HATE THE WATCHERS SO MUCH OMMMGGGGG, leave them aLONE

It's very Jimmy to not like crying, I love to see it. I love when fanfic writers don't like him crying, ty.

Tango :( The RANCH, it was THEIRS, my HEART These Watchers ugghhHHHH Jimmy immediately defending Tango, please nothing else happen to them, PLEASE

Every time the watchers speak, my want to punch them grows The explanation paragraph, ugh something about it, how Jimmy doesn't immediately try to blame Tango, or just understands it well. Just bjhebwg

Bdubs being so worried for Tango, please, JUST LET THEM BE HAPPY

JIMMY DEFENDING TANGO NUMBER TWO, hate me them

Watchers ugghhe

HERMITCRAFTING BEING HIS HOME UGH IM JUST POINTING OUT EVERY LITTLE DETAIL BECAUSE THEY'RE ALL SO

DELIGHTFUL, I LOVE THE WAY YOU WRITE SO MUCH

Okay, therapy time <3 (yes I did actually read this before my therapy appointment, this was /srs and not /j)

Therapy break over, BACK TO ANGST

Awww, Jimmy not believing Tango is evil. Love to see it.

UH OH, NOT THE TIMMY ALLUSION

Nvm not alright, Watchers need to Watch their mouths

"Pity is a suitor that won’t take a hint, no matter how many times Jimmy turns it away." Is SO good???? Excuse me??? Pity x Jimmy real ship of the htp au?? /j

Maybe I hate the watchers more than I hate Atlas, hm.

I like that they all still keep an air of lighthearted-ness about, even with Tango in such critical condition, they still are friends :)

Jimmy being okay with a scar to the face if it means Tango doesn't have to unnecessarily respawn :( /pos

This description of Tango has me thinking about that kinda old drawing that lunarcrown did of Tango back when he was chained up. Like, it's literally the first post that shows up when clicking on the chronological timeline, yeah that one, it reminds me of that one.

UGGGHHHH THE HAND ON THE CHIN GETTING A RESPONSE, NO, BAD AQUA, BAD. SOMETHINGS ARE BETTER LEFT OFF IN THE ASKS RESPONSES

WATCHERS ARE NOT HELPING (x2)

Still love Jimmy calling for SOS, like yes, smart move. I wish we could've seen what it was like for the other DL to see chat and immediately go "oh shit ???" and then see the SOS and go "OH SHIT ???"

I love Impulse <3

Ooooo, getting some more cases of this fantasy (racism? Bigotry? Bad stuff) worldbuilding

"I don’t believe that just being from there would automatically make someone evil." Nature vs nurture <3 Maybe all Bravo needed was two minutes with Impulse god DAMN

Sleepy time <3

Okay, don't like the Watchers, but the "Round two!" was funny, I'll give em that

"(You cannot sleep, there are monsters nearby.)" I- I- STOP I CAN'T LAUGH BUT OMFG

Rancher :((((((

HIS RANCHER

Let me at these Watchers, LET ME AT EM

Ugh, disassociation. As someone who's dealt with this during panic attacks, it totally tracks and breaks my heart :(

These Watchers gotTA BACK OFF, LEAVE TANGO ALONE GOD DAMN

No way Tango is tryna pull the "I'm fine" card rn, AFTER ALL THAT LMAO

Jimmy is very pretty TO ME

The collar dampening Tango's fire, metaphorically and literally, is just ugh. What's more is Jimmy likes Tango's fire, he likes the warmth Tango produces physically, and he likes the sparks of creativity and burning passion of Tango's metaphorically. And they took it away! Both ways to Sunday!!!

Na because crying on someone is such an intimate gesture. To let your heart pour out of you, no one does that to just anyone. What makes this even more important is how Jimmy cried on Tango's shoulder last chapter, and now Tango's crying on Jimmy's shoulder this chapter. They are each other's soulmate, they are their each other's ranchers. They are so important to one another and soo ughguew

Not gonna cuss this Watcher out, I'll let this sweet dreams comment slide for now.

Oooo, a peak into how they reacted to everyone joining. AND we get a look at Atlas' full username <3 Love it.

Wait Tyrannicide and Phantonym joined too?? Huh, thought as scientists they would've stayed behind. Cool to know!

I can see now why you needed all those usernames lol.

JOEL THIS IS NOT THE TIME TO LAUGH DAMNIT

Hmmm, love Scar immediately jumping into action. Oop and ofc the two scientists head out first lmao

ATLAS, WHEN I CATCH YOU ATLAS, NOT BIGB NOOOO

ATLAS, WHEN I CATCH YOU ATLAS, NOT PEARL NOOOOO

Actually really funny that ATLAS got the most kills from the Hels cast. Like, damn, pop off???? Man did more work than the ppl hired to actually do the dirty work lmao.

Wonder how difficult it was to keep up with all the names, who died then got back in, who killed who, etc.

Oop, Jimmy also noting Atlas is smarter than the average bear.

This whole paragraph talking about Bravo, yes Jimmy, drag that man. Loving how he immediately is like "dude is just like a hels player" and scoffing at the nerve of Bravo to claim to be his actual soulmate. Yes.

Head in hands, Watchers about to catch these hands.

Tango immediately wanting to get this all over with hurts. Damn, wonder if he just wants to get it over with cause he thinks they all want him gone.

"I mean, everyone knows I’m a vicious monster but I don’t have to look it, right?" UGH, Aqua you're lucky I already did my therapy time BEFORE this part, UGGGHHHHHH. I need to go back rq just to tell her this god DAMN

Welp, on to act two! Thank you so much for the wonderful reading material :)

TLDR: I hate the Watchers with a burning passion.

-🍌

what’s this?? a DETAILED LIVE BLOG of my writing for ME to read??? don’t mind if i do…

ok first off, thank you SO MUCH for taking the time to write down ur thoughts and share them with me. it’s truly one of the greatest joys of being an author, and the closest i can get to experiencing my writing as if i wasn’t the one who wrote it. NOW let’s get into it…

the overarching watcher hate is so justified and hilarious, they really just exist to be the most obnoxious and toxic livestream chat ever. at least, the ones who hang around jimmy are LMAO

AHA i’m glad u liked the part abt jimmy not liking to cry, i’ve been told he’s got a bit of a prideful streak in other series that didn’t come thru as much in his double life run, so that was a little nod to it.

the ranch could not escape its destiny of being tragically burned down 🫡

(omg the therapy appointment interlude. i remember when i’ve had to pause while reading a fic to address real life business and now someone’s doing that for MY writing…. :’))) i hope the appt went well!)

this chapter was a lovely opportunity to really show jimmy stepping up for tango, with both verbal and physical reassurance. he may not know everything abt the hels situation but he knows he loves tango <3

AND YEAH YEAH THAT FIRST ART MEL DID. definitely throwing back to that w tango’s disassociated state and the collar. nice catch ;0

the chin-hand response was another throw back to old mel art, isn’t that fuuuun? ;000

IMPULSE WAS THE MVP OF THIS CHAPTER 💪😤👏

ok the watchers do get their funny moments in here and there HAH

phantonym and tyrannicide did come along! they might be scientists, but they’re as nasty as any hels player (dr l8r_h8r did, in fact, stay home to monitor the portal. he’s kinda over the whole ‘violence’ nonsense.) tango actually targeted them first bc of their lab coats.

and YUP i got a lotta good username ideas from those suggestions. and it WAS very difficult to keep track of them all thru the chat backlog. i don’t know how long i spent going thru each player’s sequence of events, one by one, JUST to make sure i hadn’t forgotten to have someone die for the last time, or show up again without a new join message.

and unfortunately for jimmy he made the classic error of “typo in the group chat.” joel did what he had to 🫡 (buuuut once he saw how serious the situation was, he decided not to push it anymore)

atlas is a clever bastard and i love that yall love to hate him 🙏 he saw a virtual ocean of wolves storming down the hill and was like “ok clearly i’m not dealing with that, so let’s see where my efforts can be better spent.” the hired grunts don’t possess that kind of critical thought 🎻

i’m SO glad you enjoyed it!! thank you again for this lovely feedback <3

[jaimebluesq]

8 shows to know you

Tagged by @dual-domination - thank you so much!

All right, I'm going to go chronologically rather than by current importance, and yeah, I'm going to show my age a little bit. So without further ado...

1 - The Monkees

When I was a kid, I first watched the Monkees on reruns (this was the 80s), and I fell for their shenanigans and music - to this day I still hum Cheer Up Sleepy Jean some mornings. I was a Mickey Dolenz fan, but I loved all of them equally. When I got *older*, I did discover fandom and fanfic... that was a fun personal update lol.

2 - The A-Team

OMFG where do I start... Did I mention I love shenanigans? Because these boys may be former military but the show is FULL of shenanigans. I laughed my ass off, honestly. When I grew up, my opinions on certain things developed, and it's hard to watch the show the same way... but it will always have a special place in my heart.

3 - Various Saturday Morning Cartoons & Shows

All right, I can't list them all because this list is only for 8 shows, but Saturday Morning Cartoons (and Saved by the Bell) were the best things ever growing up! And I think they really helped develop my sense of humour ;)

4 - Star Trek: The Next Generation

And here we are, my first foray into true addiction and obsession. Didn't have the internet yet, which was probably a really good thing because I'd have spent all my time reading fanfic. As it is, this was when I made my first foray into it with a self-insert fic about the ship meeting a new alien species led by a young girl with blue hair and sparkling pink uniform who would draw the eyes of young Wesley Crusher... omfg I was young, okay!!! That fanfic never saw the light of day, thank goodness. But this show IS the reason I got to meet a Klingon and a Vulcan when Paramount took over Canada's Wonderland and did a Star Trek exhibit :D

5 - SeaQuest

This show was so significant in my life that I should REALLY list it twice. I watched it when it first aired, at least the first two seasons - either the 3rd never aired where I live or I missed out on it for some other reason - and loved it so so so so much. I think one of the things I initially loved about it was that it wasn't just a military vessel - it was both science and military, and the conflict between the two was often a significant plot point - well, all that and the talking dolphin. But the characters were magnificent, the episodes were engaging even when they got silly... and then years later, I got onto the internet, fell in love with TV show #6 which prominently features one of the actors, and my love for seaQuest got renewed to the point that I even wrote for fanzines back in the day, and created a little internet fan thing called "Tim O'Neill's Cunning Linguists" - yes, I do love a good pun ;)

6 - Xena: Warrior Princess

I can't describe HOW MUCH this show was important in my life. Honestly. It's the reason behind my foray into fandom. My love of Ted Raimi renewed my love of SeaQuest, and Joxer was a character that my 'loser' self related to more than anyone else, and the fact that he was accepted as part of the group meant so fucking much to me! I made awesome online friends through this fandom - JoeyRZ and CrystalBlue in particular - and to this day, I can remember Shamenka's "The Fool and the God" almost word for word because I re-read it so damned much. I'm team "The last season didn't happen except for Virgil because he's adorable". So yeah, there's no true knowing me unless you know about my love for this show.

7 - The Rise of Phoenixes

It's funny that there's such a huge time period between #6 and #7, but even though there were many shows I loved and enjoyed, none of them had a real profound effect on me... until this one. I honestly don't remember how it happened, but a few years ago someone introduced me to harem games on mobile, and the players of the game began talking about CDramas they enjoyed. At the time I was skeptical, had never really watched much from other countries before, but I spotted The Rise of Phoenixes on Netflix and I happened to have an account, so one day I thought, what the hell? I binged the whole fucking thing! And I didn't find the subtitles off-putting - in fact, I think I've come to prefer watching everything in subtitles since I'm hard of hearing, and when a show's in another language, it gives me the excuse to do so >.< But yeah, this show was my introduction to CDramas, Ni Ni was gorgeous as hell and I adored her, and it's the reason I am where I am in fandom today. Which brings me to...

8 - The Untamed / CQL

It was really hard trying to find an image that accurately reflects my feelings about this show, but I think this does it enough. Wei Wuxian's story was wonderful and engaging and addicted me instantly, and his love for Lan Wangji was evident despite them having to keep the BL quiet for the sake of the Chinese censors. But Nie Huaisang's story, that's what made me go "There's more story to be told here... I wonder what people are writing about it in the fandom. There *MUST* be a fandom for this show, right?"

