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yuwuta · 9 months

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VITAMIN ME — JUJUTSU KAISEN BOYS + SICK FIC

featuring. gojo, toji, inumaki, nanami, okkotsu, itadori, choso, fushiguro

content. taking care of the boys/the boys taking care of you when feeling sick, all fluff, no warnings

word count. 2.5k

SATORU GOJO

He doesn’t feel under the weather often, but when he does, it hits him tenfold. He’s whiny, dramatic, borderline inconsolable, and feels well within his rights to demand your undivided attention, because he’s not usually like this… sick, that is (he is usually whiny and dramatic, no illness in the world could take that away from him).

You and him both know when he’s dragging it, but you can’t help but to feel bad for him. Because when Satoru is sick, he’s sick—you feel like you need to constantly monitor all his vitals, set a timer to make sure he gets medication because he’s so cold and pale and sluggish, it’s worrisome. Of course, he finds the strength to tease you, “You worried about little old me, sweets? Don’t be—‘m gonna be fine, you know. But I hear kisses cure the flu.”

“Not scientifically proven, or peer reviewed,” you tell him, “But you know what is? Tylenol. Time for more, open up, Satoru.”

“Will I get a kiss? Just a little one?”

He gives you a hard time, even in sickness, but it’s only because he absolutely relishes being in your care, thinks you’re good at taking care of him; proven by the way you give in with a nod, and then a kiss after he takes his medication. He really does feel like shit right now, but with you here, caring for him, his heart has expanded ten times and a warmth spills into his chest that makes the pain insignificant. Satoru feels honored and humbled to have someone fuss over him like this—to have this concrete reminder that you worry for him and care about him and love him just like he loves you.

TOJI FUSHIGURO

“You gonna feed me?” Toji grumbles, sounding much less threatening with a frog in his throat, “Because there’s no way I’m drinking that.”

You roll your eyes, lightly tapping the spoon against the edge of the mug before placing it onto the coffee table and extending your arms towards Toji, “The ginger is good for you. The lemon, too, if you wanna stop sounding like a low-budget villain anytime soon.”

Toji’s nose scrunches—it’s almost cute, if it weren’t followed by an infuriatingly stubborn turn of his jaw, pointedly away from you and back to the television. You huff, sitting down next to him—or as close as you can get through his mountain of blankets and forcefield of pillows—carefully nursing the cup in your palms.

Who would have thought that the great Toji Fushiguro would be so stubborn as to let a little cold get the best of him. Him attempting to suffer without cold medicine wasn’t that surprising, but you didn’t think that he’d petulantly refuse tea just because of some ginger. Getting him to take his antibiotics only worked when you told him you’d boot him onto the couch if he didn’t, but that won’t work this time, he’ll call your bluff.

You sigh, moving a pillow to your other side and reaching over to the coffee table to redeem your spoon. You fold one leg under the other and turn your body to Toji’s, scooping tea into the spoon, giving it a soft blow, and then raising it to his face. He quirks an eyebrow when he feels the steam brushing against his skin, and turns to you with a hellish grin.

He opens his mouth, to say something slick no doubt, but you take advantage of the opportunity to shove the spoon in his mouth, “You don’t get to talk until after you finish your tea.”

TOGE INUMAKI

Despite being a renowned insomniac and someone who is willing to throw away hours of sleep to binge watch his favorite series or complete a new game, Toge does believe that rest is the best medicine. He does take his own sleep seriously—it’s not his fault that most people consider his preferred sleeping hours to be regular waking hours.

So, even though it sounds a bit hypocritical, Toge is very firm about you resting as much as you can when you’re not feeling well. He’s quick to make a cocoon out of you in your two favorite blankets and fit you onto the couch to keep you within sight as he rummages around the kitchen to prepare your meals, and make sure that you don’t skimp out on your medication. He’s got some pretty effective homemade remedies for a killer sore throat, but cough syrup is cough syrup—he knows it tastes horrible, but if he has to force feed it to you, then so be it.

He feeds you spoonfuls of homemade broth and rice to make up for it, giggling as you scrunch your nose from the taste of the medicine. When you’re finished, he lets you tell him off and forgoes teasing you about how nasally you sound as he coerces you to lay down again. You don’t feel sleepy, but when Toge’s lips brush against your forehead, his words are like a spell that makes your eyes flutter shut, “Sleep, my love.”

KENTO NANAMI

“It’s cold, Ken,” you whine, sniffling at the end of your sentence. Kento sighs softly, switching off the light to the bathroom and taking careful strides to the bed. He carefully sits on the edge of the bed, expression sympathetic as you complain about the temperature again.

The room is actually slightly warmer than normal per your earlier request, but he knows you still feel cold because of how high your temperature is. It's exactly why he took your blanket from you—fuzzy, and warm, and weighted would all be enticing and acceptable if you weren’t running a very concerning fever. Kento absolutely hates to say no to you, but he has to do something to break your fever.

“I know, darling,” he nods gently, settling himself onto his side of the bed. He’d prefer to have the comfort of a heavy blanket right now, too, but he wouldn’t taunt you like that—if you have to sleep without one, then so will he. He should get you another cold towel for your forehead, but you tug on his heartstrings when you scoot yourself closer to him, nose nudging against his thigh. He smiles softly, carefully reaching to tap at your arms, “Come here.”

You shuffle upwards and into his arms, cheek pressed against his chest with your arms coming to wrap around his torso. Kento lets you melt into him and wraps strong arms around your body to keep you close—body heat will have to do for now.

YUUTA OKKOTSU

Yuuta walks—waddles, really—with his blanket over his shoulders, mouth slightly ajar, and a box of tissue in his hand for good measure. He looks cute despite his febrile state, with his nose red and eyes wide and you have to resist the urge to coo at him.

“I thought the Benadryl would have kept you asleep at least a little longer,” you smile, turning off the heat underneath the pot.

“Something smelled good... and I got hungry,” Yuuta shrugs weakly, taking the remaining steps into the kitchen and plopping his body weight onto a stool at the island. He sniffles deeply, setting his box of tissues down on the counter, before pointing at the lowly simmering pot behind you, “Is that… for me?”

“No, it’s for my other sick boyfriend,” you grin, reaching into a nearby cabinet for a bowl. You giggle when you see Yuuta’s pouty expression, cheeks a light pink and bottom lip jutted slightly.

“It’s not nice to make fun of the ill,” he coughs. His façade is waning, already weakened by his sick state, and crumbling when you push a warm bowl of his favorite soup in front of him. You can’t help but to laugh a little louder because Yuuta’s eyes practically grow three sizes and you swear he’s salivating a little.

He shakes away the shock, turning with a pout when he realizes you’re poking fun at him again, “You’re doing it again. Now you owe me a kiss.”

“Do I?” you tease, taking the seat on the stool next to him, elbows resting on the counter, as you peer up at Yuuta’s flushed face. You’ll let him ride the excuse his blush being the fever for a little longer, “That’s risky. I might get sick, and I have a very cute boyfriend to take care of.”

“I’ll take care of you, too,” Yuuta all but whispers, tired eyes fluttering to your lips, “In sickness and in health, right?”

He leans down a bit and you meet him for a quick kiss, pulling away to smile, “I thought that was for married couples.”

“I’ll fix that soon,” Yuuta smiles, satisfied. You giggle, reaching out to poke his red nose and then his cheek to turn his face back to his soup.

“Well, then go ahead and eat and get well soon,” you muse, leaning forward to kiss his cheek, “I expect a very romantic proposal from an un-sick lover boy.”

YUUJI ITADORI

You should have known that Nobara was going to rat you out sooner or later, if not for your own wellbeing, then for hers—because despite your roommate being a caring soul beneath her tough exterior, she is not caring enough to risk her own health because you’re sniffling all over your shared apartment; especially not before she’s supposed to go on her first vacation with her boyfriend.

On the third day of coughing, Nobara tells you she’s going to camp out with Megumi until her flight, and that Yuuji is the person she’s entrusted with her keys until she returns back from her trip. So, it’s not a surprise that a mere hour later, you find Yuuji all but barreling through your front door with grocery bags in hand, all of which he promptly drops when he hears you hacking out your lungs on the couch, quick to dart to your side and hold your cup as you shakily drink some water.

“Babe! You’re, like, super sick,” he exclaims, now sitting criss-cross on your living room floor, slowly unpacking the grocery bags for a real-time haul, “You should have told me earlier, I could have gotten you all this stuff way sooner!”

“I’m fine, Yuuji. It’s a mild cold at most,” you reassure him, smiling to yourself as he rips open a new box of Kleenex and thrusts it in your direction. He looks at you with furrowed eyebrows, untrusting of your words, before he springs up with the last grocery bag in hand.

“Well, still... I’m not a doctor, but I got all the medications Nanamin told me to get, so we’re gonna get this cold out of you in no time,” he grins, patting your head before leaning down to kiss your forehead, “In the meantime, how about some soup? Oh—I just saw a recipe for something spicy, that should help with your nose right? Or maybe ramen? Leave it to me!”

CHOSO KAMO

You couldn’t help but to snap one more picture of Choso. You felt bad, a little bit, he was tired and sick and probably felt like crap, but he looked very cute when he was sleepy, cuddled up in fuzzy blankets from head to toe, with just enough space to expose his tired eyes and red nose. One more wouldn’t hurt.

You smile to yourself as you look back at him, slipping your phone into your pocket and walking over to join Choso on the couch. There’s not enough room for you to sit in the seat, so you have to cotch yourself in the arm of the couch closest to his head and gently reach out to move a stray strand of hair away from his eyes. It would make for another cute picture, but you refrain, choosing to lean down and press a kiss to his forehead instead, before standing to start picking up the spare tissue and cough drop wrappers littered around him.

You always tell him he’s going to worry himself sick, and he’s managed to do just that. It was a little fun, a little cute, but mostly, you’re just happy that Choso is resting. You know that sleep doesn’t come easily to him under normal circumstances; if being a little under the weather is what gets your boyfriend to slow down and care for his body, then so be it; you’ll be there to help him out.

You’re about to head into the kitchen, when you’re stopped by a warm hand brushing against your leg. You turn to see Choso limply reaching out of your, slowly blinking awake, before weakly beckoning for you again, “Stay here,” he croaks, “Please?”

You smile, placing the gathered trash onto the coffee table, before burying yourself within Choso’s blankets. You have to do a little wiggling to get underneath him, but Choso doesn’t mind, happily resting his weight against you, eyes already fluttering closed again, not before he lets you a meek, “Thank you. I love you.”

You give him one final kiss to the crown of his head, “I love you, too.”

MEGUMI FUSHIGURO

“Megumi, are you… okay?” you question softly, leaning over the small restaurant table to squint at your boyfriend. You’d been watching him carefully since he’d picked you up from your house, deducing that something was definitely wrong, even if Megumi had been trying his best to hide it.

He could be quiet, but he was definitely not soft spoken, nor did he normally wince after swallowing a bite of his food. You should have known something was off from the start, when you’d held hands on your walk and Megumi’s fingers were warm, and not icicles attached to his palm.

Megumi freezes, mouth gaping slightly, before he closes it and composes himself with slumped shoulders—he’d considered keeping up his brave front, but it’d be futile at this point, so he sighs, “My throat hurts, is all,” he confesses, the hoarseness of his tired voice peeking through, “I had a fever yesterday, but it was fine this morning.”

You lean over a little more, just enough to be able to extend your hand so that the back of your palm meets Megumi’s forehead. It’s warm, to no surprise, and you find yourself tutting, recoiling your hand slightly, with enough space to flick him.

“Ow?” He groans, and you only roll your eyes. You pull back to fish through your bag, to pull out some cash and leave it on the table. Megumi begins to question you, but you’re not hearing it, getting up to sling your purse over your shoulder and grab your boyfriend by the forearm.

“You’re an idiot,” you scold, ushering him out of the restaurant, “We are going to urgent care to get you a strep test, and then to that bakery Nanami tells us not to tell anyone about to get you soup, and then you are going to sit and eat it and contemplate your actions for the rest of the evening.”

Megumi lets himself be dragged away—another tell-tale sign that he really is feeling under the weather (which is also what he chooses to blame his blush on). If “contemplating his actions,” was code word for you hovering over him for a bit, then maybe he wouldn’t mind.

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fanaticalthings · 4 months

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Give me crime lord!Jason who's actually on good terms with the batfam. Not only would it actually be helpful when it comes to missions surrounding underground/illegal operations (Jason would be able to retrieve way more insider knowledge) but also I think having a supervillain family member that you're chill with is just untapped comedic potential that needs to be taken advantage of.

---

Damian gets into a petty fight with Bruce, and the next day, instead of waiting for Bruce to pick him up from school, he calls Jason, who shows up in full Red Hood regalia and just rides off with Damian.

Of course everyone at school sees that Wayne's son just got snatched by Gotham's most notorious crime lord, so ofc when Bruce gets there, sees Damian missing, and hears a series of panicked whispers about a gun slinging, criminal biker riding off with a prince of Gotham, Bruce immediately knows what's up and just sighs, already anticipating the many publication companies he's gonna have to bribe to stay silent.

---

Sometimes, they need Jason's help with intercepting certain illegal trades within the underworld of, not just Gotham, but just common areas where shady businesses are most prevalent. And when Bruce requests that Jason brings evidence of said illegal shipments to the cave, Jason will smugly respond with "I can, but it'll cost ya"

And Bruce is all exasperated like, "Jason, please, this mission's been going on for a month, I just want to get it over with."

And Jason's just looking down at the crate of smuggled materials, recognizes that it's highly sought after by many rogues (maybe it's machinery parts or rare chemical substances, etc) and ofc Jason's about to be petty as hell when responding to Bruce:

Jason: I don't think you have any idea how valuable the stuff I have is. If I sold this myself in my part of the underground, I'd make a fortune!

Bruce: Jason

Jason: Butttt, if you're not willing to pay me for this, y'know, despite being a billionaire, I guess I could just auction this off to another willing client

Bruce: Jason

Jason: I hear Lex Luthor's been cookin' up something new for Superman. I wonder if he'd be interested?

Bruce: Son, please.

Jason:

Bruce:

Jason: I'll give you a family discount.

And it's just a back and forth of this EVERYTIME. And Jason only does it when he's collaborating with Bruce. None of the other bats have to deal with Jason demanding money.

---

There was one time, during a Wayne gala where practically ALL the kids (except Jason, dude's still legally dead), had to show up. And around halfway through, the Red Hood just crashes through the skylight and then just fucking kidnaps Bruce Wayne, in front of everyone. And of course the gala has to be cut short.

Meanwhile, Bruce, in Jason's custody: I CANNOT believe you, son. WHY of all times would you do this? You are GROUNDED, I don't care if you don't live with me anymore, this is just UNACCEPTABLE-

Jason, completely ignoring him, holding up a tablet with news article headlines about this incident: Bruce, look at this shot they got of me crashing through the ceiling, I look fuckin' badass

And then when the fam (in costume) come to "save" Bruce, in a blink and you'll miss it moment, Bruce catches Cass and Jason whispering something to eachother in the corner and them fist bumping before Jason books it out of there. He can already feel a headache brewing.

And generally speaking, I feel like the batfam could be way more efficient with this arrangement. You got the regular team of bats, investigating from above, as well as being able to infiltrate socialite environments as Waynes. Then you got Jason, who can keep an eye on all the lesser exposed and lucrative activities whilst he keeps the underground businesses under his control. I feel like it would be a win win situation that would be hella interesting to see explored.

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batbabydamian · 2 months

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A Quick Guide to Damian’s Furry/Feathered/Scaled Companions

LEFT: R:SOB #1 Cover RIGHT: R:SOB #6

GOLIATH THE BAT DRAGON

Introduced in: ROBIN: SON OF BATMAN (2015) #1

DAMIAN'S BABY AND BEASTY BESTIE!! On a mission during the Year of Blood, Damian kills the family of bat dragons guarding his objective. Goliath, despite being the youngest and last of his kind, forgives Damian. Goliath goes on to become one of Damian's most loyal companions, even featuring beside him in Batman Beyond (2016) #10, #11, #43-#47!

LEFT: B&R #13 RIGHT: B&R #4

TITUS THE DOG

Introduced in: BATMAN AND ROBIN (2011) #2

A Great Dane gifted to Damian from Bruce as an effort in fatherhood. Funny enough, Damian finds him a nuisance at first and briefly refers to him as "Dog". Titus is a good boy that follows Damian's every step, even joining Bruce on his mission to resurrect Damian!

LEFT: Batman Inc #1 RIGHT: Batman Inc #7

BAT-COW THE COW

Introduced in: BATMAN INCORPORATED (2012) #1

Bat-Cow, branded with a star signifying which cattle were contaminated, was saved from a slaughterhouse to run some tests (which they do find of a mind control variety). Damian declares himself a vegetarian, and calls her Bat-Cow! She also sorta has a running gag of literally standing in the face of danger to save the day.

LEFT: Batman Inc #6 RIGHT: Batman Inc #7

ALFRED THE CAT

Introduced in: BATMAN INCORPORATED (2012) #6

Considered a "hopeless case" by the animal shelter, Alfred gifts him to Damian. The cat is a bold lil guy, which Damian takes an immediate liking to, and names him Alfred (likely because tuxedo cat = butler lol). After hours of chicken, playtime, and scratches, Damian and Alfred become friends! He makes his first appearance alongside Damian’s first appearance as Batman in BATMAN (1940) #666

LEFT: Batman: Li'l Gotham #2/#1 RIGHT: Batman: Li'l Gotham #23/#12

*JERRY THE TURKEY

Introduced in: BATMAN LI'L GOTHAM (2012) #2 (Digital) #1 (Printed)

The Penguin unleashes an army of turkeys at the Gotham Thanksgiving parade which Damian turns into his own li'l turkey march by playing the trumpet. He ends up bringing one of them back for Thanksgiving dinner (as a friend), and Jerry becomes a fairly regular appearance in the world of Li'l Gotham!

*WIGGLES THE DRAGON

Introduced in: NIGHTWING (2016) #42

A sort of filler issue where Damian has been kidnapped for his blood by the "Crimson Kabuki" in Tokyo, and Dick goes through a series of boss battles to save him. The dragon's blood has been the group's main source of power, so it ends up teaming with the duo, and returns home with them.

Wiggles was originally named by a fan, "Shanootnoot" on Twitter!

*Goliath, Titus, Bat-Cow, and Alfred the cat have been Damian's main canon cast of furry companions, but SUPER-PETS SPECIAL: BITEDENTITY CRISIS (2024) may have just added Jerry and Wiggles!!

#UPDATED!! I FORGOT TO ADD THAT ALFRED THE CAT MADE HIS VERY FIRST DEBUT IN BATMAN 666 #Batman Inc was his first intro to canon timeline but he makes regular appearances alongside Batman!Damian #made this in honor of that special because I'M STILL SO?? AGGH??#every one of them has a sweet story connecting them to Damian!! they love him!! they've fought at his side and for him!!#Damian's done the same!! he loves them!! they all love each other!!#i expected this comic to be heeheehaha NOT THIS I'M IN SHAMBLES #Damian has been away from them for so long so this does make sense but also. OOGH #i think my biggest complaint would be Goliath being sent off to a refuge bc Goliath's been a free ranger for a while #he is his own bat dragon since critically acclaimed comic Robin: Son of Batman (2015)#anyway ofc i had to add that RSOB page for Goliath PURE CINEMA #ALSO the Batman Beyond issues because their bond makes me so emo in there 😭#i still can't believe Jerry's probably been made canon only to immediately go through a traumatic experience WELCOME TO CANON COMICS JERRY #damian wayne #goliath #titus #batcow #alfred the cat #jerry #wiggles the dragon

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dcxdpdabbles · 4 months

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Mr Flavor Soda Part 2

Mr. Flavor's Soda gains traction once the creator starts selling in a fixed place. Anthony's Pasta also grows in customers when word gets out that there is a surefire way of crossing paths with Mr. Flavor on Mondays and Fridays.

It's mainly because Mr. Flavor has gained a reputation for being hard to find. It was almost as if he vanished from one side of the city to the next without so much as a hint of how he got there.

However, that didn't mean he wasn't well known. He was a young teenager, likely fifteen or so, who always rushed about Gotham doing questionable parkour.

People had seen him climb up fire escapes only to do crazy leaps, looking to be aiming for his knees to break on each landing. He was spotted doing cartwheels across walking lanes, sometimes going over the hoods of cars that stopped on the lines instead of around.

He deliberately looked for the most haunted places in Gotham, walking with a traveling tea set because "the ghosts like to have tea parties." He had picnics in the middle of dark alleys, asking the air if it would like a second cup but pouring nothing from his teacup.

People were often confused by his responses when speaking to him. Nothing he said was particularly bad, but it showed his severe social awkwardness.

Customers walked away bemused but holding bottles of delicious beverages.

Another odd thing about the boy was his refusal to sell any of his creations for more than a single dollar. Nothing in Gotham was cheap. A regular Zesti was at least two dollars and nineteen cents, but Mr. Flavor looked appalled to charge so much.

A kid claiming to be among the original group that discovered Mr. Flavor, bestowing him the nickname, quoted the strange soda maker as saying, "If someone gives me a dollar, then I am one dollar richer. But if someone gives me two dollars, then they are two dollars poorer instead of only one."

It sounded humble on the surface, but it didn't really answer the questions the kid had originally asked him which were: "Why do you only charge a dollar? Why not more?"

Some people in Gotham were weary of Mr. Flavor. He didn't sound all quite there in the head. He wasn't near the level of insanity of the supervillains running around, but it wouldn't be a surprise if they all woke up one day to find out Mr. Flavor had snapped.

The remaining skeptics also regarded his drinks with cautious eyes. Despite his claims and the word of Red Hood, many wondered if Mr. Flavor was putting some kind of drug in his drink, hoping to spread it to the masses with his cheap prices.

If he was even selling soda at all.

Zesti is a familiar and beloved brand, but Mr. Flavor was once seen tasting the beverage and shouting, "Is this cream soda?!" He then bought one bottle or can of every soda option from the same gas station.

Each one was apparent "cream soda" according to Mr. Flavor. It was confirmed that the drinks the young boy made were far from the flavor of what they considered soda.

Now, Tim didn't see anything wrong with that. Jason had brought back samples of the other's work, and though the ingredients were interesting, they were ultimately confirmed to be soda. Or as close to soda as Mr. Flavor claimed it was.

He was just a bit eccentric while wandering Gotham. Nothing to worry about. Tim, knowing Jason, Bruce- and maybe even Dick with how determined his eldest brother was to try one of the sodas- had everything regarding Mr. Flavor under control; he chose to turn his attention to a series of missing people reports hitting Old Gotham.

There was no visible connection with the victims besides all having long chestnut hair. Age, gender, and social class didn't matter to whoever was taking these people- and Tim knew they were being taken. Tim found it strange that people who vanished were last seen near the same area, having built a map showcasing they were being targeted within a triangle that covered well-known shopping districts.

It was a bit of ground to cover, but Tim figured if he wandered around there long enough, he would attract the kidnapper's attention. He opened his closet, dusted off his old wig, and an hour later, Caroline Hill made her way over to Old Gotham.

Tim originally hated his Caroline Hill as he did not like disguising himself as a woman, but over time, he grew to adore how easily he could change her backstory and his mannerisms to fit with whoever Caroline was that day.

Sometimes, Caroline was a first-year medical student working through clinicals and rotations. She was overworked, under a lot of stress from her assignments, and didn't have time to be distracted by a social life, much less a man asking her out.

Sometimes Caroline was a highschool student who enjoyed community service. She was friendly, outgoing, and more then willing to take the lead in projects. She was naive and sheltered not losing faith in people quite yet.

Other times, Caroline was a high school dropout who didn't know what she wanted. She would apply to any job that would hire her, dreaming of leaving Gotham one day to find a dream to chase. To her, life was dull and meaningless.

Caroline was even a fashion model once. She was famous for her streetwear outfits and gorgeous selt-taken shots. Tim was proud to say her submission to LexCorp's phone promotion contest was still being broadcast, and she received checks for her work. She oozed confidence as a woman who knew what and when she wanted it.

It showed in her walk as she strutted down Old Gotham, stopping to enter any clothing Boutique she saw under the pretense of looking for an outfit for a big-shot party. She was dressed like the world was her runway, but not a red carpet.

If anything, she dressed like a woman who used to live in Old Gotham during its glory days, gracefully wearing the vintage outfit.

Her attire drew the eye of more than one person, especially when she ran her hand through her long, lush hair, making it fall smoothly against her lower back.

Tim figured model Caroline would be a much more tempting target, mainly because she carelessly browsed the various shops and little cafes. Anyone who watched her could tell she was unaware of her surroundings, and Tim had to carefully ensure they never doubted her blindness for even a second.

It was well; he was in an antique shop, glancing at lipstick holders, when something finally happened. The door swung open with a bang, and he allowed himself to jump as it would be something Caroline would do.

"Sorry! I gave the door a little too much razzle instead of dazzle!" a voice yells. Tim twists around to see a boy his age, with wild black hair—as if he did try to run a comb through it, but the strains refused to yield—and big, sparkling, far too aqua eyes.

Was he wearing cheap color contacts? Or was he a meta?

"No problem, Danny." Ms. Pinkney, the owner, a sweet woman who had refused to marry and was now approaching her sixties, smiled back. "Are you here again to play with Cyrus?"

"Yup, I'm going to beat him today." The boy chirps, walking over to a display that was roped off. He didn't seem to care for the sign on the red rope that read "WARNING: HAUNTED BY ANGRY SPIRIT" as he stepped over it.

It was the notoriously cursed chessboard and the two original armchairs from the eighteen hundreds.

Tim knew of the rumor that the man responsible for Gotham's architectural style- Cysrus Pinkney- had been in the middle of a chess game with his friend Solomon Wayne on the eve of his fortieth birthday when he had died.

He had been poisoned in the middle of a large party thrown by Henry Cobblepot, and no one to this day knew who his murder had been. Following Pinkney's death, terrible things happened to anyone who tried to sit or even move the chessboard. Sounds of chess pieces clicking on the board, low mutters in a man's voice, and even the chair moving back and forth began to appear.

