#time for bulk posting!1!1

[that-one-lying-guy]

[rontra]

i care about them a normal amount that is proportional to how much content they have . kara zor el wavy hair truther by the way

[original-cat-showdown]

ROUND 2 MATCH-UPS EVERYBODY

Tabby (@cure-icy-writes) vs Elle Chihiro (@cure-icy-writes)

Ni'iri (@sillysorcerer) vs Spirit (@spirits-of-kin)

Gull (@featherfrond) vs Paxel (@cat-skull)

Kitty Heels (@esmaelj) vs Ginger (@esmaelj)

Jade (@dragontoonss) vs Caitrionia (@kjmellow)

Vivi (@rainewintersnow) vs Apotheosis (@horizontalnobelcat)

Nico (@crownne-prince) vs Narciso (@crownne-prince)

Briarfang (@plaguedbutch) vs Leafcloud (@plaguedbutch)

Bobsyfella (@thunderwhenhepurrs) vs Jinna (@teknoctarkamacska)

Tumbledown (@sugarsprinkles) vs Caro (@sugarsprinkles)

Frozen Teeth (@element-kitten-klaws) vs Pawtree Purrety (@kdm13)

Mason Spectrespeaker (@2bu) vs Kat (@laceghost / @laceghost-art)

Mina (@spacedragonstar) vs Lara and Rio Coddsworth (@acromafireair)

Cherry Lipstick (@hyephyep) vs Lane (@hyephyep)

Round 1 brackets

Round 1 results

Polls will run for a week, and I should manage to set them up in a few days!

[farolero-posting]

26/32 matches done hell yessssss

[oflgtfol]

thank fucking god its the last week of classes bc im so sick of this new sleep schedule of mine where i fall asleep unintentionally at like 10:30-11 and then wake up 2 fucking hours before i need to be officially awake

[hotyanderedaddies]

The School Bully Loves You, Pt. 4:

Yandere Bully Interrupts Your "Date"

Part 0 │ Part 1 │ Part 2 │ Part 3

[Yandere! Bully x GN Nerd! Reader]

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

Jonathan was a nice guy, you figured.

The quarterback of the football team was always all smiles, and he seemed to never treat you differently despite being way higher up on the social ladder. Therefore, you sort of liked to tutor him. Not only did it feel like you were sometimes hanging out with a close friend, but it also made you feel good deep down that a guy was paying you some attention... even if it was just for school. But still.

And plus, you figured that he could potentially protect you from Blake.

Seriously, it was crystal clear that Jonathan lived in the gym after school, given his large muscles and athletic prowess.

Blake is muscular too, but he tends to hide his bulk underneath his leather jacket.

But still!

You tried your best to force your mind away from Blake as you and Jonathan pulled into the parking lot of a local diner. It was a small place where the two of you could be uninterrupted during your study session. It was one of the few local spots where Jonathan would treat you as payment for tutoring him, and you'd always order something sweet and tasty!

The two of you took your seats at one of the booths near the back, and your eyes stayed glued to the door. The constant fear of Blake finding you kept you on edge, and you found it hard to stay present with your brain always straying back to the bully.

You mentally berated yourself, annoyed that you kept thinking about Blake.

He'd claimed you as his, and you'd gotten three strikes.

Both of those spelt trouble in your mind, and you wanted nothing more than to avoid the guy. Therefore, you figured that being away from school with someone big who could protect you was the best course of action.

Jonathan and you placed your orders and tried to start the tutoring session, but it was close to impossible for you to get your nerves settled.

"Is something on your mind?" the jock finally asked when he'd noticed you staring nervously at the door for the millionth time.

"O-oh!" you mumbled, jerking out of your panicked daze. "I'm sorry, I'm just a little... distracted." You sheepishly smiled at the end of your statement, hoping that the jock wouldn't catch onto you inadvertently using him as protection.

Jonathan pursed his lips into a thin line, deep in thought. "So," he slowly asked, shrugging his broad shoulders, "is it Blake?"

You jerked back in your seat, shocked. "Wh-what do you mean?" you stuttered, trying your best to force an innocent smile onto your face.

Jonathan scrunched up his face in confusion. "Oh, my bad," he muttered. "I just thought that you two were having couple problems."

"'Couple problems'?" you repeated.

Jonathan shrugged again. "Well, yeah," he grunted. "I mean, by the way Blake talks about you, I thought the two of you were dating..."

"The way he talks about me?" you repeated again, feeling yourself go pale at the words you heard.

Never in your life would you have ever expected Blake to talk about you in any sort of positive manner. You always tried to avoid him like the plague, hence you'd preferred if he didn't know that you existed. But if he were to talk about you, you half-expected him to curse your name and call you the scum of the earth given how badly he's beaten people up all around you.

Thinking about it, there were several of Blake's victims you knew personally:

Kyle, the bully who's stolen your lunch money back in the sixth grade. He'd gotten his face beaten to a pulp, causing his nose to be a little crooked now.

Tristan, the guy who'd called you ugly on picture day. Blake had based his face so hard that his front teeth had been knocked out, totally ruining his picture.

Cesar, the douche who'd smashed your science project to smithereens for a YouTube prank. Well, Blake had filmed himself stomping him in the nuts, posting it to Cesar's now defunct account.

Wait...

"Wh-what has Blake said... about me?" you asked, feeling your heart fall to the floor as you thought everything over. It all had to be a coincidence, right?

The waitress delivered your food, distracting the jock for a second as he began to eat his fries. "Oh, um, he says lots of things about you," he mumbled, his mouth full of food.

That didn't really help.

"Like what?" you pressed.

The jock took a loud gulp of his soda. "Well, he says that he--"

He was cut off by the loud slamming of the front door. The both of you were altered to the booming noise, making you both flinch as you turned to see none other than Blake enter the tiny diner.

The bully's eyes scanned the area before landing on you, narrowing in your direction.

Uh-oh...