*Ahem* Hundreds of fics read later, my AO3 now lists me as author to 90 fics in this fandom, I've taken part in many events (and still am!), I've pioneered ships and supported others, and I've been having the time of my life, all because of these boys. I continue to watch other CDramas - from Word of Honor to Blood of Youth - but none have engaged me as much as The Untamed, the show that I binged and then, after the reveal of the final episodes, rewatched the entire thing immediately after. If you're following me on Tumblr these days, you know how I feel about this fandom :D

If you've read this far and want to join in, consider yourself tagged :-p

[1kook]

viki & hickeys

the 8th installment to netflix & chill :~)

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You’re not so sure. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Your friend and superior, Kim Seokjin. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hm,” you ponder, “maybe.” 

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

Oh, you loved this man. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Eventually, he says, “you could leave.”

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

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

“I thought he was cool before.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

(It makes your heart ache at the realization.) 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You whimper. “That hurt.” 

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

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

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

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

Of course. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And it’s true. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I kinda do—“

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

That loud and airy one he reserves only for you. 

epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

epi-epilogue

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[hpimaginesandblurbs]

hear me out: Harry x fem!reader x Cedric…

Like Harry let’s it slip he has a little crush on cedric and you mention the possibility of a threesome and they’re totally down (watching Cedric fuck Harry … omfg)

pairing(s): reader x harry potter x cedric diggory

word count: 1.7k

warning(s): 18+, mmf, threesome, anal sex, oral (female receiving)

“So, I have a surprise for you,” you told Harry as you slowly approached your bedroom.

You could feel the nerves fluttering in your chest as you looked up at him. What if he hated the idea? What if he was embarrassed? What if he never forgave you?

But you knew your boyfriend well and you could only hope that he gave you the reaction you anticipated when you formed this little plan. It was no secret that Harry was bisexual, and a few weeks ago he had finally spilled that he had always harbored a small crush on one of your best friends, Cedric Diggory, all throughout school and into adulthood. You couldn’t deny that Cedric was handsome, so you had called in a small favor. That favor was currently waiting for the two of you behind the door.

When Harry gave you a nudge to continue, you took a deep breath and pressed on.

“Remember a few weeks ago when you told me you had a crush on Cedric? And that you’d like to have him in bed?” You asked, having no other way to broach the subject.

“Yeah?” Harry replied, still clearly confused as to why you were both still standing outside of your bedroom door having this conversation.

“Well, and you can totally say no if you want, but I told him and he would also very much like that. He’s in there right now. I can tell him to go home if you don’t want to though,” you half explained, half rambled.

Throughout the entire spiel, Harry grew redder and redder. You weren’t sure if it was from embarrassment or arousal until he looked at you. His green eyes were already dark with lust at the thought.

“You’re serious?” He asked, still a bit baffled that this was actually happening.

“Very. Now would you like to go inside, or…?” You trailed off, purposefully leaving it open ended so Harry had an out if he wanted to.

But no, your brave little Gryffindor immediately opened the door and strode inside. You followed a step behind him, anticipation swirling in your gut at what was about to happen. You stumbled upon the two most important men in your life seemingly having a conversation with just their eyes, assessing each other openly.

It didn’t take long until Cedric stood up from the bed and crashed his lips onto Harry’s, the pair of them moaning at the contact as you watched on. You had never considered yourself a voyeur, but watching the pair of them locked together like that, their hands roaming the others body, was making you incredibly wet.

When they finally broke apart, Cedric looked at Harry for a long moment before asking, “Has anyone ever fucked you, Harry?”

Despite the blush forming on his cheeks, Harry shot you a quick glance before answering. “Not by another man.”

Upon receiving that answer, Cedric shot you a satisfactory look that went directly towards your clit. “I see,” he said slowly, holding your gaze before turning back to Harry. “Would you like me to?” He asked, his hands never once leaving Harry’s fit build.

“Y-yes,” Harry stuttered out, and you could see him growing harder in his trousers by the second.

“Strip and get on the bed for me, alright?”

When Harry gave a shaky nod and got to work, Cedric made his way over to you.

“He’s delightfully responsive. You didn’t tell me that,” Cedric said, just low enough that Harry would have to strain to hear from where he was across the room.

“Figured I’d give you a nice surprise to make this worth your while,” you grinned at him, the both of you casting predatory glances at Harry as he continued to strip.

“This is more than worth it, trust me,” Cedric mused, his gaze slowly turning back to you. “And where would you like to be in all of this?”

“I’ve been content to watch, but I wouldn’t oppose whatever you have in mind,” you replied coyly, already knowing your best friend had a plan brewing.

“Well then, you should strip too,” he said with a wink before walking back over to Harry who was lying on his stomach on the bed.

You stripped dutifully, your core aching as you watched Cedric tease your boyfriend as he got him into the position he wanted him - on his knees with his arse perched deliciously in the air, completely exposed to both of your gazes.

“Fuck, he’s beautiful,” Cedric said to you, but his eyes didn’t leave Harry’s body once.

You watched as Harry started to squirm, unsure what to do when so openly exposed like this. You rarely left your boyfriend guessing in the bedroom, so you jumped into his rescue.

“Don’t ignore him, Ced,” you chided playfully, but by the way Cedric immediately put his hands on Harry’s waist, you knew he knew you were serious.

Once you were just as bare as your boyfriend, you climbed on the bed in front of him. You spread your legs so they were bracketing his body, exposing your dripping cunt to both men in the process. They let out twin groans as they watched you, Harry’s cock twitching between his legs.

Without a second thought, you ran your fingers through Harry’s hair until you had a handful and tugged his face towards your core, an obvious demand. He shot you a grin before diving towards you, his tongue readily running up your slit and teasing your clit.

“Go slow. I don’t want to cum until you do,” you told him, your hand leisurely running through his hair as he slowed his pace.

Once Cedric knew the both of you were situated, he made quick work of opening Harry up for him with his fingers. Every moan that spilled out of Harry vibrated through your core, making you dripping wet by the time Cedric took his cock out. Harry’s shiver of anticipation when he felt Cedric at his entrance was unmistakable, and you knew none of you would last long once Cedric started to fuck him.

“Do you want him to fuck you or are you happy with his mouth?” Cedric asked, his voice an octave lower since the last time he spoke, every move he made now driven by lust.

“He’s doing wonders with his mouth,” you said, stroking Harry’s again. “Besides, I think the both of us at once would be too much for him this time.”

Harry was so wrapped up in pleasuring you and shamelessly rocking his arse back against Cedric that he missed your subtle hint that this would not be the only time Cedric would make an appearance in your bedroom. But your best friend looked at you with a twinkle in his eye as he started pushing into Harry that he liked your idea just fine.

You watched as Cedric took Harry. Your boyfriend had to pull away from you for a moment as he adjusted, moans and whimpers spilling out of his mouth as Cedric worked every inch of himself inside of Harry’s tight hole. When you looked down at him, he looked the most fucked out he had ever been and then some, his whole body high strung as Cedric started rolling his hips in slow increments.

“Better not leave the lady waiting,” Cedric said as he bent down to talk lowly in Harry’s ear, shooting you a wink over his shoulder.

Once Harry got his mouth back on you, his movements were not what you had expected. In the heat of the moment you had anticipated him to be sloppy, slow, subdued. You had not anticipated him to be purposefully breaking you apart piece by piece as you watched him get beautifully fucked by your best friend.

The pair of them moved in perfect harmony as you all climbed closer and closer to the edge, a cacophony of moans engulfing the room.

“Fuck, I can feel how close you are, Harry,” Cedric moaned, his pace only growing harder and harder as time went on. “Cum for us.”

You watched as your boyfriend shook and collapsed after one, two, three more steady thrusts from Cedric before meeting his release, rope after rope of cum falling onto the bed as Cedric fucked him through it. Despite Harry’s now unsteady tongue, you fell over the edge just watching him, your own series of moans falling from your lips as you stared transfixed at the sight before you. Cedric came with a groan, buried deep inside of Harry as he released. Harry shuddered at the feeling, blissed out beyond belief between your two bodies.

You settled yourself on the bed as you watched them recover. Cedric was first, and he easily moved Harry up the bed and into your arms, Harry’s head laid on your chest. Hesitantly, Cedric laid down on the other side of Harry and curled his body around your boyfriends, the three of you content to lay in silence for the time being.

“How was that?” You finally asked, breaking the silence with your direct question to Harry. You had been stroking his hair and face, soothing him and waiting for his breathing to even out in the aftermath of his climax.

Harry pulled back slightly to look at you and you were almost ready to go again just at the sight of him. His skin was still flushed and everything about him screamed ‘fucked out’.

“It was incredible,” he said softly, almost hesitantly.

“What’s going through that pretty head of yours?” You asked with a small smile, already knowing exactly what he wanted.

“Well, I just,” he paused and slowly turned his head to look at Cedric. “Are you staying tonight?”

“Would you like me to?”

“Please,” Harry answered, his cheeks turning a delightful shade of pink at how desperate he was being.

But both you and Cedric gave him a fond smile and snuggled closer towards him. Harry responded with his own smile, and finally content in between your bodies, his breathing started to deepen as he drifted off to sleep. Over his head, you and Cedric shared a meaningful glace, one full of promise and anticipation for future nights spent just like this.

[rew0nder]

can i be 🐋 anon? imagine luxiem as fathers. mysta burning the kitchen down with his kid, ike reading to his kids, luca throwing his kids up in the air, vox singing his kid to sleep, shu playing multiplayer games or idk. cooking mama with his kid:$2$.?

imagine the process of making them daddies. woo boy. screams and shouts

this is so late omfg i jst opened tumblr and idnk how use this app,,,,

BUT NIJIDADDIES 😍😍😍😍😍😍

luca is defo one who would throw his child up in the air, like hes laughing while his child cries bcs they're so high up and then he pats their back when they cry 🥺 i also think he'd be pretty close w/ his child bcs he's just so... open? like he can be friends with anyone and everything (i think its bcs he gives golden retriever vibes) and i think he doesn't snitch on anyone if his child tells secrets. would also be that one person who lets his child eat ice cream w/o ur permission.

shu is idk kinda strict but at the same time is chill but at the same time playful BCS like imagine him saying that men r gross (idk why but i love the idea of him having a daughter) but when his daughter brings a person (of course he would check if they're a decent person seeing as he's a sorcerer him probably kinda checked on them) he'll let them date (if they're at age bcs no way in hell would he let his daughter date at the age of 10) also probably kinda tease them for having a gf/bf s/o.

mysta as a father.... ur souper right anon, i just hope the child doesn't inherit his bad cooking skills (though after watching his latest cooking vid, he kinda improved) bcs if they did inherit it, leaving them two alone, in the kitchen, is a deathwish. mysta is also a person who persuades his child to ask for ice cream so that he can use it as a valid excuse.

ike is strict, not the overbearing strict, but the 'i love you and i just want to protect u from the dangers of the world but i also want you to have fun and make some memories' he's the type who would not allow their child to be out til' 9:30 but he allows like sleepovers and yk stuff like bonding w/ur friends (he also makes an exception when their child begs bcs hes soft for them like that) also the type who values privacy (so yes he's the type of guy who doesn't read their childs diary bcs he doesn't need to, with his observant eyes, he knows everything with just a glance)

vox who is such a dad, its just so domestic for some reason bcs vox emits so much daddy energy who spoils their child. idk he's the type who lets his children do whatever they want (but of course no drugs/alcohol when ir underage and stuff like that) he's very chill when it comes to parenting and have u seen the cooking stream with mysta??? he's pretty much like that with his children but MUCH more softer with his words.