Figthen that Cysrus still lingered; Henry had gifted Cysrus's wife the two chairs, the board, and the table it sat on. She took it home and learned that only she and her children were allowed near Cysrus.

He attacked all the others, including Solomon and his other best friend, Amadeus Arkham. The attacks were so bad that everyone eventually knew not to bother Cysrus.

He became an Urban Legend of Gotham, and many tourists would travel to Old Gotham just to gawk at the Pinkey's haunted family heirlooms.

Tim watched him confidently sit in an armchair before a chessboard. He gave the opposite chair across from him a wide smile. "Hiya Cyrus."

A lamp near Tim was flung at the boy, who took the hit with a laugh. "No need to be rude."

The lamp shattered against the ground, appearing to have been lifted again, only to fall as the boy reached out and moved a pawn. Tim's stomach dropped. His experience with Greta had taught him that ghosts were very real and, when their deaths were left unsolved, often very violent.

This guy had no idea what he was dealing with.

He opens his mouth when the teenager is suddenly flung from his seat, flying across the room and smashing against the wall. Ms. Pinkney laughs as if she just saw a toddler throw a fit.

"Honestly, grandfather, must you be so rude? Danny is just trying to play with you."

Tim watches her hair shift as if someone- or something- was ruffling her hair. Yikes, it was a poltergeist who unliked Greta was not visible but able to touch anything he pleased.

"Knight G1 to F3!" Danny yells, climbing to his feet. The scraping sounds of something being dragged across the floor as Danny twists around with his arms spread wide as a very large wardrobe rushes at him. He welcomed the attack like an old friend, nose cracking as it broke.

"Going Ghost!" Danny screams through his blood, landing on the ground as the wardrobe nearly crushes him.

Tim's mouth drops open. He's taunting Cyrus!? Not challenging his existence but straight up taunting the angered spirit?!

"Grandfather!" Ms. Pinkney scowls. "Stop this at once! You're usually more friendly than this. Danny is a guest!"

"It's okay, Ms. P! I think it's almost Cyrus' death day. All ghosts tend to get a little cranky around that time. Besides we're scaring the lady."

It takes an embarrassing amount of time for " lady" Danny to refer to him as he still wears Caroline. It's enough for the boy to leap to his feet, pat himself down—ignoring the broken nose—and strut to Tim.

Before the undercover man can say anything, Danny yanks out a bottle and hands it over. "Sorry about that, ma'am. Here, I have one on the house."

A Mr.Flavor bottle is thrust into his hands; the bubbling clear water with the leaping boy has green and yellow undertones. It's the only difference to the bottle Jason showed him not too long ago.

The teenager smiles, his teeth colored red. "You're quite pretty. Have a good day! Don't let your drink get warm!"

Then he skipped right out.

"Wha?" He blinks, and Ms. Pinkney slides right up to him with a ruthful smile.

"I know what you're thinking. I don't believe Danny is eccentric, but he has a good heart." She starts carefully, studying Tim's face with far too much intensity. It's not the kind of attention that one gives someone who they are just trying to convince to leave someone else alone. Her eyes linger on his wing for a few seconds too long.

Isn't her shop smack in the middle of the missing people's map? Interesting.

"Who was that?" He says instead, making sure Caroline's voice sounds breathy and sweet.

She smiles "Danny. But most know him as Mr.Flavor."

Tim looks at the bottle in his hands, feeling the ice-cold beverage- did he just pull it out of a freezer?- and unclips it to have a sip. It's nothing like soda, but it is at the same time.

It was far smoother than other sodas, with far more bubbles, and the flavor made his tastebuds sing.

"Oh, looks like you got Sprite. That's one of my favorites," Ms Pinkney comments. "Rare that one. Danny usually sells out by now."

"Does he come here often?"

The old woman laughs. "I'm afraid you're barking up the wrong tree, dearie."

Not what he meant, but if it kept his new number one suspect to chat more, he is fine with the assumption.

"Does he not like girls?" Tim asks, allowing his features to pull into a pout. He is very grateful that her made Caroline young enough to pass for his own real age.

"I don't believe he likes humans, I'm afraid. Male or female."

Huh?

But Ms. Pinkney's attention was distracted by the chess board, which shook slightly as the pieces previously moved by Mr. Flavor returned to their starting positions. She walked over to carefully lift up the thrown wardrobe.

Tim is quick to help her, slowly restoring the shop to its former glory. It's only after they finish that the old lady glances in the direction in which Mr. Flavor disappeared.

"Grandfather Cyrus is my great-great-great-great-grandfather. It's easier for me to call him grandfather since he's been around for generations, but his closeness has made the family tree a bit sensitive to the paranormal. I'm unsure what Danny is, but he doesn't feel human." She sighs. "I doubt he will find what he is looking for if he continues going about things like this."

"Like what?" Tim asks, stepping closer. "What's Danny looking for?"

The old woman's dark eyes chill down his spine as she gazes at him. "Death."

In the corner of Tim's eye, a man sitting at a chess set nods his head. He decides it's a good time to end his daily undercover work. Tim leaves, strutting with less grace as his mind recounts everything he knows about Mr. Flavor.

He is unaware of the person watching him from the alley, eyes tracing the lovely mane of chestnut hair. The grin that blooms over their face is nothing else but hungry.

#dcxdpdabbles #dcxdp crossover #Mr.Flavor #Part 2 #Tim's pov #Danny is really weird #a true Willy Wonka #Tim is on a case #And Danny is still trying to force his other form #Picking fights with ghosts should work #Not sure if I'll make this Dead Tired or gen yet #Hope I made the haunting a little creepy

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ahundredtimesover · 9 months

Text

I Want You to Stay (01) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, unhealthy coping mechanisms; family drama; minor injuries; power dynamics (JK starts off as a jerk); work-related anxiety, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; childhood traumatic experiences, nightmares; sexual harassment, prior incidence of domestic violence (PLS PLS BE CAREFUL WHEN READING); arts and business/property devt talk that’s probably inaccurate; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; cold and detached JK; explicit sexual content (specific warnings stated per chapter) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 12k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: Happy 2024, everyone! 🎉 Dropping this tonight as a welcome to the new year and the start of the wild journey that is this story. It's a different JK that I'm used to writing. It's also a different arrangement for me as the story is still being written, so just a heads up that updates won't be as regular compared to before, but they'll definitely come (pls don't come at me hehe 😁)! This is also a painfully slow build-up with lots of details and office talk so please be patient! I don’t know how this will turn out and be revived but I hope you enjoy! 💕

Also my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight as always 🥰

Jung Hoseok’s smile is like a ray of sunshine - warm on cool mornings, radiant on sunny afternoons. It’s light and infectious, but more than anything, it’s genuine. There’s comfort in the way his entire face beams and how the rest of his body follows; there’s this sense of openness that makes it easy to be around him, that makes it easy to work for him.

It was 10 years ago when you first encountered that smile - bright and encouraging as he welcomed you and the rest of the interns to his family’s company. It slowly dissolved the anxiety you were feeling over being 1 of 12 chosen students to work for one of the leading real estate and property development corporations in the country. You’d see it again two years later as an employee, and you recall how he perked up at the sight of you, having remembered those eight weeks you spent preparing the conference room for their meetings and serving the executives their coffee.

You wouldn’t have expected that five years after that, you’d be seeing that smile everyday as his executive assistant, and it was one of the things that made the job bearable. Despite the long hours and the amount of work you had to do and events you had to accompany him to, working for Hoseok always felt worth it. Despite the insane amount of pressure he was put under and the stress he had to endure, Hoseok somehow always managed to smile.

He was serious when he had to be, but there was joy in how he did things. He allowed himself moments of calm, of time to check in on his support team for a few laughs. He’d spare himself a few minutes a day to sway to the soft music he plays in his office, he’d preside over meetings with vigor, and he’d start and end every interaction with anyone with that smile - the same smile that assures you that all your hard work is appreciated and which encourages you to keep learning.

It’s that same smile that he has on right now, as he hands you a custom-made cake with ‘you worked hard’ written on it. He says the words as your eyes turn to him in surprise.

“Thank you for all that you’ve done,” Hoseok says. “I know you were new to the role just like I was but you made everything so easy for me. I’m gonna have to get used to being without your brilliance, Ms. Cho. I hope you never doubt yourself ever again.”

Your astonished face turns into a pout, as it dawns on you that it’s Friday, the first unofficial day of you no longer being Hoseok’s executive assistant, given his appointment as President not long ago. Yet despite the big change he’ll be experiencing starting next week, he’s the one affirming and comforting you, something that’s rare for someone of his stature and something you’ll definitely miss.

“You know I don’t cry, but I just might,” you respond, earning you a chuckle. “But really, I… I can’t thank you enough for taking a chance on me. I know my credentials weren’t like the others but—”

“Ms. Cho,” he interjects. “The only credentials those other applicants had were the universities they went to, but none of them matched your level of skill and dedication to the role. I can assure you that none of them would’ve managed the past three years like you did. I should be thanking you for dealing with all the craziness with me.”

“You’re a good boss, it’s that simple,” you return the compliment now. “You were patient with me and challenged me to be better without putting me down. That does a lot for a person’s confidence, you know?”

“I know that now,” he smiles again. “But really, I don’t think I could’ve asked for a more competent right-hand woman. Jungkook’s lucky he’s taking my position with the most capable assistant to help him out.”

At the mention of the man’s name, your face sours, something that Hoseok picks up, earning you another laugh.

“Not a fan of him, I see,” he eyes you curiously.

“I don’t mean any disrespect, Mr. Jung, but your cousin is not you,” you explain. “I may have only seen him a handful of times but those are enough to let me know that he does not smile.”

“Yes, I do confirm that,” Hoseok chuckles. “Jungkook’s quite the perfectionist and very much a workaholic. But he’s brilliant and creative and you’ll learn a lot from him, too. He’s being primed to co-lead the company with me and he needs a strong support for that and I think that’s you. His father thinks that’s you, and for the CEO to think so means a lot, ___. Uncle has seen how you work and was adamant that you remain in this role, especially with his son assuming the Vice President position.”

You know that Hoseok means to reassure you, but you suppose your insecurities over having this role and even being in this company won’t ever really go away. You didn’t graduate from a prestigious university in Seoul like most employees here did, and in this society, that usually means everything. You’re thankful for the trust that you’ve been given and you agree that you worked hard for it, too, but it will always be overwhelming; even then, it sometimes still feels undeserved.

At your silence, Hoseok speaks again. “___, as your former boss and as your friend, I’m here to back you up. Jungkook’s family but if he, for some reason, acts like a hard-headed jerk, you let me know, okay?”

He turns serious now, as he silently asks for you to promise him that you’ll speak out if you need to. Hoseok knows what you went through under Mrs. Byun, the former manager who abused her power over you until her own slip-up caused her downfall years later, and he doesn’t want you to go through that again.

“Okay. But I didn’t mean to imply that he’s a jerk just because he doesn’t smile,” you clarify. “I guess I meant to say that… I’ll miss working for you. That’s all. We somehow always got a laugh in, no matter how stressful things were. I’ll miss being with A-yeong, too.”

“I know you also meant to say that I’m the best boss you’ve ever had,” Hoseok chuckles, though you don’t miss the sadness in his eyes, too. “But I’ll just be two floors above you. You’ll still see me everywhere. And A-yeong’s gonna miss you, too, that’s why she can’t let you go without having dinner out, that I’m apparently not invited to.”

“We’re just gonna gossip about you, don’t worry,” you tease, appreciative of the fact that his wife has been kind to you all these years, apologizing to you on his behalf during the rare times he’s cranky, and gifting you little things from their trips abroad. “But thank you again, Hoseok,” you continue, dropping the formalities when you mean to speak to him as a friend, because that’s what he is, and it’s a rarity in this industry where those in power tend to take advantage of those below them. “You’ve treated me well, and I’ll never forget that.”

“Thank you, ___,” he smiles once more. “I’ll finish setting up my new office now. I’ll see you there in 30 minutes, okay? I know Jungkook officially starts on Monday but he wanted to get all the administrative stuff out of the way as soon as possible and since my old room is being sanitized, he’ll be staying at mine the whole morning. HR has everything he needs to sign so please get those documents from them before heading to my office.”

“Oh, so he’s coming today?” You ask, unable to hide the mix of surprise and disappointment in your voice. You’re clearly uninformed about this. “Didn’t he just arrive last night?”

“Yes, he did. I thought he’d at least spend today resting but no, he called me an hour ago to say he’ll drop by this morning so he can get straight to business on his first day,” Hoseok explains, shaking his head at the thought of his cousin wanting to get straight to work. “I know it’s short notice so you don’t need to brief him or anything yet. You’ve been buried in organizing all my files this past week after all.”

“Okay, but I’ve got everything organized for him already anyway in case he wants to start,” you say, having prepared all the documents he’d need to ease into his role more smoothly, knowing it’s your job to help him with that.

“Of course you have,” Hoseok chuckles, impressed as always with how on top you are of everything. “I’ll see you in half an hour.”

You sulk in your seat once he’s out of view, whining internally because much as your files are ready for your new boss, you’re the one who isn’t. You’d held off on mentally preparing yourself for meeting the Jeon Jungkook, second son of the current CEO of Jeon Corporation and the new Vice President, thinking you’d have the entire weekend for that, so you’re caught off guard at having to face him today. It’s one thing to move on from no longer having Jung Hoseok as your boss - that itself took you months to process and accept; it’s another to have to get used to assisting someone else, someone you know is completely different in attitude and approach to his work.

Jungkook used to be an executive in the Singapore office, the Southeast Asian headquarters of the company. In your three years as Hoseok’s assistant, you’d only seen Jungkook a few times, such as when he’d fly to Seoul for an official visit or a family gathering but you never interacted, as you didn’t really have a reason to, especially since you were always busy with making sure the event was running smoothly.

But you’d definitely noticed him, partly because the female staff always talked about him when he was around, and partly because next to his parents and his cousins, who are all personable in their own ways, Jungkook sticks out like a sore thumb. You’re not exaggerating when you say that you’ve never seen him smile - not for the pictures and not when he’s talking to the other executives and employees, a contrast to his father’s infectious charm and his mother’s youthful energy.

You’ve gotten used to Hoseok’s passion balanced with his thoughtfulness and joy - you always enjoyed the videos that A-yeong would show you of their weekends doing ballroom dancing because it’s what he loved to do with her. You’re unsure how you’ll manage assisting someone who’s the complete opposite. You’ve heard of Jungkook’s abilities though; his father always spoke of them with pride. Creative and innovative, he’d say of his son, but he always lived in his head, too, and perhaps that’s why even if he can socialize with others, he prefers not to, given that you’d always seen him at the bar after said events, drinking on his own.

You didn’t think those times that you’d one day be having him as your boss. You didn’t expect the appointments to come this soon, nor did you expect to still be in the company by the time they happened. But here you are, about to meet him and hoping to the heavens that whatever preconceived notions you have of him based on what very little you know would be proven wrong.

Wanting to calm yourself down before meeting him, you head to the management support team’s office for a cup of tea in the pantry, but you’re stopped by Do-hyun, one of the project assistants.

She hugs you like she always does, even if you rarely ever return it, and she whines like you expect her to, given her unusually pouty face.

“It’s only been an hour but I already miss Mr. Jung,” she laments. “Why did they appoint him as President so soon? They could’ve waited for another year or so, or at least let him take us with him!”

You find yourself being the reasonable one this time, as you pull her away from you so you could talk to her properly.

“We always knew he was going to be President, Do-hyun. But then the Board decided to make Ji-woo head of the Singapore office after their uncle stepped down, and that meant Hoseok had to take his sister’s place,” you explain, knowing how generational corporations like this work, with family members rotating in the executive positions. “And much as he’d like to take us with him, the position already comes with its own team. He’s just two floors above us, though. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if we popped in every once in a while to say hi.”

“No, I’m bitter,” she pouts again, earning her a laugh from you.

“Well, at least the new Vice President isn’t a stranger,” Manager Lee chimes in.

“I heard the CEO’s son doesn’t smile,” Do-hyun counters. “How do we go from assisting someone who literally gives all of us the energy to work each day, to someone who doesn’t think there’s anything worth being happy about? I also heard he’s a workaholic, so what if he demands that we can’t leave the office until he does? And that he’s kind of a fuck boy, so what if he has a scandal that we have to—”

“Yah! Those are just hearsay, and we don’t listen to those,” you warn her, not wanting the team to start on a bad note because of some rumors about your new boss that may or may not be true.

And if those are, it’s your job to make sure that those are handled properly and that there’s no friction between the management support team and the Vice President. The thought suddenly hits you and you feel nauseous. You’ve never had these worries with Hoseok because he always prioritized the team - he made sure that tasks were properly delegated, that you all took your well-deserved break, that you weren’t burnt out, that you all knew he got your back the way you all got his.

But then again, it’s natural to be anxious about change, especially when what you had was already the best it could’ve been. And much as you were the one worrying about this earlier, you’re now the one who has to reassure the team, especially the younger members, that things are going to be okay.

“You’ll meet him soon, and I’ll make sure he’s properly oriented with everything before he sits down with you all,” you say. “Let’s just be optimistic about this, okay? Manager Lee has been here a while and he can guide all of us when it comes to adapting to changes like this.”

The rest of the team nods, voicing their agreement about being open and welcoming to your new boss.

“Okay, good. Now let me get my tea before I combust,” you chuckle, heading towards the adjacent room.

You’re busy taking breaths in between sips of your hot drink when you see a familiar face in the room through the glass window, prompting you to head back outside.

“Mr. Ri,” you greet, causing the man before you to turn towards you. “What are you doing here? Does Mr. Jeon need anything?”

Knowing you’re referring to the elder Jeon, Mr. Ri shakes his head.

“I’m here as Jungkook’s chauffeur and bodyguard, actually. His father appointed me, wanting people he trusts to help his son,” he clarifies. “I’ve just driven him from his penthouse.”

“Oh,” you say, unable to control the way your face falls a little. “So, he’s here.”

“He is. He said he wanted to get things done today so he doesn’t waste his time when he starts next week. He’s at Hoseok’s office right now. I believe he’s supposed to sign some documents?”

“Oh shit,” you blurt out, immediately setting down your half-finished tea and rushing out the door to speed-walk to your desk, ignoring Mr. Ri’s demand for you to slow down.

With what little you know of your new boss, he seems like the type to not excuse tardiness, so you take your files, head to HR to retrieve some documents, and then proceed to Hoseok’s office. You try to catch your breath as you head towards the door, which opens before you get to knock, revealing Bitna, the President’s assistant, who greets you with a sweet smile.

“Hi, ___. I was just about to call you,” she says. “CEO Jeon is inside as well. Just walk in, they’re waiting for you.”

You cross the small hallway as the door gently closes, and you stop in your tracks the moment you hear Jungkook’s voice.

“I still prefer my old assistant,” he says, obviously displeased. “He was very organized, highly educated, and well-traveled. While this Ms. Cho didn’t even study in a top university in Seoul. And Hoseok says she doesn’t know any other foreign languages when that’s one of my requirements.”

“Son, you’re being too harsh,” CEO Jeon chides. “Ms. Cho is a top performing employee, very hardworking and dedicated. She’s worked here for eight years and she imbibes all our values; she knows the company culture and knows the ins and outs of things with how she’s been exposed to them. Ask your cousin; Hoseok speaks highly of her.”

“___ is great, Kook. She’s incredibly organized and highly analytical and observant. She doesn’t need a Seoul education to be good at what we need her to be good at,” Hoseok argues.

“I still want my old assistant. It’s more convenient that way. Lucas already knows how I work and what I require of him,” Jungkook insists. “I’m just saying that I need things to be efficient and she and I can’t be adjusting to each other when there are multiple projects that I’d much rather give my attention to.”

“And I’m saying that Ms. Cho probably knows more than you do when it comes to these projects,” the elder Jeon counters. “Plus, your old assistant would have to adjust to life in Seoul and that’s harder. It’s just not practical, especially since you’re due to start in a few days. You have other things to worry about. ___ is there to make your life easier. Give her that chance to do her job.”

“But I—”

“Good morning, gentlemen,” you greet, not wanting to hear whatever unfounded things that Jungkook has to say, even if you have your own preconceived notions about him which, you remind yourself, are partly founded. Barely five minutes in and you already can’t stand his judgmental and entitled ass.

You walk towards the middle of the room where they’re congregated on the couches, with the elder Mr. Jeon and Hoseok smiling at you while Jungkook merely glances at you, his jaw clenched, perhaps irritated at the fact that you’d overheard him completely misjudge and undermine your abilities without even knowing who you are.

“Good morning, Ms. Cho,” CEO Jeon says. “I know you’ve seen him a few times but I’d like you to officially meet my son and the new Vice President, Jungkook.”

Jungkook turns to you with a disinterested look but he doesn’t meet your eyes. You bow as a sign of respect, even if it’s the last thing you think he deserves.

“My pleasure, Mr. Jeon,” you respond. “I was told that you’d like to proceed with administrative matters this morning. I have all the documents with me and I can explain each one to you before you sign them. I’ve also consolidated all the things you need to know prior to your meetings next week,” you add, handing him an iPad. “This has the resumes of each member of your management support team, including their professional and development goals. Mine are there as well, so you can read about my credentials and achievements in this company the past eight years, which I think have tremendously helped me in performing my duties satisfactorily. There’s also a folder of team profiles of each of the departments you’re overseeing. You’ll also find closure reports of completed projects from the past five years, progress reports of ongoing projects, and approved and working proposals of upcoming ones. I’ve included summaries and key figures for each of them. You may read them prior to your meetings, and if there’s anything missing that you’d like me to include, I can have them ready by the end of the day.”

“Hmm,” Jungkook hums, as he scrolls through all the folders you’ve prepared for him.

In your periphery, you can see the other two men holding in smiles as you seemingly render the younger man speechless, but while he assesses all that you’ve provided to him, you’re given time to observe the man seated before you. Other than his slightly longer hair, not much has changed from when you saw Jungkook in last year’s gala.

As he drags his tongue across the inside of his cheek with his scrunched eyebrows in judgment, you’re reminded that this is the first time you’ve seen him up close. And even from his angle, you can tell.

He’s unfairly handsome.

He’s got dark expressive eyes, soft-looking pink lips, and a sharp jawline that complement his lean figure. You understand why the staff are enamored by him even from afar and - if the rumors about him are true - why women would shoot their shot with him at clubs, in hopes they’d be the lucky one he’d choose to be with for the night.

The illusion breaks, though, as he turns to you with a hardened gaze.

“I’m sure I’ll find something that’s missing,” he states.

“If they’re relevant and necessary, I can have the files ready by today,” you respond, knowing full well that you’ve included every possible document that would be of use to him.

“I’ll be the judge of what’s relevant and necessary, Ms. Cho,” he counters.

“Of course, Mr. Jeon,” you say, conceding. “Whatever it is, then I’ll make sure to have them ready for you as soon as possible.”

Jungkook hums in response, turning his attention to the HR documents this time, breezing through the text and ignoring your brief explanations of the contents before signing at the bottom of the pages. You inform him of sections he’s missed, and he groans at having been corrected but you don’t mind. He’s the one who chose to do all this now and in here, in front of his father and his cousin.

Once he’s done, he hands you the signed files and holds your gaze. “Is there anything else, Ms. Cho?”

“I suppose that is all, Mr. Jeon. Unless there are other things you want to assess, or people you want to ensure are qualified to assist you with your functions,” you say.

Jungkook huffs in displeasure. You can sense the tension build, as irritation paints his face. It’s at that moment that his father chimes in, suggesting that you introduce him to his team.

“You can maybe also orient him on the current projects and partnerships,” the older man says.

“That can wait. I’ve had enough of engaging for today,” Jungkook responds, his voice cold, detached.

“In that case, let me lead you to your floor, Mr. Jeon.”

You step back and wait for him to walk ahead, before you excuse yourself from the older men. You don’t miss the sorry looks on their faces, and you give them a smile as if to say that it’s fine, that Jungkook’s someone you can handle, and his obvious displeasure towards having you as his assistant doesn’t faze you. It doesn’t change the fact that you wish he wasn’t your boss though, or at least, that he wasn’t such a jerk like what he’s being right now.

Walking behind him as you both head towards the elevator, you see the way he carries himself - hands in the pockets of his sleek black trousers, his eyes focused straight ahead, nothing like Hoseok who was always gesticulating as he spoke to you every time you walked side-by-side from one place to another.

Jungkook stands in front of the doors, seemingly waiting for you to press the buttons and you do it before he could even express his annoyance. You stand in front this time, then make sure you hold the doors open for him to exit, and you resume your spot behind him as you walk down the hallway.

“On the left are two small meeting rooms and one conference room,” you start, thankful that there’s not much to tour him around on this floor, given that everything is exclusive to the Vice President. “On the right is a seating room, and up ahead is an archive room. Down the—”

“I’ve been here before, Ms. Cho,” Jungkook interjects as he looks at you blankly. “This is my family’s building; I’m very much aware of how the floors look like.”

Not rattled by his disruption, you nod and smile, wanting to show him that whatever intimidation or humiliation he’s trying to make you feel isn’t gonna work on you. You know if you show any sign of frustration, that will just give him a reason to have you replaced and despite your clear dislike for the man, you need this job, especially this position that allows you to pay your rent in a safe part of town and send money to your family every month. At this point, that’s the only thing that will keep you going.

Approaching the management support office, you walk faster and make sure to enter the room before he does, signaling the team with your eyes that their new boss is coming, your silently frantic gaze telling them to be on their best behavior because their usual antics won’t work on Jungkook the way they did with Hoseok.

Once Jungkook appears, everyone bows and greets him, and you can sense them holding their breaths as they look up, taking him all in. You see him eye each person, and you can tell he’s already assessing them individually. You take it upon yourself to introduce each one, stating their name, where they studied and what course they took, describing their primary role in the team and their specific strengths. You see him follow your words, nodding and humming as you go, and you think he’s processing the information and making sure he remembers them.

There are no pleasantries; Jungkook just goes straight to the point.