To be continued...

·゜·:.。..。.:·☆·゜·:.。..。.:·☆

I'm sorry about the lack of tagging people! I'm forever and always appreciative of everyone's interest in this story. Unfortunately, I just can't tag everyone at the moment. I apologize and hope you all understand!

[satoruhour]

racer jjk are so good 😩 i wonder if u can make a part two where is explain how the boys (gojo, geto, nanami, toji) and the reader first met. THANK YOUUU

a/n: thx baby glad u liked them 😉 here you go! also mb if this is lacklustre guys 🧍‍♀i didn’t wanna write smut bc it’d be too similar ig. fun little post! pls still support me 🥹 (nanami’s is a bit suggestive!) / pt.1 here

✶ GOJO

you actually meet his ass when he almost crashes into u and while making a difficult drift turn before swerving at the sight of you. plus  surprise … you’re the police chief’s daughter. gojo at this point is still using a jacked up camaro, so it’s a wonder he’s able to still speed so well away from officers. but it’s not like he was running away from any crime, he just so happened to stumble across an interrogation of a fellow classmate initiated by the police chief’s son (your younger, cop worshipper brother). it was hardly an interrogation tho, more of a bully circle. gojos an cocky man but hes not entirely closed off from things happening around him. when theres people being wrongfully treated he steps in, but he’s pushing the limit a little running away from your brother and his police chief dad. especially when he’s got ties with the racing scene lol. bro doesnt exactly care tho, cause he knew the modifications he made to his engine he’s sure to get away lmaoooo.

there’s a rush of adrenaline that matches the exact moments when the first gear change happens and his foot presses down hard on the break, feeling the familiar sensation of the steering wheel under his fingers as he turns it to the right. nothing like a successful run of a difficult drift route, even more so with an annoying fucking kid chasing him. he was miles behind too, and gojo has to laugh out to himself in the driver’s seat before he yelps out at the shadow on the street.

“damn street lights. don’t even want to spend a few thousand to fix it,” he scoffs, thinking the figure would’ve apologised and ran away, but he’s a little pumped to see you, a relative of the very kid he was running away from. “don’t wanna chase me with daddy over there?”

you notice he’s nodding his head toward the incessant siren, your hotheaded father and your insufferable brother, two of them who butt heads all the time but still manage to get along. you couldn’t care less though, because of their arrogant, conceited behaviour; you vowed never to be like that. your father failed to raise you how he wanted you to turn out: dyed hair at sixteen, a stick ’n poke a year later, colluding with the “wrong” people (they were harmless, he just didn’t like them).

so he turned to your brother, corrupting his mind, and since then, you’ve been a ghost in the house, happy to even be ignored by the conservative kin that find people who are different a ’hassle’. with a story like this, gojo isn’t exactly clueless to your situation so he reaches over and opens the door to the passenger seat in a silent offer.

what’s a little salt in the wound, right?

gojo giggles when you slip in like he knew you would and you simply shrug, knowing this would seal the deal. you know you’re right when you hear furious honks from the police car which is quickly approaching, but watching gojo evade police on the news made you confident he’d outrun them every. single. time. “ooh, doesn’t sound good, princess. i’ll pick you up if you get kicked out of the house.”

it was such a dirty, rude comment that you would’ve slapped him but instead you just burst out laughing, weird noises and all before you’re patting the hand on his stick shift, “drive, hotshot.”

all you can do is roll your eyes with a smile, not missing the exhilarated smile and blush on his cheeks. you already feel at home in the 1969 camaro he’s driving, seeing the exact same car later that night when you’re waiting on the sidewalk with a bulk of your things.

“so much for being daddy’s girl.” gojo smiles, a little sickeningly that you want to punch him (you hear it’s like that from his friends and you find it to be true), but you accept the ride anyway, with a promise he’d get something more later.

✶ GETO

the first time you see him is before a race, having stumbled into the bustling underground of cars and the peak of 2000s fashion because you’re still navigating japan even after six months on an exchange program. it’s difficult when they have different parking lots for every monument building, which all look the same, mind you. it was like a puzzle for your poor mind, especially since there was tons of undocumented alleys in the area you were in. u immediately get hit by the smell of petrol and smoke and conversation and it’s like woah…. stepping entirely into a new world sort of??? even with his fame suguru stays humble tho, keeping gojo ans nanami close to him while keeping his distance from fangirls and stuff. shit gets messy !!!!

gojo nudges geto so hard he almost falls if not for his mazda behind him, and he’s ready to shoot a glare towards satoru but then he looks past the annoying man and into the crowd to find you, doe eyed and looking all around the place like a deer caught in headlights. you’re all dressed up in a cute get-up, hair framing your face so cutely he has half a mind to talk to you. plus, it’s clear you don’t belong here, and there isn’t anything wrong with that but the people here sometimes tend to be a tad bit… stuck-up.

there’s already a few in the crowd giving you weird looks and others giggling, clearly put off by the confused glances you exchange between your phone and the area. geto is prepared to head your way, but his resolve hardens when he sees todo and his gang start to approach the poor person who can only freeze in place.

geto pushes off his car immediately, completely disregarding whatever comment gojo was making while nanami watches silently. todo’s already asked you a question, and when you don’t answer, everyone knows the next thing he’ll do is to humiliate you, but not before geto interferes.

“she’s mine, aoi.” shoving him away, todo only scoffs and spits on the floor beside you because he can’t do anything except leave the place before anything escalates. it’s a clear rule, too, that anyone’s partner or significant other is off-limits, unless you want to propose a race to win them over — but even so it’s not that simple.

the murmurs only heighten when geto asks if you’re okay, a palm on your back to lead you away from the action of everything. thankfully, his mazda and the other two men are stationed at the corner, and the crowd’s attention slowly pulls away from you and onto the revving engines of the two competing cars.