THE LAST PART..... I STILL DK HOW TO MAKE A "UNDER THE CUT" ON MOBILE APP BCS i don't use this app when im writing :((

[pogueswrld]

Listen, listen, I love Druig and I love his relationship with Makkari but all I’m saying…

Makkari x fem reader based on Dove Cameron’s Boyfriend

YESSS this is amazing omfg

*•.¸♡ boyfriend ♡¸.•*

pairing: makkari x fem!reader

summary: makkari and druig are supposedly happy together, but then druig leaves, and y/n takes her chance

warnings: druig leaving makkari, y/n misreading a situation but it working out in her favor anyway :)

note: I've had boyfriend on repeat since it came out so nonnie tysm for this omfg, also really sorry if this is short :(

Being friends with an eternal wasn't necessarily all bad, having a crush on one though wasn't the best either, especially since she's not exactly available.

Makkari and Druig have been together for hundreds of years as far as y/n knows, and she sees the way they act around each other, there's no mistaking it— they're in love. But also the best of couples argue, who's to say there's more to it then what they show?

When y/n visited Makkari that morning, she was surprised to see Druig there, as he hadn't been in town for a while and wasn't supposed to visit for at least a few more years according to Makkari, but alas. There he was, with the leather jacket and the knowing smirk, munching on blueberries as his eyes twinkled with mischief towards the human girl.

She paid it no mind at first, ignoring him completely, but then she saw him argue with Makkari, and it seemed pretty intense. She said something about him being gone for so long and he tried to explain how the people in the Amazon need him more than she does, that did it for her and she asked him to leave.

By the evening Druig was gone, and y/n sat on the porch of Makkari's house knowing the girl needed comfort but she wasn't sure if she was allowed to go in and comfort her just yet. She waits outside and watches the sunset, and then she notices the door opens and Makkari steps out.

She had her hair out in tied puff above her head and looked beyond exhausted, yet somehow remaining beautiful as ever.

Y/n watches her closely, a soft smile on her lips in hopes it makes her feel better, Makkari sits beside her with a sigh.

"Are you okay?" y/n asks, her hand coming to rest on Makkari's forearm. The woman glances at her and smiles, nodding hesitantly. "It's okay to not be okay you know, you've known Druig for years, loved him for more probably."

Makkari shrugs, "I know he loves humans and he cares for them and I think that's great of him, really, I guess I wasn't really expecting him to get so attached to them." she signs, sighing once again.

"The thing about humans is that... we're just a fleeting thing, we're only here for some time and eventually, whether we like it or not, we're all gonna die and there's nothing Druig can do to stop that, nothing anyone can do to stop it. It's just the way it is, you know? And I'm not trying to excuse what Druig did, it was hurtful and you have every right to be mad at him because if he really loves you he'd care about you more than anything. I know I do." y/n signs, muttering the last sentence quietly.

She watches Makkari stare at her with unreadable soft eyes, and y/n swears something in the air shifts, gravitating them towards one another, but they sit still, eyes never wavering.

"You love me?" Makkari asks, seemingly shocked and y/n presses her lips together, fuck it she thought, "I really thought I was being obvious with it, 'Kari. We've known each other for a long while and I... Really do care about you, more than anything, and I'd hate to see you heartbroken over a guy that mistreated you."

Makkari only listens, and when y/n was done she sits there for a moment. Noticing her inner conflicts, y/n leans back on the chair she's seated on, "I don't mean to sound overconfident, but I do think I'd be a better boyfriend than him." Makkari laughs, silently and softly, and when she's looking up at the human girl, there's a gentle glint in her eyes. "I think you'd do."

[niskoo]

Burrito run

pairing: rich kid! Jake x rich kid! reader

genre: fluff, crack, bff2l! AU

warnings: food, swearing, sneaking out (??)

word count: 3k words

a/n: my dumbass posted this on my nct acc omfg

this was originally for haechan of nct for my nct acc (@daegall) but i thought i could treat you guys to hehe

networks: @enhypennetwork

You had known Jake for more than half of your lives. Thanks to both of your rich ass parents setting you two up for a playdate at the age of 12, now you have found your rock and partner in crime. You know when he's feeling down, when he wants to cause trouble for no reason, when he has an eye for someone, heck, you know when and how to get him out of any situation when needed.

Like right now, as he gives you a side glance as he talks boringly to a group of men. All they talked about was business. Jake wanted to talk about that one burrito place down the block, he wants to get out of there and go get some. He wants to get out of this stupid high class party he has no part of.

He knows you do too, he knows by the way you keep glancing at the back door by the kitchen, and how you occasionally move to each group closer to the door. You know he catches up to the plan, how he also moves from group to group, excusing himself every 2 minutes.

You politely excuse yourself from the many unknown rich aunts who just questioned your love life, giving them a very passive smile, before turning to move to another group.

You don't get to go to another group, because you're already so close to the door, and Jake approaches you.

"Why, hello there, miss Y/n."

You feign shock at his greeting, holding a hand to your chest, "My, Jaeyun, wasn't it? It's been too long!"

Your best friend nods, playing along to the small skit you two have created, "About 2 hours, I think? You've grown very beautifully,"

You flick your hand at him, nudging his shoulder not-so-gently, "Oh stop."

You bite your lip to hold back a loud laugh when Jake winces at your harsh push at his shoulder, watching as his face twists in playful anger. You can't help but thin he looks absolutely adorable, nose scrunched up and eyes narrowed in a non meaningful glare, you ought to kiss his puffed cheeks.

You shake the last thought from your mind, bringing the elegant glass of champagne to your lips, sipping lightly at the sweet and slightly sour liquid. You then take a double check around the spacious room, to see if anyone is watching.

Your mother and father were chatting at the far corner with the parents of Jay, a guy you met earlier this evening. He looked just as bored as you. Jake's parents stood not too far from your parents, greeting anyone who approached them.

This was your chance.

Quickly, as Jake was mumbling something about you growing up strongly as well, you grab his arm. He yelps in surprise, as you drag him through the back door, lightly blushing at your gentle touch at his wrist.

The back door soon slams behind the both of you, and you are met with a large yard.

"Y/n! What if someone caught us?"

Giving Jake a side glare, you start to trudge down the flight of stairs to the garden, "You were too busy complaining about my guns to notice we had a chance to escape. You're welcome."

"You're weak!"

"Am not!"

"Are to!"

You ignore the upcoming argument you could've started, taking off your painful heels. They were absolutely stunning, but stung your feet constantly. Beauty is pain, as mother says.

"Lead the way to the burrito truck you claimed to see on the way here!"

Through the many bushes, and many guards, and even more bushes, you finally make it out the the big mansion, and into the dark streets. It's 10 in the night, you hope the burrito place is still open or your only choice left is a McDonalds about an hour away or convenience store food. Not that you minded, but you haven't had a burrito since you were 18. You had it right after graduation day with one of your closes friends who you have no idea of her whereabouts now.

The last time Jake had a burrito is about last week, the first time he met another rich kid named Sunghoon. Their parents gave them a bunch of money to go spend on expensive and top quality foods, but they both mutually agreed to get cheap burritos that would probably give them a bad stomach.

Jake takes the lead, as expected, for he was the one who spotted the food truck. He took off his blazer some time ago, you don't remember when, but with his jacket thrown over his elbow and sleeves rolled up like that, you can't help but admire.

You notice every single little thing about him, his slow, rhythmic paces, occasionally kicking stray rocks on the sidewalk. You watch as his hair slightly bounces as he kicks yet another rock, and you want to pet his hair.

There was that one time when you were 16 and you had a movie night as your parents went away for some business, he had his head on your lap, you didn't mind for some reason. At some point you had started playing lightly with a few strands of his hair, but you didn't notice. The moment you softly ran your hands through his hair, you realized, and decided to keep your hands to yourself after that. To your surprise he protested against it, claiming it was very comforting. So now every time one of you come over to the other's house, you would somehow find yourself playing with his hair, like pure human instinct.

But now as you observed your best friend more, you have a different feeling running through you as you had an urge to softly play with them once more, as if it wasn't as platonic anymore. But that was absurd. you've been friends for 10 years now, why are you just feeling like this now?

Your heart jumps in your chest when you are suddenly met with Jake's eyes, shining brightly with a slight mischievous gloss glazing over them. "Can we pick up the pace please? I'm getting pretty hungry and I know you are too."

Your heart softens as he sticks his arm out, gesturing you to come next to him. You jog barefoot to his side, instantly looping your arm with his.

It doesn't take long to find the food truck Jake mentioned, just a 10 minutes from the mansion, somewhere near the center of town. You had to drive about 2 hours to get here, and so did Jake, so it's a bit strange how he knew his way around the town so easily. You guess he just is that way.

You practically drool at the smell of savory foods that lingers in the air, sucking the saliva in your mouth.

Your best friend eyes you playfully, nudging your hip with his, "See? What did I tell you? Burrito food truck!"

You don't respond, simply grunting and dragging him to the cashier to order some food.

It takes a lot of time to decide on what burrito you'd buy, there were even tacos, and weirdly, cookies and croissants. It was your dream food truck, really. In the end, you both went for the classic burrito, nothing could beat it.

There were no seats to the food truck, sadly, so you and Jake opted to sit on the curb, legs sprawled out on the road, hopefully no cars drive by.

"You ready?" Your best friend asks you, looking at you with much anticipation. You stare at your own burrito in much more anticipation, it's been 4 years since you had a burrito. You wonder how you could survive that long.

You nod vivaciously, already opening your mouth to take a bite. Jake chuckles as he watches you take your first bite, your cheeks instantly puffing out full of the contents. You shut your eyes in bliss, licking your lips for anything left on them.

As you continue to chew, you shake your head, "Shit, I haven't had anything this good in sooo long." You exaggerate, taking yet another bite of the heavenly treat.

Jake can't agree more, he just had a burrito last week, but somehow eating one with you feels different. Especially when you don't mind him seeing and pointing out the smeared food around your mouth, simply trying to search for it with your tongue instead.

Your best friend wants to cherish this moment forever, keep it deep in his heart and laugh at it in the future when he suddenly gets reminded of it, he wants to brag about it to his friends, maybe even share it with his grandchildren, he doesn't know. All he knows is that you're it for him.

You're the one he's spent all of his teenage years with, his first heartbreak, first sleepover, first drink was with you, heck, you were his first close friend!

You know so much about him, you share so much about yourself to him, he's the one you trust. He's the first person you call out to when you're down, first person you call out to in the best of your times. It amazing how much you've been through together, and Jake thinks anything is possible, as long as it's you.

Falling in love seems so much easier than ever, especially at that moment, eating a burrito instead of the expensive caviar at the party before, just with him. And nobody else.

He wants to make you his. Not just his best friend, his lover, his soul mate, his whole world. Not that you weren't already.

"What's wrong?" you suddenly ask Jake, startling him. "You nudge your chin at the burrito in his hands, "Why aren't you eating?"

Jake flushes, realizing he's been staring at you the whole time, taking a big bite of his burrito, before looking away bashfully. "It's nothing."

You grow suspicious of his actions, watching as he swallows and bites his lip shyly. You choose to leave it there, instead bringing up your parents being out of town next week.

The conversation keeps going, from one topic to the other, swerving all over the place, but that's just how it is, talking to the person you're most comfortable with.

The conversation goes on and on until you find yourself walking along the streets blindly, fiddling with the paper packaging of the burrito you ate. You also find yourself wearing Jake's shoes instead of walking barefoot, he gave to you after you complained about walking over so many rocks, and you didn't like how your heart swarmed and beat dangerously fast as he claimed it would be better if you borrowed them for the night.

Strangely enough, his blazer he took off about and hour ago now stayed on your shoulders, keeping you warm from the cold breezes of the night. All your best friend's actions made you swoon over him, and that wasn't something you would feel often. Maybe occasionally, but not everyday.

Jake doesn't know what got into him when he took his shoes off for you, or when he draped his blazer on your shoulders, or why he took your heels and held it for you. What he does know, is that he enjoys the way your lips purse and a light shade of pink dusted over your cheeks. Or how you pull his blazer tighter around your body and sub-consciously loop your arm around his again.

You two never really got to go through the proper high school experience, your parents forced you to go to a strict school with strict rules, they didn't even have celebrations.

Jake always imagines what it would be like to go to a dance, prom, maybe? Full of fun, dancing, and definitely you. You had a similar vision. Chugging down punch or soda and dancing crazily together until you both get sick and throw up in the bathroom.

Prom was like a mutual yearning for the both of you.