“I’m sure you have concerns about having a new boss and the changes that come along with it. But I’m here to tell you now that you should get over whatever those are, as I’d like the adjustment period to be as short as possible,” he starts. “My cousin is brilliant at his job and so am I, but we work very differently, so whatever you got used to doing with and for him, don’t expect the same with me. I demand excellence and efficiency from each one of you because that’s what I commit myself to and that’s the only way that this team will be able to do its job. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the team answers in unison.

“We commit to those as well, Mr. Jeon,” Manager Lee says. “As the head of your support team, I will make sure that all our deliverables are of high quality and that things will run smoothly so that we may properly do our job of assisting you.”

“That’s good, and that’s what I expect,” Jungkook says, nodding at everyone before walking out the door to head to his office, with you trailing him from behind.

“Is my room still being sanitized?” He turns to you.

“Yes, sir.”

“Why did it need to be sanitized? And why today?”

“It’s protocol, sir. We also had a sendoff for Mr. Jung yesterday so the room smelled of food. And he instructed for this to be done today so that I don’t need to come here tomorrow, as he doesn’t like any of his staff working during the weekend,” you reply. “This should be finished this afternoon. I’ve also purchased the oil for your diffusers. The room will be ready for you by Monday.”

Jungkook merely hums and looks around, specifically at your designated area with your desk and shelves at the back, then takes a call before turning to you again to say that he’s heading out to meet his friends.

“Is there anything else you need, Mr. Jeon?” You ask, thankful that you don’t have to deal with him for the rest of the day.

“No.”

“Okay then, sir. I’ll meet you at your apartment at 6:30 AM on Monday. Is that time alright?”

“Sure,” he responds, then turns around and starts walking out. “Just keep your phone on. I work during the weekend.”

He’s gone before you can even respond, and you rush to the support office once you’ve heard the elevator ding that indicates that he’s gone. When you get there, you’re greeted with everyone’s frowns, with Do-hyun close to tears.

“I don’t like him, ___. He looks so unapproachable and too serious!” She complains. “I miss Mr. Jung. Is there an opening in his team? Should I just resign?”

“Aish!” You reprimand her. “Don’t speak like that. And don’t let those few minutes determine everything for you.”

“Well, those few minutes are enough to tell me that I don’t like him. No matter how good-looking he is,” Chin-sun says.

“He is, right!” Do-hyun chirps now, a complete 180 from seconds ago. “I’ve seen him around but I didn’t think he’d be even more handsome up close! It just sucks that he’s a grinch and that makes all the difference. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t have a girlfriend! He’s probably too snobby and—”

“Yah! You really need to stop it with those rumors,” you scold her this time. “That’s your boss. His personal life is none of our business. Where do you even hear these things?”

“Every washroom in this building, basically. Staff are always gossiping there, you know?” Do-hyun responds.

“And since when do we listen to gossip,” you scowl at her. “Sure, he’s not our favorite person right now but we don’t have the right to make claims about aspects of his life. And where are people even getting those ideas!”

“People talk, I guess,” she shrugs. “And he’s often spotted in clubs with those Kim brothers so maybe they see things. I’m not saying they’re all accurate… just that rumors often have some truth to them, you know?”

“No, I don’t, and we shouldn’t be sticking our noses in places where they shouldn’t be,” you say.

“Fine, but it’s just a heads up,” Do-hyun says, turning serious now. “You’re his executive assistant, and you have no choice but to stick your nose in places because personal and professional lines are often blurred in your situation, and that’s just how our world’s set up.”

“She’s right,” Chin-sun chimes in. “I mean, you need to know his personal schedule, go to his apartment, do errands if you need to, maybe buy a box of condoms if he runs out… You just got lucky that Mr. Jung’s pretty chill and has a wife who’s even nicer than he is. Your only problem was that he was damn scared of everything that moved and wasn't human.”

You’d laugh at the last statement if you could, but you know they’re both right. Hoseok wasn’t perfect, and neither was his marriage, but it never reached a point where you had to be put in a compromising position because you were his assistant who, by nature of your work, had to be privy to some of his personal matters. The most involved you were was when he and A-yeong had an argument and they used you as their messenger, but even that was more of a miscommunication issue than anything serious. They apologized to you after and promised to never put you in that kind of situation again.

But with Jungkook as a single man, you’re unsure what personal business you’d end up being involved in. You just wish it wasn’t something that would test your principles and cause you to lose your job. Regardless, whatever that would be isn’t something you can even really talk about with others.

“Well, I don’t wanna think about any of that right now,” you sigh, knowing you’ve got enough to worry about, such as how you’re going to start surviving everyday assisting a man who clearly doesn’t want you around.

But if he’s gonna be a hard-head about it, then you’re just going to have to match him. You got to where you are because you’re determined to prove yourself constantly, and you’ll just show him that he needs you, and he doesn’t really have a choice unless he wants to argue with his father.

You try to encourage your team once more and give Do-hyun that rare hug in comfort before going back to your desk, intent on finishing all the presentations for your briefing with Jungkook next week. You begin setting up his room by mid-afternoon, using a photo of his Singapore office as a basis since you were told that he prefers a certain style for his furniture and decor. You’re no stylist but over an hour after you finish, you think you did pretty good. You were so into designing the space that you didn’t notice the time fly by; before you know it, it’s 6PM, because you can hear A-yeong right outside calling for you.

“Hi,” she chirps, hugging you in greeting. “Are you ready?”

“I’ll just pack my things,” you say, walking to your desk.

A-yeong takes a peek at the room and praises your efforts. “This looks so different from how it used to be. And that’s good because those cousins have such different tastes. But I think Jungkook will like this. He’s into the masculine and moody vibe, so good job, ___.”

You know that despite her kindness, she wouldn’t lie, and you could only hope that she’s right. You think it looks nice, but it’s what he thinks that matters; you’ll just have to wait until Monday to find out.

As you’re about to leave, Hoseok appears in the hallway and asks how you are. Your scowl pretty much gives you away.

“I’m sorry about Jungkook, ___. He’s stubborn and a hot-head sometimes but he isn’t always like that, and this isn’t me making excuses for him,” your former boss says.

“Why, what did he do?” A-yeong asks worriedly.

“Basically implied that I’m not qualified for this role, among other things,” you respond. “But it’s okay. Not like I haven’t heard that before.”

“And you know that’s not true,” Hoseok comforts you. “He’s not good with change, that’s all, and you know how these appointments were all pretty short notice and he’s just been frustrated ever since. But whatever it is he said, don’t take them to heart. He’ll get a word from me, and he’ll definitely get one from his father.”

You want to say that it’s not easy to just disregard what Jungkook said; he’s your boss after all, and all that matters is what he thinks about you. But you’re not one to air out these feelings to Hoseok now that you’ve experienced a bit of what it’s like, so you just shake your head and ask the older man to let it go.

“He’s probably just tired,” you make an excuse this time, not wanting to discuss further with Hoseok. “And he had that assistant for over five years. I can understand wanting that familiarity and convenience. I’m just gonna have to adjust; there are a lot of things going on right now and he’ll need to focus on the projects, not his compatibility with his assistant.”

“But that matters though,” Hoseok insists. “I got things done because we worked well together. He’s gonna have to meet you in the middle with this one. And I’ll make sure that he does.”

“I know you said you want to look out for me but I don’t think it’s a good idea if you intervene this time, Mr. Jung,” you say, letting him know you’re serious and you mean business. “I’ll be okay, don’t worry about me.”

You give him a comforting smile, and you hope it’s enough to quell Hoseok’s own worries and it works this time. He returns it before letting you and his wife go, and it’s the Thai dinner and incredible desserts that somehow make up for your not-so-great day.

You think the weekend will give you the peace you need to face your dreaded week - you do your errands and chores on Saturday and go to the market and watch a movie by yourself in the cinema the next day.

All it took was a text from Jungkook that Sunday evening, asking for copies of certain policies and disapproved proposals from the last five years, that just had to ruin it, as you spend the entire evening consolidating the files, making you already wish it was Friday.

Jungkook’s apartment building is one of the Jeon properties that you haven’t been to yet, as it’s one of the newer massive residential structures that they built three years ago. You enter the sleek-looking lobby then submit your documents at the reception in exchange for your own access, and you internally marvel at how luxurious everything looks.

You get to the 42nd floor, and it seems that there are only two units here. You walk towards the one on the right, choosing to be on the safe side by ringing the doorbell. It’s Monday, after all, and it’s your first time here; you don’t want to just enter without him permitting you to do so.

You’re about to press the button again after a minute of no response, when the door opens and you take a moment to process the sight before you.

There, standing just a few feet away, is Jungkook with nothing but a pair of black gym shorts on, his taut chest glistening in sweat, and his entire right arm covered in black and colored ink. His hair is damp and ruffled, and it’s probably due to the boxing he’d just done, as evidenced by the wraps on his knuckles and the way he’s panting heavily.

You get your senses back and look away, not wanting to look affected by his half-naked form, even if you’re the one who has to catch her breath this time because much as you dislike the man, you can’t deny that his body is something that definitely deserves to be praised.

“You’re here,” he speaks first, surprise laced in his voice as he takes in your obviously flustered form.

“I asked if 6:30 AM was a good time to come, Mr. Jeon,” you answer, glancing at him before looking at whatever you could behind him. “Perhaps I misheard your confirmation. I can wait downstairs if you’re not yet done with your exercise. My apologies for coming in early.”

You don’t actually have anything to be sorry for; he did confirm the time, and he’s the one who decided that working out at this hour was a good idea, knowing that his assistant’s scheduled to come. You would’ve appreciated it if he says you don’t need to apologize, but he doesn’t.

“It’s fine, I just finished,” he huffs.

He leaves the door open for you to enter then heads straight to the large room on the right, which looks to be an indoor gym. You allow yourself a few seconds to look at his retreating form, quietly gasping as his broad shoulders and slender waist blind you a little, then scolding yourself for doing so. You stay rooted by the kitchen and look around the spacious penthouse as you wait for him to return. He exits the gym wearing a loose white shirt now, combing his hair with his fingers as he drinks a bottle of water.

“So, Mr. Jeon, uh, I would prepare Mr. Jung’s outfits for the week and then help his house staff make his breakfast. I run down his schedule as he eats. Are you okay with the same arrangement?”

“Sure. I just don’t have any staff with me so you’re on your own. I’m fine with anything though. I’m not usually hungry in the morning,” he says before walking to the other side of the apartment.

You follow him, careful not to enter spaces you’re not given permission to, which is why you stand by his bedroom door before asking to come in.

“How will you prepare my clothes from there?” He huffs. “Of course you can enter. Just be done before I finish taking a shower.”

You nod shyly and then head to the walk-in closet that thankfully has a separate door from the bathroom. He’s already unpacked his clothes, although not everything has been organized. You spot a few suits that are ready to wear, and you fix those first, taking note of asking him if there are things he wants dry cleaned or pressed.

You leave his bedroom in time, hearing him slide open the door as you make it out, and proceed to make his breakfast. There’s really not much you can create with what little he has, so you make do with eggs and toast and whatever spread you find in his cupboard.

Jungkook walks into the kitchen not long after, the dark gray suit looking immaculate on him as you expected. Spotting his crooked necktie, you immediately walk up to him to fix it, unaware of how he holds his breath with how close you are. Noticing his body stiffen, you step back right away, apologizing for not asking permission first.

He looks away and says it’s fine, then sits on the spot at the dining table where you’ve set up his meal. He stares at it for a good few seconds, prompting you to explain yourself.

“That’s… that’s all I could make with what you have, Mr. Jeon,” you say. “I can arrange for online groceries for you, as well as dry clean and pressing for your clothes and—”

“I’m having someone come in to clean my place and do all of that,” he says, as he takes a bite of his food. “So, what’s my week like?”

You start to enumerate the conference and lunch meetings he’ll be having this week, including who they’ll be with and their purpose. They’re mostly with the department leads to discuss updates on processes and current projects, and you’re thankful that Hoseok involved you as much as he did, given that Jungkook’s questions are more specific than you expected.

Sure, he’s a Jeon and obviously works in the same company, but the Southeast Asian projects are different from the ones being implemented in South Korea, and while he used to oversee overall compliance to design standards, he’ll now be in-charge of setting those very standards this time. As Vice President, he’ll be involved in crafting policies; he’s also free to manage his own construction projects, and that’s what the support team is for. Given his much more expansive role this time, there are more departments and projects to oversee, and definitely more executive decisions to make.

You suppose it’s why his questions don’t stop, even after he’s cleaned up and you both find yourselves in the backseat of the car and on the way to the office. He looks through the iPad with all the files you gave him, and you see the notes he’s made on them as you turn to him to answer his queries. Even if you know that he’s also still assessing you - perhaps on your knowledge and attention to detail - you can’t help but admire his thoroughness. You may have also cursed him in frustration for making you work on a Sunday, but he seems to have done way more than you, given that he went through all the documents over the weekend. You suddenly don’t feel too annoyed.

But of course, he has to ruin it again.

“I need these annotated versions of the project and departmental documents ready before my meetings with the respective teams,” Jungkook says, his voice low and stern. “And I expect progress reports to be as detailed as possible, so make sure to check them first before they get to me. The ones you gave need revisions. I believe you’re trained enough to know immediately that these are lacking.”

“Yes, sir,” you respond, noting his instructions on your notebook while internally yelling, given that you’re unsure of the need for them before the meetings.

Surely, he could give you some time to work on them, but with a meeting with one team in the afternoon and seven more the rest of the week, and on top of the other things you need to do for him, you already know you’ll be cramming to get everything done.

You try to manage your breathing. Somehow, your habit of pressing your nails against your palm when you're stressed has miraculously come back today. It was something you developed while working under Mrs. Byun, which you eventually got over after working for Hoseok. You feel the anxiety build up, especially as you look at the half crescent marks on your skin, and it’s times like this that you wish your best friends were based in Seoul instead of Busan, so you’d at least have people to comfort you when things are a little tough.

It’s not to say that work wasn’t overwhelming before. It definitely was, but Hoseok always found a way to make everything bearable and he was always reasonable with what he demanded of you. Now you’re stuck with a man who already makes you feel like your hard work isn’t enough.

You make it to the office with no other words said and a thick tension in the air. It follows you to the elevator and into Jungkook’s room, where he dismisses you so he can prepare for the first meeting of the day. You rush to your desk and get on with your tasks, making sure to work on the annotated project file that he needs by the afternoon.

It’s an hour later when you find yourself in the conference room for the meeting with the management support team. You prepped them just 10 minutes earlier, and while you tried to hide your frustration, your unusual lack of energy told them enough that it wasn’t exactly a good start of the day.

They come in one by one, and you take the time to prepare Jungkook’s coffee, remembering from his former assistant’s notes how he wants it. He’d put it off earlier, given that he prefers to drink his protein shake after his workout, so this is the first time you’re doing it for him.

His eyes flit from the coffee in front of him to you as you place it on the table.

“Two espresso shots and half teaspoon each of milk and sugar,” you state, wanting to confirm that you got it right.

He merely takes a sip, places it down again, and then starts the meeting.

How bold of you to assume that he’d thank you or even acknowledge it, as if he’d shown you even the tiniest amount of gratitude for anything you've done for him since Friday. Which he hasn’t.

You let it go and proceed to sit next to him, your eyes and ears ready for what you already predict is gonna be a long meeting.

It ends over three hours later. As you expected, he had a lot of questions. He made sure that each member had time to explain their current tasks and how they will monitor the projects assigned to them. You didn’t miss the way he’d acknowledged them with “good” and “well done,” and thanked them after they finished. He only nodded at you after your turn, with his eyes barely meeting yours, and for all the confidence you built over the past three years, you can’t process how it’s his non-acknowledgment that’s just going to undo all that. And quite frankly, you’re unsure if that’s on him or if that’s on you.

Half of the meeting was spent discussing the big project that he wants to take on as Vice President. There’s a property they recently acquired - a non-operational arts center that he wants to revive by adding a performance hall, small theaters, a grand library, function rooms, and a permanent exhibition presenting the buildings that his family had developed over the years to showcase their architectural designs.

You saw the excitement in your team members’ faces. Hoseok took over with several unfinished projects so you all had to focus on those. Aside from Manager Lee, this is the first time that you’re all handling something new and different. Even you felt the excitement creep in, a welcome emotion given how your day’s been going, but that shattered once he said that he wants it done by June of next year in time for an International Media Festival happening in August. The 12-month period he’s giving is too short with everything he wants to do, and you saw that the team felt the same.

You go to them after Jungkook leaves for a lunch meeting, and their sighs and pouty faces tell you enough. Mr. Lee does his job of encouraging the team, and you add that you’re all gonna be supporting each other through it all. Sure, you’d have to match Jungkook’s ambition and thoroughness, but you should all take it as a challenge.

You’re clearly not convinced yourself as the words come out of your mouth, but you don’t have time to debrief with them, as you still have that meeting with the design department that you have to prepare for. You take two biscuits and a cup of tea, and you decide that this is enough to last you throughout lunch, given that you’ll be spending the entirety of it working on the files.

You don’t realize that an hour and a half have passed until you hear footsteps and see Jungkook’s form appear in the hallway. You stand to greet him, with him asking if you’re done with the annotated documents.

“I’ll send it in five minutes, sir,” you say, hoping he’ll at least give you that.

“Okay,” he responds. “Come to my office after you’ve sent it.”

“Yes, sir,” you say, quickly finishing the last two pages once he closes the door.

You rush to get everything done and click send, then you head to his office and prepare yourself for more questions. It’s quiet inside as you watch him behind the desk, with his legs crossed and his eyebrows furrowed as he reads the document. You answer one of his questions and it’s at that moment when your very empty stomach decides to make itself known.

You freeze on your spot, as the grumbling sound starts low, getting louder for a few beats before it temporarily stops. Your eyes widen in embarrassment, and you press your belly so hard with your fingers in hopes that that would do anything, even if you’re too far gone at this point. Your only hope is that it was all in your head, but Jungkook’s eyes flitting to you tells you otherwise. The only other sound in his room is the air purifier, but it’s not remotely loud enough to drown out your intense hunger.

It goes again, and all you can do is look away; humiliating yourself was definitely not the plan for your first day as Jeon Jungkook’s assistant.

“Do you need to step away, Ms. Cho?” He asks, not meeting your eyes.

“Oh, it’s not… uh,” a bowel emergency or something, you want to say. “I just had a busy lunch break.”

You settle for that, a hint that you’d spent its entirety doing something in such a short notice. Hoseok would always be apologetic whenever he had you do something during your break; he always made up for it with a nice meal as thanks. You doubt you’d get anything close to that from this man.

Jungkook hums and surprisingly doesn’t ask for anything else. He dismisses you and orders you to go ahead and prepare the conference room for the next meeting, and you do just that, dropping by the pantry for a muffin that you eat in four bites, in hopes that it would be enough to shut your stomach for the next three hours.

Right as you exit, Jungkook picks up his phone to make a call. And then another one.

“Mr. Ri, please pick up the pastries that Ms. Cho ordered at the food hall,” he instructs his chauffeur. “She’s too busy right now.”

“Will do, Mr. Jeon.”

Taking minutes of a meeting when you’re starving is not a good thing. You know this because you’ve done this so many times, like during monthly executive meetings and the quarterly board meetings that have you spread out thin. It’s also not rare to miss out on lunch because there’s a report to finish or a site to visit; during events, you go on a day with having barely eaten anything.

But just because you’re used to it, it doesn’t mean that your body has fully adapted, because here you are, eyeing the croissants in front of you, your mouth watering at the gloss and softness of the pastry. They’re so tempting and also out of reach, given that you need to be entirely focused on the discussion that you’re documenting, and munching on something is out of the question. You don’t even know where this is from and you think maybe the design department called for snacks but it’s really not helping your concentration.

You hope the way you’re nibbling your lips doesn’t give you away, but Yoongi from across the table picks it up, as you get a notification of his message.

[From: Min Yoongi] you didn’t have lunch, did you?

You ignore the prompt on your laptop and respond to him with a look instead. You know your pouty lips will give him his answer, and he merely shakes his head at the confirmation.

You do your best to shut out the sight and scent of the food before you, absorbing instead the discussion so you can note this down properly with just minimal edits needed. You have a lot of documents to work on for the next few days after all, and that’s on top of the file reorganization that Jungkook asked you to do.

It works after you hang on by a thread for two and a half hours, a little earlier than you expected to finish. All you want is to sneak out that croissant and maybe some tarts, too, but your heart breaks when you look up and find the boxes empty.

You let out a sigh, relieved that your boss didn’t hear you because he’s already on the phone and heading out the door. But it’s that same time that a plate of food appears in front of you, and it feels like the gates of heaven have opened. You’re not surprised anymore to find out who it’s from.

“Eat,” Yoongi says from next to you. “I could see your hands shaking from across the table.”

“What about you?” You ask, your lips in a pout once more.

“You know I don’t eat these things,” he shrugs.

He doesn’t, and you know this, too. You also know he called dibs on these earlier, seeing as his staff were quick to get them, and he’d saved these so he could give them to you.

“Ten years later and you’re still trying to make sure I eat, huh?” You say, nudging him with your hips to tease.

“If I don’t, who would?” He responds, walking out of the conference room with you. “You have a bad habit of not doing that.”

“Well, duty calls. What can I do?”

“Take care of yourself even if it’s hard,” he replies.

“Says the man who rarely does it himself,” you chuckle.

“You know, the best advice I give are the ones I don’t actually follow, so disregard the fact that I don’t even do what I say because they apparently work,” he says. “But I mean it, ___. Eat this now.”

“Thanks, Yoongi,” you smile, taking a piece of pastry and eating it in two bites.

Your puffed out cheeks cause him to laugh, and despite still being hungry after this, you suppose it’s enough to not make you faint at this moment.

“And eat a proper dinner, okay?” He follows up.

“I’ll be off late, so I’ll just grab something from the convenience store,” you say. “That’s as proper as I can afford tonight.”

“Aish, fine,” he shakes his head. “But let me get you coffee at least. Those tarts won’t taste as good without one.”

“That would be life-saving,” you dramatically say. “What did I do to deserve a friend like you?”

“Don’t know. I mean, I’m not that great,” he shrugs.

You playfully roll your eyes. “I’ll save the compliments once I have the coffee.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he feigns annoyance, gesturing for you to get back to your desk then walking the other direction.

You take your seat and clean up the document, deciding that you’ll just review the meeting minutes tomorrow so you can get on with other pressing matters. It’s 20 minutes later when Yoongi returns, a tall cup of coffee on one hand and a banana loaf on the other.

“This is all they have left,” he says. “I hope it can last you until tonight.”

“It will,” you smile. “Thank you again. No one looks out for me here as much as you do. And that means a lot, more than you know. I don’t think I would’ve survived all these years without you.”

“Wow, all because of coffee and snacks,” he laughs, teasing.

“It’s a fair trade. You feed me during my greatest need, I boost your ego,” you tease back.

“Yeah, whatever,” Yoongi huffs in submission, but you know he enjoys it.

You’re thankful that after everything that’s happened, you’re still able to maintain the friendship that you created when you were a mere intern and he was just starting out his career.

“Anyway, I’m quickly meeting Jungkook and I need the portfolio of the contemporary arts institution joint project from 2019. It was VP-led so I assume it’s still here? Unless it’s in the archive room,” he continues.

“It’s within five years so it should be here,” you say, turning to the shelf behind you to confirm.

You spot what you need and make the attempt to pull it out but your fingers barely even touch the rack.

“Need help?” Yoongi asks.

“And what help could you give, huh?” You tease again, earning you a playful groan.

“You brat.”

You laugh and pull out the small stool you keep for times like this.

“Just make sure I don’t fall and embarrass myself further today,” you say, climbing up the steps then pulling out the heavy folder.

You feel Yoongi’s arm move from where it was near your waist to over your head, as he lightens the load. You both try to balance it and laugh at your distorted faces in the process, and it’s moments of relief like this one that you’re glad you’re afforded after a long day like today.

From inside the room, Jungkook sees you through the window, your eyes crinkling as you laugh along with Yoongi, head of the design department and one of his very few friends in the company. It catches him off guard, as he realizes that since meeting you last Friday, he’s never seen you laugh, much less smile or even have an expression that isn’t agitated or serious.

He knows that that’s probably on him. He’d spoken ill of you after all, something he regretted once he saw the frustration on your face when you made it known that you were in the room with them and had definitely heard everything he said. But he’d been tired and HR confirmed that he could bring Lucas over as his assistant; CEO Jeon was the one who vetoed that decision.

Jungkook had already mentally prepared himself for the ease of his transition, knowing that he’d be assisted by someone who knows how he works and the quality of outputs he expects, only to come here and be told by his father that the current staff will stay, and that you - someone he’d only heard of as Hoseok’s assistant - will be the one assisting him from now on. Your resume didn’t even impress him.

Jungkook doesn’t like change and when he has to undergo it, he needs as much of what was familiar and convenient to remain; that’s the only bit of control he can have and he hates not being in control of things. You just happened to unluckily be at the receiving end of his anger.

But unlike what he expected, you stood up to him in the subtle ways you could. He’s been so used to people just following him, partly because his way is always the best but also because he commands that respect, and he knows his capabilities enough to know that he deserves it as well. So when you answered back, he felt rattled and just a little bit uneasy. He was unable to backtrack after, but he didn’t really plan to.

That doesn’t mean that he didn’t plan on being a bit of a jerk today, too. He’d been exhausted working over the weekend after going through all the files you gave him that he snoozed his alarm so many times and ended up doing his workout later than he intended. When you rang the doorbell and stood by his door with your skirt and satin top, he suddenly felt lightheaded.

He mentally smacked himself once the thought that your pastel colored outfit brought out your eyes more than the monochrome ensemble from last week floated in his head. He just hated that not only are you thorough with your work, you have to be beautiful, too. He’d never admit to anyone that both of those things make him nervous, and it’s the only reason why he thinks he needs to establish his authority so that he doesn’t get rattled the next time you counter him.