“you okay?” geto looks down, shielding the bright car park lights and peeking a glance at where you were meant to go. it’s a quaint cafe in the basement of a building near shibuya square — a place which could be accessed by the parking lot, but it looks like you took an early turn and ended up in this one instead.

all you could muster up was a nod, mind going a hundred miles per hour just like those cars that were going to race; you’re more focused on his brown eyes that hold yours too well, though, dark and hypnotising that he has to repeat his question.

“yeah. for the most part, i guess. tha—” you mumble, but before you can bow and thank the man who’s already making a mark on your mind with his imposing stature, his friend chimes in.

“don’t mind aoi, he’s just intense like that.” you look past geto to see the white-haired racer who sports a bright grin, and to his side, a blonde, bored-looking guy who’s around the same age. “where you headed?”

geto waves a hand at them and cuts in as you answer, “i’ll take you. don’t mind those two idiots.” his sudden offer has your heart jumping just a bit; a mean brooding guy looking for a little cafe who’s holding a cinnamoroll event at the moment? what a sight to behold.

you’re all prepared to go when gojo tosses the keys to his mazda, and you’re thinking that maybe it really was further than expected but the man is soon leaning down to whisper into your ear.

“but before you go, want to watch me race?” geto grins, noticing that you’re at a loss for words again. you do that a lot, huh. it wouldn’t hurt to show off a little to get you absolutely speechless.

“i’ll treat you to whatever you want in that cute cafe, too.”

✶ NANAMI

ok the small drabble i wrote was sorta how they met but yes basically that!!!! nanami comes in at first (but you’re not doing much, just hanging around in the back), panicking cause he’s got an important race tmr (he just doesn’t gojo to win over whether he would have to borrow one of gojo’s dodge chargers) and hes like ? hes wondering what’s wrong with his dodge and when your dad mentions how he may need to order the parts his world falls apart fr 😭. and then he ends up borrowing it from gojo LMFAOOO. since you guys roughly know their meeting (nanami’s return to the shop after your father fixes the car and then eating you out wheeew) ill highlight life with nanami after that whole shebang!

you like to recall the first time you’ve met nanami, hardly a meeting, really, because you didn’t even see his face, but you hear his voice. a deep timbre with a seriousness to it that tells you that he could’ve fixed his own car if he tried and maybe just lacked the parts. however, you’re appalled when your father comes home later that night and tells you it was a dodge charger they were dealing with, a 1968 release that was no doubt passed down in his generation.

so when you’re peeking out of the supply room the second time nanami returns, you’re not surprised by his blonde hair, possibly a descendant of european blood, but had been born and raised in japan. it wasn’t uncommon, but it felt like he was such a specific ethnicity with the features he had. you’re right when you’re out with nanami a few weeks later, learning his grandfather was danish, smiling as he talked about his family.

it was by chance that he got into the racing scene, getting acquainted with gojo briefly because he was always infuriating in class — but then the both of them began to grow out of high school and entered university, introducing nanami to both geto, gojo’s best friend and to racing. it had made an impression on his heart immediately, reluctantly asking to ride in gojo’s car as they sped through the night and then trying his hand at it later.

“so geto-san was the one who taught you how to drift?” you ask from the passenger seat, a calm atmosphere surrounding the two of you as nanami takes you out for a casual drive along the freeway, bringing you to his favourite place to drift ever since he’s trained there. it was a clean ascent once he reaches the mountain, jogging over to open the door for you before sticking out a hand.

“thank you… kento,” you feel his hand tighten around yours, bringing you around to the front before leaning on the front of the car with you, the jangle of the bracelet he’s got you making noises when he pulls you into his side. it’s been a month with him, yet he already feels so committed, albeit stoic.

but you realise, in the midst of it, you’re the only one who can manage to pry a smile out of him, the lines on his face fading away when he picks you up from your dad’s shop. the loud engine is always an indicator, greeting him at the door of the garage as your father sends you off with a grin, leaning into the driver’s seat to press a peck through the window.

“when you say my name like that,” nanami mumbles, appreciating the scene with his lips in your hair; and while nanami is all soft and gentle with you, sometimes his carnal instincts get the best of him and he says the filthiest things, unprompted, “it makes me want to eat you out on the hood of my car again.”

you roll your eyes with a smile, because you’ve already done it twice: one in the shop and another in a secluded car park, but you know nanami hasn’t glutted his appetite for you yet, and he makes sure you know he never will.

✶ TOJI

the drabble previously mentioned how you were a little older megumi — through tutoring megumi, you met toji. it was a chance encounter sort of, u put up an ad at the end of your second year of uni since the winter break was a little longer than usual, so you decided to earn a bit of pocket money thru tutoring in the one subject you were most comfortable in: humanities. the syllabus in schools nowadays has become harder too, even going as far as to research papers and then scoff in disgust at the intensity of the questions lol … it’s routine in the school system to do that, gearing up for the questions you might be asked when u first get an enquiry call on the line. you hang up with a time and address and when u reach megumi opens the door, but toji emerges from his man cave (garage. hes obsessed w/ his corvette) later and jesus christ hes (almost) six foot of pure dilf that youre considering sidling up to him instead LMAO. esp with how the house looked, it wouldnt be so bad being a old man’s bitch

the doorbell you rang reverberates throughout the house, albeit a bit muffled, but the door opens quickly and you’re met with a black spiky-haired kid, who looks a few years younger than you. but megumi didn’t really need an introduction, because you’re pointing it out to him once inside.

“aren’t you the kid that got suspended for beating up gang members?” sometimes his seniors never knew when to shut up. to this, megumi just sighs.