God, how you would kill to have a normal high school experience.

"You know," Jake starts, "this feels like I'm walking you home after prom."

You can't stop the grin from reaching your lips, giving into it and letting out a soft laugh. Softly, you elbow his side, "Corny."

There are a few laughs here and there after that, but overall just comforting silence that goes throughout the night. The crickets that echo throughout the night are your only noises, and the few cars rushing by. You two come to a stop at a random bench by a streetlamp, settling there until you realize it's time to go back to the party.

You realize it, but you just don't want to let go of the moment.

You feel Jake hook his leg under yours, swinging them together in sync as you rest and stare into the night sky. Tonight isn't that much of a pretty night, no stars, barely a moon, but that's alright, you're enjoying the most of it.

You turn your head away from the boring black sky, instead facing the mot interesting thing you find in life. Jake is staring down at your swinging legs, smiling at the sight. He fiddles softly with your fingers, caressing and tracing them as if they were one of the most precious things in the world.

Your eyes trail from your tangled legs, to your tangled hands, all the way up to Jake's face, tracing each and every detail with your gaze. You don't remember when he matured, you only remember the fluffy cheeked bowl cut Jake when you two were still middle schoolers. Now all that cheek has become more defined, especially his jaw, you can't help but admire him. He was like a piece of art. Your favorite piece of art.

For the second time that night, you focus on his hair, and ought to run your hands through them once again. To pull him into your embrace as he rests on you, to simply relax and twirl his strands around your fingers.

It seems like whenever you're staring at his hair, Jake just startles you with his eyes, still glossy, but this time they hold something different.

They admire you just as much as yours admire him.

Slowly, as if an unspoken agreement, you lean in closer to his face. His breath close to your cheek sets goosebumps trailing your body, and his touch now on your neck warms you inside.

Your eyes flit between his eyes and lips, oh those plump, soft lips you dream of. You would never admit it, but you have had many urges to crash your own upon them.

And that's exactly what you do. Though, crash isn't the right word to describe it. They press together softly more than recklessly, pulling into a soft lock, something much more than just platonic love being poured into it. Pure bliss and love are being poured like gentle and calm rivers, the ones you find clear and beautiful in parks. It runs faster as Jake tilts your head to kiss you closer, lips wrapped up in the warmth of yours. It feels like home to him.

Jake is absolutely perfect, you decide, despite all the many nights spent together breaking down, left for each other to pick the other up, it makes him perfect.

He thinks you're the most flawless thing he's ever seen, despite all the gems and crystals he sees in most parties, you're the brightest one shining, he could never find any jewel more valuable than you.

You pull away with one last soft lock of your lips, but stay close and ghost them together. You find his eyes the shining the most you have ever seen in the 10 years you have spent with him, one different emotion fluttering behind them. Love.

You surely don't feel that big of a person when you're at these big rich parties, even if everyone knew of your name. But kissing your best friend and being the one he sees, he loves, being his, you feel like you could rule the world.

You know you're his after this. How could you not? The way he breaks out into a very bashful smile when you leave one last peck on his lips, the way he holds you so close. There was no way he couldn't be yours after this.

A week later you have a very sleepy boyfriend on your couch, his head resting on your lap as you play softly with his hair. Nothing is all that different, except for all the kisses he steals when reaching up to you. And of course, the corny lines being thrown at each other as a competition to see who can come up with the cheesiest, most disgusting pick up line ever.

"I want to wrap you in my arms and make you my baerito."

"Ugh Jake that was just straight but bad! Not even funny or cheesy!"

Jake simply laughs, and wraps his arms around you just as he claimed to have wanted to, mumbling how he agreed into your forehead.

Being in his arms, you feel like you could fight everything that would try to hurt your lover, but for now you stick to the playful pokes he gives to your stomach and sides.

[yuujism]

pretty mess (itadori yūji x reader)

| PAIRINGS:  sub!itadori yuuji x reader

| WARNINGS: smut, explicit, submissive yuuji, soft dom reader, drooling, masturbation, overstimulation, edging, drool again omfg, and grammar errors

| WORD COUNT: 871

A/N: so uuhhhh i just needed a small drabble about subby yuuji 😳 i just think he would do anything u would ask him to but this one is focused on overstimulating and edging this baby omg he’s perfect and sweer!!  i hope you enjoy it as much as i did writing it <3 ʕ•́ᴥ•̀ʔっ

Nothing was more perfect than this view in front of you.

Yuuji was laying on his back as both his hands were fisting the sheets underneath him, his knuckles turning white from the strength he was applying. His hips were bucking up, thrusting into the air as if that was going to get him some sweet release. And you knew he could. Yuuji had a great history of cumming untouched as many times as his body and YOU allowed him to. 

He was trying his best, really. Looking at you through the forming tears around the corner of his eyes, blinking to let them stream down his rosy cheeks and letting out a loud, needy whine when you decided to lay a finger on his chin. Yuuji looked in the verge of malfunctioning.

“Tell me what you want, babyboy.” Your finger tan from his chin down his neck and chest, grazing his nipple and making him arch his back. You decided to keep going south, finger between his marked abdomen before placing it on the tip of his cock. 

Poor Yuuji. The loud moan that came directly from his chest almost ripped through you, following by the pretties sobs and whines you’ve ever heard. He was way too sensitive now.  

“P-Ple... P-Please... Let me... Hngh! Please, please, please... Y-Y/N” Yuuji was long gone, his hands slamming against the bed to let out the tension his body was creating. 

He babbled non-sense, drool running down his chin as your finger massaged slightly the already red and flushed tip of his cock, looking aggressively painful. You almost felt bad.

Almost. 

Your hand fully wrapped around his cock, giving it a soft squeeze before moving it painfully slow. 

He moaned your name like a mantra as your thumb rubbed against his slit, more tears falling down his face as he choked on his own words of pleasure.

“Pretty, pretty boy.”

Oh, yes, keep praising him. Please, keep praising him more. 

His eyes rolled back as he kept moaning soundly, hips twitching with anticipation of fucking your hand until he only saw white. But Yuuji knew better. God, he knew so much better than to misbehave right now and cum without permission. 

“I want... Ah! Fuck, shit!” He couldn’t form a single coherent sentence now, his mouth only working to whine and cry out, looking down to see your soft hand fucking his cock. “Please! Y/N, p-please! P-please I wanna cum! please”

“Good boy. You did so well.” You placed a soft kiss on his forehead for the last time now, his cheeks impossibly getting redder.

Your pace started going faster and Yuuji almost passed out with pleasure, finally receiving the relief he’s been looking for the past hour. God, he swore he could see the stars as his eyes rolled back in head again, his hips moving uncontrollably as he tried to match your movements.

He could almost feel your wet core wrapping around his cock, squeezing him hardly as you bounced on top of him. Shit, he wanted to cum inside of you so bad, fill you up to the brim and watch it ooze out of you when you got off him.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

“Please, Y/N... let me cum inside you, please please please...” his cheeks were so wet from his tears, mixing with his drool and staining the pillow under his head.

You smiled sweetly at him, even if he wasn’t looking at you, way too lost into his pleasure. He really was a mess. You got close to his face and kissed him softly, contrasting with the roughness of your movements on his cock. 

“Cum inside me, babyboy. Fill me up with your milk now.” 

And that was all Yuuji could take.

“Hngh, fuck! I’m... I-I’m cumming! Shit, please, Ah! Y/N, Y/N, Y/N!” the spurts of his cum started landing on his abdomen, sobbing loudly as you never stopped your hand from moving all along his shaft. His hips twitched up harshly, looking for even more friction as he kept blowing his load.

God, he was cumming so, so much. Wild strings of white coming out and already coating his chest as well. Your free hand gathered some of his seed in your fingers, bringing them up to Yuuji’s mouth who gladly tasted himself off your skin. He secretly got even more aroused by tasting himself when he jerked off.

Even after his seed stopped coming out, you kept moving your hand, massaging his still hard cock to overstimulate him.

He let out another loud sob, his mind long gone to even form another sentence, fucked out of his mind he didn’t even notice you getting closer to his face, pace never stopping as you captured his lips to swallow every single sound. Yuuji’s shaky hands came to the back of your head, breathing out from his nose heavily and moaning against your lips.

When you both got separated, you licked your lips, tasting his cum and saliva as his dazed eyes looked up at you with adoration, lashes damped with his tears. Your hand came to a stop for his relief and caressed the side of Yuuji’s face.

Pretty.

“You’re really the prettiest mess I’ve ever seen, Yuuji.” 

[mimiri22-6]

So I'm caught up with ninjago again. That happens every few years, and

HOLY SHIT HOLY FUCKING SHIT OMFG OH MY FUCKING GOD

I AM LOSING IT!!! Your really forget how many things they have saved in their back pocket

They don't know where Garm is

They don't know where the time twins are

HARUMI?!

MR FUCKING E/F?!

Sure sure, we didn't see her actually die and they kind of kept pulling our strings by having Lloyd develop a complex w her, BUT MR. E?! OH BOY OH FUCKING BOY! ECHO?! ECHO ARE YOU IN THERE?! We just had another Nya dies season, which i really knew about, boo, AND MR. E/F IS RIGHT THERE?! F?! AS IN FREEZE?! Yeah, I know it's just alphabet, BUT LET ME HAVE THIS!!!!

HELLO HARUMI! I HATE YOU! I KEPT GETTING YOU WHEN DOING UQUIZES! GET OUT OF MY LIFE PLEASE! No one hurts fucking Lloyd. No One. LEAVE THE YOUNGEST ALONE, MAN!

SHIT RIGHT

WHAT DO YOU MEAN CLIFFHANGER?!!!

I can not tell you the last time I've been on a Ninjago cliffhanger as it was happening w you guys. It might have been s7 but I'm not sure, I think I watched s8&9 far past their air date so it's been a while, buds.

Can't wait to see how they abuse Lloyd in the coming season! :)

Edit: OH SHIT ALSO RIGHT

THE NINJA ARE STILL WANTED!!!! AND NOT IN A GOOD WAY!!! D: OH SHIT!

edit again:...

.........is season 15 past ep 12? Why am I getting contradicting sources?

Edit: Nevermind, I forgot we did the whole look at pre-season set releases and go balistic over them

[spiltscribbles]

Prompt: Pro Athlete Sirius because that my and Remus' kink

~Notes: OMFG VICTOrIA!!!! I FUCKING SCREECHED!!!! lkadfjlaksdgjoiaejfalskdgjioeugisfkldshg Yes tis my kink as well!!! And then I saw this from Nonny and worlds collided and BOOM! I hope you like this my love<3<3 You incredibly talented sugarplum!!! TBH I want to write a thousand more things in this AU XD

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FROM THIS LIST  |  Send Me A Prompt!💜 | A REBLOG MEANS THE GALAXY!!💜

.-

When Remus was young— surrounded by the light breeze of the Welsh coast and the harmony of birds chirping in the distance— he would follow his mother to their small garden behind their cottage  at the cusp of twilight as his father cooked their supper, and he’d watch as she laid flat all sorts of newspapers written in French and Arabic and English, watch as she brought her red pen against the ink and marked the articles with underlines and shorthand he wouldn’t understand for years still.

He asked her once, when he was barely eight years old, why she bothered to keep up with so many different publications, why she read the same story penned by countless perspectives when all the facts stayed the same at the end of the day. And he remembers how she had let out a quick, shrill of a laugh, tossing back her golden head while sucking in a puff from the bubbling hookah she had set up besides her— a habit she acquired from her Algerian, refugee parents, and one that became synonymous to those late nights in Remus’s eyes.

“Facts can be wielded to someone’s personal vendettas, Remus John,” she had crooned in that adoring way of hers whenever she spoke to him— honey eyes that were the same color and shape to Remus’s own flashing alight and their matching smiles going crooked in her stunningly beautiful face. 

“Oh.” Remus had replied, still confused as all get out but was perfectly fine with just holding his small vigil, watching her beneath moonlight and the soft glow of their outdoors lamps, as he listened to the shuffling of papers while she commenced this odd quirk. 