That’s why he demanded more work, which he didn’t intend to take up so much of your time, like your lunch break. He’d seen how your hands shook while you were taking notes during the meeting, prompting him to end the meeting early so you can have something to eat of what he’d bought but he’d left before he could find out if there was anything left for you.

Maybe there wasn’t enough, as he also witnessed Yoongi hand you what seemed like food with coffee that the man also got for you just minutes ago. The smile you gave him was bright and sincere. Jungkook doesn’t think he’d ever see that directed at him, considering how he’d been to you on his first day, but maybe that’s also good; that could be his defense. Maybe it’d help quell that initial attraction that he doesn’t want and cannot allow at all to grow.

It doesn’t mean it doesn’t agitate him to see you a bit too close with his friend, because with the way you seem so comfortable and with the way that Yoongi sports that rare smile, it almost feels like there’s something there.

Jungkook is the son of the CEO, and having personal relationships within the company isn’t exactly advisable, but he’d gone to university with Yoongi and their introverted personalities instantly clicked. The older man is perhaps the only non-relative company employee that Jungkook kept in touch with when he was in Singapore, not that he even really talked much to his family outside of work anyway.

But in all the years of their friendship, his friend never mentioned any relationship - nor the makings of one - with another staff member. Jungkook hates how his curiosity is slowly getting to him. Maybe a few more moments would tell him more, but something about the scene happening outside his room is making him nervous and uneasy, so he decides to step in.

“Hey, Yoon,” he says as he opens the door. “Can we discuss now? I have to meet my parents for dinner in an hour.”

Your bubble with Yoongi bursts at the sound of Jungkook’s voice, and you immediately return to your seat. Your friend nods at you then enters the room, leaving you the peace and quiet you need to plop down on the floor for a quick snack of your loaf before going back to work, glancing inside every once in a while to see how the two are going, and perhaps confirm the friendship that you didn’t expect the two would have.

“This building is a good starting point,” Yoongi agrees with Jungkook. “If this is the general feel you want for the Arts Center, I can look into other projects and designs and come up with ideas. I’ll just ask ___ for the files I need.”

“You two seem close,” Jungkook says too quickly.

Leaning back against the chair, Yoongi processes the question that he didn’t expect he’d hear. More than that, he tries to read what’s underneath it, knowing that his friend’s tone of voice and feigned stoic expression mean something more.

“You could say that,” Yoongi replies. “She did say that no one’s looked out for her here as much as I have. And that she wouldn’t have survived all these years without me.”

“So you’re actually friends?”

“Yes.”

“Were you more?”

Yoongi chuckles, the question giving him the answer he’s looking for. Jungkook may often be too serious but he can be transparent sometimes, too.

“Does it matter?” The older man asks.

“Just don’t want to be surprised, that’s all,” Jungkook shrugs. “If there’s an employee relationship happening under my nose, I should at least know.”

“It happens here a lot,” Yoongi responds. “I mean, it gives people something to gossip about but it’s how things are - work sucks sometimes and we want someone to hold at the end of a terrible day.”

Feeling like he won’t get an answer to a question that Jungkook doesn’t know why he felt the need to ask in the first place, he just shakes his head to concede.

But it’s what prompts Yoongi to reply.

“We met when she was just an intern,” he says. “We used to take the same bus then found out we both came from Daegu. Then she was employed and we were both on the logistics team before I was reassigned and she got the EA role.”

Jungkook merely hums, taking in the information.

“I also asked her out before,” Yoongi continues, earning him a surprised look from the younger man. “You just can’t help what you feel sometimes, you know? But she turned me down, said she didn’t want to lead me on because she didn’t feel anything more. She also doesn’t like being involved with a co-worker, so yeah.”

“How are you still friends?”

“Asks the guy who’s still friends with his ex,” Yoongi laughs.

“Chaerin and I are civil, there’s a difference. And we haven’t spoken in years.”

“You loved her, though,” Yoongi counters. “I never got to that point.”

“This isn’t about me,” Jungkook huffs.

Knowing it’s a topic that his friend doesn’t like talking about, Yoongi relents. “I moved on. That was years ago,” he says. “And it seemed like she needed someone. I mean, she’s not from here and her friends aren’t here, either. She appreciated the friendship even if she said she didn’t think she deserved it. I guess that made me really get over her, you know? That’s all she wanted and needed from me; it was better than not having her around.”

“How brave,” Jungkook remarks.

“You mean mature?” Yoongi corrects. “Yes, that’s what I am, and it’s the best I could be for her. Especially since she’s got a boss who makes her miss lunch because somehow, there’s just so much to do for your first day on the job.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jungkook groans.

“I will. Only so you could feel bad.”

“I already do. That’s why I…”

“Bought the pastries,” Yoongi finishes. “I mean, I didn’t order them.”

“Was any even left for her?” Jungkook sighs, remembering how he was internally screaming for you to just get from the box and he’d been the jerk to not offer you some even if it was technically for you.

“Sort of. I put some aside for myself so I could give them to her.”

“You sure you don’t like her anymore?” Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, an attempt to hide his uneasiness over something he doesn’t understand. He finds you attractive, that’s it. He doesn’t know why his mind searches for more answers.

“You don’t have to like someone romantically to be nice to them, you know?” Yoongi responds. “And she needed it. Heavens know the support she’d need now that she has to deal with your rude ass.”

Jungkook sighs, but the remark is a welcome one because he did tell Yoongi not to treat him differently just because he’s the Vice President now. He also partly agrees. But he sees the effort; his friend wouldn’t call him out for how he does things, so the most he would do is offer help to you. And Jungkook could maybe take advantage of that, as Yoongi stands up to leave.

“Hey, could you, uh, grab dinner for her at the food hall? And not say it’s from me?”

“The food hall’s closed,” Yoongi says.

“The cafe down the street, then?”

“You can’t be fucking serious,” the older man groans.

But Yoongi knows his friend, knows the distance he creates from the people around him, knows his need to have control over everything, including his feelings, and knows the walls he builds because it’s easier to keep others out rather than do the hard task of letting them into a space that’s become comfortable because he’s been the only one inside for so long.

So Yoongi does as he’s asked. He takes the money then heads to the cafe to order pork cutlets and curry. He returns and sets them on your desk to your surprise, and you ask what it’s for.

“Just thought you deserve more than just convenience store instant noodles and gimbap given the day you’ve had,” he says.

“Hey, those are delicious,” you pout, but wanting to melt at how good the rice bowl smells. “But thank you, again. I owe you a lot, Yoongi. I mean it.”

“Just make sure to eat on time so I don’t have to buy your dinner again,” he teases. “I mean it. You have to stay healthy, okay?”

“Okay,” you smile brightly. “Get home safe tonight.”

Jungkook glances out the window and holds back a smile himself at how innocent and genuinely happy you look. There’s this joy that you seem to enjoy to yourself and he sees that, he understands that. And somehow that’s enough to lessen the guilt for now.

He still doesn’t know if he’ll ever see that smile directed at him or if he’d ever want that because of how disarming it is. But seeing it from afar is enough; it’s trivial and short enough to let him bask in it without having to climb out of his walls. He’ll watch you from behind, he thinks. He just wishes he doesn’t push you away in the process.

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carpenterswife · 5 months

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HALF OF ME (i)

SUMMARY: Despite appearances, you’d learnt Soldier Boy was, actually, capable of being a good man. Somehow, you’d wormed yourself into his good books, and had the rarest privilege of seeing him without the suit, the drugs, the ego, the everything. Just as things were going good, his heart somehow getting even warmer for you, the world separates you in the cruelest way.

PAIRING: Soldier Boy x Fem!Reader

WORD COUNT: 3573

WARNINGS: MINORS DNI. Sexism (set in the 1980’s), typical Soldier Boy behaviour, drug abuse, alcohol abuse, questionable morals (peer pressuring drug use), sexual content, eludes to smut, Soldier Boy may be a bit OOC at times, gore.

SERIES MASTERLIST / MAIN MASTERLIST

Becoming a world famous supe was never something you’d ever wanted. Sure, you’d grown up with their photos on your bedroom walls, your father telling you stories of when the first ever supe came to be, insisting he fought alongside the Soldier Boy in the war

The people around you seemed to idolise them. These… mostly regular people in tight suits, pretending to be better than everyone else.

You knew better. You knew enough. Enough to know supes were dirty, and corrupt, and definitely not the heroes they presented themselves to be. That their hands were more blood than they were skin anymore.

And, frankly, you wanted nothing to do with Vought or Payback — or whatever the fuck those shitty, useless superhero teams were called. (Seriously, what did they actually do? Except sit in their pretty tower and take the peoples’ taxes?)

Your father, however, had different ideas.

So, at 18, you woke up in the hospital, after an ugly head collision, with superpowers you’d never had before. A miracle, the doctors called it, a supe whose extraordinary powers had been hidden for her whole life. When you got home, you forced the truth out of your father. Compound V, he called it, a new chemical made by Vought.

No one was born a supe, he admitted, it all came from a liquid in a vial. The truth hurt you, as much as it didn’t really surprise you. Chosen by God, my ass.

This wasn’t supposed to be your life.

But it’s certainly what it turned out to be.

Payback were as shitty, if not more, than you’d originally thought. Each of them had… many flaws. Soldier Boy, obviously, was the worst. If the Devil reincarnated himself, he’d look and act like Soldier Boy.

Simply talking to the man made you want to shoot yourself.

Well… it did at one point.

Two years down the line, things had changed. Soldier Boy was still insufferable, sexist, arrogant, and a major asshole. But… he wasn’t so much a dick directly to you, as he used to be. In fact, if you didn’t know better, you’d say he was actually somewhat nice to you. As much as his macho heart could manage, anyway.

You noticed it the first time when he saved your life on a mission. He’d grabbed your waist when a grenade clinked at your feet, whirling you around and to the ground, squashing you against his firm chest, using his shield to protect you both from the hot blast. He’d shrugged it off as nothing; as something any leader would do for his team. Then you watched him hit Gunpowder about for not following his order to a T, and realised… maybe he did treat you different.

It was undeniable these days.

You were the only person on Payback that Soldier Boy could remotely tolerate.

“You need’a be more careful.” Despite the hard look on his face, Soldier Boy was staring down at you, as a Vought doctor wrapped clean bandages tightly around your midsection. It was a bullet to the wound; which, with being a supe, wouldn’t be too bad, but you didn’t heal inhumanely fast like he did. “You’re fuckin’ useless when you’re hurt.”

You rolled your eyes. “Thanks for your concern, Soldier Boy.”

His eyes narrowed into a harsh glare. “Ben.” He corrected you, for what was probably the 50th time. Each time he did, he got more annoyed with you. “How many times do I have to say it? Is there a brain in that pretty head’a’yours?“

You grunted, spinning on the bed and hanging your legs off the side of it. “Thanks for the compliment.” Ben rolled his eyes at your sarcasm, not offering a hand as you groaned in discomfort and got to your feet. “I’ll be fine. I’ll be healed up by the time we set off for Nicaragua, if that’s what you’re worried ‘bout.”

Ben just grunted, displeased. “Ain’t happenin’.” He immediately shot that idea down. “We leave for Nicaragua in two weeks. You ain’t comin’. Sit this one out.”

You stared, expecting a joke. Clearly, he wasn’t. “Seriously?” You groaned, unhappy. What was it with this guy? “I’ll be fine. It’s a silly little bullet.”

“I was holdin’ your fuckin’ guts in your body.” He walked away, reminding you of just how bad your injury actually had been. He had, indeed, practically been keeping your guts inside of you as you bled out. “You ain’t going. You’re stayin’ here.” You chased after him, pulling your shirt on as you left the infirmary.

“Ben—“

He whirled around to face you. “I said, you’re fucking staying.” He growled, glaring down at you. God, were you glad you were on his side. This man was terrifying. Six feet of pure muscle, strength and violence. “You’re better off here, using that face of yours to get some PR.”

“And, what? The others will back you up?” You scoffed, grabbing his wrist as he went to walk away again. His expression went cold at your touch, but you didn’t flinch. As much as he tried to scare you, Ben wouldn’t raise a hand at you… probably. You had faith in the man. “They can’t fight for shit, Ben. Gunpowder hasn’t even discovered his own dick yet. You think you’re gonna have your back covered out there?”

He ripped his wrist away harshly. “I don’t need my back covered.”

“Everyone needs their back covered.” You argued. “Even you.”

He chuckled, sarcastic and dry. “You worried ‘bout me, princess?” You gave him a ‘seriously?’ look, as he took a step closer, mouth curled into that ever-infuriating smirk. “I’d perform better if you sent me off with a taste of that—“

“Ben.” You interrupted him, unimpressed. You rolled his eyes at his predictable behaviour. “I’m not gonna fuck morale into you.”

“Shame.” His eyes flicked up and down, tracing the curves of your body. “Bet you’d be a firecracker.” He walked away again, and you threw your hands up, groaning. Ben chuckled as he turned the corner. “Think it over, sweetheart.”

“You’ve got a hand.” You called back to him. “Use it!”

Conversations like that were very common with Ben.

It’d be a normal conversation (as normal as it gets with him) — and then he’d start talking about fucking you against the nearest surface, and all pleasantries went down the drain. Seriously, he thought 80% with his dick, and 20% with his actual brain.

And that was being kind.

But, beneath all of his macho assholery, was his genuine worry. You knew he wasn’t letting you accompany the rest of the team to Nicaragua because of your injury, despite how minor it was, and that he was worried you’d injure yourself further.

You’d never slept with Ben, despite how much he’d tried to charm you into his bed. Your relationship was strange. He flirted, you flirted — there were lingering touches. And, sure, he’d never put his dick in you, but his fingers were a different question. And… oh, boy, could that man use his hands.

It was like being in a relationship, just without the sex. Which was odd, as it was Soldier Boy. But, the way he smiled at you and treated you, it made you feel different to the other women.

He was just… shit it showing it.

Poor bastard wouldn’t know emotion if it slapped him in the face.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

“I am not wearing this.”

Okay… scratch all of that. Maybe Ben was just a dickhead.

He lounged back in his chair, grinning lazily, legs spread like he owned the place. He probably thought he did. “Why not?” He took a sip of his whiskey, ice clinking against the sides, eyes never leaving you from over the rim of the glass.

You held up the fabric. “Seriously?”

It was basically a scrap of fabric, with how much it covered up. You didn’t shy away from showing skin. You quite liked short skirts and pushing the line. Because, as a supe, there was a line. Vought liked it when you showed skin — apparently it made your ratings go up with the male fans, no shocker. But, too much skin on display, the male fans started calling you a whore, and the ratings shot back down.

It was a bit like a balancing game, trying to find the perfect amount of skin to make the boys ogle but also respect you. An impossible feat, truthfully.

And this? This was definitely classed as too much.

“I don’t see the issue.” His smirk said otherwise.

“My tits are not gonna stay in this, Ben!”

His smirk just grew. “Again, I don’t see the issue.”

You groaned and put the dress down. “No. I’ll get my own dress. I am not wearing that.” You tell him, arms folding across your chest. You didn’t miss the way he checked out your tits, and the way the placement of your arms accentuated them.

He rolled his eyes, obviously not happy with your decision. Leaning towards, elbows on his knees, Ben’s eyes took you in. “Why?” His head cocked to the side. “You’d look hot. It’d make your ass look great.”

“That’s not a compliment.” You grumbled, pushing a hand through your hair. Ben made a small grunt of disagreement, but didn’t say anything otherwise. “Listen, there’s a certain line. Alright? If I wear that, every guy out there will be callin’ me a whore. Okay? Imma find something else.”

He hummed and sat back. “I think you should wear that one.” Sighing heavily, you just rolled your eyes at his persistence. “All those assholes will be blowin’ their pants just lookin’ at you, sweetheart.”

“Again, not a compliment.”

Ben stared at you, and silently took another sip of his whiskey. He always seemed to think these crude, rather sexist and inappropriate remarks were compliments. Like commenting on your body. Or saying you’d be a freak in bed. Which were obviously not actually compliments.

You rolled your eyes, rubbing your forehead. “I’ll find another dress, Ben.” You told him, definitive. There was no way he was going to convince you to wear that dress.

“What a disappointment.” He grinned, lopsided. “I was lookin’ forward to seein’ you in that dress.”

“Again,” you deadpanned as he checked you out once more, “you have a hand… use it.”

Ben just smirked, and sipped his whiskey again.

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

You wore the fucking dress.

The asshole always won. Always.

He looked so fucking pleased, as you walked into his after-party, wearing the dress he’d picked out for you. His smugness was clear, brushing through the crowd with ease to come to you.

Ben hummed, eyes dilating as he stared you down. His eyes lingered on your tits, as they always did. “You look…” he hesitated, trying to think of a compliment that wasn’t degrading, and failed, “fuckin’ hot. If you weren’t such a bitch, I’d bend you over right here.”

Your face pulled together in disgust, looking at him with your lips pressed together “… gross.”

He chuckled. “Drink?” He offered. “I got your favourite.”

And there he goes again.

Being nice.

It did your damn head in.

Accepting his offer, you shivered as his large hand landed on the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd. They all seemed to part like the Red Sea as he came through, a fact that amused you greatly.

Seriously. These women looked at him like he was Jesus reincarnated, when he’d totally call them in a whore in bed.

Ben silently reached out for your favourite alcoholic drink, pouring it into a glass. His eyes scanned over the room, smirking at a few of the women ogling, sending them rushing to their friends and squealing. He merely chuckled and handed you the full glass.

“Thanks.” You murmured, taking it from him. Your eyes stared up at him for a moment, curious, before looking away again.

What was it with him? How could be such an egotistical one minute, and then be nice and respectful the next? It was like a guessing game, trying to figure out what mood he was in.

He grabbed your wrist, his grip firm, but not enough to hurt you. “Come with me.” He guided you through the crowd once again, to the doors in the back. As he pushed through into the room, he flashed you a cocky grin over his shoulder. Dickhead.

This room was far quieter. You noticed, immediately, the only people present were supes and celebrities, not the random civilians that’d been granted a pity invite — or the women Ben thought were hot. This was the main party. There were drugs covering every table, with various big names passed out on the chairs, blazed.

Ben lead you to the corner, where he’d obviously already been busy, if the half-snorted lines of cocaine proved anything.

Silently, he offered you a line, which you gratefully accepted.

You didn’t do drugs before you joined Payback. In fact, you’d avoided them, promising yourself you’d never become that type of person. But it was the norm within Vought. Every supe spent their nights filling their bodies to the brim with various drugs, poisoning themselves. So, you started smoking weed to fit in.

Then Ben found out you only did weed, and decided it wasn’t enough. With enough pressure, he’d gotten you onto any other substance he could convince you to try.

It made you more attractive, in his eyes, as you spiralled into addiction like him.

In fact, it got him rock hard, to snort lines or share a joint with you. It was so fucking hot, watching your eyes glass over as you got higher with every hit, with every line. God, it turned him on so bad.

You snorted your third line of the night, when Ben suddenly pushed you back into your chair. Bewildered, you stared at him, as he snatched up a baggie of the white powder. Your heart leapt to your throat, the moment he moved aside the slit in your dress, revealing the bare skin of your thigh. All breath left your lungs, watching him pour some of the powder onto your thigh.

Holy. Fucking. Shit.

He was about to do a line off you.

He glanced at you through his lashes, smirking at the shocked and flushed expression you wore. He used his pocket knife to cut the lines, mindful of the sharp blade against your soft skin.

God, this was hot. He found it hot. You found it hot. It’d be a damn miracle if you ended the night with your clothes on at this point.

Your skin tingled as he sniffed up the first line, of his hands roughly gripping the top of your thigh to steady you, his other holding a rolled up $100 bill. He groaned in pleasure, body physically shuddering, head shaking, as the drug made his body run hot.

He did the next line, the grip on your thigh becoming tighter as his pupils began to blow up.

Was it getting hot in here? Or was it just you?

Maybe it was the cocaine in your systems, maybe it was the fact Ben was just… so damn hot, but you couldn’t stop yourself from grabbing his hair and forcing his head up as he snorted the final line off your thigh.

He looked up at you, pupils blown, lips parted. Holy shit. This man was sculpted like a fucking God. Your body shivered. “You finally takin’ my offer, sweetheart?” He chuckled, shaking off the immediate effects of the cocaine, raising himself up to your level.

“Fuck me.” You whispered, breathless, practically begging him.

His eyes went dark, almost black, with lust. The smirk on his lips made you squeeze your legs together. “Don’t need to ask me twice.”

━━━━━━ ✦ ━━━━━━

You now understood the hype. You understood why women bent their knees the moment Ben uttered a word to them.

Holy shit, did this man have talent.

Your legs were still twitching, the space in between your legs throbbing and tingling with how many times you’d come on his fingers, his tongue and cock. You’d counted four, before your vision had gone white.

Jesus, he had stamina. A glance at the clock on the wall confirmed it’d been just over five hours since you’d first fell into Ben’s bed. That super strength was better for more than just fighting, after all. This man should be advertised for his abilities. No shocker he was an American sex symbol.

He’d just fucked your brains out.

And now, he was staring at you with admiration, laid on his side, in the same bed he’d just railed you in. “You feelin’ okay?” He murmured, genuinely concerned.

“Yeah.” You rolled over to face him, a jolt of discomfort and pain in your hips and thighs. You might have to hold back on… doing anything for the next few days, however. “You didn’t break anything.” You joked, soft and breathy.

He chuckled quietly, hand sliding around your waist and dragging you closer to him. “You have no idea how long I’ve been waitin’ to do that.” He whispered, uncharacteristically soft and gentle.

“To fuck me senseless?”

He smirked. “Mm, I have dreamt of that.” Your eyes narrowed in mild disgust at the image of him having wet dreams about you, swatting his chest. He grinned and caught your hand. “No… I meant how long I’ve waited to have you. You’re fuckin’ perfect. Not just your body. Everything about you is so sexy.”

Your brows furrowed, squeezing his hand, and then worming your fingers out of his. “What do you mean?” You asked softly.

He seemed to struggle for a moment. He wet his tongue with his lips, making your body tingle again. Jesus. “Let’s get dinner.”

What.

“Me and you.” Ben smiled, tracing the curves of your body with a featherlight touch. “Real fancy. I’ll pay.” Was he… asking you on a date right now? The Soldier Boy, asking you on a date? Instead of fucking you and tossing you out?

“You’re serious?” You asked softly, surprised. When he nodded, you grinned, biting your lip to contain it. “Okay, Ben. Let’s get dinner.”

His eyes lit up. Ducking his head down, his lips touched yours, gentle and affectionate. His kiss spoke so many words; his hands gently cradling your body, as he kissed you like you were made of glass. The touch was intimate and loving, widely different to the one he’d used when he’d been on top of you.

No, this was completely different. This was him being vulnerable. This was him showing you just how he felt, without the words.

He smiled against your lips and pulled back, just enough to speak, but his words were still brushing yours. “Yeah?” He whispered, in response to your agreement.

“Yeah.” You stared at him with big eyes.

He grinned, almost boyish in its nature. He stared at you in adoration, seeming to be collecting the words on the tip of his tongue.

You giggled under his stare. You sat up, pulling him with you, grabbing the blanket that he had draped over his headboard. It was fluffy and warm, and smelt like his cologne, and you didn’t hesitate to wrap it around your shoulders, cocooning yourself.

If possible, his gaze softened even more. “You’re adorable.”

Quietly, you laughed. “You sure you wanna do this, Ben?” You stared back at him. Ben was nothing if not a womaniser. Settling down was nothing like him. “Get serious with me, I mean.”

“You’re the only one I’d ever want to.”

Your brows pulled together, confused. “Why?”

Ben soothed a hand through your hair, green eyes drinking in the perfections and imperfections on your face. “You’re the only one I trust.” His voice was gravelly, still heavy with the effects of your recent endeavours. His hand travelled through your hair, and then came down to cup your cheek.

Wrapped up in his fluffy blanket, your head rested on the wooden headboard. “I trust you, too.” You whispered, tilting your head into his palm. His skin was rough, painted with callouses and scars. Every scar on his body had a story. And you’d spend the rest of your life learning every single one.

Despite himself, he smiled at you, thumb tracing the curve of your cheekbone. “I’d kill for you. You know that?” His words made you shiver. Ben killing people wasn’t exactly new… or surprising. But doing it for you? God, it made your stomach heat up — and other parts. “These assholes don’t hold a candle to you, doll. Countess? That whore is— is repulsive compared to you.”

You laughed softly, rolling your eyes affectionately. “Ben.” You scolded quietly, though not with an ounce of anger.

The supe just smirked, chuckling deep in his throat. “You want me to drop that bullshit PR relationship I have with her? I’ll do it. In a fucking heartbeat. I’ll be with you, publicly, if you want me.”

“You’d ruin your reputation for me?” Now that — that meant something. Ben could say anything and everything; he was a master manipulator. He could get anything he wanted with that smile and his suave words. But, if there was one thing he would always prioritise, it was his reputation. He’d do anything to be the alpha male. Anything.

“I’d do anything for you.” He grabbed your hand within his much larger one, guiding it to his chest. He pressed your palm over his heart, allowing you to feel his heartbeat. “I’ll do anything for you, to be with you.” You felt the steady rhythm of his heart. He wasn’t lying. That, or he was a great fucking liar. “I’m never leaving your side. I’m yours.”

Your eyes searched deep within his. “Always?”

Ben smiled. “Always.” He leant forward, gently pressing his lips against yours in a tender kiss.

Three months later, Soldier Boy died in a nuclear meltdown.

A/N: jesus christ this took me so long to write 😭 but i’m so happy with how this first chap turned out. it’s gonna get so much more fun to write we get to the action 👀 pls lmk if there’s any mistakes, as i will go back n fix them !!! hope you enjoyed <3

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#soldier boy #soldier boy x reader #soldier boy x you #the boys #the boys tv #the boys fanfic #jensen ackles #jensen ackles x reader #half of me

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endless-ineffabilities · 2 months

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chemical override (5)

Ewan Mitchell x actress!reader

a/n: the support for this fic has been amazing, so trust me when I say that I take no pleasure in all the angst and heartache that follows (or do I?) I'm sorry, readers. I'm sorry, Ewan. We'll sort this out somehow - all my love, Freyja <3

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A beginning. A first date. Whispers, sightings abound. Falling in love. A necessary lie. Hearts breaking. An end.