“yep, that’s me. i told you my name over the phone but,” he extends a hand, “i’m fushiguro megumi.”

you hum and take his hand, introducing yourself as well before a thud makes you snap your head to the noise, where a larger and taller man emerges from the door that connects the living room to the garage. he has features similar to megumi’s and he’s currently clutching his toe, stubbing it on the cabinet on his way out and cursing his head off.

it isn’t difficult to match name to face for him as well, remembering a report you did on the increasingly popular racing scene starting up again. don’t ask — it was a pretty open assignment and you didn’t hesitate to write about the culture back then, something you always wished you lived in.

now, you’re not too taken aback by casually stumbling across fushiguro toji’s home, but more of how he managed to maintain his physique for so many years. if there’s anything your research told you, he was more on the lanky side in his twenties, the right side of his mouth clear from the scar while dominating the drifting scene back in the 80s.

“who’re you, kid?” a little annoyed at the name but you open your mouth to introduce yourself, and toji nods, although confused. it seems like he’s not too involved in megumi’s grades, because when you tell him megumi himself had called you over a bad grade in literature and social studies, his expression drops into an ‘o’. 

“ah, i would’ve taught him myself but…” you knew he dropped out of high school before, living a crap life trying to pay off debts his father had left him and turning to racing and winning bets to make a living out of it. it was scary how this information was so accessible to you via one of his interviews, but you can tell he’s put it long before him, choosing to focus on raising megumi and maintaining his corvette.

“make yourself at home, alright, doll?” doll. you stutter out an affirmative reply.

though when he said that, you hadn’t imagined wandering into the same door he had came out of before. he was probably checking on the condition of his car, knees protruding out of the corvette’s side as he rolls out on the creeper at the sound of someone approaching. you didn’t wish to do this, truly, but when some kids from megumi’s school had attempted to play a prank by picking toji’s lock to get back at megumi, the latter had discovered them after coming out the side door.

needless to say, megumi still holds up his reputation, chasing them down for more than three blocks (it was seven) before proceeding to, you assume, beat them up. you imagine it’s routine for toji at this point, but you still want to at least let him know.

“he’s off again?” toji sits up after hearing your explanation, using the wrench to scratch his temple. sure, he’s only like twenty years older than you — it certainly doesn’t stop you from checking out how his muscles bulge against his compression shirt, or the grey sweatpants he’d got on that you told yourself not to peep at. “don’t mind the kid, i’ll lecture him when he returns later.”

he sighs and grumbles under his breath, expecting you to leave, and when you don’t he just raises an eyebrow, a silent prompt for you to explain what else you needed. you only pointed to the hood. 

“uh… toji-san, if you’re keen on getting back into racing,” toji fully stands up to his height, curious on what you have to say, but also wondering how much balls you had to talk about racing in front of him, “you should really change your 283 cubic-inch V8 to a 327. i, uh, heard the specifications on the new engine has better fuel delivery and horsepower.”

toji relaxes when you actually know your crap, not wanting to deal with another annoying fan begging him to get back into racing, although you’re not entirely off the hook. “and why should i listen to you, hm, doll?”

he stands there, unimpressed, but you didn’t research cars like a madman for nothing. it was a rabbit hole you had commended yourself for diving into, too, because you always had wanted to start, just, how? and that changed when you finally had the opportunity to delve into the complicated world of cars with the help of your friend’s dad who was a mechanic. “um… you really don’t. just giving some pointers, or at least, recommendations that go well with your ’66 corvette.”

oh my god? you know the exact year his chevrolet was released too?

the ex-racer only nods slowly, keeping it in mind for the next time he has the time to switch to an updated engine, but he didn’t expect help to come from your hands the next time, working under the hood like a professional while still leaving the heavy lifting to him. you had fun each time in the garage, exchanging intel and geeking about cars while you both open up to each other — all under the guise of tutoring his son.

since then, toji has taken his corvette out to meet you more than he takes it out for errands, meeting you with a promise that he would take care of your university fees. but none of the time spent with you would’ve warned him that you two would be changing his next engine, too, except that maybe, you were finally his girl.

why does toji’s always end up the longest bye. also this is the only req i’ve gotten, i swear i don’t bite guys. ♡ thirsts and drabble requests are open!

[sunnasweet]

Lina and The Landlord 1 & 2

this has been on literotica for a bit now and i forgot to post it here

literotica summary: Lina’s rent is late and her landlord makes her pay.

critiques are very much appreciated

5.4k , alien x female reader

The creaky floorboards of Lina’s sector 3 apartment creaked under her anxious footsteps.

Pacing back and forth while checking her comm for the umpteenth time, Lina’s eyes glazed over as she scanned through her late rent notice. The summary? Pay or get out.

Lina glanced at the holographic clock on her wall nervously, soon enough her landlord would be here to either get his credits or tell her she had a couple of weeks to pack up and leave. Lina didn’t have the credits to pay rent and she definitely didn’t have the credits to move. She was caught between a rock and a hard place.

Her only option was to try to appeal to his hearts and beg him for an extension on her rent.

The trouble was, her landlord was a slumlord asshole.

Sol Sender was a cold two-hearted alien freak who nickeled and dimed her at every expense of her unit. He put the heat on a minimum during the artificial colder months and complained when her water bill was too high. This all-amenities-paid-for bullshit was exactly that considering her rent was so damn high at 400 credits per week on a Sector 3 apartment.

One unexpected system malfunction with her credit transfer later and now she was in danger of being flat on her ass in Sector 1 where the homeless lived.

Still. All of this was better than living on the radioactive hellscape that Earth was these days.

Snapped out of her thoughts, Lina heard the familiar 3 bang-knock pattern that her landlord always used and groaned.

“Coming!” she called, her voice cracking.

Lina shuffled over to the door. She looked through the peephole, taking a deep breath. There he was. Sol Sender.

She opened the door with a painful smile on her face, regarding the alien male with the tilt of her chin. “Sol, hey…” she started awkwardly.

Sol looked at Lina with a raised bushy brow, his lips were in a hard thin line making his strong chin appear more prominent. Lina tried to act unintimidated but it was hard when she was a 5’6 to his approximately 6’4. It wasn’t easy to stare at a man with confidence when you had to bend your neck to look up at him. Even without the stern look on his face, his sheer bulk made her feel like a petulant child.