It’s a decade and a half later—  as his editor for the Phoenix, a small, but bustling online editorial that plans on dethroning the likes of Politico and Vox in only a matter of years, scans his latest findings on the corrupt boosters linked to MP Avery from Leeds— when Remus thinks he suddenly understands what his mother, with her keen eyes and pixelated air, had meant by facts in how they can be colored differently simply by the words surrounding them. And he wonders if one day soon, one of his bylines will join her little stack of stories, if she’ll be proud of him even if she says as much even now, when he’s a lost twenty-something stumbling through life in the capitol and barely making it as is, between his actual job and the gig he has at the coffee shop nearest his dingy flat he shares with three other blokes.

“Mmm, this is good, Lupin,” Dorcas declares after what feels like an eon, dropping her long, dark legs from where they were lounging leisurely on her desk and scuffs out her cigarette in a pretty, glass ashtray. “Send it over to Flores to look into deeper, maybe it’ll corroborate the info she’s already gotten from her sources.”

Remus feels himself bristle, hopes that it doesn’t show, that his face stays passive as he contends, “I think I should at least help her write the expose, I’m the one who got this bombshell.”

“That’s not how it works, sweets,” Dorcas toots, tossing back her dark head of curls as she rises, perching on the corner of her desk delicately and looking down, straight into his gaze. “I know it’s frustrating, but you’re fresh blood. barely six months here, but Alice has been with us for years. This is her baby, and we’re just here to nurture it.”

“So I’ll have to wait another ten months, at least,  to get the same treatment?” He argues in an admittedly petulant way, making Dorcas laugh endearingly, and Remus is suddenly,  searingly reminded of his age, and how he’s the youngest staffer that this London based news outlet has on hand. 

“C’mon, love, it won’t be that long for someone as sharp as you, just be patient, and don’t try to pull a Zoe Barnes on us, yeah? You’re far too pretty to clean up on the rails of  the tube.” Dorcas tousles a hand into his dark tawny curls, and Remus holds back the roll to his eyes that he feels willing up inside of him as he stands fully.

“Thanks Cas.”

She smiles beatifically, and throws him a wink. “You’re joining Emmy for the report tomorrow on those United footballers and their fundraiser for the hospital, yeah?”

“Bright and early,” Remus replies, still feels a bit miffed that he was chosen to write up the charity function, considering he doesn’t know a lick about football and doesn’t really get on with anyone who does. But Caradoc— their typical sports reporter— is out sick with the flew, so it’s on him. “I’ll have it on your desk early enough so it’ll be published by tea time.”

“Good man,” Dorcas says in thanks, picking up her crowing cellphone before waving him off.

Remus isn’t all that surprised when he strides out of the office only to find Benjy Fenwick sitting against the opposite wall, knees pressed to his chest and quickly scrambling up when he catches sight of Remus. Sometimes it’s impossible to believe that the bespectacled man in front of him is one of the top editors for the Phoenix, that he’s a regular corespondent for places like the BBC or CNN— that his rebukes against the piss poor inquiries waged during PMQs have become more anticipated than the sessions themselves. Remus tends to forget all of that when he sees him like this, messy haired and wearing a graphic T-shirt with some marvel superhero embossed on the front. “Wotcher Remus.”

“Hiya Remus says, smiling softly and rocking back on his heels. “You wanted to talk to the sergeant then?”

“Huh? Oh, no, no. I didn’t want to talk to Dorcas, I just— Erm, I know you were showing her that stuff you got from that intern, Pettigrew, and i know you were chafed about not getting any opportunity here so—“ He trails off, scratching the back of his head and studying a point over Remus’s shoulder, and it’s all too endearing, and Remus is so beyond thankful he’s made such a good friend here.

“No cigar,” he says in answer to the unspoken question, shrugging noncommittally even if he feels like shit over it.

Benjy nods, face contrite in a way that tells Remus he never thought it would’ve went otherwise. “I’m sorry, that’s bollocks.”

“’S whatever,” Remus shrugs off the apology, begins walking down the hall and straightening his report to hand over to Alice. 

“Ah,, erm. We can get a drink, yeah? In commiseration,” Benjy offers, and Remus stilts only for a beat before continuing the twisting trail to where Alice is set up with the more senior members on staff. And he feels only sorta bad about wanting to refuse. He knows that if he says yes, it’ll mean something different to Benjy than it does him, that he’ll probably take it as Remus finally giving into his pestering and deciding to actually go out with him, even if he’s refuted the other four times he’s asked as much. Remus’s simply just too busy trying to get a footing in this city, and trying to figure out where he’s suppose to go from here, and what he’s suppose to do. And yes, Benjy is cute— a complete Seth Cohen archetype. And he’s sweet and smart and funny enough. But Remus is really not in the mood for doing the whole flowers and wine and candle lit dinners shtick, had gotten enough of that while still with his university boyfriend. And yeah, he’s only just turned 24, but he already feels too old and too jaded for that sort of puppy love— even if Benjy’s got a good decade and some change on him.

Probably sensing his hesitation, Benjy is quick to rectify the offer. “I’ll ask Mary, and Fabian too, and a few others. We can make a night of it, just some drinks on a Friday after work.”

Stalling by the last turn to Alice’s desk, Remus looks at him from over his shoulder, and sort of hates himself for being such a soft hearted fuck sometimes. “Yeah Benj, sounds nice. Just let me know on the group chat, yeah?”

Benjy grins, much more genuine than his awkward quirk of the lips from earlier. “Yeah, good call, I’ll let the others know pronto.”

“Aces,” Remus says, tosses him a obligatory thumbs-up before finding an expectant looking Alice who’s tapping her foot impatiently.

Yeah, today is so bloody shit.

.-

Surprisingly, the round of drinks turns to another and then a third and fourth and Remus is currently nursing his fifth mango margarita on Benjy’s tab, and he actually feels lighter than he has since taking the job at Phoenix, feels bright and bubbling and like absolutely nothing could be wrong as long as he’s got this drink in his grasp and he’s sitting with the handful of reporters and photographers from the office that don’t all have sticks up their asses. It’s fun, it’s good. So obviously it couldn’t have lasted.

Mary is currently cackling about her Uber driver from last night who asked her all sorts of well meaning, but incredibly dense questions about her hijab— a freshly poured glass of coke in one hand, while the other is tangled into her girlfriend Emmy’s. And From his left Remus can hear Fabian ribbing Frank on his crush on Alice, while Benjy scoots intermittently closer as they watch Kingsley and Marlene sparring over something to do with a Kardashian or TikTok trend or whatever the fuck else— The guy has resilience, Remus has to give Benjy that.

“Right, who’s buying next?” Marlene asks, abrasive as ever while scrolling through her phone, ostensively finding something to prove her point against the managing editor.

“Reckon it’s my turn,” Benjy crows, standing up smoothly and glancing down at Remus with a nervous sort of half grin.

“Just a water for me, ta. I need to sober up,” Remus tells him, feels proud that he didn’t even slur slightly. Benjy bobs his head understandingly, and Remus turns to ask Marlene about her latest tinder hookup which always is a good laugh, but then he catches on it. On the sound of the pub’s doors flinging open, followed by a raucous crowd of athletic looking guys probably only a bit older than he is, clambering indoors. 

They’re all so very sixth-form, broad grins and slapping each other’s shoulders with jeers, topped off with loud, bark like laughter that makes it obvious to Remus that these wankers think that they’re some sort of group of gods amongst men, roaming around like everyone should fall to their feet and offer everything they have. It makes Remus roll his eyes so far back that it feels like he might’ve sprained them. They just give off this exhausting aura that reminds him of a past boyfriend in tenth year who was on the footie team and who’s favorite activity was either making Remus feel lucky enough to go out with someone so popular, or dragging him around like some sort of bloody trophy.

To put it nicely, Remus sorta hates them on sight. So when he sees one of the tossers— regrettably the brightest of the lot who’s all pearly teeth, and glittering eyes and incredibly impressive shoulders that tape off to a narrow waste in an objectively infuriating matter— swivels up to the barkeep and jostles Benjy on his way, well Remus doesn’t hesitate to dart forwards to tell him off.

“Oi, watch where you’re going, yeah?”

Benjy and the bloke who looks like he might moonlight as a model for Calvin briefs for when he’s not lounging in a yacht off the Tuscany coast, both turn to him at the same time. Benjy looking abashed, and the aforementioned tosser preening like the cat who’s just caught a canary.

“Sorry, love. Didn’t see you there,” he says in a delightfully deep tenner, giving Remus an appreciative once over, and Remus absolutely despises how the action makes him feel both thrilled and irritated. “Trust and believe, I wouldn’t have looked away if I saw you.”

“Not me, arse.” Remus spits back, refuses to pay any credence to how his cheeks have begun to flush. “You bumped into my mate right there, the one with the tray of loggers.”

The tosser darts his almost molten gray eyes over to Benjy for a sparing second before he laser focusses back onto Remus, the most phony expression of contrition all over his face. “Sorry to your friend,” he says the descriptor like a joke that no one else is in on. “Let me buy you a drink in sorry for the one I made slim here spill.”

Remus is officially unimpressed, hopes that his flat tone gets it across. “You’re an arse.”

“You’re mouthy,” he retorts, looks like it’s something he greatly appreciates— delights over even. 

“Ah, ’s fine Remus, really. I’ll just bring these back and get us a new glass.”

“Listen to slim, Remus, he’s got the right idea.” The tosser hurriedly interjects, strutting close enough to him that he makes it so Remus has to tip his head back just slightly so not to drop his gaze. “I’m Black, Sirius Black, just to get the pleasantries out of the way.” His leer tells Remus that the name should probably evoke some response of aw into Remus, but all it does is make him sound so egregiously pretentious that Remus wants to smack his own bloody head against a dry wall and stay in the hole until this ruddy Sirius bloke leaves him the hell alone.

“Good for you,” he says instead of all of that, and spots Sirius’s friends from behind Sirius chuckling and elbowing one another. Evidently this is a line the tosser uses frequently, and Remus is pleased that he might be one of the first who aren’t at all impressed by the grandiose way he introduced himself.

“Hah, you know I’m use to the pretty ones playing hard to get, but I’m really feeling here that you’re not exactly liking my company, love.”

Remus sucks in a frustrated breath through his nose, shouldering past Sirius and taking the tray of drinks from Benjy before storming back to their table where the others have begun openly gawping at the scene— Marlene outright squawking with Fabian just as Remus takes his seat.

“Don’t,” Remus warns them all as he silently says fuck off to the water and instead gargles down one of the loggers. And if he has to steadfastly not turn around for the rest of the night towards where he can feel Sirius’s gaze burning into his back— well then so be it.

.-

The next morning, Remus has to puke twice into the toilet, and gulps down three aspirins just to stave off his bloody hangover from the night before where he decided that getting properly sloshed would prove as a good technique to not end up making out with Sirius in some dark corner— or regrettably the backseat of his car. And if he does still remember flashes of ranting to him about how insufferable preppy, rich boys actually are while Sirius gazed at him endeared— well Remus just decides to purge it out along with the stomach acid. It’s not like he’ll ever see the douche again.

.-

He meets Arthur— one of the accountants who also helps out by taking photos for more low key news stories— outside the hospital where the conference will be taking place with the Manchester United team. There was a scrimmage that they all played with some of the kids in the cancer ward that occurred at around eight in the ruddy morning, but thankfully Remus didn’t have to show up until an hour later when the team presented their big shiny check, to the big, shiny hospital. 

However, Arthur has been here for hours, so he’s beyond chirpy and looks like he’s downed three cups of espresso as he chatters on about his son Percy starting secondary school, and his eldest, Bill, getting an award for his reading prowess, and all the strange craving his wife has been having throughout her pregnancy with the twins they’re expecting any week now. And Remus loves Arthur, he does— one of the sweetest folks he’s ever met— but God, his head is still thrumming from those misguided tequila shots and he really just wants to get his three quotes, and write up the story so he can find refuge back in his sheets.

While Arthur has moved to talking about his wife, Molly’s, plans to open up a daycare in their refurnished garage, Remus scans his eyes over the familiar face of reporters from other outlets who look just as bored as him, and then to the stage where a woman in a sharply pressed suit is ushering for the group of football stars to join her, so that the conference can finally fucking begin. 