Ewan stands in a studio backlot in LA, bouquet of flowers clasped in one hand while the other is nervously stuffed in his tracksuit pocket.

He's itching for a smoke, but he stops himself from doing so, in some lovesick attempt to keep himself as clean and nice-smelling as possible when he sees you again. He already mentally kicked himself for not dressing better, clad in his staple Adidas blacks. But he couldn't wait any longer.

His flight from New York to LA hadn't been the most pleasant. His mind raced for hours, the thought of you being his only consolation. His meeting did not go well.

But enough of it. There is you, here, now.

In this moment, you are all that matters.

The first couple of workers make their way out the studio doors, chatting enthusiastically despite their tired faces. Ewan shuffles on his feet, keeping an eye out for you. Soon enough, your assistant Clara exits, and he waves in an attempt to get her attention.

"Ewan!" she greets brightly. "She'll be out in a while. Are those flowers?" A blush materialises on her face, and she looks so excited Ewan awkwardly thinks she would take them for herself.

"Yeah, do you think she'll like them?" he asks, giving the bouquet a once-over. The classic dozen long-stemmed red roses, kept together with black-dyed muslin wrap.

"She'll love them!" As if perfectly timed, the doors open again, and they spot you walking out with several of your co-stars. Clara smiles to herself as she walks away to give you two some space.

When your eyes land on him, it's like everything falls into place, the ear-splitting smile you give him enough to quell any worries he might have. You meet each other halfway, melding together in an embrace so tight he nearly drops the flowers to the ground.

"Look who it is," you say, still wrapped in his arms, "the internet's babygirl."

"Just your baby, darling." He pulls apart, but only just enough to look at you. "I missed you."

"Mmm, I can see that."

You're about to comment on the flowers, but he can't hold back any longer.

And so your first proper kiss happens behind an LA studio, adjacent to the parking lot and surrounded by prying eyes. The burnt orange haze of the sunset peers from the horizon, casting a glow on the scene. And it's perfect. His lips are gentle as they dance with yours, his warm breath fanning your face when he breaks apart for mere milliseconds, only to resume the kiss as if he can never get enough.

A moment later, there's a couple of woohoos from a distance, your costars oooing and aahing at the sight, making you giggle against Ewan's lips.

"Shall we, then, darling?" Ewan asks.

"Shall we?" Your brows raise, mirroring his question.

"Our first date." He takes a step back, but only to ceremoniously hold his hand out for you to take. "Will you do me the honour?"

"Why, good sir, are we going on a regular date or some super fancy ball?" you laugh, lacing your fingers with his anyway.

He only smiles, planting yet another kiss on the corner of your mouth. "God, I missed you."

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You can't help but cast glances at him every now and then. Ewan, effortlessly cool as he drives the both of you across LA, with one veiny hand gripping the steering wheel while the other envelops yours on your lap.

His thumb draws circles on the back of your hand, and you're thankful for it; you need the comfort because you're growing nervous. A first date.

A first date! And not just with anyone.

"What is it?" he smirks, his eyes finding yours as the car idles at an intersection. There's a smugness there. He caught you staring.

You avert your gaze, a pleasant wave of heat rising to your face.

"Hmm?" he leans across, pecking your cheek and resting his forehead against your hair, eager to get a rise out of you. "I mean, I've been told I'm handsome, darling. You already know, something of a babygirl. But it's even more special that you think so."

The light turns green. You grab his jaw, and lightly push him away, raising your eyebrows. "Careful, baby," you smile knowingly. "Your Aemond is showing."

"Oh, yeah?" The car revs up again, rows of palm trees speeding past in a blur. "Does that - uhh - turn you on?"

Your head snaps to him at his bold insinuation. He gives off an unaffected air, smirking to himself in an undeniably hot what-are-you-gonna-do-about-it way. But you make him nervous too. He swallows, and clears his throat, anticipating your response.

"Maybe," you bite your lip, squeezing his hand harder, "but you don't need to put on your Aemond to turn me on."

"Just me, then?" he chuckles lowly, feeling lighter.

"Yup," you shrug. "But if you ever wanna put on a blonde wig and an eyepatch, I won't stop you."

"For when, darling?" Oh he knows what you meant. It's been a constant on his mind too. He's lost count of the nights when thoughts of you consume him, and what happy news it is that you might have been going through the same.

"Mmm... " You look out the window innocently, but you guide his hand higher up on your thigh, allowing his fingers to splay open and squeeze at the flesh covered only by the material of your jeans.

A minute passes. Driving past a street of exclusively only mansions and expensive cars. Then downtown, low-rise buildings as far as the eye can see. Another minute, slow and steady.

Then he says, "You're going to fucking drive me insane, baby."

A soft sigh escapes your lips. "Well, you started it."

He sneers, accompanied by a humourless shake of his head. "I think you overestimate my self-control." The air is thick, but it's quickly diffused when he pulls into a clearing. You realise you're out of the main road, the car slowly coming to a halt in an empty lot beside a low brick building.

"We're here, darling," he says, but he gives you a look that clearly means this matter isn't over. You have something of his, and he's going to claim it.

He half-jogs over to your side, opening the door for you and taking your hand in his.

"Where are we?" The building is nondescript, with a plain white facade, a small cafe and a laundromat on street level, both of which happen to be closed.

"Had to call in a favour from an old mate of mine. His family moved here from Derby a couple of years ago, and they own that laundromat over there," he explains, leading you inside through a door in the side alley.

You're met with a narrow flight of stairs and he gestures for you to go ahead. "What have you got up your sleeve, Mitchell?" you ask, excitement taking root as you climb up to the very top.

It only takes three floors before you reach the heavy steel door of the roof deck. He shuffles to your side, one hand on your back to keep you steady, and pushes the door open which relents with a loud squeak.

You're met with something you have only seen before on Pinterest boards - the rooftop is softly aglow from hanging string lights. In the far side, a screen projector is set up, and in front of it is a low plush sofa cocooned amidst throw blankets and cushions. There's a wooden tray on one on the blankets, containing treats of all sorts and a bottle of wine glistening in its ice bucket.

You take in the magical ambience of the scene with widened eyes. The haze of faint LA sunlight only serves to make everything more beautiful, though it seems hardly necessary.

"Do you like it, darling?" he asks and what a ludicrous question it is. Do you like it?

He continues, "I admit I didn't have to lot of time to set it up, and I had a bit of help but - mmmpph - "

You lace your hands around his neck, silencing him with a searing kiss. He moans unto you, his tongue dipping past your lips as he nearly relinquishes control. He could forget about the set up, the date he had planned, and just take you here on the rooftop. Would you let him?

"I take it that everything is to your liking?" he purrs, watching you in adoration as your head swivels on its own accord to canvas the scene yet again.

You spot something in the corner - a bouquet of fresh flowers surrounded by some lightweight paper lanterns.

"Oh no!" you moan. "The flowers you gave me... I left them in the car!"

He laughs fondly at the sheer panic on your face. "Don't worry about them, my love. I've got more flowers for you here." He points to the bouquet you just saw.

"But those ones... won't they wilt or something? I don't want them to go to waste."

His heart swells at your genuine concern. The furrow between your brows, the way you chew on your lip in worry, your fingers absentmindedly clutching his wrist - it all makes him fall even harder.

"They'll be fine, darling."

"Are you sure?"

He nods once, pulling you in, "Mhmm, just... come here, please." Another kiss, gentler this time.

This is bliss, he thinks, sweet solace after his days in New York, days he aims on forgetting from now on.

You eventually find yourselves on the velvet seat, the tray of food nestled on your laps. He pours wine into the paper cups as you reach for a chocolate-covered strawberry and bring it to his lips.

"Thanks, love," he mumbles with his mouth full.

"Oh, baby, you've got chocolate on there," you motion to his bottom lip.

He sets the cups of wine on the tray, making a move to wipe it off, but just as his fingers hover, his mind takes on an alternative action.

"You do it, then," he leans close, tilting his jaw.

"Okay." With a smile, you begin to oblige him, but you halt when he playfully says, "Not with your hands, darling."

You feel your heart race at his teasing, and at the way he stares at you with blatant desire. Never mind the fact that you were just making out moments ago. The rush of being with him has not subsided. Maybe it never will.

You kiss him, paying mind to the smudge on his lip, licking your own lips afterward to savour the taste.

You pull back slightly. "All better," you say, patting his cheek lovingly.

"Hmm," he hums, "I suppose I'll just have to make a mess of myself more often."

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Nightfall had already descended when the credits to The Princess Bride start rolling, dotting the sky with twinkling stars.

Ewan has his arm wrapped around your shoulders, pressing a kiss to the crown of your head, before he declares, "If they ever do a remake to this film, I'll only take the role if you would be my Buttercup."

"As you wish," you smile, nuzzling closer against his black hoodie. "I remember watching this when I was a kid. Believe it or not, it was one of the films that inspired me to get into acting."

"Did you wanna be Buttercup, my Buttercup?"

"No," you respond. "I wanted to do what Inigo Montoya was doing. He's so insanely cool."

"Of course you did," he says affectionately, "my darling."

"What about you, hmm? Did you always want to be an actor?" you ask. You might have read an interview of his where he explains something to that effect, but he doesn't need to know that now.

"As far as I can remember, yes. It was always going to be acting for me. Even when everyone laughed it off when I brought it up in primary school." He shakes his head, the once bitter memory reduced to an anecdote. "I... I find purpose in what we do, being able to slip inside different skins, different lives. It allows me to explore the human psyche, you know, and to make sense of all this madness."

You listen intently, in awe at his words and his sheer sincerity. The world is made better with Ewan able to live his passions. And you feel fortunate that his life is one he may be willing to share with you, if everything goes well down the line.

"I almost forgot - you have to tell me about how your big meeting went."

He shifts slightly, eyes darting downward as he pouts on instinct. He realises he can no longer keep the subject under wraps.

You sense his reluctance, and immediately try to soften your approach. It could have gone either way, and though rejection is part of an actor's bread and butter - you certainly would know - there are some instances where you just let it get to you.

"Is this producer as scary as they say?" you ask lightly, poking his chest.

He smiles, but his expression is still clouded. "You know those mafia dons in Scorcese's movies? This guy practically inspired them, I'd say."

"Goodness."

"He did try to give off a welcoming air, but there was still something... sinister underneath."

"I suppose when anyone is afforded this much power..."

"Especially in this industry..."

"Mhmm." Face half-burrowed in the soft material of his hoodie, you tilt your head up at him. "So it was a bust, huh?"

He shrugs, "The role just wasn't for me. It's all for the best, I reckon."

You hold his hand tight, eager to soothe any worries he might have. "That's a shame. They would have been damn lucky to have you."

He smiles, flattered by your comment. "I am lucky to just be here with you, darling."

You smile in return, tilting your lips to his, coaxing him to lean in close and seal the kiss.

And he does.

And this is the most perfect first date there ever was or ever will be.

"Darling?"

"Hmm?"

"I think I've fallen in love with you."

▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎ ▪︎

The next few weeks pass blissfully slowly, you and Ewan caught in the euphoria that only a fresh relationship can bring.

Rehearsals for your upcoming movie had ended, and you get a month off before filming begins in Atlanta. Ewan also stays in LA, keen on spending every waking minute with you. His team takes advantage of the situation, booking him for several interviews and a feature with Esquire. You were more than happy to accompany him - or rather, distract him - on these occasions.

Once, the team even jokes that you had to stay in the other room because Ewan keeps looking over at you behind the camera and forgetting what to say. Ewan, of course, quickly protests. "My girl stays with me," he confidently says.

It doesn't take long for news to spread. Rumours, at first. Allegations bred from blurry fan photos and supposed encounters with yourself and Ewan while out in LA.

They were holding hands!

They're not just friends, I swear. He was kissing her the whole time in the restaurant!

What about her and Jacob? I thought they'd been dating all this time?

House of the Dragon stars spotted on a date in Hollywood!

Headlines. Gossip fodder. Statements made by people who claim to have seen you.

Sure, you do meet some of the sweetest and friendliest fans during all this, who only gush at the sight of their favourite actors getting together.

There are others, especially online, who are less pleasant, accusing you of cheating on your supposed lover Jacob Elordi.

Jacob, already used to rolling with the punches, gives you a call so the two of you can laugh it off together.

"I'm happy for you, mate," he expresses, voice muffled from the other line. "You and Ewan... you guys just make sense. Do you remember that night when he stormed in all jealous like? Holy shit..."

As if on cue, Ewan shifts underneath the sheets from behind you, peppering your naked back with soft kisses. "Tell him I said hi," he whispers, his tone doing nothing to mask his possessiveness.

And so the days roll on, and it couldn't be more perfect.

That is, until the first cracks started to show. As they always do.

You're in a meeting with your publicist Mallory, at one of the many quaint hipster cafés in LA, discussing your upcoming filming schedule and the other things you have booked in between.

"You've got a busy few months ahead, but the film is of course top priority," she says. "It's slated to be the top rom-com of next year."

"That's great, Mal."

"I mean, I think you know that Ewan was meant to lead that romance-fantasy franchise? That's a big deal, and people are saying it'll be bigger than Twilight!" she gestures wildly with her hands. "But since he had a falling out with Bruce Haversham - and trust me, if he ever sets up a meeting with you, you do not want to go against him - what was I saying? Oh yeah, the release for that will be delayed so your film will get prime spot for a summer premiere."

You grow apprehensive at her words. Ewan never got into detail about that meeting, and you didn't really want to pry. But if that producer's reputation is indeed accurate, it doesn't bode well for Ewan's career that he might have done anything that displeased him.

With a sickening dread, you realise that Haversham might have something to do with Ewan failing to book the two films he went for in the past month. Despite the fact that the local casting director practically raved about his audition, and stated that he pretty much had both of the roles in the bag.

"Mal, you know Donna right? Ewan's publicist?" you ask, knowing that she and Donna are under the same agency. "Does she talk to you about Ewan at all? About what went down in New York?"

"A little, honey, yes," she admits. "But about that meeting, I thought you would know. He didn't tell you?"

"Not in too many words, no. Just that it didn't work out, and that the film wasn't meant for him."

"Oh, I see," she smiles, almost ruefully, like she feels sorry for you. That look compels you to ask, "What do you know, Mal? Tell me."

Her hand reaches and clutches yours atop the table. "From what I heard, he refused the role because of you."

"What?"

"It's rare with young actors like you guys, to be so devoted so early on."

Growing impatient, you say, "Mal, please, what are you saying?"

"Look, I don't know the details of it. But apparently Haversham wanted him to get into a PR stint with his love interest for the film, and to hide whatever real relationship he has going on with you. This ordeal was going to be more restrictive than the arrangement you have with Jacob, which is more or less over at this point."

"I didn't know that," you whisper hoarsely.

"Honey, don't worry about it," she consoles you, taking a sip of her coffee. "Like I said, I don't know much. I can get you in touch with Donna if you want to speak with her? I'm 100% positive it's not all bad. There's one thing we can be sure of, at least!"

You look at her expectantly, unable to formulate a guess.

"That boy loves you!"

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With only a few days left before filming, you had begun to make the final preparations before moving to Atlanta.

It's a late night, one laden with anxiety and nervous jitters, and the several shots of whiskey you had just taken do little to keep the walls from closing in.

Although, perhaps, it is better if they do. If they imprison you, even just for tonight, to keep you from whatever it is you plan to do.

It's for the best. I have to do this. I'm doing this for him, you keep telling yourself. You keep repeating the lies, letting them bounce relentlessly in the walls of your mind, until you fool yourself into thinking them to be true.

You had met with Donna a few days prior, and the whole situation was made clear to you. You didn't know for certain when the decision formed in your mind, but it's there, as real as the love you feel for Ewan.

The love you will have to bury.

He picks you up in his rental Rover, after you told him that you wanted to go for a drive. But you ask him to park his car behind the private apartment building where you're staying.

The car grinds to a halt, like a signal for you to get it over with. There is no going back now.

"Ewan... I - " You can't push the words out, more so when he reaches for your hands and squeezes. He looks at you with those eyes, expecting anything but what you're about to say.

"I'm sorry," you try again, and your voice breaks. His face slowly drops, the mood instantly changed, but the worse is yet to come.

"What are you sorry for, darling?" He rubs his thumb along your cheekbone, the sensation willing you to just abandon your plan completely. To abandon the lie.

"Whatever happens..." Just get it over with. "...I want you to know that I'll always be here for you. We are friends first, aren't we?" Peel the bandaid. Rip it off. Let it bleed.

"I'm afraid I don't follow," he says.

You sound robotic, emotionless. But one wrong turn and the floodgates may break. There's a lump in your throat and you push it down. Reminding yourself to act - use your fucking acting skills if you actually have any. Now's the time. "We can't be together, Ewan."

There it is, sounding itself into existence, ruining the love you have in front of you.

His hand drops, as if he recoils back into himself. Away from you. It's cruel, but you know you will have to do more damage. You have to make it stick. This becomes clear when he says, "No", with conviction. "No, darling," he repeats. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Ewan - "

"You're not being funny, darling." He tilts his head, testing you, giving you the chance to retract your words and start laughing at your twisted joke. Darling comes out a mockery, something to say out of spite.

He takes a deep breath, leaning back in the driver's seat. "I don't... I don't accept this." He looks straight ahead, his lips pursed and jaw taut. "Fucking... why ?"

"I just... don't think it's going to work out."

"Bullshit."

Your words come out rushed, "You should take that role. I don't want you to hold back just for me. This could be something really great for you, Ewan. This could be it! Most actors pray for an opportunity like that to come along and I wouldn't want you to - "

"That's the reason?"

" - refuse it because of me. So we should - "

"Stop."

" - end this."

Silence. Not a single sound in the near-empty parking lot. No sirens in the distance, no pedestrian chatter. Just slow, heavy breathing in this rental car, both of you looking out the windshield. It feels stuffy all of a sudden, and not in the heated way when your limbs entwined in a jumble in the backseat a mere week ago.

"Please. I... I don't want to end this," he pleads. His knuckles are bone white, harshly gripping both sides of the steering wheel in an attempt to anchor himself. He shakes his head, and with some sense of hope, he says, "I don't care about that role. Okay? It's not the end of the world if I don't accept it. Have some faith in me, darling. I'll make it work. Surely there are plenty of other things down the line."

"Ewan," you whisper. You knew he would say this, which is why you prepared something worse. If that were even possible. You suck on your teeth, pulling on whatever poison you keep hidden away. You sigh and look away, a gesture that lets him know nothing will change your mind. "This fucking PR relationship business... it gets to you, you know? We don't know any better. I for one never expected to feel this way about - "

"About?" he finally turns to shoot you a look of betrayal, the pain in his eyes clear as day.

"I might have feelings for Jacob," you lie, "or I might not, I don't know. But there's something there, and I... I can't let this - us - go on while I'm conflicted about everything. It wouldn't be right."

Nothing about this is right.

But you go on, "I'll be off filming, with him, for a couple of months. And it's only going to make everything more confusing, and it wouldn't be fair to you, I know that - "

"I love you."

It's the first time he ever utters those three words, completely and without any doubt. He says them, despite everything you said before. And he means it.

A tear falls down your cheek, and you squeeze your eyes shut to keep the rest at bay.

"I'm sorry," you look at him, in finality, and you want nothing more than to passionately kiss him hard on the mouth, to hold on to him tight and plead for him not to let you go. With your quivering form, you amble out of the car. Every step worsens the weight of what just transpired. His side of the car opens, and he calls for you, but you can't bear to look back.

He catches up to you, breathless and with a wild look in his face. His blue eyes swell with tears, but his brows are scrunched down as if he isn't bothered by them.

"I want you to look me right in the eye and tell me we don't matter. I want you to tell me you don't love me," he says, and it's the most vulnerable you've ever seen him. He searches your eyes for something, anything to hold on to. Part of him is still desperate enough to grasp at straws, on the hope that you will change your mind.

But the other hardened part, has become angry. Indignant. Because how could you do this to him? The only girl he has ever loved. So he needs to hear it from you, clearly. He needs you to drive the final nail on the coffin.

"I do love you," you croak, and you do nothing to stop your tears from flowing freely.

"Darling..."

"But I can't be with you," you turn away, one last time. "Goodbye, Ewan."

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Some time ago, during the meeting in New York...

The lush office was laden with expensive wooden furniture, one side with built-in shelves displaying film awards and plaques of varying degrees of prestige. A full glass minibar occupied the other side.

The casting director introduced himself as Bruce, insisting that Ewan call him by his first name and not any of that "sir or similar stick-up-the-ass names". Ewan can see him as a mentor or maybe even a friend, Bruce insisted.

After all, they were going to help each other out a lot...

(to be continued)

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Update! Read the second bonus chapter here ~

💌 next chapter

HOW DARE YOU, reader. How dare you.

The gif above paints a clear picture of Ewan's heart breaking in the car 🥲 just in case you guys needed a visual aid 🥲🥲

Next chapter - the meeting in New York, the reader's conversation with Donna, and.... we see them move on from each other (?) You know these bloody actors, one relationship in the first half of the year and then another right after...

Feel free to come for me in the comments <3 it was the most heartfelt chapter, after all. Also, let me know what yous want the bonus chapter to be about!

#ewan mitchell #ewan mitchell x reader #ewan mitchell imagine #house of the dragon #aemond targaryen #chemical override

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mercif4l · 1 month

Text

𝗰𝗿𝘆𝗯𝗮𝗯𝘆 — kmg

MDNI, this blog is for 18+ users only. blank blogs will be blocked.

pairing: afab!reader x kim mingyu

word count: 3.5k

summary: sometimes it's hard to say what you want. sometimes, mingyu is just being insufferably coy.

content warning: more smut, slight angst, boyfriend!mingyu, nudity, explicit sexual acts (dirty talk, dry humping, fingering, unprotected sex), discussions about contraception, dacryphilia(?), dom/sub dynamics, slight degradation, pet names, sub!mingyu is losing his mind

a/n: hugely inspired by @highvern who made my soul sparkle when i read the 'teach me' series and then had to get all my feelings out in a self-indulgent gyu fic. ty once again to @beomcoups and @wonuwoe for being my champions <3 and for your patience! hope this is even a little bit as special for you to read as it was for me to write ˶ᵔ ᵕ ᵔ˶

Broad, brawny, strapping young idol, Kim Mingyu. The very image of a gym rat, filling every space he enters twice the size of everyone else; A true BFG.

And a total mess beneath your gaze as you ride his fingers without rest, legs bucking you up every time he presses against your g-spot and sends stars flying up your body and out through your mouth.

Mingyu has always admired (envied, resented, adored) your self control. It makes him feel like a horny loser for never lasting as long as you do, and eternally grateful that he can stay hard after cumming just to feel you palpitate around him with your quiet, quivering sighs, launching him into another orgasm even more devastating than the last.

When you’d first got together and had the sex safety talk, you told him he could ‘just pull out’, and in that moment he’d felt relatively confident about his abilities. But then he’d felt you, and tasted you, and before you could even get your panties off, he was leaking more precum than felt humanly possible.

You’d agreed to take birth control to curb his crippling fear of coming inside unexpectedly. And for your own peace of mind. Which seemed easier settled than his, frighteningly resigned to the side effects that birth control might bring — a concern he wouldn’t let you neglect, encouraging you to attend regular check ups every other month.

Eventually you told him that while it was endearing he cared so much, it could feel a little overbearing from time to time. It still took a boat load of convincing to get him on board with the pill. You’d said you knew the risks, and while it was unfair there was no male equivalent, you’d shown no abnormal reaction to the pill and were an adult; you knew well enough how to take care of yourself. How you cared a whole lot about your body, and his misled doting could border on condescension if he wasn’t careful.

(He’d put on a brave face for your conversation, never wanting to make it about himself, then cried to his mom on the phone later that day about how selfish he’d been. She told him to get over it and to try being a woman.)

Perhaps if he was a woman he’d be in less pain right now. Watching you wind down over a glass of wine like he wasn’t sulking up a fit, his cock so hard that it crooned against his boxers.

Despite his size and laid-back demeanor, he’s always been a bit bashful. Blushing at the slightest pinch of attention and covering his face with his jersey over some good-natured teasing. It was too bad he’d made himself such an easy target over the years. Any attempt to become non-chalant was at odds with every preexisting relationship in his life and was imminently met with even more teasing.

Still, no one makes him feel as embarrassed as you do. It’s like a sick cycle. You peek one second too long at his lips and his ears turn pink, making you grin, filling his chest with a familiar ache and making his dick purr.

“Excited, Gyu?” you’d asked him just an hour ago, sat squished together on the lounge loveseat. Your hand poised on his thigh as he tried not to salivate over your compliments. You’d just been doting on him over his latest interview, head heavy with giggles as you rolled around and gushed about your ‘gorgeous boyfriend’ . You’d been particularly tickled by the discussion of ‘Men in their 20s’, Mingyu’s input being as loathing as you’d expect. Once you’d had your fun imitating his exasperated response, you pet his hair like he was a well-trained dog and scratched under his chin for good measure.

That’s where this particular spiral started.

The bristle of your nails against the hollow of his jaw left him struggling not to pant. It hadn’t been two days since you’d last touched him, and already he was feeling a little lightheaded. This didn’t stop him from tucking his tail between his legs and pretending to be a good, placid, boy. Eyes all round and twinkling like a deer in headlights; mouth agape as he tries to say that dinner is in the fridge and he’d happily heat it up for you as soon as you’d—

Then, you’d raked those same hands over his neck. And like a never-before-touched-40-year-old-virgin, he let out a pornographic whimper, curling into you with legs spread just wide enough to display the stiff beneath his shorts.

“My puppy, what’s wrong?”

Instead of answering, he purses his lips and takes a few short, constricted breaths. Closing his eyes as if he can will this whole situation away (or to a head) by pretending it doesn’t exist.

“Can’t help you if you won’t talk to me, Gyu.”

It was his least practiced skill: just fucking saying what he wants. He’s always too caught up in how turned on you make him or how vulnerable he feels. How deeply he enjoys the way you look at him with the eyes of a predator, and how hot he gets at the thought of being your prey.