He looked much like a lion and she wouldn’t be surprised to learn if he had descended from them considering the thin fur-tipped tail that was flicking back and forth behind him, the mane of black fluffy hair, and a flat wide nose. 

Luckily his teeth were as blunt as Lina’s. She nearly shivered. She’d seen one too many aliens with sharp knife-like fangs.

“Rent’s due,” he said. Strict and straight. His voice had a slight growling undertone to it and she was sure he must descend from some sort of beast.

Lina winced, “Yeah…that’s actually what I wanted to talk to you about, why don’t you come inside?” bruskly he nodded and stepped forward. Lina opened the door wider to him and took a deep breath as he stepped inside. He seemed to be in a good mood today. She closed the door and leaned against it with an awkward smile.

“So?” He stared, looking at her expectantly. “Where’s your rent?”

She laughed nervously, “See the thing is…I don’t have the money right now.”

Sol did not look amused.

Lina’s eyes flitted to his tail, whipping back and forth quicker now. She cleared her throat, “But I can get it to you of course. I just need a bit more time, things have been kind of screwy with my paycheck recently and I was wondering if you could just give me till the end of the month?”

Sol’s slit pupiled gaze was locked onto Lina, he stared at her for a long quiet while. Before letting out a grunt and shaking his head.

“No,”  he said simply.

“Uhm,” she cleared her throat, “what?” 

Was he being serious? She’d been a model tenant up until now. Never made any noise, barely asked for him to come around if there was a problem, and sure he complained about the heating or water or electricity but she knew he got on everyone’s ass about that.

“I said no,” he shrugged. “If I let this go then there’s another problem next month and the month after that then I have other tenants hearing about letting this slide and they’ll think they can do it too.”

Lina rapidly blinked. She actually felt herself beginning to tear up because of this asshole. What the hell was his problem? Had he never been through an unforeseen event in his life?

“Listen, I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t have to.” she explains, “I don’t have anywhere else to go,” she tried to appeal to whatever soul he had deep, deep, deeep down inside. “My parents don’t live on this Station.”

Sol shook his head, “That’s not my problem. Book a hotel, go stay with a friend. If you don’t have rent for me then you’re out.” her mouth dropped open.

“How…how soon would I have to leave?” she asked nervously. He shifted on his feet shrugging, scratching his jaw.

“A week, maybe two.”

“You’re kidding.”

“This is Sector 3. I’m giving you a break, the law says I could kick you out today if I wanted to.” Lina swallowed. What kind of fucked up shit was this? Was she really about to be flat on her ass? Where would she go? She wasn’t lying, her parents don’t live in this station, and as embarrassing as it was to admit she doesn’t have any friends who would be willing to let her crash on their couch.

There was no way Lina could just accept this.

“Can’t we work something out?” she pleaded, “maybe a payment plan or…or I could owe you a favor or something.” Sol’s head tilted at that, his lip quirking up and Lina immediately wanted to back-pedal because nothing about that look on his face seemed good. It had alarm bells blaring in her head to just accept defeat and start packing.

“A favor?” he asked, his lip quirking up. His eyes gleamed as if he had been expecting this.

Her eyebrows furrowed, she nodded but her heart was beginning to pick up speed. “Y-yeah, like I could house-sit or something if you’re ever out of port or…I don’t know run you an errand.”

“No,” he smirked, looking her up and down. “I have a favor in mind.”

Lina bit her lip. What was he getting at? He couldn’t be… No. That was insane. She could take this asshole straight to court if he was implying what she thought he was. Not that she could afford it…

“Uhm. What is it?”

His smirk turned into a straight-up grin, Sol prowled towards her and she regretted putting herself up against the door. He got close enough to put both his arms on either side of her head. Caging her in, he leaned forward.

“Turn around.”

“What?”

He chuckled, “Turn around Lina.”

She shivered. No way. She shook her head.

“No.” she said weakly, “I’m not doing that. Ask for something else.”

He shrugged. “I don’t want anything else. What I want is for you to turn around and let me take off those pants that hug your tight ass.” Lina’s lips parted as air fled from her lungs. She shook her head again and he seemed undeterred. “No? Well then, maybe you should start packing.”

Lina weighed her options. Getting booted to Sector 2, maybe even 1 or a few sweaty minutes?

The answer seemed clear.

Well, fuck it. Literally.

Tentatively Lina turned around so that she was facing the door and her palms were flat on the cold metallic surface. Sol’s hands came up to cover hers, keeping her pinned there as he gently kicked at her ankles to spread her feet apart.

“Stay like this,” he grumbled.

No way was she about to have sex with her landlord right now. No way. That thought kept repeating over and over even as Lina’s yoga pants slid down her body. She lifted a foot then the other and he kicked them away.

His hand traced over her lower back then the globe of her ass and she took an inhaled breath when his fingers hooked the edge of her panties.

“Nice,” he murmured, rubbing the simple cotton, laced underwear with his thumb and forefinger. They were nothing special. Just plain black cotton, the lace made her feel more girlish but she certainly hadn’t felt sexy until about five seconds ago. Not that she should be feeling sexy, she should be feeling…humiliated, ashamed–whorish.

Instead, she was nervous, excited, and slightly aroused.

Though she would never admit it to anyone, she found Sol to be quite attractive. His mane was something she’d always wanted to run her fingers through and she was fascinated by his tail. With his physique, it looked pretty small but in comparison to herself, she could probably just barely wrap her whole hand around it. The length matched up to her leg and she often wondered what its evolutionary purpose was.

Sol grasped her hips and tugged her back so she was half bent over while her hands were placed flat on the wall. Her arousal seemed to increase. She’d never been with an alien before despite their majority population on Omega Station.

He palmed her ass with a grunt before unceremoniously pulling down her underwear. She was officially bare now, the cold air of the room kissing at her already slightly wet slit. She glanced back as he looked down between her legs.