And Remus thinks that their faces are sorta familiar, probably from all the publicity they get on the telly— but then he freezes as he stops at one of them with dark brown skin, and thick rimmed spectacles— and he suddenly can hear him chatting about his redheaded girlfriend and drunkenly declaring that she’ll be the mother of his children some day soon. So he completely expects it when his stomach drops as he moves his glance just a bit to the right, being struck by pearly teeth, and glittering eyes and incredibly impressive shoulders that tape off to a narrow waste, made all the more infuriating by the tight kit he’s got on and the blazing number twelve splayed against his chest.

And fuck.

Remus runs through about a dozen scenarios in which he can make a discrete, or not so discrete exit before he notices him, but in tandem to his spiraling thoughts, the wanker actually looks forwards, and like a creepy metal detector, his quick silver gaze pinpoints onto Remus.

They stare at one another for a beat before his smirk goes wolfish, and he runs a hand through his artfully tousled hair in a way that practically screams, fancy meeting you here. And holy fuck he looks so mouth watteringly attractive with that faint film of sweat running down his neck, and how his smile pulls slightly more to the left, and how he’s looking at Remus like he’s his birthday and Christmas presents all rolled into one.

Remus suddenly hates everything— but most of all hates Sirius, and how bloody fit he is.

“Oh, you’re a fan then?” 

Starting, Remus shifts around slightly so that he’s facing Arthur completely. “Pardon?”

“Sirius Black I mean, you’re a fan?” Arthur asks in that abrasively congenial and intensely scrutinizing way that he treats everything. “I mean he’s a great player, but I know you don’t really watch. So I bet it’s all that charity work he does, yeah?”

“Charity work?” Remus echos, feeling like a floundering fish.

“Truly some amazing stuff.” Arthur pontificates, rubbing a hand against his jaw as he tips his head back. “I mean obviously I’m partial to the fundraising for Reporters Without Borders, but of course the things he does with the more impoverished kids is great. And I know Molly likes his very outspoken posts about being anti war and his annual live streams to earn money for refugees in those war torn nations, like the last one he did for Syria?”

“Oh—“ Remus says, feeling like his head is being overrun by a fountain of new information.

“Yes well, you don’t usually see athletes get into the thick of it with political issues, but I reckon he never really minded. I mean the fact he’s the first football star from United to have come out without any fanfare really proved that. Oh, I think they’re starting, I should probably get some photos before Dorcas gives me a tongue lashing.”

And as quick as the flash of his camera’s lends, Arthur is using his considerable height to get to a more advantageous spot towards the front, and leaves Remus in the dust, as if he hasn’t just obliterated his every assumption of Sirius from after that initial meeting.

And unbidden, the words his mother had told him so many years ago, about facts and how they can color a situation just simply based off the person who’s speaking them— flood to the forefront of his mind.

“Fucking hell,” Remus mutters lowly, gets jostled by Greengrass, a hawkish reporter from a rivaling publication who always has on the most wickedly sharp acrylic nails, and perfectly quaffed curls— as she waves around her certification to speak her inquiry.

“My question is for Potter,” she announces when the woman leading the event, McGonagall, points her way. “And I was wondering how early you boys have to rise for training during the season? And how intense the sessions are that Coach Hooch puts you guys through?”

Potter, the one with the redheaded girlfriend that Remus heard so much about last night between his ranting at Sirius, parts his lips, but it’s not his voice that ends up reverberating through the outdoors space. Instead, it’s Sirius, who’s shouldering him with a goading air, obviously expecting his comment to have only ended up in Potter’s ear and not caught by the mike.

“I wonder if Lupin will let me wake up with’m so he can let me get some real training done before practices, eh?”

And just as soon as his words pitter off, the entire crowd drops to a hush— quiet enough so that they could probably hear it if a pen dropped. 

Sirius’s handsome face— strong jawline, and broad but sharp cheekbones, and a long, narrow nose— goes suddenly ashen, and he flashes over to Remus as if he’s terrified that he’ll bite his face off.

God, what an idiot.

With a long suffering sigh, Remus plucks out the microphone from a slack faced Greengrass’s hand. “We can discuss the regimen afterwards, Black. Just meet me by the front doors and let your mate answer the bloody question.”

Everyone around them falls into laughter that’s caught between uncomfortable chuckles and amazingly amused cackling, but the only person Remus is paying any mind is Sirius, and how he seems to have gone absolutely incandescent, nodding electrically before miming the zip of his lips and gesturing for Potter to carry on.

Jesus help him, Remus has no idea what he’s gotten himself into.

.-

~My Wolfstar FIC Masterlist

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[weasel-b33]

I've just seen your James Potter story and its so good! I;m not sure if you're taking requests but if you are maybe a post Azkaban Sirius x younger reader (reader is like tonk's age)?

OMFG BABES IM SO SORRY I JUST SAW THIS AHHH

i don't think this is very good, but i hope i did your request some justice.

THANKS SO MUCH LOVE FOR THE SUPPORT AHHH

Green With Envy 

Warnings: age gap (reader is same age as tonks/charlie weasley), fluff, kissing, cursing (i think?), angst? if you squint? its really just jealous siri

Opening the door to the London home, 12 Grimmauld Place, you are met with an instant scene of chaos.

Fred and George, whom you have grown to love over the many years of knowing their older brothers, chase around a fifteen year old Ronald with an enlarged spider plush. The laughter from their younger sister, Ginny, can only be described as maniacal as she watches the scene unfold from the rickety staircase.

Shouting from, what you have had the displeasure of hearing, Mrs. Walburga Black's portrait rings throughout the dusty home. Well, until you hear the sound of a man's voice you have became quite close with.

"MOTHER! WOULD YOU STOP YOUR YELLING!" Sirius Orion Black, in all of his glory, yells walking out into the foyer of his despised childhood home.

Upon entering he is met with your smiling, well more like grimacing face, holding your bags you have packed on his request.

"Y/N? When did you get here?" he questions taking your bags from you. "Kreacher!" A small and wrinkly house elf appears from the air, "Take Lady Y/N's bags to my room. She's going to be staying here for a while." Sirius says quickly, while turning to you with a wink, the elf begrudgingly takes the bags, cursing under his breath, only something you can assume is about the excess "blood traitors" and "mudbloods" inside his mistress' forsaken lair.

"Siri. I've missed you, darling" you instantly are met with his embrace and a quick peck on the lips from the man.

"Love, if I knew you were coming today, I would have done some cleaning," Sirius says guiding you towards the kitchen.

"No you wouldn't have." you retort back quickly, inside the kitchen you are met with the smiling faces of the Weasley's and your boyfriend's long term friend, Remus Lupin. Quick greetings are exchanged before the Weasley matriarch is rushing you to sit and eat, all the while claiming you look as though you haven't eaten a proper meal in ages.

But, before you can begin to devour the delicious food Molly has served for you, a handsome face you have had the pleasure of knowing enters the room.

Charlie Weasley. Long-time best friend and school mate, enters the run down home with bags and a charming smile gracing his face.

Instantly jumping up, you run to embrace your dragon loving friend. For it has been nearly two years since you last seen the man. Living in Romania, and you still in London, studying to become an Auror, you both find little time to visit each other. The many letters exchanged between the pair of you, are clear proof to your friendship's strength.

However, something rivaling that strength, is the grip the eldest Black brother has on his cutlery. If it wasn't for Remus placing a calming hand on his bicep, it would not be a surprise if Sirius broke the silver in two.

"I didn't know you were coming. Godric, Charlie! It has been ages!" you exclaim excitedly moving out of the way for the brother to be embraced by his many other family members.

Grabbing his hand you lead to red head to the seat next to yours, which happens to be directly in front of your steaming partner.

"It was last minute. But, when the Order calls, you have to answer" laughter is heard throughout the room, and the jovial sound continues to fill the space throughout the dinner.

Yet, Sirius Black seems to not find this situation amusing. Anytime Charlie makes you laugh, grabs your hand, or rests his freckled arm around the back of your chair, his grip on the wooden table seems to strengthen. Nearly stark white hands are something the jealous induced man has become accustomed to.

He's the one who should make you laugh. He's the one who should grab your hand. He's the one who should rest an arm around the back of your chair. He is. Not some dragon loving ginger, who has waltzed into his home. You are his.

Finishing up the dishes, you bump hips with your friend. The night had been filled with laughter and memories the boy has brough up from the past. But, something seemed off throughout the night. You just couldn't seem to place it. Shaking off this feeling, you bid Charlie goodnight and make your separate descents up to your separate bedrooms.

After a few missteps, and opening of the wrong doors, you find the one with a sleeping Sirius Black. Or what you thought was a sleeping Sirus Black.

Quietly, tiptoeing your way through the room you change quickly into comfier clothes and finish getting ready for bed in the on suite bathroom. It's not until you slowly climb your way into the shared bed does to man make any indications of being awake.

"Nice of you to finally realize I existed," he says bitterly.

Making yourself comfortable under the thick duvet, you send a confused glance toward the brooding brunette.

"What?"

"This is the first time tonight you have even talked to me."

"What are you on about, Siri?" You turn your body to face the man and lay side by side.

"It is obvious I do not interest you enough. Its clear young and hip Charlie Weasley , is all you can care about."

"Baby, I have no idea what you are talking about. This is just the first time I've seen him in over two years."

"S'whatever." He huffs dramatically, rolling over so his back is know facing you.

"Nu-uh. Do not pull that shit with me Sirius Black, what is your deal?"

Turning back around, he looks towards the ceiling, and quietly sighs. "I get it, okay? I am older, you are young. You have so much more life to live and I have wasted half of mine in a cell. You deserve someone like him. He will make you happy-"

Quickly cutting off his dejected rambling with a short kiss, you sigh, "Sirius Black. I love you. Only you. Okay? I don't care that you are "old" I love you for who you are. How you make me feel, okay? Charlie is just a friend and that's all he ever will be. Y'know why? Because I have you by my side."

"God, my love, I adore you so much."

Opening up his arms you quickly scoot your way over and snuggle deeper into his embrace. Listening to his steady heartbeat and breathing, it takes only a matter of minutes to enter a deep sleep.

Wrapped in the arms of the older man, you had never felt safer and more loved.

And he felt the same.

fin

[luminnara]

Incubus!Bakugou x Male!Reader | NSFW 18+ |

So Y/n decides to summon a demon one day just for fun. He doesn’t actually expect it to work but what else is there to do on a Friday when your home alone? (Well, there’s many things but Y/n is weird so why not?) He doesn’t actually know what an incubus is, all he knows is that it’s a type of demon. So when he summons the demon and it actually works he’s quite surprised. He tries to explain to the demon that has introduced himself as Bakugou Katsuki, that he was mostly just messing around. Bakugou then asks him if he knows what an incubus is. When Y/n says he doesn’t know, Bakugou smirks and decides to just show him instead.

I just wanna say HI I LOVE THIS REQUEST, MORE MONSTERS PLEASE

Warnings: nsfw, anal, oral, two dongs! uhhh demon semen, very slight cumflation, i’m really bad at warnings omfg

Requests are open!

When you had decided to mess around and summon a demon, you didn’t really expect it to work. 

Yeah, you had followed the instructions to a T, and yeah, those instructions came from a musty old book that was probably bound in human skin or something, but seriously? You had just been bored, and what else was there to do on a Friday night other than summon an incubus, whatever that was? It’s not like it was hard to do, either; a few weird chalk drawings on the floor, some candles, and a bunch of words you didn’t know the meaning of, and suddenly, there was something crawling up out of the center of the pentagram. 

So, yeah, a typical Friday night, really.

The demon was, to put it simply, pretty fucking hot. The first thing you saw was a hand reaching up, thick black claws digging into your hardwood floor as it hauled itself out. As you stumbled back, more of the creature appeared, rising up as if you had just opened some sort of portal. It--or he?--was bathed in a red light that came from below, and it...or, he, seemed to be totally naked.

And pretty well endowed...not that you noticed, or anything.

Wait...were there two...?