“Gyu. Slow down.” For a man with the body mass Mingyu possesses, he’s always had a lack of spatial awareness. Bumping into the kitchen island every other morning; bonking heads in the elevator when he tries to give you a forehead kiss; generally not noticing injuries until he’s flexing in the bathroom mirror and a large bruise has appeared where once there was nothing.

His sex drive was no exception. He grinds against the cotton of his trousers without a single thought, even now as you lay your hand heavy against his throat and mock him for it.

“Such a desperate little puppy, can’t even breathe, humping yourself like a bitch in heat.”

With his airways partially blocked and his eyes squeezed shut, this friction feels almost as good as your hand might.

“Stop.” This time, the instruction is clear, the heel of your palm digging into his hip bone and forcing him to sit still. He trembles like an injured animal and you don’t hide your snort; the sound is like a bitter spirit left on his salivary glands and it only makes him more liquid in your arms.

“Tell me what you want me to do and I’ll help you, bug.”

“M’sorry, can’t…”

“Gyu.” It’s a firm warning and still he bites his tongue in resistance:

“I— Fuck… ngh, can’t, I can’t—“

Working himself up over something as simple as wanting to be touched… Well, it makes you wonder if he enjoys being punished. Tears already trail down his temples, thick and heavy as they fall into his damp hair, and every time you lick at the salty water he bucks up into nothing again.

There’s only one way this is going to end. At this rate, with how you’re repeating his favorite nickname in the arch of his ear, the idea of playing nonchalant seems hilarious. How could he ever stay quiet or, god forbid, composed with you around?

It wasn’t always this way, mind you. Communication was a huge part of your relationship. Of course that included acknowledging anything that made you feel ashamed or unattractive. Physical, taboo, emotional: when one of you got shy, you were given a week of grace to iron things out, then you’d have to face the music and let the other in. It didn’t matter how. Actually, there were an infinite amount of ways to sort things out and you were both sticklers for likelihoods and probabilities.

But after six months, Mingyu still couldn’t verbalize his needs. The two ways he’d express himself were whimpering at inopportune moments or folding his legs extra tight until you got the idea. Initially, it was endearing; even after all this time, it’s still sweet and adorable (and a little bit of a turn-on). It sure gave you ample ground to assert your dominance over him. It also gave you a lot to tease him about after the fact. But in some ways, it suffocated you. In some ways, it made you feel gross for controlling the narrative.

“Actually,” you reckon with a tone so disinterested he isn’t sure how to recognize it as your voice: “I don’t feel like this right now.”

Then you cross your legs and shuffle across the couch, plucking your phone from the coffee table to retreat inside of it. You’re sure there was an abandoned webtoon chapter to keep you distracted. Anything to quell the bile rising in your throat.

Before he has a moment to recognize how blue his balls are, Mingyu makes the most sorrowful sound you’ve ever heard. Your head whips around, and what you find is devastating: the big lug has his knees tucked to his chest with his hands squishing against his cheeks. His pearly teeth are gnashed together but barely visible behind his forearm as his shoulders shudder, up and down, up and down.

“Please, please, don’t stop… touching, me, need… Please don’t stop, want you— can you?” and when his begging ends in a whisper of your name, your resolve snaps. You slide onto the ground, hands weaseling between his knees as you look up at him through bleary eyes of your own.

“Gyu?”

“no, no, I’m sorry, I know. Know I’m the worst — so stupid,”

While you expect him to react poorly, this was not the way you’d wanted it to go. The tears that leave his eyes aren’t pleasant or cathartic-they’re crushing. The weight of his sobs makes him look so so small, and his shoulders twitch at your slightest touch, and now you feel even sicker. But you hold it in, knowing that there’s no way he’ll calm down without a steady hand guiding him.

“Mingyu, breathe baby. Breathe. Let’s just try to breathe together.”

It only takes a few rounds of counting in squares to wind him down, after which he wipes his tears roughly and clears his throat.

“Sorry for—“

“It’s okay to cry. I’m sorry for overwhelming you. And stopping so suddenly.” A small point of contact between you remains at the apex of his ankle and the soft of your hand. It’s not enough but it’s the only thing that reminds him to breathe.

“I know—know it’s okay to cry.”

You snuffle a giggle at his pouty response; “I know you know it’s okay to cry. But sometimes we don’t feel that way, y’know.”

God. You’re so stupidly smart. So patient with him. God, he’s in love with you. And he’s such a mess.

“Of course… Of course I want to say it,” he tries to avoid your gaze but the fingers now pressing on his calf won’t let him.

“Want to tell you what I want. But I’m really.. I’m so scared. Scared and not really of you, even though it’s kind of hot when I am, but something about it feels… wrong?”

You listen without interrupting him or egging him on, chuckling when it seems appropriate and nodding as he trips over his words in worry.

“Like I’m… being like, I dunno, I’m not being the man? Or… something.

His hesitation is filled with sniffles against the overpriced hoodie he’d purchased just a week before. He’ll curse himself out for that later, undoubtably. Good thing he has the knack for a good hand wash.

—But I want to… I wanna try. Can I try?”

“Now?”

“Mm… want you now.”

Hearing it from his mouth for the first time in so long sends a bright red flush all over you. Your head dips low as a coy grin replaces that wrinkle between your brows you’d been keeping warm. Mingyu settles his focus on your face to avoid any more distractions. The demure purse of your lips is more than enough to encourage him to continue. Even if he stutters in anticipation a bit along the way.

“So beautiful. I, I love your smile, makes me feel so warm and…weird? Good weird, just like I wanna kiss you all the time. And look at you smiling. And at the same time, smiling at me, and I love it when I feel your tongue on mine, fuck, when I feel your tongue at all”

His words flow freely as you stretch your legs over his and settle in his lap. His hands move in even strokes down your sides and arms and thighs, gently cupping your face as he admires you. Well, it certainly seems like he’s getting the hang of it.

“S’all I can think about when I get sweaty… So weird, but I get sweaty and I imagine you licking it off me, shit, look at how pretty you are, shit, shit,”

As he hears himself, he suddenly feels like he could wax poetic for hours (or ramble, whatever this was). If it meant making you look as pleased as you do right now, he’d happily make a living out of it.

“Can I touch you? So beautiful, wanna feel ya…” The drawl of his accent gets thicker as he rambles on.

“You sure, puppy?” After all that emotional exhaustion it feels a bit strange to be so intimate. The last thing you want is for him to smother his feelings with sex. But then you see the conviction in his flared nostrils and set lips; the very face he makes when you’ve had a bad day and insist everything is fine. When all he ever wants is an excuse to shower you with his love.

“Yes. F’you’ll let me?” And when he asks so nicely, who are you to deny him?

There’s a slight back and forth as he tries to unbutton your jeans as fast as possible and it all goes so quickly you don’t really register how awkward it is, wiggling out of them in his lap on the couch. But Mingyu’s athleticism never fails him, especially in moments like these.

The foray over your sticky panties has him searching maniacally for some purchase beneath you. He rubs and pulls and taps until you’re canting into his knuckles sporadically. By the time he’s pulled them to the side and gathers your wetness in his grip, he might be the hardest he’s ever been.

“God, gonna, wanna make you cum—can I please? Show you?”

It’s your turn now to be silent, nodding profusely into his cheek as you nibble at his earlobe. There’s one sentiment you refuse to voice in this moment, as the pad of his thumb zeroes in on your clit and drags it in circles: that you’re cooked. You’ve never been this wet in your life, and if you had an ounce of self-awareness left in you, you’d shudder at the slick mess you’ve made. Or the blown out pupils lolling to the back of your head. Or the saliva that drools down your chin in excess and slings onto his.

But Mingyu is no better: if you weren’t sitting atop him, a dangerous puddle of his own precum would be proudly on display. Somehow the thought turns him on even more.

“Could come like this, in my pants, nnghh, but I wanna, wanna do it while you ride my fingers, can you…”

“Fuck! Gyu, just gimme—“ The sentence dies before its finish as he takes your excited exclamation and sprints. The longest of his four fingers push into your hole to fit snugly against your walls, pulsing against him like they’re welcoming him home.

“Love feeling you on me, my fingers, my—nngh, my cock, made for me, made for you” It comes out a sadistic whine while he bullies them into you with that same doe eyed look.

“Got so much to do, wanna do, wanna make—“

“Gyu, s’good. So good. All mine.”

“Yours. All yours, f’you’ll have me? Have me?”

The words circulate from your empty head straight to your core and you swear, you could cry. He keeps pleading for you to have him and take him and the fever of it all overwhelms you.

In the fissure between the pit of your stomach and where all this untenable excitement likes to linger, something weird begins to coil. Heating so rapidly that you have no time to warn him of it. One moment you’re there, and then next, you’re not; You’re somewhere where there’s color as far as the eye can see, and all you can feel is bliss. Once you do manage to open your eyes, you notice the pool of liquid that now sticks his tank top and pants to his lower belly and thighs.

Well, shit. You just squirted. And in record time, Mingyu might add. Was this all he had to do to get you riled up? Just divulge his every wet dream and watch you crumble beneath (or atop) him?

You don’t even double take his soaked white shirt, now stuck to his abdomen with slick, or the dampened the seat of his pants that leave very little to the imagination. You’re wasted with the whiplash of everything that has just happened and truthfully, you couldn’t care less.

The only thing that brings reality back to your conscience is the continuing buck of his hips.

“My baby, did so good. You wanna cum?”

“Yes!” He’s squeaking at this point, a pile of incoherent pet names and wet moans. He could probably come in his pants if you hadn’t suggested otherwise, just happy to be in close proximity to you like this: Soaking his clothes and skin and all sweaty all over him.

Mingyu is so distracted by the image that he barely notices the sticky feelings of his trousers being pulled off.

“Hands are shaking, m’sorry, your hands—“

“I know Gyu. It’s okay.”

There’s no space for him to hold you til you’re steady—his primary concern—with your entrance fluttering over him, still reeling from your orgasm. An ache he didn’t even realize was there is relieved the moment you stretch around him. Welcoming him home. He really could die happy like this: admiring the curve of your chin from below and so, so warm. The image of you, anchoring yourself on his shoulders and hips settled between his, is one he’ll be haunted by forever.

“Go.” You say it with the last of your energy and a firm bite to his neck.

He doesn’t need any further instruction; he’s so fucking glad you’ll still tell him what to do.

The rhythm he sets is animalistic. Heaving and whining and fucking up into you with more force than you’d expected him to be capable of. Something feral takes over your boyfriend and you wish you had the energy to watch it. Maybe you’ll just have to do this all again with a camera filming. God, that would drive him absolutely insane.

With the pace and how worked up he’s become, it’s no surprise when he pulls out a few minutes later to come. Strong arms yank you down and suddenly you’re sat on top of his cock, grinding it against his stomach with his direction.

“Coming, I’m, nnngh fuck!” Mingyu’s voice rises about two octaves as he finishes in white all over his belly. It spurts out long enough for you to feel the aftershocks. In his shivering thighs, in his clenched abs, and the overstimulated cries that catch in his throat.

It may take a long time to recover, but you’re grateful for the break. When Mingyu stands from the couch with you in his arms, you already know he’s taking you to the shower. He strips you as carefully as he can muster and grimaces at the messes made of you both in the harsh overhead light.

“You shower first.” It’s the first thing you’ve said in a while and he seems bewildered; not just by your wary voice, but by the idea of taking care of himself before taking care of you. So cute, you think. But you refuse to let up. You take a towel from the heated rack and gather all of your clothes in it, holding the sack out as if to say ‘add it to the pile’. Once he’s naked you shove him gently towards the running water and drag yourself out to the laundry room. It only takes a few seconds before you hear those long feet shuffling behind you.

“Don’t even think about it. I’ll be right back.”

A silence lingers and you know full well he hasn’t turned back just yet. Alright. You’ll coax him through this part.

“I’ll shower with you. Just make sure it’s warm for me?” He giggles at that. All it takes is making something a task for Mingyu to thrust himself into it, full force. The retreating footfall that follows is more than enough to make you smile. And laugh, just a bit.

“Thank you, Gyu.”

“Anything for you.”

penned by rowan. in reference to this interview among other things.

#mingyu smut #mingyu x reader #svt smut #svt oneshot #svt imagines #seventeen scenarios #seventeen x reader #svt x reader #mingyu scenarios #mingyu oneshot #kim mingyu #mingyu imagines #seventeen smut #seventeen imagines #seventeen angst #svt scenarios #kpop smut

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piastrinorris · 2 years

Text

I Want Your Video

Pairing: Eddie Munson x f!Reader

Genre: smut

Tags: Stranger Things (series), 18+ (minors DNI), modern!au, unprotected sex (don't try this at home), oral (f receiving), fingering, heavy dirty talk, p in v, pulling out, overstimulation, mentions of anal, filming a sex tape, mentions of reader being cheated on

Summary: You had to make your ex pay for what he did, to you and his former fellow Hellfire party member. There's only one person that can truly help you with that.

Word count: 3.7k

A/N: Good news, gang! Turns out, I actually do remember how to write anything other than Busy Streets and Busy Lives!

Waving at Wayne as his car passes yours on his way out of the trailer park puts your mind at ease. That's one potential barrier out of the way. The other is whether or not your potential other party agrees to your little plan.

You didn't participate too much in your ex's Hellfire Club stuff because campaign time was campaign time only, and unless you were summoned to stand in for someone, you weren't a part of this story's main adventuring party. Nonetheless, you'd developed your own camaraderie with the group - especially the only regular female player.

Which is why it was all the more heartbreaking to see the screenshots of your then-boyfriend's attempts to slide into her DMs. Watching him gaslight her into believing that she was misreading his messages as being flirtatious, despite them definitely being so, hurts enough. Your heart sinks to the floor when you see the photos he'd sent. You know pretty well what his own dick looks like and that's definitely what he sent her. Completely unsolicited. Judging by the timestamp and the sheets beneath him, he even took those while you were asleep next to him.

You needed to make him regret doing that for the rest of his pathetic little life. You needed to hit him where it would hurt most.

And so, you knock three times on Eddie Munson's door. He greets you warmly, but there's an air of sympathy to him. "Hey. Um, I just want you to know, right off the bat, that shitbag's never, ever setting foot near the table again. Next session, his character's getting killed off in the most humiliating way I can come up with, and I totally get if you don't want to, but we'd need a full-time stand-in -"

"I didn't come here to talk D&D, Eddie," you cut him off, and his brow furrows.

"Well, if it's emotional support you're after, then I'm sorry, sweetheart, I'm not of any use there."

"Not that, either," you shake your head. "I - I don't want anything to do with that asswipe ever again, but I still wanna make him pay." You start pacing the expanse across Eddie's living space. "I mean, sure, I dumped his ass, but he'll feel no remorse from that, he didn't care enough about me to stay loyal. I need to really stick a dent in his pride. I need it to come from someone he really admires." You look at Eddie hopefully.

He shrugs, "Sure, I'll teach that bastard a lesson. What do you have in mind?"

You take a deep breath in. "Well, if he's going to send dick pics without remorse… I was thinking… You and I go one better and send him a - a video. If that's okay with you."

Eddie feels as though all his Christmases have come at once. He'd always found it tough tearing his eyes away from you with your boyfriend mere feet away. He wanted to sucker-punch the sense back into him when he'd learned what your ex had done. But this? So much better.

Rubbing his jaw, Eddie nods. "Uh, yeah. Yeah, we can do that." He gestures for you to follow him to his room, which you do. "My phone, or yours?"

You contemplate, "Yours. It'll sting more coming from you."

Eddie nods, setting his phone on a surface close to the bed and setting up the right angle. "So, clothes already off, clothes on? Anything definitely off the table, or on it?"

"Clothes off, I want it to pack a punch the moment he hits play," you direct, and Eddie nods, throwing his shirt off. You knew there was more ink beyond his forearms, you'd seen little peekaboo moments of the artwork adorning his body, but seeing them all out in the open, as though he's an open sketchbook, captivates you. He's obviously watching you stare at each one as he smugly swivels himself around to show you all of them at all angles. You continue, "Um, how do you feel about… Not wearing - I promise, the video will stop before any completion happens, I'm not here to get knocked up or anything," you quickly explain, to Eddie's amusement.

"Yeah, I'll fuck you raw." Something about the way he casually purrs that as a smirk tugs at the left corner of his lips sends a buzz through your nervous system that settles at your core. "Anything else?"

"Um… He never really liked… Going dow-"

"Oh my god, of course he didn't," Eddie interrupts. "But he'd have you -?" You nod. "Disgraceful."

"And even though I would always ask him to, he wouldn’t talk dirty to me. So maybe if he saw that in action?"

"Oh, fuck yes, doll, you are speaking my language," Eddie grins. "We talking praise, degrading, narration? How rough do you want me?"

"Honestly, go nuts. I'm all good for all of it. In terms of the talk… I'm good with any as long as it's not humiliating me, but the more possessive, the better."

"Hmmm, you better get those clothes off and that camera started, baby, or else I might get ahead of myself." Eddie shuffles out of his jeans and palms himself over his boxers as he watches you strip to your underwear with great intent.

You both silently agree to strip down your last layer at the same time, getting all of the awkwardness out of the way. You're in awe of his cock, stood of its own accord even before he starts stroking himself at the sight of you. You chew your lower lip as you watch in fascination and he grins, "You gonna at least hit record before I end up coming all over my hand?"

You hop onto Eddie's bed, feet swinging above the floor as you ask, "Where do you want me, Mr Director?"

Eddie glances over at his phone screen, smirks, and taps it before striding over to you, pulling you into position by your legs, and throwing one over his shoulder. Pushing the other one out, you realise to get a good angle of it for the camera, he sweeps his hair to one side and makes quick work of snaking his tongue inside of you.

Your fingers card through his hair and grip tightly, and he hums with approval against your core as his nose nuzzles at your clit. "Is that good, baby?" he purrs between licks, and you nod. He surfaces, shaking his head. "Use your words, sweet thing."

You swallow hard. "Y-yeah, so good."

"Mmm, that's my good girl, doing as she's told, c'mere," he grips your thighs tightly as he laps back and forth at your clit. You sit yourself up at an angle to watch him yourself, the way he looks so lustfully as he goes to town on you. He blindly holds his hand up to you, wiggling two fingers specifically, and you take his wrist to aim them into your mouth. He moans as you suckle and lick his fingers, "Oh, fuck yeah, such an obedient little slut. Taste so good, and so good with your mouth, fuck, I can't wait to wear you around my fucking cock."

You whine, "Please?"

He chuckles, "Patience, sweetheart. I've a feeling you need to get stretched out before you can take me."

"You're so big," you moan wistfully as you fall back onto your elbows, and you feel Eddie's toothy grin press against you as he angles himself enough to slide two long fingers inside of you. He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks as he pumps his fingers in and out of you. Your hand grips his hair tighter and he moans delightfully around you. "Fuck, Eddie, feel so good, I can't - I need to -"

Eddie resurfaces to rest his head against your thigh, gently sinking his fingers into you and stretching them apart before pulling them out to do the same thing over and over again. "So soon, baby?" he croons. "Getting your sweet little cunt eaten gets you this fired up?" You nod, and while Eddie wants to scold you again for not speaking, he's enamoured by the face you make when you're turned on. Eyes half-lidded, lips shiny and just-parted, chest heaving. He hasn't even played with your tits, yet. Fuck, he's barely gotten started with you and you're already a mess under his hand.

"Please?" is all you can think to say as his fingers curl inside you, making you mewl out loudly.

"Fussy girl wants to come already?" he asks in that crooning voice again, and you nod. Eddie pulls away from you entirely, grinning at your despair, and gets up to straddle you from behind, pressing an oddly gentle kiss to your forehead as he does so. Once he's sat with his legs draped either side of you and his chest flush against your back, he takes one of your breasts into his hand to massage it as the other hand reaches down to rub fast, deliberate circles against your clit. His lips press kisses all along your throat as you cry out for him. His voice is low, breathy, but still loud enough to be recorded as he asks, "Fuck, yes, who do you belong to, huh?"

"You, Eddie," you moan, turning your head to try and face him as you say it, feeling your orgasm start to build faster than you've ever been able to muster yourself.

"Mmm, and who does this pussy belong to?" he asks before sucking a big, dark bruise onto the base of your neck. He feels your neck start to crane again and hums an uh-uh against your skin, pulling his head up to purr into your ear, "Don't tell me, baby." He pulls his hand away from teasing at your nipples to squeeze your cheeks between his thumb and fingers, pushing your face around until you're facing his phone. "Tell him."

You look down the camera lens, moaning as Eddie sucks on your earlobe, the hand on your face now sliding down to wrap around your throat as the fingers on your clit work it faster. "It's all - shit, my pussy's all yours, Eddie. No- Nobody else makes it feel - this good, not even me, please," you falter into a plea at the end as you feel the crescendo looming.

"Damn right she belongs to me, and she wants me so bad, doesn't she?" His hand leaves your clit momentarily to dip down and coat his fingers in your thick juices. When he brings them up to your lips, the hand that had been so gently pushing against the pressure points in your throat falls to resume working your clit as you once again suck on his fingers. "Look at her, she's crying out for me, so desperate for it, can't wait to - to squeeze herself all over my thick cock as I fuck you the way you deserve, right? The way I've wanted to since I first saw you?" You make a small noise of intrigue around his fingers and Eddie chuckles, "That's right, sweetheart, but that's not why we're here, is it? We're here so you can come for me without me even needing to be inside you, aren't we? You're gonna show him what you really look like when you're satisfied, aren’t you?"

Still looking at Eddie's phone, your walls clench over absolutely nothing as your climax finally washes over you. Eddie continues to kiss and suck across your neck as he slows his attack on your clit and pushes the fingers in your mouth gently in and out as they muffle your moans.

"Fuck, yes, baby," he groans into your ear, "that was incredible."

Pulling down on his wrists until his fingers leave your mouth with a satisfying pop that you really hope the mic picked up, you lean back against Eddie and reach up to play with his hair. "Wanna watch me suck you off, now?" You ask with a coy grin.

Eddie bites his lip, "Any other time, absolutely. But right now, I need you sat on my dick and facing me so I can watch that pretty little face of yours as I make you cum over and over again. Why should he get all the fun of seeing that, huh?"

You squirm as you move yourself around to straddle him, pressing your forehead to his and mumbling, "You really ought to keep the dirty talk more believable, you know."

He frowns as his arms slide up and down your sides, cradling you, "You doubt my talents, sweetheart? You wound me."

"It takes an awful lot for me to get there, usually," you admit quietly, "even once."

"And look at you now," he smirks at the same volume. "Ready for me?" he asks as he reaches between you both to angle his cock away from where it rests against his torso. You nod eagerly, hovering up onto your knees and moving with him. Slightly louder, he grins, "I didn't hear you, ba- oh my fuck," he groans out as you sink down onto him without warning. "Oh, fussy girl can't wait, huh? God, you're fucking loving this dick, arent you, baby, huh?" he croons as he watches your face contort with pleasure as you lower yourself further and further until you're sat with him fully inside you.

With his arms wrapped tightly around you, and your hands on his shoulders to keep you in place, he leans in to kiss you openly, his tongue instantly seeking yours. You grind yourself against him while he's buried in you, moaning into the kiss at the feeling. "Fu-uuuck, Eddie," you moan. "Tell - tell me more - first time you saw -"

"Mmm, the first time I saw you?" he asks, reaching down between you again to rub your clit in gentle circles. "You walked in with him. Wearing a cute little dress, but you had a shirt on under it so I missed out on these," he gropes at your breasts. "Hmm, but fuck, I wanted you to stay. Wanted that cute little mouth sucking me off while he played just across the table. Wanted to feel that cute little ass of yours as I bent you over the table and fucking railed you."

You whine, "You wou- you'd fuck my ass?"

Eddie lets out his loudest moan yet, bucking up further into you. "Fuck, I didn't mean that, but if you'd let me, baby, any day of the fucking week. But I gotta take care of my pussy first, don't I? She's being so good to me," he purrs as he fucks you deeper. "I think - we've put on enough of a show, don't you?" he asks as he blindly reaches for his phone, angling it at both of your faces. "I don't think he deserves to watch you come over my dick. Say goodbye, sweetheart."

You look at the camera, smile coyly and turn to Eddie to lean in and bite his lower lip, both of you chorusing low chuckles to each other as he cranes his phone around to hit the stop button.

Reality crashes down on you as you realise it's all over now. That video was the reason you showed up. That was what he agreed to do. He notices your hesitation as he throws his phone aside and quickly swings you both around so that you now lay beneath him. You'd been so focused on making a good sex tape, you had barely paid attention to Eddie himself until now. Eyes blown black, his hair and his guitar pick chain dangling between the two of you, a light sheen of sweat showing against his dark ink. But by far the hottest thing of all about him was the sheer, primal hunger in his gaze.

"I hope you didn't think we were done yet, princess," he coos. "Now I get to really focus on you."

Not letting his gaze leave yours, he aims his cock inside of you once again, taking your hands in his and interlocking your fingers before fucking into you deeply.

Your back arches as he fills you, and you moan his name, to his delight. Before long, you're begging and whining again, your fingers clenching tighter against his. "Gonna come for me, baby? Fuck, tell me again, who owns you?"

"You - you do, Eddie," you moan, your hips squirming beneath him.

"Damn right, I do. Just like I said, I'll make you come over and over again. Do it, baby, come for me."

That euphoric feeling returns, but tenfold as you feel yourself tighten around his member. He slides it in and out of you gently as you work through your climax, but it's short lived as he climbs further onto the bed to line himself up with your chest, wrapping a wide, rough hand around his cock as he pumps it, sending warm spurts of thick cum flying against your breasts as he throws his head back and moans gutturally.

Looking down at yourself, then back up at him, you ask, exhausted, "G'me y'r phone, please."

He slowly hands it to you, confused, and you get up to kneel on the bed right in front of him, taking one of his hands and holding it up to your throat until he gets the hint to hold onto it himself, and then doing the same for the other arm, guiding it between your legs.