Sol’s expression was unreadable to Lina, she had no idea what a surly man like him would be thinking looking at a human woman’s pussy. Had he been with a human before? Was he disgusted by her anatomy?

Maybe it was the hair. Lina wondered what the grooming habits of his species were. Did the women go completely hairless like most human women did? Lina didn’t do any of that. She gave herself a trim whenever things got out of hand but for the most part, she just left the hair alone down there. The one time she tried to shave, it grew back so coarse it took weeks of conditioner treatments to get herself settled back to the soft bush she was familiar with. She’d sworn off hair removal there ever since.

His hands gently petted her mound before he gruffly spoke, “Spread your legs wider.”

With a flushed face, she did.

He knelt and she exclaimed, “O-oh!” when he pressed his face directly into her pussy. 

One hand held onto her thigh while the other continued to stroke through the soft tufts of her bush. She nearly lost her balance when his tongue went probing between her thighs.

His nose bumped her clit and she was having a hard time keeping herself upright in this weird semi-squatting position. His hands smoothed her down and then spread her apart. She whimpered as he teased his tongue inside her.

When Sol told Lina to turn around the last thing she expected was for him to go down on her. She had logically assumed he was going to just use her body without giving anything in return but she was absolutely bewildered by the fact that he was kneeling in front of her, sucking her clit while he groaned with desire.

Everything came to a halt in her brain when he licked a strip from her clit to her ass, she gasped in shock when he started to prod at the puckered hole.

“Ohh...no, no-” she whined, “wait! I’m not, I didn’t–” she squealed as he tongued her asshole.

Lina had never properly received oral in her life. She had one too many unenthused boyfriends that ruined the entire experience for her so when asked she usually declined but the way he was handling her like this had her going crazy. He didn’t ask, he just set to work and while that might be a problem for some people it certainly wasn’t a problem for her. 

She squirmed as he held her by the thighs practically forcing her to sit on him while standing, her hands were no longer flat against the wall, she was bent over, her hands anxiously hovering over him as she was assaulted by the unfamiliar pleasure.

“Sol!” she whimpered, he groaned in response, switching back to sucking her vulva and clit. Her back arched, hips craning to angle herself just right against his tongue. Everything sounded so lewd, the wet and sloppy sounds going on between her thighs were too much for her. She squeezed her eyes closed and she mewled above him.

Soon enough she was rocking back and forth against his mouth, her mouth thinning into a strained line as she breathed hard through her nose. Her brows furrowed and her toes curled.

“Oh god.” she sobbed suddenly and that was it. The dam had exploded. She was ruthlessly riding his face until she was trying to get away from him to which he followed her while holding her in place to overstimulate her. “Sol!” she cried out once again. She practically keeled over as she squawked above him.

When he was finally done with her, he wasn’t done for long. The moment he stumbled back onto his feet he turned her around and pushed her back against the wall.

His pupils were completely dilated and her eyes widened to see that he did have fangs. Retractable ones. Aliens. Go figure. She stared at the four big canines, two on top, two on bottom. 

Maybe she was scared of him having fangs so much because now that he had them she wanted to know what it would feel like if he bit her. If he broke her skin and drew blood.

She shivered, Sol pulled up her top and stared at her tits before bending over and sloppily laving against her nipples. The back of Lina’s head gently knocked against the wall as she moaned, holding her shirt up for him and pushing her chest out like she was giving an offering to him. 

As he sucked on her breasts, his hands came around to grope her ass. Squeezing and massaging her.

She wanted to do something for him but she was so overwhelmed by his tending of her that she could do little more but just stand there and let her eyes roll back as she squirmed against him. She wasn’t usually a terrible lover. Perhaps he just brought out the worst in her.

Dazedly, Lina reached for the zipper of his pants and he grabbed her wrists, pinning them above her head. She huffed and he bared his fangs at her which made her quiver in desire. Apparently, he didn’t want her help.

“Stay,” he growled, commanding her like a newborn puppy. She did. Happily. When he realized she wasn’t going anywhere and would keep her arms above her head without his guidance, he shoved his lips against hers and she moaned outright.

Lina felt something twist around her thigh and she was surprised to see when she pulled back that it was his tail. She looked at him panting.

“Can you control that?” she asked curiously.

He shrugged, equally out of breath. “Sometimes,” he responded bruskly. 

Hot.

Finally, he took her shirt off. She breathed a sigh of contentment as her still-wet nipples hardened under the cold hair of the room.

Maybe because she was half high off her orgasm she asked, “Are you going to take your clothes off now?”

It took little begging on her part. He grabbed his shirt from the back and pulled it over his head with a grunt. Lina’s eyes greedily took in his muscular body, Sol had broad shoulders she could hang on to and a tapered waist that drew her eyes to the nice v of his pelvis peeking through his pants.

She licked her dry lips, waiting for him to remove his pants, she could already see the obvious bulge straining underneath and at this point, she had thrown caution to the wind about the implications of screwing her landlord for free rent.

Lina’s eyes went wide when Sol’s cock was freed. He was hard, curved, and most importantly to her thick. 

She could already imagine his girth stretching her open, it had been a while since Lina had been fucked. At least 5 months, maybe longer.

“Where do you want me?”

He stared at her for a moment, his eyes going from top to bottom before he directed her towards the bedroom. “Come,” he coaxed, grabbing her forearm while he dragged her inside her bedroom. She let out a slight ‘oompf’ sound when he pushed her face forward onto the mattress. She crawled on top, spreading herself open for him with a pant.

She laid there on all fours, waiting for him. Wanton and ready. Maybe Lina really was a whore, but she didn’t care. At least, not right now. Not when she could feel his knuckles briefly traveling over the backs of her thighs before taking a handful of her ass.