“Oi, what’s the deal?” he growled, voice rough. He was standing above you now, cracking his neck to the side as he crossed his arms over a well-muscled chest. 

“H-huh?” you blinked up at him.

 Fuck, he was gorgeous, he really was. His hair was blonde and spiky, something you hadn’t really imagined on a demon. Two tall black horns curled up from his forehead, the tips capped in gold, but as grand as they were, you were focused on his eyes. They were crimson, the color of blood, and they were piercing right through you. 

He sighed and rolled his eyes. “Humans.” he mumbled under his breath before crouching in front of you. “My name is Katsuki Bakugou, and you just summoned me. So are we getting this thing going, or what?”

“Wh-what?” you stammered, still staring in disbelief.

He looked completely unimpressed. “Seriously? What’s your deal? You summon me just to waste my time or somethin’, you idiot?”

Your face reddened in anger and embarrassment. “No! I...I didn’t really expect it to work, that’s all.”

The demon raised an eyebrow. “In over your head, huh? What were you doin’, messin’ with stuff you aren’t supposed to touch? Shit, you humans are so stupid sometimes...accidentally summoning a demon, tch...yeah right...”

“I did it on purpose, you know!” you snapped, irritated with his demeanor already. “I just...didn’t think I would actually summon something.”

Bakugou paused his annoyed grumbling and looked you over. “Well, here I am. What do you want from me? I’d rather get this over with quick. I’m a busy guy.”

You wondered what exactly he was so busy doing all day, but rather than ask, you realized that you had no idea what to do with the demon you had just summoned. 

“Oh, uh...” you stared at him blankly. “What...well, what can you do?”

It was his turn to stare. “The hell you mean? You’re the one who summoned an incubus. You tell me.”

You sat back, leaning against your couch and rubbing the back of your neck awkwardly. “I, uh...don’t really know what that means. I mean, I know an incubus is a demon and all, but that’s about...it...”

You trailed off, equal parts transfixed and concerned by the grin that was slowly creeping onto Bakugou’s face. It was predatory, showing off his sharp fangs as he pulled his lips back in a menacing snarl, and you were beginning to feel a bit like a rabbit that had just been caught by a fox. 

“Oh, human...” he purred, creeping towards you on all fours. 

You gulped, heart pounding. “Y/N. I’m y/n.”

His grin grew wider, and you suddenly wondered if you had just made a horrible mistake in telling him your name.

“Well, y/n,” he said, voice smooth as honey as he placed a hand on your shin. “Why don’t I just show you what an incubus does?”

“Uh,” you were frozen in place, staring into those mesmerizing eyes. “S-sure?”

That was when you noticed the tail. 

It slipped around your thigh, giving a tight squeeze as if holding you in place. Not like you were going anywhere, anyways; Bakugou was already making his way up your legs, reaching for your zipper. There was a hungry glint in his eyes as he shoved your jeans down, and by the time you realized you had been focusing on them, you also realized your cock was hard. 

Huh. When did that happen?

Bakugou leaned down, a long tongue sliding out of his mouth and wrapping around your cock. The second his lips touched you, your head fell back on the couch cushion behind you, a low moan leaving your throat. It was the best head you had ever received, and as the demon bobbed up and down on it greedily, you couldn’t believe how much you were already aching to cum. 

The air was filled with a heavy, luscious scent that you couldn’t place. All you knew was that it was the best thing you had ever smelled, and it was absolutely coming from the incubus currently crouching between your legs. He was insatiable, that fucking tongue sliding up and down, over and over, urging and coaxing and milking until you felt yourself unraveling. He swallowed every drop of cum, eyes flashing a bright red as he looked up at you. 

“This is what an incubus does, human,” he grinned, licking his lips. 

“O-oh,” you panted, chest heaving. You hadn’t realized you had been bracing yourself with your hands on the back of the couch, afraid to touch the demon as he went down on you, but now you were beginning to feel the tension leave your shoulders. “I...uh...wow...”

Bakugou stepped away from you and stood. “Up.”

You obeyed blindly, staring up at his twin cocks. They were standing at attention now, the lower one larger than the top, both shaped somewhat similarly to a human’s but also entirely differently. The sight of them made you want to find out more, to touch and explore, and before you could stop yourself, you were licking at the underside of a shaft while the demon’s hand guided your head. He tasted incredible, precum already oozing out of the tip, and as you worked on the bigger cock, he used his free hand to jack off the other. 

“Good human,” he growled down at you. “Making yourself useful so that I can make you feel even better later...”

You didn’t know what he was talking about, but you didn’t care. The taste of his cum was intoxicating, and the longer you sucked, the harder your own dick grew. You could feel a puddle of precum dripping down between your legs, your skin hot with arousal as that heavy scent swirled around you. Fuck, you couldn’t think. All you wanted was him.

“Easy now,” he grunted, pulling your hair until you could no longer reach his cock. 

You whined, reaching for it, but his tail immediately wrapped around your wrists and held you back. 

Bakugou chuckled. “On your hands and knees. Now.”

You had no choice but to obey, and as his warm hands ran up your back, you sighed. As terrifying as he was, you felt totally at ease. Even as he tore your shirt off, he was careful not to harm you, gentle in all of his movements. 

“Mmm, look at you...” he purred in that deep, rough voice of his. “I’m gonna make you feel so good, human...”

You shivered at his words, letting out a surprised, strangled moan as you felt his tongue on your ass. It swirled around, dipping in to stimulate your hole before it was replaced by one of his claws. You expected to feel pain, but there was only immeasurable pleasure as he finger fucked you, and soon, his other hand moved to stroke your cock. He was so masterful, so absolutely confident in all of his motions, and he soon had you cumming again, moaning his name as you made a mess all over your own floor. 

“F-fuck,” you said, shaking slightly. 

“Good?” he asked, grabbing your ass appreciatively. 

“Fuck yes,” you let your head drop, leaning against the floor as you tried to catch your breath. 

“The best is yet to come, human.”

You glanced around your arm, looking back at him. “What do you...?”

Your eyes widened at the sight of him leaning towards you, one of his cocks definitely aiming for your ass. 

“W-wait! You’re not going to fit--”

“Trust me,” he said soothingly, holding your hip. “Just relax and let me do my job.”

You swallowed hard and nodded, watching over your shoulder as he slowly pressed his larger cock into you. 

There wasn’t any of the pain you expected. It wasn’t even uncomfortable. Bakugou felt amazing, his cock stretching you in a way you had never experienced before. Hell, you hadn’t even played with your ass that much in the past, and suddenly here he was, finding a steady pace and rutting into you like a starved, depraved monster. 

The sounds you were letting out were filthy, the room filled with guttural moans and groans and the slapping of skin against skin. Each of his thrusts felt better than the last, the ridges of his inhuman cock stimulating you in the most perfect way while his smaller dick slid between your cheeks. 

Your own cock was so hard again, it was painful, and as if he sensed your discomfort, Bakugou reached around to grab it for you. 

“That’s it,” he purred in your ear, completely covering you with his own body. 

You shuddered at the sensation of his breath on your ear. It was enough to drive you over the edge again, and with a pleased sound, the demon withdrew from you. Both of his hands found their way to you hips, claws digging into your flesh as he picked up his pace, and now that you had been satisfied once more, it was clear that he was chasing his own release.

He was grunting and growling, his tail swishing behind him as he bared his fangs in a nasty snarl. When he finally came, it was with a throaty groan, his head tossed back as he buried himself deep inside of you and filled you up. 

And when he came, he came. It didn’t seem to stop, rope after rope of his thick seed eventually oozing back out around his cock, your lower belly slightly distended as he just kept going. It felt warm, but in a pleasant way, and when he finally pulled back out and caught his breath, you could feel it all spilling down your thighs.

“Well,” he laughed, leaning back on his knees as he looked at you. 

“That was amazing,” you gasped as you collapsed, knees finally giving out. 

He smirked. “Was it, human? I’ll give you a few minutes before round two.”

Your face fell. “Wait, what?”

“You didn’t really think that was it, did you?” he laughed tauntingly. “Oh, no. I like you. I like the taste of you. You give me so much energy...I’m sticking around for a while, human.”

Well...there were probably worse arrangements to be in, right?

[ladyvesuvia]

Music Lunchbox Thingy

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anon: hi! can you do a draco x reader where we’re having a mini party in our dorm with draco? then a certain “spicy” song comes on and reader goes to skip it but the radio/recorder won’t work? then she gets all flustered bc of the words in the song n all, no rush also thx :))

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x Fem!Slytherin!Reader

Summary: When the plan to throw a mini party in an effort to make friends with people of her own house goes awry, the least she expected to turn up happens to be the only guest she would have.

Words: 3.2k

angst || fluff

Warnings: light cursing + let me know if i missed anything!

A/N: BABE I LOVE THIS REQUEST!!! Sorry it took so long. I changed it up a bit, sorry hshdueiw hope you like it tho. And dw, i got your other requests :)) Let me know what you think bb + i also low key wanna make a sequel to this omfg

-> not proofread

By eight p.m., she had prepared the cake and cupcakes her parents sent her earlier that day on the table as she waited for her classmates to stop by. Nobody dared to meet her gaze. She rolled her eyes at this, but still sat alone on one of the couches as she tried to catch someone’s eye.

She’d been a Slytherin for years now yet she hadn’t made a single friend in her own house. She scoffed at the memory of crying as she wrote a letter to her mother asking to take her home. But now, she stood her ground in hopes of befriending at least a few of her housemates.

Although she had accepted it by now, there were still instances where she wanted to march into Dumbledore’s office and rip the Sorting Hat to shreds for putting her into this wretched House.

Nobody seemed to be approaching the food she laid before them, and so she decided it’d be best to pull out all the stops. Standing up from the couch, she looked at each and every person in the common room as she went for the dormitories.

Her roommates were huddled to one of the beds, talking about something she did not understand but she heard familiar names of Slytherin boys. They glanced at her briefly but went back to what they were doing, huddling closer together. She approached her bed and crouched down to pull something out her mother had sent her a week ago (she’d been working on it too).

She threw the box on her bed harder than she intended to that the other girls flinched. She slightly bowed in apology then both parties went back to their own businesses; her to her box and them to their chatter.

When she opened the box’s cover, she pulled out an old radio. Throughout the week, she had stripped it of its electronic contents and proceeded to enchant it to function properly with magic. She took it out and dropped it on her bed, gently this time.

Inspecting the antenna, she raised it up and pressed a button. Static sounded, and she murmured another apology as she slipped away from the dormitory to go back to the common room, eager to leave the company of her roommates.

When she came back, she saw that some had taken cupcakes from the tray she set on the table. Imbeciles, she thought. Rotten pure-bloods. . .

Frowning, she refused to meet any of their eyes. Her first instinct was to check the cake and if they had touched it at all. To her relief, they haven’t even opened the box yet. She spotted another Slytherin boy wiping icing off his mouth.

“Fine,” she muttered under her breath as she helped herself to the remaining cupcakes. She moaned mockingly in delight, and the other students steered clear of her; some went to their dormitories with one last dirty look at her as they left while some chuckled.

She put the stereo on the table, watching as they cowered in disgust at the Muggle object. She leaned back on her couch, crossing her arms as she did so. Let them run, they won’t have a piece of my delicious cake.

By ten and a half p.m., the common room’s only occupants left were the empty and crumpled cupcake liners, the old radio with its antenna up in the air, and [Y/N] herself who was sitting with her legs crossed as if she were an arrogant monarch; which she might as well have been.

Sighing, she stood up and finally lifted the cake off the box and placed it neatly on white parchment. There was a card on the box telling her Happy Birthday. It was from her parents, both of whom have been disappointed to know their little witch won’t be spending her birthday with them.

She picked up the candle and looked at it for a few seconds before deciding she did not want to ruin the top of the cake, so she pulled out her wand and lit it up instead.

“Happy Birthday to me,” she said. “Nox!”

She blew her wand for the sake of make-believe that it was an actual candle. In her mind, there were trails of smoke and if she just closed her eyes tight enough, she could see her family watching her with hopeful eyes in the exact scenario on her tenth birthday back when all this wizarding junk: her father holding their new film camera, taking pictures; her mother clapping along as they sang her Happy Birthday. . . .