You swipe onto his camera, flip it to the front one, and set the phone down so that it only starts showing from your nose downwards, making sure that the bruises on your neck, and the cum on your chest aren't obscured. Setting a timer, you smile slyly as one photo takes. You take another with you biting your lip, and Eddie gets in on making sure you take one where he's kissing your neck amongst the hickey.

But Eddie lets go of your throat for a moment to switch the camera back to video mode, mutter in your ear, "You keep this right here, 'kay, baby?" and hit record right as the hand between your legs once again starts rubbing your clit with a lot more fervor than before.

Just as the timer starts recording, Eddie's grip around your throat tightens and you cry out silently, just about managing to squeak out a, "S-so - sensi- so much."

"I know it's sensitive, baby, that just means it'll be quick," Eddie promises, keeping his lips close to your ear, still in shot of the camera. "But I promised you, didn't I?" He drags two fingers across your drenched thighs, "After you already came for me, I promised it would happen again," he wipes one finger against your lower lip, "and again," he adds as he wipes the other there, too.

You groan, "Fuck, don't know - 'f I c'n take-"

Eddie shushes you, "Of course you can, baby. Your pussy's mine now, remember? And I already know her so well. Fuck, I can't wait to give you so much more. Did you mean it, sweetheart, when you asked me to fuck you in the ass someday?" You nod desperately, whining and keening against his touches. "Good, because I most certainly plan on having a lot of fun with my new cocksleeve. Have you be my new favourite after-gig tradition, where I get to go offstage and fill all your holes." You squirm against him, grinding your bare ass against him. "Mmm, afraid I'm not quite the free-use fucktoy you are, doll, that's not gonna work on me just yet," he drawls.

"Ple-ease, need to need, fuck -"

"What's that, baby? You need to come again? Oh, but I thought it was so hard to get you there. Remember that when I send you this video and you watch it back, okay, sweetheart? Remember who makes you feel this good. Remember who fucking owns you."

"'s you, Eddie, fuck, I'm -" you scream out in ecstasy as a third orgasm travels entirely across your nervous system, filling your entire body with a high like you've never experienced before. With a grin, Eddie leans over to once again stop his recording and gently lay you down onto his bed.

"Stay right here, okay, doll? Gonna get you all cleaned up."

You nod, mumbling, "Don't think - I can go anywhere else anyway."

Eddie chuckles under his breath, moving to kiss your forehead and then your lips before making his way to the bathroom.

He returns moments later with several warm, damp washcloths and fresh towels, and takes great care in mopping up your thighs and your chest, in major contrast from the Eddie you'd just experienced.

Once you're clean, he lays himself to curl up next to you on the bed and pull you in to spoon him, pulling his pillows down to where the two of you lay in the centre of the bed so he could place one under your head. You hum in happiness as he presses kisses to your shoulder. "You were fucking amazing, back there, sweetheart. A goddamn natural."

"Having such a good co-star certainly helped," you smirk back.

"An', y'know. I don't want to put any pressure on you, 'cause what you're going through is a whole thing, but you know most of that was just talk for the camera, and that I see you as way more than a fucktoy, right?"

You pout, "So I'm not gonna be?"

He chuckles, kissing between your shoulder blades. "I didn't say that, did I? Just that… This is casual, and awesome, but I don't want you to think that I only did this to have sex. I did it to have it with you. And I'm down to be… Friends with benefits, fuck buddies, a rebound, whatever it is you need. 'Kay?"

You squeeze his arm around you a little tighter in thanks. You know you're certainly not ready for any kind of relationship again just yet. But who's to say that you can't have fun in the meantime? Maybe this goes further. Maybe it doesn't. All you know is, as you watch with glee as you watch Eddie send the first video to your ex, and then set his favourite of the photos you took as his home screen, you definitely made the right choice tonight.

#eddie munson x reader #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson x you #stranger things x reader #stranger things imagine #eddie stranger things #eddie munson fic #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson smut #eddie munson #fic: eddie m #*myfics

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tojipie · 11 months

Note

ma’am you mentioned slipping a guard a wad of cash for a quick closet fuck in your story so like…how often did prison toji have to bribe the guards? 😅

prison boyfriend toji series linked here <3

content: semi-public, intimidation, mentions of incarceration, facials

custodial wing at 11:30

that’s what he’d whispered to you before you parted during your day visit, hand reaching under the hem of your shirt to trace shapes into the curve of your spine.

you didn’t need to ask questions knowing how often the two of you pulled this off. if the state wouldn’t grant you two conjugal visits on account of you not being married.. then you’d just have to make your own.

getting started wasn’t a challenge in the slightest knowing entry-level guards melted like putty once a little stipend was involved. money was everything in this system, and toji had left you a lot of money.

once every two months was the deal. frequent enough that you’d both get your fill of each other outside supervised visits, but not so often as to draw suspicion.

naturally, you make a beeline to your destination as soon visiting hours come to a close, mumbling something about needing the bathroom to a clearly peeved officer at the front desk.

toji comes into view just at the end of the hall, facing away from you. you realize his body is obstructing another person as you you near, bits of their conversation floating in and out.

“you really should be in your cell fushiguro...”

“just wait till’ she gets here before you do something stupid.. christ.”

you pause just beside toji, peering over at the navy blue-clad stranger in front of you.

“where’s..” you trail off, eyes flitting between the two men. great, your regular officer wasn’t on duty today. a fucking warning might have been nice.

the new guard is probably half your boyfriend’s size—and age, not a firm bone in his body by the looks of it. if he did, you figure toji would already be in solitary for sneaking out of his cell. your shoulders relax at the realization. at least this guy wasn’t a threat.

the inmate shoots you a knowing smile, sly as ever despite the high-stakes situation. you quickly move to rustle through your pockets at the sight of his outstretched palm, placing a wad of cash in his hand.

“why don’t we give our pal a little gift, hm?” toji coos, holding the money up between two fingers and shaking it like a dog treat. “wanna give me an hour with my girl?”

the guard frowns, looking around cautiously.

“we’re not really supposed to take bribes…”

the fake smile on toji’s face falters. “fuck does that mean?” he says in disbelief.

“well honestly, it means that i’m going to have to report this.” the younger man says, reaching for his walkie-talkie to alert the rest of the security team.

“are you stupid?” toji seethes. sizing the smaller man up. regret instantly washes over the the guard’s face, eyes blowing impossibly wide as he’s backed up against the wall.

“no sir— I mean— i’m sorry!” a tattooed fist slams against the concrete, dangerously close to his face.

“i could kill you right now. could snap your neck and keep you in that closet over there,” he whispers, jutting his thumb behind him. you know there’s no real intent behind his words, toji simply wasn’t that cruel.

the paralyzed guard cowers at the threat, taking the two of you by surprise as a wet spot grows on the front of his pants. gross.

“you gonna piss your pants every time a real man speaks to you? huh?” he barks, laughing at the younger man’s misfortune.

“no no no please,” the guard babbles, motioning toward the closet. “i’ll keep watch i promise, i— i don’t even need the money i’m sorry.”

“good cause you weren’t getting it,” toji sneers, pocketing the cash before picking you up bridal style.

“that was mean,” you whisper, oddly impressed at the inmate’s intimidation skills.

“yeah? you like when i’m mean?” he mutters jokingly, hands already squeezing the curve of your ass from where his palms are holding your body up. the contact makes you shudder, sending bolts of electricity right to your core.

you loved seeing him like this, as sick as it was. possessive, short-tempered, commanding. it all made your knees weak.

you find yourself propped up against the door of the closet moments later, held up by his hands as he wastes no time, leaning in to mouth at the curve of your neck.

the way he maneuvers you without so much as a sigh only stokes the flames deep in your core. toji’s strength was something to behold, an absolute marvel.

the closet is dim, lit by a pull-string bulb older than the two of you combined. you’re so close that you don’t know where your body ends and his starts, making it seem like there’s not enough air for the both of you.

you reach down with one hand, keeping the other on his shoulder for balance. deft fingers work up the scratchy fabric of his brown uniform, exposing his abs with a hum.

fuck, he was getting bigger, muscles chiseling deeper and deeper as each day went by. the barest hint of black ink peeks just under the hem of his shirt, grabbing your attention for just a moment.

“lift it up angel,” he rasps, mouth still working at the thin skin of your collarbones. purple blood vessels bloom under his lips, the trail of hickeys growing larger by the minute.

the inmate helps you strip his upper half, lips detaching from your body with a sly smile.

“toji, oh my god,” you gasp, running a careful hand over the barely healed tattoo.

“didn’t want you to see till’ it was finished,” he explains, grinding the hard length of his cock against your clothed core.

toji hadn’t taken his shirt off the last two times you’d snuck off together, opting fuck you through three orgasms with his pants around his knees, showing off the barest hint of his happy trail.

you figured it was for the sake of saving time, a precautionary measure in case your situation was compromised. naturally, there was a much deeper reason behind it.

delicate swirled letters brand your name across his ribs, etched into tanned skin amid a background of black and grey mist. the skin around the edge is still pink and delicate. blushed by the spike of a needle over, and over, and over.

god.. how did he even get this done? and so well at that? the things he manages to achieve even while serving time never fail to blow you away.

you hadn’t even realized he’d stopped grinding into you, his palm just barely cradling your face.

“you okay?” he says it so gently, like you’ll break.

“it’s perfect,” you tell him, basking in the shy smile he gives you. scarred lips finally meet yours, setting you down on the floor of the closet to shimmy your skirt down. toji pulls away with an audible hum, tapping the inside of your calf to get you to open your legs wider.

the inmate wastes no time, hooking a thumb under the fabric covering your heat, and pulling your panties to the side. you feel his hulking body drop to a knee in the dim light, running thick hands up the soft skin of your calves before pressing a gentle kiss to your clit.

“beautiful,” he whispers, though the stars that dance across your vision keep you wondering if he’s talking about you, or your pussy.

and then your thoughts come to a screeching halt as a warm, dexterous tongue licks up the length of your slit. the noise he makes is obscene, desperate, groaning low in his chest as he tastes you for the first time in months.

you nearly forgot how good it feels to be taken like this, struggling to maintain your balance as toji laps at your hole, two hands settling on your knees should they decide to buckle.

“tastes so fucking good,”

he says it directly into your heat, shooting vibrations straight into your core. warm velvet sneaks up to lap at your sensitive bud, tracing hot, wet circles in the spot that matters most.

you peek down just enough to see him free his cock from his boxers. two fingers swipe through your heat, using your slick to ease the slide of his hand along his shaft.

it’s filthy, the way he’s always been so readily able to shift how he acts around you. cold, unforgiving hands turning into warm fingers that bring you nothing but pleasure.

you’re the only one who sees him like this— who will ever see him like this. on his knees in the back of a cramped closet, making love to your cunt like a man starved.

the feeling of your approaching high rips you from your thoughts, hands tangling into his mess of raven hair.

“gonna cum,” you whine, pushing at his forehead to get his face away from your clit. the tiniest bit of relief floods your core as he pulls away, his mouth and chin dripping with slick.

“turn around.”

you haven’t even fully pressed yourself against the door before the blunt head of his cock is sliding into your entrance, filling you to the brim in one fluid motion.

toji takes a second to palm at the flesh of your ass, humming in appreciation as you adjust to his size.

“please,” you groan, “please just fuck me toji, please.”

the inmate pauses, slipping a hand under the hem of your shirt to play with your tits.

“should i?” he whispers, groaning as you clench down on his length.

frustrated, you push your hips back into his shaft, swallowing him over and over while harsh pants ring out behind you. large hands squeeze around your waist to stall your movements, giving him space to rut into you like you need.

the feeling is seismic, explosive. sending you right over the edge and into the abyss as black streaks over your vision. you don’t think you’ve ever been fucked this good before, taking deep, thorough gulps of air as you’re humped and rutted into against the fragile wood of the closet door.

large fingers wrap around your wrist and pin your arm behind you as you reach down to toy with yourself.

“like this,” he tells you. the implications clear as day.

cum on his cock or don’t cum at all.

and cum you do, shuddering as you flood yourself between your legs. his pace doesn’t let up for a single second, bucking up into that special spot over and over.

“knees,” he commands, tone as urgent as ever. “fuck, get on your knees.”

you don’t have to be told twice, sinking to the floor to face him as he pulls out of you.

“open baby, open up for me.” the noise his hand makes while her jerks himself off is absolutely debilitating.

you tiredly rest your cheek just under the jut of his hip bone, pressing soft kisses under the far edge of his tattoo. the aftershocks of your high leave you breathless as thick spurts of seed cover the left half of your face.

toji takes you by the face and holds you in front of him, fingers squishing your lips into a pout as he paints your face with the last of his load.

“there we go, there we go, eat it for me,” he pants from above you, chest heaving from the force of his orgasm. you gather as much as you can with your tongue, letting him thumb the rest into your mouth.

“beautiful,” he says, letting you clean off his fingers with your tongue. and this time you’re sure that he’s talking about you, his girl. his everything.

taglist ! 🏷️

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icarusallusion · 5 months

Text

One of the main reasons I've been so fond of Otasune since I first knew it was a thing was because I think they're genuinely one of the purest forms of love in Metal Gear.

Throughout the series we see horrible relationships between horrible people trying to get by and then that relationship gets dragged through the awful scenarios they live with, be it war, internal struggles, infidelity etc. Despite this common place struggle with so many other characters, we see Otacon and Snake steadfast loyal and healthy throughout every struggle they go through.

They may not be an official couple, but they will always stay the most communicative relationship even outside of shipping. I see people joke about how Otacon kind of bosses Snake around (especially in MGS4), but I always saw it as refreshing. In the series, there is so many times where x character does something horrendous and y character just sits aside and silently sulks about it.

But this doesn't happen, like at all, with Dave and Hal. There are many times where Snake doesn't think about consequences to his actions as a general rule of soldier, however Hal has never been a soldier. So when these things happen, Otacon tells him off and it's something Snake genuinely needs to hear. It's something human, away from combat. Because Otacon is one of the very few characters that talks to Snake as a person, as a human, not as a soldier or fucked up clone baby.

Snake has gone his whole life scrapping the bottom of the barrel to stop feeling so lonely, he flirts with every woman he sees, he attaches himself very easily onto superiors, etc. Snake is a man who has spent his whole life trying to appeal to people, to get the praise he was never allowed as a child. Otacon gives him the comfort he never got. While any military superior can say Dave is the best of the best. None will look him in the face and tell him he has to live to just live.

Hal also opens a lot of doors to Snake's own discovery about himself. While this next point might sound a little cringy, stick with me. People may joke about the anime interest Snake and Otacon share, but it always came across so genuinely sweet to me. Snake's only interests up until he met Otacon have been, stop feeling lonely and war. I think even part of his musher life and interests within sledding can contribute to part of this. I mean come on, not even a regular musher keeps 50 dogs in their house and dogs are a natural remedy to loneliness. But in all seriousness, David refers to the huskies as his only family and I don't see him connecting with any other mushers he works with, it reads as him wanting to not be alone while also still being so lonely. As well as how mushing is considered a more normal interest than being an otaku, especially in the early 2000s. Mushing is a sport, and being an Otaku was pretty much unheard of or hated. Watching this guy who has been stuffed full of war propaganda scream a dorky "falcon punch" and "ninjutsu" with his best friend is so heartwarming in a way.

As well as Otacon's whole meme turned question of "do you think love can bloom on the battlefield?" Is something that I think Snake needed to be asked. It's probably been something he's been thinking about. It is also one of the most human things Snake asked throughout the game. About finding love in fear. Otacon constantly prods into Snake's heart and brings out the good in him.

Not only does Hal open up a space for Snake to have genuine unashamed interests and show true pure humanity. He also shows off their childhood. Both Hal and David never got proper childhoods. They connect that with each other through cheesy animes, talking about uncertainty in love, finding out what life is all about, navigating feelings, and through that damn cheesy handshake hug. It's all genuinely pure and wholesome love that connects what they didn't get to explore in childhood with one another. When Snake opened that piss covered locker and saved Otacon, he brought his own salvation into his life without knowing it. The very presence of Otacon saved Snake. It's why MGS4 felt so depressing for me especially, the strain between Snake and Otacon left a hole in my little heart and made Snake feel even more hopeless.

I also want to talk about how Snake benefited Otacon.

Otacon begins as cowardly and timid, he's an incredibly insecure character that struggles to connect with others, probably stemming from the issues in his younger life. When he meets Snake, he's faced with someone he could relate to that has an outward appearance that makes him seem so much more confident than he is. Snake is not this, he's as insecure as Otacon. Indirectly, Snake is the whole reason Otacon gets on his feet to take action against terrorism, takes action to become a better person. Snake shows Hal that he doesn't haven't to be strong to do the right thing. Throughout time, Snake helps Otacon come to terms with his own self worth and issues.

In MGS2, it has one of my favorite examples. The infamous bro hug scene.

Before it, this is when Otacon allows himself to open up about his childhood, not even just Infront of Snake, Infront of Raiden too. This showcased such a development in his character because he's proudly talking about it, while even through tears he doesn't hide it anymore.

Did you know that during that scene if you pan the camera to Snake, you can see that he is crying too?

When Hal has a breakdown over his sister's death, Snake is there to comfort him as well as tell him how it is in bluntness with a hand on his back that he needs to save people. It isn't cold or callous, it's letting Otacon know that he has something worth fighting for after a loss like that. Then when they face one another, they embrace each other and Snake tells Hal that he believes in him. Hal spent a lot of time as a scientist, hoping for someone to believe in him, while Snake puts all of his belief into Hal.

I can never forget the iconic "You're the only god I can pray to, Otacon" line. Snake has a deep loyalty, love, and belief in Otacon that Otacon has never been truly given before.

They both, in turn love each other till the end of their lives. Their love was one of the most heart wrenching and beautiful things in Metal Gear Solid and it's no surprise it captivated so many people. Their relationship, whether you ship them or just see them as a bromance. There is no denying the love they feel for one another as friends or lovers is one of the most iconic and sweetest bromances out theres They have impacted so much pop culture and I love them forever, as I'm sure many of you do who read all the way to the bottom.

#mgs #otasune #metal gear solid #solid snake #otacon #hal emmerich #little sappy post sorry guys i love them

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yawnderu · 10 months

Text

You Fight Your Demons, I Ride Mine | Simon ''Ghost'' Riley x Reader

Drip.

Your eyes focus on the corner of your room, staring at the tall figure that visits you in your restless dreams, haunting you ever since your friends were stupid enough to suggest playing with a Ouija board.

Drip.

Your gaze goes to the bathroom door, listening intently to the water dripping from the faucet every few seconds. When your eyes return to the corner, the man was closer. He always does this— getting closer every single time you're not staring right at him, always stopping at the foot of your bed before disappearing into nothing, the only evidence left behind of his presence being your fast-beating heart.

Your eyes stay on him, trying your best to put on a brave face despite knowing he can taste your weakness. You're not able to look at any details about him, only his silhouette, yet you now realize he doesn't move at all— lacking the regular up and down movement of someone's shoulders when they breathe.

Drip.

He's getting closer even when your eyes are focused on him, not a single footstep heard, the dripping faucet and your heavy breathing the only things making a single sound in the room. He stops at the foot of your bed and you let out a sharp breath thinking it's over. He has never stepped any closer.

Until now. His knee raises as his hands come down to your mattress, slowly but surely climbing your bed, the coldness of the room becoming more evident the closer he gets. It's the first time you see it— the skull balaclava covering his face, dead brown eyes staring right into your soul. You close your eyes tightly and raise the blanket over your head, hoping it's just a bad dream like the ones you've been having, hoping for him to disappear like he always does, yet you can feel the weight of his body as he cages you in, fully on top of you. Despite not being religious, you take as many chances as you can.

''Our father, who art in heaven—'' A dark, deep chuckle rings into your ears, spreading the vibration of his chest all over your much smaller body.

''Hallowed be Thy name. Thy kingdom come. Thy will be done on earth as it is in heaven.'' He finishes the prayer for you, mocking clear in his tone, completely unaffected by what was supposed to drive him away. God doesn't scare him— he never did. Gloved hands trace your waist up and down, shoulders shaking in silent laughter as he feels your body tensing up underneath him.

''What, are you scared?'' He taunts, British accent growing thicker the more excited he gets, finally getting his hands on what was promised to him many years ago. His hands travel across your chest, up until he can grasp at the top of the blanket, roughly pulling it all the way down despite your loud protest. Your eyes remain tightly shut, refusing to open them in fear of what you'll see. He moves out of the way; the blanket being thrown to the floor as he stared down at you.

''Go away.'' You manage to plead weakly, face scrunching up sourly when you feel a gloved hand cup your cheek, patting it condescendingly.

''I'll be back.'' He gets up from your bed slowly, black clothes not even making a sound as he walks backwards, going back to the same corner he's always at. You dare to open your eyes, barely managing to see the dark figure turn into nothing as he's about to hit the wall.

A/N: Should I make a series out of this? It was pretty fun to write.

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hyunsvngs · 1 year

Text

𝐦𝐚𝐤𝐞𝐬 𝐦𝐞 𝐝𝐢𝐳𝐳𝐲 - lee minho x gn!afab reader

wc: 6.1k

rating: 18+. MDNI

cw: alcohol, normalisation of getting very wasted, smut (specific smut warnings under the cut, again minors please do not interact!)

synopsis: the best surprises come from the most unexpected sources - like having your crush corner you in a frat party after hearing you confess your deepest desires of him in the background of a video.

a/n: part one of the fratboy series. fratboy lee minho has now taken over my entire brain, my heart, and also my life, so i hope you all enjoy. PLEASE feel free to stop by our askbox to chat to me abt him because truly, i am obsessed.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

sw: swearing, dirty talk, sexy mean minho, no seriously he’s mean, thigh riding, nipple play, begging, dumbification, degradation, penetration with a finger & dick simultaneously, talks about sex slaves (maybe only slightly serious), lovely aftercare

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

When the opening notes of Half Moon by Dean met your ears, you couldn’t help but groan. You loved the song, but it signalled an incoming call that you’d been expecting all day. You flipped your phone over, confirming your suspicions; Jisung’s squishy cheeks flashed on your screen as his contact icon showed up.

“What do you want?” you asked as you answered the call, despite knowing very well what he wanted.

At the beginning of the semester, your best friends had joined a fraternity, Sigma Kappa Zeta. It was an absolute dream - on paper at least. You didn’t have to commit to the endless fraternity obligations, which are often ridiculous and sometimes downright dangerous; although you still had regular invites to the blowout parties, owing to your connections to Felix and Jisung. You’d attended a few of these parties and enjoyed them thoroughly. Being pretty meant you got free booze, and what could be better than getting wasted for free, with two of your favourite people? While ogling their endless hoard of stupidly attractive friends, of course.

Your taste in men could be summarised as… unfortunate. You had an affinity for frat boys, the bigger and stupider the better. Muscular guys, with stupid goofy grins and sleeveless tees, bulging biceps and empty heads. Something about them really got you going, and it frustrated you to no end. But you loved to indulge yourself, and Felix and Jisung knew this all too well. And so, they were left baffled when you very quickly stopped attending these parties. Baffled, disappointed, and worst of all, persistent.

“Hey, angel,” Felix’s voice rang out from your speaker.

“You aren’t Jisung,” you stated.

“Very observant,” he responded, leading you to roll your eyes. You didn't even bother to question why he was calling you from Jisung’s phone. “Anyways, I assume you’ll be in attendance tonight?”

You snorted. “Obviously not.”

“Y/N!” Felix’s deep voice gave way to a drawn-out whine. “Why not?”

“Cause I don’t want to spend time in your disgusting frat house,” you huffed.

“Not even for me?” he pleaded with you.

“This isn’t working. You can’t guilt-trip me when I can’t actually see your stupid adorable face,” you pointed out.

“Fine, I’ll turn my camera on-”

“No. Look, why don’t you and Ji come drink with me in my dorm? Like the good ol’ days?” you suggested. Good ol’ days referring to a few months ago, before they’d joined the fraternity.

Felix paused for a few moments. “Fine. Maybe. Only because we miss you!”

“Come over then. See you soon!” You hung up before he could argue any more - you all knew you’d won.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

Just moments after Jisung and Felix showed up at your door, you began to consider the possibility that maybe you didn’t win after all.

“Y/N!” Jisung cried, before proceeding to push past you and collapse onto your bed. “Why do you never hang out with us any more?!”

You turned to Felix. “What have you brought to my doorstep?”

Felix shrugged. “He chugged like, three beers before we even left.”

"I guess we'd better catch up then."

It wasn't long before you were all feeling merry, though it would be amiss to say you'd caught up with Jisung, given that he often seemed intoxicated even when he was sober.

"I miss you guys, too!" you insisted, hushing the boys' griping. And you really did miss them. Since classes had ended, and people had limited obligations, the frat seemed like a 24/7 party house at the moment, which meant you hardly ever saw them. "I just… these frat parties, it's not really my scene."

The look Felix sent you told you that he didn't buy it, not one bit. The look Jisung sent you, on the other hand, told you that he was currently so drunk that he had a very tenuous grasp on reality, and was just happy to be involved.

"I've seen you eye up at least three guys at the frat. Not your scene? Nothing has ever been more your scene," Felix said, his tone accusatory. "I know it's nothing to do with us. So spill. Why are you avoiding the frat?"

Jisung had wandered off to the other side of your room, where he seemed to be making a concoction of different beverages. He didn't seem to be making a mess, so you thought it best to leave him while he was quiet.

You huffed. "Fine. One of your stupid little frat bro's is driving me insane. But I won't say who!" you added hastily.

Felix's eyes glinted. "Driving you insane? In what way? Like, someone's pissed you off? Or they're making you insanely horny and you don't know how to handle it."

You hid your face in your hands with a groan. "You know me too well, Lix."

Felix laughed gleefully. "Changbin?"

"Don't start guessing! I'm not gonna tell you!"

"Chan?"

"No!"

Felix paused, thinking hard. "It's Minho."

"It’s not Minho!"

He cackled. "You're an open book, it's Minho! You're horny for Minho!"