“Mm..” he grumbled, “Already presenting for me.” her brows furrowed, she didn’t know what that meant but she didn’t think on it too long as he knelt behind her, his knees on the bed. His hands now gripping her waist. “You have a birth control implant?” he asked.

Lina nodded, arching her hips further upwards, practically begging him to stick his dick in her pussy. She was on full display for him. Too horny to think of anything but his fat cock.

“Good.” he reached forward, stroking Lina’s clit in circles and her eyes rolled back, “I want you raw,” he said lowly into her ear, it made her twitch. No one had ever talked to Lina in this way. Ever.

Slowly, he sunk into her, causing a whine to escape her throat. Lina slumped forward, head down–ass up. Inch by inch he pushed inside, deliciously stretching her just the way she had been hoping for. Her pussy sucked him in eagerly, fluttering around him already.

She looked over her shoulder to see Sol with a perfectly stoic expression, the only evidence that he was feeling something was the slight crease between his two brows as he hissed through his teeth.

“Fuuck yeah.” he groaned, rocking forward once. He pressed as deeply as he could go before slowly backing out halfway then rocked forward again. He repeated this pattern at a slow and steady pace.

Lina was done for. She was gasping and clawing at the sheets as his cock kissed her insides exactly where she needed him to. He pressed his palms on top of Lina’s hands, sinking deeper inside as he bent himself against her. Chest to back. Lina’s breasts swayed from underneath her and she could already feel an impending pressure in her abdomen.

“Sol..” she whined, rocking back against him.

He was right next to her ear, she could feel his hot breath on her neck. “Hmmm?”

“Harder.” she whimpered pathetically, “please.” she tacked on.

He groaned once more, burying his nose into her neck. Inhaling her deeply as his hips began to pump faster behind her. His hips slapped against her ass and to her delight, the fur-tipped tail began to prod at her clit, bumping against it before falling into a back-and-forth rhythm. His forearm, wrapped around her neck and pulled her further in against his chest.

They were both in a slightly awkward semi-squat/semi-kneel position but it didn’t matter because it felt amazing. Lina’s breaths were tinged with a whimpered sob every time his cock would hit a specific spot inside her and he made an effort to target it once he realized the pattern. She couldn’t take much more of this. How long until she worked off a month’s worth of rent? Would it take all night? Lina didn’t know if she could handle that.

“Ahh..” she cried out, something snapping inside her, she backed 

into him furiously and he growled in hopefully delight. His face went back to her neck and she could feel his canines scraping against her delicate skin. “Mmm…yeah..” she whimpered, “Do it, fucking bite me.” she baited.

He throbbed inside her, his pace increasing and she realized she must’ve set him off in some way because as his movements had become sloppier and more unpredictable, his canines were burying deep inside her neck. She gasped, the sting of pain welling inside her but distracted by everything else going on.

Her eyes rolled back, pussy pulsating around him. Squeezing him for everything he had as her impending orgasm came closer.

Lina’s hips were rocking, and she was arching her back as far as it would go. Craning her head back, revealing more of her neck to the tongue that was currently swiping at her throat.

“Cum.” he grunted, with a growl, “milk my cock.” he ordered.

Maybe Lina had learned a new kink of hers but being ordered around like this set her over the edge, having her toes curling and eyes clenching shut as a wail escaped her throat. Her orgasm seized her, making her go completely still while she painfully clenched on the cock inside of her. 

She was pinned against the bed as a roar sounded from behind her, two clawed hands digging into her hips as she was moved to fuck up and down, prolonging her orgasm.

Sol’s canines dug into Lina’s neck, causing a scream from Lina.

He began to swell inside her, and moments later she was filled with thick warm heat. She moaned weakly, collapsing against the bed as cum was pumped into her.

To her surprise, Sol did not get up, grab his things, and go once they were finished. Instead, he unmounted Lina, watching the cum drip from her twitching hole. He let out a satisfied grunt and laid down on the bed next to her. Unexpectedly taking her into his arms.

Lina was too tired to ask what he was doing and the way he was running his fingers through her hair and rubbing his cheek against hers had Lina feeling drowsy. His tail wrapped around her upper right thigh. She was sure there was still blood running down her neck. 

“I’ve been waiting months to conquer you.” he gruffly spoke, Lina’s eyes momentarily fluttered open but she couldn’t speak–too tired to talk. “Now you’re all mine,” he said sternly, staring down at her as if expecting a challenge. Lina had no response to that. She had no idea what he meant but “conquer” as he rambled on, crooning into her ear how well he would take care of her while he functionally groomed her.

A rumble in his chest vibrated between them as he spoke lowly–soothing her to sleep.

Uncharacteristically he said, “Thank you for presenting me opportunity to show my worth as a mate.” he spoke softly, and nuzzled against her ear but all that was buzzing around her head was the word he had used. 

Mate.

Lina’s sleepy ears perked at a particular word.

Mate.

What the hell did that mean?

“What are you talking about?” she rasped. Her eyes were opening and closing, he had really zapped–or fucked the energy out of her. “I’m not…this is just…”

Business. A mutually beneficial exchange.

Sol eyed her intensely. “Just what?” his large paw stroked up and down her back and he pulled her closer into his grasp. “I’ve conquered you. That makes you mine.”

What the fuck?

Lina squirmed in his grasp, sitting up with a huff. “That’s not what this is at all,” she remarked calmly. The drowsiness kept her cool but she was starting to become more alert as this misinformed alien kept speaking. “What are you even talking about?” 

Despite her rejection of his… proclamation? He looked calm as ever and continued to lay languidly on her bed as he kept grabbing at her.

“I’m providing for you now,” he says, then adds, “This apartment is yours because I’m giving it to you in exchange for your obedience.” 

Obedience. The words rang through Lina’s head. Just what the hell had she agreed to? Yes, she couldn’t pay her rent. But that didn’t mean that she was going to be his toy or housewife or just whatever he had in mind for her.