“Isn’t it past your bedtime?” said a familiar voice from the entrance. [Y/N] didn’t bother to look, having heard that voice whining all the time in the common room about everyone and everything for the past five years.

“Isn’t it past yours?” she said, lifting her wand to point it right at the cake but paused halfway through. She still didn’t look up. “Come to gloat or bloat?”

She could hear the source of the voice sigh and shift, but she paid him no mind as she scrutinized her cake.

“What are you even doing here at this hour?” The voice started to go down the stairs from the entrance now and when she heard the footsteps stop, something plopped down on the couch opposite hers. “Is that a cake?”

“I’m having a party,” she replied. “As a matter of fact, this is the best party I could ever ask for. Well, your company excluded.”

[Y/N] finally met his eyes, which were staring back at her curiously. The same eyes that looked at her with what she could have only assumed as disdain and indifference.

“A pity party, you mean.” The boy leaned back in the couch, eyeing the chandelier before catching sight of the stereo on the table. “Is that a Muggle stereo?”

“What else can it be?” she said with in a discouraging tone as she pulled it by the handle towards her. It made a scratching noise, so she simply grabbed it and put it on her lap. “I enchanted it to work with magic, but it still plays what you egotistic pure-bloods call Muggle music. Like, just call it music for Pete’s sake, it’s not that deep!”

He seemed taken aback by her outburst, having never heard her talk at all. Sure, there were the mocking faces they exchanged with each other and all that but they were actually talking right now.

“What even is your ‘party’ for?” said the boy as he cleared his throat.

“It’s my wretched birthday and it’s past ten, so I can’t really go out to the Great Hall with people of which I enjoy the company because of the damned curfew.”

“Then why didn’t you go out before that? Haven’t you been here since eight?”

“Yeah, but I told them I was gonna make an ‘effort’ with my ‘kind’ so, well, that went out the window.” [Y/N] laughed to herself. She gestured at the cake. “You want some?”

When he didn’t respond, [Y/N] simply blowed a raspberry, pulling the cake closer to her to cut a piece for herself with her wand. “Don’t wanna accept anything from the Muggleborn Slytherin, yeah?”

“I was just thinking maybe you’d want to Engorgio the heck of that cake,” he reasoned.

“Don’t call it like that! And no, my parents gave it to me like this so I will eat it exactly as it is.” She cut out two pieces for the two of them and set it on two separate plates with forks. She slid it over to him and leaned back to savor the creamy flavor of the treat when she noticed the boy hadn’t touched his. “You can bring it up with you to your dorm if you’d like, just please don’t call me a you-know-what.”

“What? No! Sorry, I was just thinking about something,” he replied. [Y/N] flushed at the word of apology, but didn’t want to mention it in fear of jeopardizing the flow of their conversation. She followed his gaze, which she realized was fixed on the stereo. “Does the” — he made string-like gestures with his fingers — “the long stick thing” — he made pretend bunny ears on his head, [Y/N] was holding back a laugh — “the stick thing. . . .I don’t know what’s it called, but does it work?”

“Don’t know yet, but I did put a tape in,” she said. “You wanna see?”

“Okay,” he said casually.

[Y/N] turned to him with wide eyes, scratching her neck. “Okay?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, okay.” She then put the stereo on the table again and pulled out the cassette tape she kept in the pocket of her robes. “The antenna might not work, but this has better chances.”

“Antenna? Oh!” The boy kept his eyes trained to the stereo, studying it with furrowed brows. [Y/N] couldn’t tell if it was a bad thing or not, so she just nodded in reply and proceeded to open the cassette cover to put in the tape into the player.

“Honestly, I don’t really know what it’s really called,” she confessed as she skimmed the buttons. “It’s old, I’m not sure if it’s a boombox, stereo, radio, or whatever. There’s a lot of stuff. But this one’s got AM and FM. It’s complicated.”

He looked like he was about to ask something but shut his mouth when the tape started to make sounds, a sign that it was about to play. “Hey, it’s working!” she exclaimed.

“So,” he said as he leaned forward to finally pull the abandoned piece of cake in front of him, “this boom. . . .music lunchbox. . . .thingy plays music?”

Do not laugh, do not laugh, do not laugh.

A snort escaped her mouth, or wherever. [Y/N] cleared her throat. “Choked on cake,” she implied. “But yeah, it does. Hold up.”

She fumbled for the buttons, hoping the magic did not mess up its inner workings that much. “Now, I’m not sure what this tape is. I haven’t labelled it properly yet, but I might do it this summer.”

The intro to Girls Just Want to Have Fun by Cyndi Lauper started playing, and she snapped her fingers along to the beat. She looked at the blond boy, who seemed to still be trying to get a grasp of the song. “Right? Right?” she said enthusiastically.

“It’s catchy, I guess,” he said as the song continued into the first verse. “I don’t know, I think I prefer classics.”

“Well, this was released about twelve years ago. I think it’s fun.” She had already put down her own plate of cake to give her more space to at least make finger snaps. “And she didn’t lie when she said we just wanna have fun.”

He started to eat his own piece of cake, and he made a sound she had never expected to hear. “Woah, calm down.”

“This is surprisingly delicious,” he said. “By the way, keep that down.”

She settled herself to reach forward for the stereo. Putting it on her lap, she skimmed the buttons again. “What was it again?” she muttered to herself. Gambling with her own subconscious, she pressed one button.

The song stopped playing and the intro to Never Gonna Give You Up started playing. She had to stifle a laugh. “Yeah, uh, I like this one too. Let me just figure it out.”

Come on, please be the right button. The icons on the buttons were faded, and it was hard telling which was which. She pressed the same button repetitively. It made static noises until I Want to Know What Love Is began. She risked a glance at the boy’s way. To her dismay, he was staring back.

“Uh. . . .sultry? Sorry, sorry.” She felt her confidence dwindling as the lyrics came on. Please, please, please, anything but this.

The song stopped playing, and she could hear the tape struggling to keep up. Just when she thought she’d been making progress, this happens. “Good gourmet, I love this artist but. . .wait, sorry, I really am.”

Strumming my pain with his fingers. . .

Singing my life with his words. . .

“Not now, Roberta Flack,” she said impatiently, sweating. “I’m just gonna head up to the corner where— Oh, wait I think this is it.”

She dared not to look up this time, but she could hear him enough to know it was his turn to stifle a laugh (or laughs, she didn’t know which was worse).

It can’t get worse.

It.

Can’t.

Get.

WORSE.

As if to spite her, George Michael decided it most definitely can. The saxophone riff came in roughly, and she just remained frozen in her seat.

“Okay, uh, you know what? Just leave it.” He cleared his throat, taking the cake to slice and eat a bit of it in an effort not to give away that he’d been holding back his laughter for way too long. “It’s definitely. . . .something.”

“No! Wait, I’m trying.” She kept on forcibly pressing on each button. Never again, never again, never again.

Careless Whisper wouldn’t leave no matter how hard she tried. With a sigh, he put the stereo — it’s what she decided on calling — down on the table. She didn’t talk for a while after that.

I feel so unsure. . .

As I take your hand and lead it to the dance floor. . .

“You’re awfully quiet now,” said the boy. “Happy Birthday, by the way.”

“Er — right, thanks.”

Calls to mind a silver screen and all its sad goodbyes. . .

I’m never gonna dance again, guilty feet have—

The song stopped playing. “Yes, yes, shut up.”

“Come on, it wasn’t that bad.” This time, he was actually laughing. “My bad, I couldn’t help it. Sorry.”

Regaining her nerve, she sat straighter in her seat. “You’ve apologized, like, three times in the past few minutes. Why’re you being nice?”

“I liked it when you were all shy,” he pouted. “Eh, I just wanted cake without being a prick.”

“You know, just saying that already makes you one.”

“Then I guess I just wanted cake,” he smiled at her, and she felt compelled to return it back, so she did. “This one tastes really good, by the way.”

“Thanks, my mum and dad sent it to me. I also had cupcakes earlier but those little turds ate them wi—”

Beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, beat, flourishing music. “Eternal Flame by the Bangles! That one’s really good!”

She sang along, a bit off-key. But it was fun, so she found that it didn’t even matter.

“It’s alright, but do you have one we could dance to?”

“Woah, Mr. Prefect wants to dance? Alright, I hear you, I hear you.” They were both laughing now, and it was by far the most fun she’d ever had. “Okay, I think I know how to work this out now. The magic messed it up but if I just press these two. . .”

Starship’s Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us started playing. “It worked! You wanna dance?” She wasted no time, standing up on her toes to make flailing gestures with her arms, a terribly awful choreography. “I don’t dance, but you should give it a try! Come on.”

He hesitantly stood up, putting the plate of his cake right next to hers. He started clapping along to the light music until the first verse came.

“Sing along, too!” she encouraged. When he didn’t utter a single word, she blew a raspberry. “This world that I’ve found is too good to be true. . .”

“Standing here beside you. . . Won’t— Want— I don’t know!” He was a bit late to the lyrics, but she understood — he didn’t know the song, so she lead on. They were both having fun, but by the moment they held hands together to make funky moves, something else played.

Oh, my love, my darling. . .

I’ve hungered for your touch. . .

A long, lonely time. . .

They were awfully close, their hands touching. She was the first to pull away, burning up. The song continued to play.

[Y/N] pulled out her wand and hurriedly split the remaining cake in two and settled the other half on her empty plate.

Oh, right, why haven’t I thought of it? She pointed at the stereo and straight-up said, “Silencio!”

It kept playing, but it was slurred enough to distort the song. “Alright, uh, you can—” she almost tripped over the rug but she stood her ground, not wanting to drop the huge mound of cake she dumped on her plate. “You can eat that in your dorm.”

“You forgot your lunch— stereo.” He was holding it up at her.

“Oh! You can keep it.” He raised his brows at her, an amused grin on his face. “Or throw it away, I don’t care! I’m sorry, I gotta go. You know, sleep? And you should too, ‘cause. . .prefect, right?”

Just when she was about to head to her dorm, he called out to her. “My name’s Draco Malfoy, by the way!”

“I know! And I’m—”

“I know, [Y/N] [Y/L/N]. Thanks for the cake!”

“Thanks for the. . .” She paused in her tracks to turn back to him. To her surprise, he was still looking at her, a playful smile still on his face. “I don’t know, uh, just thanks!”

“Oh, and, hey!”

“Yes?” Don’t drop, cake. Don’t drop, cake.

“Happy Birthday again, princess.”

“Prin—” DON’T DROP, CAKE. She fumbled for the plate, her hand shaking and her eyes wide. “Did you just call me princess?”

“I did, d’you like it?”

“Uh, okay, well, congratulations?” she said, unsure. She was probably the same color as a tomato by now, she could feel the heat not just in her cheeks but also all over her face. ”I mean, sorry, but thanks. Happy Birthday, too.”

And with that, she rushed to her dorms but the moment she left, she could’ve sworn she heard him humming Nothing’s Gonna Stop Us Now as he laughed to himself while picking up the stuff on the table.

That night as she peacefully ate her cake in the comfort of her four-poster bed, she found herself humming the tune of the same song. It was about two in the morning now, and she couldn’t help but wonder if he was also awake humming the song just like she was or if he was already in a deep slumber.

Princess?

She almost choked on her cake, and so she decided it was best to keep it away for the time-being and finally lay in bed.

Was he flirting with me? She thought to herself. Nah, he was probably just being friendly.

To her, she counted him as one friend made in her mind.

But to him?

Well, he didn’t know either. He liked her company enough to keep what he called the music lunchbox thingy under his bed as he ate his own piece of cake and to think about dancing with her in that way again and to. . . . Oh, he did know.

He thought about what she’d said when he first came in.

“As a matter of fact, this is the best party I could ever ask for. Well, your company excluded.”

“I bet you like it better with my company now, huh?” He smiled at the ceiling, flushing when he realized he’d been talking to himself and so decided it’d be best to sleep.

Taglist: @gingerale2017 @sfdlm @fives-cup-of-coffee @hey-there-angels @elevatorsdoor @mrzweasley @gwlvr @catching-the-train-to-hogwarts