You let out a weak whimper in protest. "I just… God, nobody's ever affected me like this before, Lix! I don't even wanna be around him 'cause I know I'll say something stupid. Or maybe just start drooling on him."

Felix shrugged. "I guess I can't blame you. He is a gorgeous guy."

"Understatement of the century," you scoffed. "If I had to choose between solving world hunger and sucking his dick, I'd choose his dick. A thousand times."

Felix, in that beautiful drunken phase where everything was utterly hilarious, was clutching his stomach, in complete stitches on your floor.

"I'm not even joking, Lix! I'd devote the rest of my life to being his sex slave. He wouldn't even need to feed me, I'll survive off his cum if I have to!"

Felix wiped a tear from his eye. "Stop, stop. You're killing me." He turned to Jisung, who was still apparently playing potions with various different drinks.

"And that," Jisung said to no one in particular, "Is how you make a Hanji Supreme."

"What the fuck are you doing, Ji? Are you vlogging over there? Get your ass over here and listen to what Y/N has to say about Lee Minho."

"Okay, bye!" Jisung said, still seemingly speaking to thin air. He turned to you, eyebrows raised. "Minho? Y/N has the hots for Minho?"

"Unfortunately," you confirmed.

"We could probably set you up with him," Jisung proposed, a dastardly grin on his face.

"No," you quickly denied. "Never. Under no circumstances do you ever mention my name in Minho's presence. Got it?"

Jisung pouted. "But then your dreams are never gonna come true!"

You chewed on your lip. "I feel like a stuttering mess whenever I even think about him. I can't imagine what'd happen if I actually spoke to him."

"Wait, you've never spoken to him?" Felix clarified, and you shook your head. He smirked. "You were saying some pretty vulgar stuff, considering he's practically a stranger."

You rolled your eyes. "Yeah, yeah, I'm a creep and a perv. That's why he can never find out about this. Seriously," you said sternly, directing this last part at Jisung. He wasn't exactly known for keeping secrets.

Felix looked him up and down. "I don't think he's even going to remember this tomorrow, if I'm being honest."

"Yeah," you agreed. "He seems like he's done for the night." The boy was lying flat on his back, the brim of his beanie pulled over his eyes. His phone was buzzing away on his chest, notification tone pinging every few seconds.

Felix sighed. "I just hope he doesn't get one of those second winds."

“Jisung, honey, is someone trying to get hold of you?” you asked, the chiming of his phone growing irritating. You figured he’d texted one of his many booty calls and then instantly forgotten about it.

“Huh?” he asked, clearly not really listening.

Felix’s phone began to buzz on the floor. “Someone’s trying to get hold of me.” He brought the phone to his ear. "Hey, what’s up? He's - he's what?" Felix covered his other ear. "It's really loud over there, did you say he's on the table? Christ - okay, okay, we'll be right over."

"What was that?" you asked. "Is everything okay?"

Felix sighed. "Hyunjin's partying a little too hard. Seungmin can't deal with him alone. C'mon, we gotta go wrangle him."

"We just went over this - I'm not stepping foot in Minho's territory, not even for a second," you said adamantly.

"Relax, he's partying with Theta Chi Theta tonight," Jisung slurred happily, sitting upright and fixing his beanie. "C'mon, Y/N, come party with us!"

Felix looked to you pleadingly. "I can't deal with drunk Jisung and drunk Hyunjin without you. Please."

Fuck. Felix knew you could never say no to his puppy-dog eyes.

"Fine."

Even with the knowledge that Minho was preoccupied somewhere else, you still felt a little wary as you stepped into the house. It did occur to you that you could be a little too terrified of this man, but you knew all too well that both your horniness and your stupidity were utterly limitless, which was always a recipe for disaster.

You heard Hyunjin before you saw him - "Why can't I get naked, though? It's so hot in here!"

You snickered. He was still on the table, although he looked a little wobbly so you doubted it'd be too long until he came tumbling down. Jisung wandered off, probably up to no good, whilst you and Felix hurried over.

Seungmin breathed a visible sigh of relief when he saw you. "So glad you're here. Okay, I'm off duty. Good luck." He had vanished within seconds.

Hyunjin waved excitedly when he caught sight of you both. "Hi Lix! Hi Lix's pretty friend!"

You laughed at his drunken boldness. "It's Y/N," you corrected him.

"I know." He grinned down at you from the table, eyes disappearing into crescents. "You're brave, too," he crooned.

"Brave?" you asked, raising an eyebrow at him.

"If I was you, I probably wouldn't show my face around here until the end of the semester, at least," he went on.

Felix narrowed his eyes at the boy. "What are you talking about?"

Hyunjin stared at Felix for a moment. Then switched his gaze to you. Then back to Felix. Before erupting into a fit of giggles.

"Oh my god, please sit down before you fall and crack your damn skull," Felix pleaded with the boy.

"Yeah, and more importantly, explain yourself," you added.

Hyunjin sat obediently, pulling out his phone and handing it to Felix.

"Oh fuck," Felix breathed. "I have the group chat muted right now."

"The group chat?" you enquired anxiously. "Please tell me what's going on." Your paranoia was getting the best of you, and while you stood waiting for someone to fucking explain, you were slowly convincing yourself that you'd stolen Felix's phone and confessed your attraction to Minho in the most crass and unrefined terms.

This wasn't too far from the truth.

Felix opened up a video, skipping towards the end. You noticed Jisung, sitting cross-legged on the floor of your dorm room, chattering away about various beverages. More prominently, however, you heard your own voice, from the other side of the room.

“I’ll survive off his cum if I have to!”

Your heart plummets to the ground as the memory comes rushing back. Fuck.

You grab Felix’s arm, holding on for dear life. “Tell me this isn’t happening. Tell me Jisung only sent that to Hyunjin and no one else.”

Felix handed the phone back to Hyunjin and placed his hands on your shoulders, steadying you. “Look, it’s going to be okay. People say stupid shit like this all the time-”

“Oh look, Minho’s read the messages!” Hyunjin calls out.

You put a hand over your mouth. “I think I’m gonna throw up.”

“He’s typing!”

“No!” you wailed.

Hyunjin turned his phone around once more. You peered at the screen in turmoil as three dastardly little letters popped up.

lol

"Oh, Y/N, you're so lucky he's not here tonight," Felix said, sounding relieved. Distantly, you felt a shred of relief too, although that was nothing compared to the complete and utter dread you were experiencing. Oh, the consequences of your own drunken, horny actions. Was there anything worse?

"Oh," Felix murmured, pulling his buzzing phone out of his pocket. "Oh."

"What?" you asked.

"He's calling me."

You called out "Don't answer it!" just as Hyunjin yelled "Answer it!"

Felix accepted the call, bringing the phone to his ear.

"Oh my god, I'm scared. Hold my hand." You scrambled for Hyunjin, who grasped your hand in his before giggling.

"Your hands are soft," he commented, apparently having forgotten the Minho debacle already. You swiftly hushed him.

Felix also raised a finger to his lips in a shh motion, before putting the call on speakerphone.

"Are you at the house? Is Y/N with you?" Minho’s voice came through the speaker.

Felix paused, looking at you with wide eyes. You shook your head furiously.

"Uh, yeah," he answered, the traitor. You fought hard not to scream.

"Can you pass a message across?" you heard Minho ask.

"Sure."

"I'm on my way." The line clicked dead.

Your heart was hammering in your chest. “LEE FELIX WHY THE FUCK DID YOU TELL HIM I'M HERE?"

"I DON'T KNOW, I PANICKED!" he shrieked back, sounding equally as alarmed as you.

“This is crazy,” Hyunjin commented with a dazed grin.

“You are far too drunk to understand the absolute catastrophe I’m in right now!” you accused him. “Oh my god, what am I gonna do? I need to go - immediately.”

“Not so fast.”

You spun around in complete and utter horror, terrified that Minho had somehow materialised from his other party right back to the frat. Only to find Seungmin standing before you - just slightly less threatening.

“Jisung is far too drunk, and he’s begging for you,” he explained.

“God, what is in the air tonight?” you observed. “Do you guys need to do a fraternity-wide detox?”

Seungmin snorted. “Like that’s ever gonna happen. Go on, Jisung’s in his room.”

God fucking damn it, why were you such a good friend? You tore up the stairs, bee-lining for Jisung’s room, fully intending on hiding in his bedroom for the rest of the night. Minho wouldn’t find you in there if you locked the door, right? You were even willing to put up with your best friend’s snoring.

"Hey, Sungie," you said gently as you walked into his room. You found him curled on his bed, still dressed in his hoodie, cargos and beanie.

"Y/N… You're finally here…" he mumbled.

"You sound sleepy. Is it bedtime?" you asked, sitting down on the bed beside him. You tugged the beanie off his head, and ran your hand through his hair, scratching his scalp gently.

"Bedtime? Hmm… No… It's still party time for now." His words were slurred, and you knew he was just minutes from dozing off - seconds, maybe.

"Sure," you said, as it was typically better to just agree with him. "You wanna get your pyjamas on? We can have a pyjama party."

"No. I'm comfy like this." You seriously doubted it, but didn't have it in you to battle him right now.

Sure enough, he was snoring less than thirty seconds later. You wondered if it was worth shoving him a bit, to climb in bed beside him, or whether it'd be best to just run home. But you didn't know how far away Minho was, and the thought of bumping into him was too much to bear.

You deliberated for a few moments, but Jisung's snoring was driving you insane, and you quickly realised that you weren't equipped to deal with it tonight.

You pulled out your phone, opening Felix's contact.

[10:44pm] You: lixie do u have minho's location?

[10:44pm] You: lix please please please

[10:44pm] You: felix pls i need to know how far he is

You sat on the edge of Jisung's bed, leg bouncing with nerves. Why was Felix always muting his damn notifications?

[10:48pm] Lix: idk sorry :( i think his party was nearby though

[10:48pm] Lix: look, just run to my room

[10:49pm] Lix: you'll be safe there

You weighed up your options.

Option one: stay here with Jisung, awake all night owing to his snoring and his complete domineering of 90% of the bed space, stressing about Lee fucking Minho.

Option two: run out of the frat house, and all the way home to safety, but risk bumping into Minho on your way out.

Option three: run down the hall to Felix's room, where you can vent to him all night and then eventually fall asleep with his sunshine cuddles.

It could only be option three.

His room was just down the hall, you reasoned. You would yank open the door, tear down the hallway, and land safely in Felix's bedroom. It would be easy.

You took a deep breath, before pulling open the door and preparing to run.

“Ah. Look who it is.”

Shit.

Minho stood in the hall with an unreadable expression. His eyes scanned your whole frame, and he took his time with his scalding gaze. His eyes crawled all the way up your legs, lingering up your thighs. Slowly moving from your hips, to your waist, to your chest. Before landing on your eyes - that’s where his inspection burned the most. You couldn’t even breathe.

“All bark and no bite, hm?”

“I… I just…” you stammered weakly.

He continued to stare at you, waiting for you to finish. “You just?”

“I’m sorry!” you managed, your voice barely above a squeak.

He folded his arms across his chest, looking amused. “What, pray tell, are you sorry for? For blabbing about my dick to anyone who’ll listen? Manners mean everything, sweetheart, you could’ve just asked me nicely. There was no reason to bring everyone into our business, now, was there?”

You simply blinked at him. You weren’t capable of anything more. He was clearly waiting for a response, though, smirking over at you expectantly. “W-What?” you managed eventually.

“Or are you apologising for your dirty mouth? Honestly, I didn’t expect that from you. You look so sweet, who knew you could be so… improper.”

You felt dizzy. “Improper?”

He pouted at you, and it was dripping with condescension. “Can you speak, darling? Or are you so cock-hungry you can’t manage more than a one-word answer?”

“I-I just don’t know what to say, is all,” you whispered.

“Just give me a yes or a no,” he invited you, holding his hand out for you to take.

You gave him a slow nod, placing your hand in his shakily. He smiled as if to say ‘right answer,’ before opening the door right next to Jisung's, and leading you into his bedroom. The room was remarkably neat and tidy, and you would’ve been impressed if you could even begin to process it. All of your mental energy was focused on not combusting - or coming on the spot.

He allowed you to step into the room before closing the door behind you. You were then quickly pushed up against it, Minho pinning you against the wood with his hips. Had that squeal really just come from your mouth?

His eyes were transfixed on your lips. You waited, heart hammering in your chest, while he had you trapped there. Until this point, you really hadn't been sure whether he was angry at you for saying such explicit things about him. The look in his eyes revealed everything - he wanted you just as badly.

He leaned in slowly. Torturously slowly - evidently, he was going to take his time with you. His lips met yours in a gentle peck, which he repeated, again and again. You sighed against his lips, gripping the fabric of his t-shirt and pulling him closer, but he merely smirked against your pout.

"Please," you breathed.

"You're so desperate," he said with a low laugh. "I could give you what you want, Y/N, but I know you wouldn't be able to handle it."

"I can take it," you protested, your voice sounding much whinier than you wanted it to.

"You can?" he asked, cocking his head and looking down at you condescendingly. You nodded insistently. "Okay."

Minho picked up the pace. His lips were soft but they bit at yours harshly. His tongue entered your mouth and you savoured his taste, sucking on his tongue gently.

Your hands went to the button of his jeans, swiftly unbuttoning it. Minho pulled away, stepping back and leaving you pouting once more. He laughed, that awful patronising sound yet again, that made your palms sweat and your thighs sticky.

"What, you think you're gonna get my dick that easily?" he asked, cocking his head at you. "No, honey."

"Please?" you asked. It sounded pitiful, even to you.

You watched as he went to his neatly made bed, tugging off jeans and laying back. "Come here," he instructed, lounging back against the wall. "Take your clothes off for me."

"T-Take my clothes off?" you asked meekly. It sounded pitiful even to your ears.

The look he gave you was scathing, although he did seem rather amused by the pathetic show of stupid desperation you were unfortunately displaying. "Well you can't expect to stay fully clothed if I'm gonna fuck you, right?"

You nodded, standing in front of him and looking down at your feet. "I… I feel shy all of a sudden."

"You feel shy? I don't know if you'd make such a good sex slave after all." He laughed before growing serious. "We don't have to do this if you don't want to. I'll look after you, if we do, but the choice is yours."

His kinder tone set you at ease, and made you realise that you really wanted this, you were ready for this. It also brought about the realisation that you much preferred it when he was mean. You didn't want to dwell on what that meant, though.

You gathered your courage and slowly pulled your clothes off, standing before him in nothing but your underwear. Minho said nothing, but you felt as though you were on fire under his gaze.

He wasn't the only one who was enjoying the view. Your eyes traversed his toned thighs, mouth watering as you thought about how it'd feel if he were to press one between your legs. He wore plain white briefs, and you couldn't help but stare at the prominent bulge inside them. Even semi-hard it looked huge. You noticed it twitch ever so slightly, as he looked over your exposed body.

Minho spread his legs slightly, before tapping his left thigh. "Come on, darling. I know what you want."

Was he a mind reader? You wasted no time, climbing onto the bed, straddling his thigh and beginning to slowly grind. He tensed it, so firm and strong beneath you. The perfect platform for you to drag your clit across.

Minho's hands went to your waist, holding you gently, guiding you as you rolled your hips.

"That's it, baby, there you go," he encouraged you. The friction was enough to make you sweat, the pleasure overwhelming you. He was right - maybe you couldn't handle this. You couldn't even imagine how overwhelming it would be to actually feel his hands on you, feel his dick inside you.

His dick.

You could see it growing harder in his briefs, a small damp circle near the head where precum had leaked. You couldn't resist the temptation any longer; your hand reached out almost involuntarily, cupping his bulge gently. It was firm, and warm, and growing bigger seemingly by the second.

Minho took your hand, instantly re-directing it. "No, no, don't touch. Not until I say you can."

"But I can see how hard you're getting," you said. "You want it, Minho!"

"Unlike you, I know how to restrain myself." He patted your waist gently. "Keep riding."

You gave a frustrated huff, but did as he said.

Minho brought a slender finger down to your crotch, hooking it around the fabric of your underwear and moving it out of the way. "Let me see that pretty pussy," he murmured.

The new exposure made you moan aloud, hands gripping Minho's shoulders firmly as you rode him.

"Please," you whispered. "Please, Minho."

"Please, what? Use your words."

"Please fuck me," you asked.

He pretended to consider it for a moment. "Hmm… No. Not yet."

You groaned. "I need it, though!"

Minho snickered. "Don't be such a brat. I want to take my time with you, okay?"

"You can take your time next time! Just - please - fuck, please, I need it."

He raised an eyebrow with you. "Oh, so there's gonna be a next time, is there?"

You ignored his quip. If you couldn't get in his pants just yet, you'd focus your attention elsewhere. You lifted his shirt slowly, revealing his stomach, where you found lightly toned abs that only made you more desperate to feel him. Miraculously, he humoured you, pulling his shirt over his head.

You gasped, running your hands down his chest. He was beautiful, tight pecs and perfect little nipples that stood to attention in the open air of his bedroom. You ghosted a finger over one of them, entranced.

"I thought that'd shut you up," Minho commented under his breath.

"Beautiful tits," you muttered unintentionally as you admired his pecs.

Minho smiled. "I could say the same thing about you, angel." He placed a hand on your back, pulling you closer and bringing one of your nipples into his mouth. He wasn't gentle about it, sucking and biting without holding back. You cried out, your hips pausing their grinding motions, your system completely overloaded by his harsh actions on your sensitive nipple.

"Keep riding," he mumbled, not even taking your nipple out of his mouth as he spoke.

You dragged your clit across his muscular thigh, whimpering loudly as you went. "Oh god, please, Minho! I need you inside me."

"Then beg for it."

You wasted no time. "Please, Minho, please, please! I need your cock, I've never needed anything this bad. I know I'm just a filthy little slut but please give me what I need, fuck, I'll die if you don't!"

"You really are a filthy slut," he agreed, lifting you from his thigh and laying you on his bed.

"Yes, yes, please Minho!" you babbled.

He pulled your underwear down, leaving you completely naked before him, before tugging his own briefs off.

Holy fucking shit, you thought.

His dick was beautiful. That was the only way to describe it - fucking beautiful. It was long, with a vein running along the underside, and the girth was decent too. The head was thick, and red, and if you weren't so desperate to be fucked you would've sucked on it for hours.

"I know you want it," Minho said. "But do you deserve it?" He stroked his dick slowly, and you watched as the head disappeared into his fist, emerging again as his hand ran along his shaft.

"I don't know, but I need it," you insisted. "I'll do anything."

Minho shook his head, but he looked smug. "Alright, baby. If you need it that badly."

"Yes, yes, yes," you chattered, intoxicated by a dick that you hadn't even felt yet.

He pushed your knees up to your chest, and you hooked your arms around them, holding them in position and peering down to watch his motions. "Such a perfect pussy." He rubbed the head of his dick across your clit, and you whined loudly. Distantly, you wondered if the sounds of the frat party below would even be enough to drown out your incessant noises of pleasure. It was irrelevant, though; you didn't care enough to stop.

He dragged his dick through your folds, over your hole, back up to your clit. Minutes ago, you would've killed a man to have Minho touch your pussy, but already you wanted more. He made you so greedy. It felt good but your thirst for more was unbearable, intolerable.

"Alright, baby, are you ready?"

"Yes!" you cried out.

Slowly, he sunk the tip of his dick inside you - just the tip. Thick as it was, it slid in with hardly any protest. He sighed as it went in, clearly needing the sensation more than he let on.

"More," you pleaded.

"You'll take what I give you, when I'm ready to give you it." Minho saw you roll your eyes at this, but said nothing.

He pushed the head in and out of your hole, never putting more than two inches inside.

"Please give me the whole thing, Minho!"

He simply shook his head. "You wouldn't be able to handle it. Dumb baby."

"I can handle it!" you insisted. "I swear I can!"

He looked at you, raising an eyebrow that told you he was unconvinced. "You can?" You nodded. "You're gonna cry like a little baby."

"Just give me your stupid dick right now!"

Minho laughed, shaking his head. "Alright, baby. Here comes my stupid dick."

He held your legs down against your chest, and slammed his whole length inside you. You saw stars. He thrusted, hard and fast, and you were somewhat aware that you were moaning probably louder than you ever had before, but all you could truly focus on was his cock filling you up. He was hitting your g-spot on every single thrust, grunting as he fucked you.

"God, you're tight," he groaned. He re-positioned his hips, and somehow managed to hit deeper. You felt him against your cervix, and cried out in pain.

"Too much," you weakly protested as your eyes filled with tears.

"I thought you could handle it?" he said, his voice lacking any sympathy. "Fucking pathetic, begging for a cock you couldn't even take."

"I-I can, just not so deep."

Minho smirked down at you. "It's not my fault my dick's so big," he said, but adjusted his thrusts slightly anyway.

"I can take it," you promised. "I-I can take anything you give me, Minho."

"That's right, baby. My filthy little whore." His voice was calm, but his eyebrows were furrowed and sweat was dripping down his forehead - the pleasure was overwhelming him just as much as it was destroying you.

Minho leaned down, connecting his mouth to yours as he fucked you. You sighed happily, wrapping your arms around his neck and taking his tongue into your mouth. You couldn't help but moan. His dick fucking your pussy, his tongue fucking your mouth. This was heaven, you were sure of it.

He pulled away. "You think you could take some more?"

"More?" you asked, eyes wide.

"Just a little more. For me?"

You nodded hesitantly.

Minho paused his thrusts, but before you could whine in protest, you felt his finger rubbing at your opening. Slowly, he pushed his index finger inside, along with his dick. The painful stretch was incredible, and you whimpered at the feeling.

"There you go, babe," he said, beginning to thrust once more. He closed his eyes, losing himself to the sensation. "Fuck, this is nice and tight."

You were barely even lucid at this point. You babbled incoherently, unaware of what you were even trying to say. You were completely and utterly spellbound by his dick, by the sweet burning stretch.

"Touch yourself for me, baby," Minho directed you.

"F-Fuck- I don't know if I can-"

"I thought you wanted to be my sex slave, hm? Pretty little slaves do as they're told."

You whined, but obeyed his command. "M-Minho… I'm gonna cum if I keep going."

Minho barked out a laugh. "Cum then. I don't care. But don't take your fingers off that pussy, not even for a second."

You were beginning to think that maybe you weren't cut out for this. You hadn't even reached your climax yet, and already the overstimulation was too much. Your stretched out pussy was throbbing, and you jolted each time Minho's dick pounded your g-spot. You were drenched, covered in your own sweat as well as Minho's, which was dripping onto you from his hair, his forehead, his neck. The air in the room was thick, and smelled entirely of Minho - you were covered in him. He looked like a god above you, fucking into you like it was his life's mission.

It was too much for you to handle, without a doubt. And yet, you'd be happy to spend the rest of your life underneath him. Or on top of him. Or in any position which meant his dick could be inside you.

"Minho… Minho!" you whimpered.

"C'mon, baby," he encouraged you, his voice strained. From the sounds of it, he wasn't far from finishing either - although you got the sense he could keep going all night if he willed himself to. "Cum around my cock like the dirty little whore you are."

That was all the prompting you needed.

Your ears started ringing. You let the almost unbearable feeling of ecstasy wash over you, flooding Minho’s cock. You knew you were crying out maybe a bit too loudly - but you didn’t care, thrashing in Minho’s hold and grasping the bedsheets for dear life as he fucked you through it. He didn’t slow his pace, riding out your intense orgasm caused by the man of your dreams and making you feel as if you’d been set on fire.

"Does that feel good, baby?" Minho crooned, continuing to fuck you as he went after his own orgasm. You could only manage a high-pitched whine in response. "Just a little longer, baby, you can do it. Just lie there and let me use your tight little pussy, that's it." His voice was hoarse, and the veins on his neck were prominent. You knew he was going to cum soon, but you didn't know if you could hold on. You were over-sensitive to the point of pain, hands gripping Minho's bed sheets.

"Cum - give me your cum," you urged Minho. "Now, please."

His eyes widened. Your command had seemed to catch him off guard a bit. He pulled out of you, and you watched as thick ribbons of pearly white cum oozed onto your abdomen. You gasped gently as you watched. It was perhaps the most beautifully erotic thing you'd ever seen. His dick was definitely a contender for the prettiest one you'd ever fucked, and his cum was thick and heavy, dripping from the tip like a waterfall.

"Thank you," you whispered. He leaned in, kissing you deeply. He tasted like sweat, hot and sticky, and you moaned.

He pulled away, before planting one more kiss on your forehead. "You're welcome."

Minho stood, going to the other side of his room. You tried to follow him with your eyes, but you felt so weak and tired that they slipped shut immediately. He returned seconds later, and you lay still, sighing as he cleaned you up. His touch was so gentle, so soothing, so different than it had been just minutes before.

"That better?" he asked, discarding the towel.

You nodded. "You want me to go crash with Felix?" you asked, unsure of what exactly this arrangement was.

"Nah, you reek of sex. Felix wouldn't want you." He helped you climb under the covers. "Plus, I wouldn't mind some company tonight." He slid into bed beside you, and you rolled over, laying your head on his chest. He wrapped his arms around you, and you felt incredibly safe secure, especially considering just how utterly terrified you'd been of this man a few hours ago.

You giggled softly, so tired and fucked out that you felt a little delirious. "Can't believe you fucked me, Minho."

Minho gave a short laugh. "Can't believe you convinced me to fuck you so easily. You're a little minx. I really wanted to play with you some more."

You nestled into his chest. "I guess there'll have to be a next time then, huh?"

"Yeah," he agreed. "If you're lucky."

"You wanna fuck me again, Minho, I know you do," you mumbled. "I saw the look in your eyes when you came. You need my pussy."

Minho was silent for a few seconds. "You're awfully bold for someone who was crying on my cock ten minutes ago."

"...Yeah."

"Get some sleep, sweetheart." No more than ten seconds later, you were sleeping in his arms.

You slipped into the land of dreams, where you went on to fantasise about Minho - his thighs, his neck, his tummy, his hands. His kisses, his touches, his dick in your throat, in your holes. Minho everywhere. Were you completely insatiable? Maybe. But it seemed very likely that he'd give it to you again. In your sleep, you smiled.

˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

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