“Wait a minute.” she shook her head, “That’s not…I didn’t agree to that. This is just sex. I’m not going to let you control me!” She was starting to panic now. Was he nuts? What sort of mental gymnastics had he been performing to come to this conclusion?

“Settle,” he murmured, squeezing her gently. “I’m not going to be a demanding mate.”

There was that word again.

“We’re not mates!” she said, half irate and a low growl escaped from beside her. “I don’t even know what that means!”

“We are,” he said sternly. Then he rubbed his thumb over her neck–which caused her to wince when he pressed down on a tender spot. The bite mark. “This makes it so.” She slapped his paw away and touched the spot herself and her mouth gaped wide open. Her brain was going a mile a minute. She hadn’t consented to this!

“I didn’t agree to this!” she repeated, trying to escape from his grasp.

Sol huffed. Humans, he thought. Always going back on their word. Well. Sol wouldn’t let her. He had been trying to find the right way to conquer her for months. In this new environment–away from his home planet, it wasn’t easy to dominate a female. At least, not if he had wanted to do it the honorable way.

He hadn’t honestly been going to throw Lina out to the streets of the megaship, but he needed a way to seize the opportunity that had landed at his feet even if it wasn’t ethical by human means.

“You did, you asked me to bite you.” He grumbled.”

“I–!” well. She had, hadn’t she?

Do it, fucking bite me. That’s what she had said to him.

“That was just in the heat of the moment!” she argued, “It didn’t mean anything, I didn't agree to all this!”

“You agreed when you presented to me.” he rumbled. By all means, he had won. Now he just needed her to understand that. Of course, he was prepared to take on an aggressive female. He had thought her submission had come a little too easily.

Lina stared at him bewildered. “I don’t know what that means,” she said exasperated. “You can’t just tell me I’ve–oh!” she was toppled over, “what are you doing?!” she shouted.

He grabbed her by the waist, putting her on her hands and knees. “This is presenting,” he said lowly–sultry. “You put your back to me and–” Lina whimpered when he cupped between her legs. “Showed me your cunt.”

He said it so matter-of-factly that Lina didn’t know what to do. She was held there on her hands and knees with her landlord pawing at her pussy. 

“Stop that.” she hissed, she was still sensitive from earlier. 

He purred, “Why? You like it…” his hand rubbed back and forth then circled her clit with the pads of three fingers and she bit her lip hard to stop the moan that wanted to escape her mouth. “Don’t fight this…or do…” he murmured, “I’ll just prove myself to you again if I must.”

“All you’ve proved is that you’re a perverted slumlord!” she gasped, hips arching when he dipped two fingers inside her. They slid in easily with a squelch–she was still sloppy with his cum. “Angh! I said stop!” Lina squealed.

He nuzzled against the crook of her neck and she shivered, it felt strangely intimate. The way he was positioned against her, thrusting his fingers in and out of her as he kissed and laved at the bite mark he thought meant some sort of ownership over her.

“You’re..ahh..an asshole!” she moaned out, “stop this,” she begged. Lina was weak. Everything he was doing to her body made her want to give in. To go along with this whole ‘mate’ thing if it meant that he’d keep touching her like this.

“Listen to me…” he purred into her ear, “Your place is here. Your home…that I’m paying for now because you can’t. I’m housing you…taking care of you.” he curled his fingers inside her and her mouth dropped open, “And I’ll do much more for you now that we’re mates.”

“No.” she whimpered, “I just…” she just needed to work out her credit situation then they were done. That was all. This … this was all temporary. “Ohhh!” her eyes squeezed shut when he began to finger her harder. 

“Don’t reject this.” he coaxed, “I can make you feel so good.” he continued to cajole into her ear just like before, talking about all the ways he would spoil and take care of her and it was so confusing for her mind, she was whining now. 

Tears pooled in her eyes, she felt so full from his two thick fingers and the twinge in her core made her feel crazy. She needed more. She needed his cock.

“Fuck…” she hissed, angling her hips higher, showing her dripping slit. “Fuck me…please…please.”

He sucked harshly on her bite mark and she spasmed.

“OH!”

“Lina…tell me, tell me what I want to hear.” he asked, “And I’ll give you everything you want.”

“N-no…” she whimpered. 

She didn’t want to be controlled. Didn’t want to be obedient to Sol. She barely knew him, and from what she had seen so far there wasn’t much more worth knowing. But the way he cooed in her ear. Talked about caring for her, it made her feel warm inside. Made her want to look deeper. He was using her for sure. 

But maybe he would use her kindly…

“Please…” she begged, “Please fuck me Sol.”

He growled against her ear, “You can beg all you want, but I’m patient…now, tell me you’ll be mine.”

“N-no-oohh!” she cried out, his fingers moving faster, twisting and curling.

“You want my cock Lina?” he asked, positioning behind her, “Is that what you want? You want me to fuck you and fill you up with my seed?” God. Yes. That is exactly what she wanted.

“Please!” she begged again, thinking she was about to get her way.

He pulled his fingers out of her gaping pussy, then thrust. Only it wasn’t inside of her cunt, but between her pussy lips. The tip teasing her throbbing clit.

“Sol!” She sobbed, “I can’t take it anymore, please!”

“You know what I want Lina…give it to me.” he growled. Pistoning his hips. His tip grazed her entrance one too many times and she was keening now.

“Oh gods!” she screamed, “Yess…yes–” Lina bawled, “I’ll be your mate, just please, please fuck me!”

There it was. The words he had wanted to hear. He smiled in victory, then took her hips between his hands. He slid inside her in one fell push. They both groaned in pleasure and Sol pumped into Lina furiously. He wanted to fill her up with cubs but her damned breeding implant prevented that. He was getting worked up into a frenzy. Instinct overriding logic.

Saliva filled his mouth and his fangs were coming down, he was going to take a bite out of her. Again.

And he did, sinking his teeth into her neck for the second time of the night, Lina howled and jerked underneath him and Sol held her to him as he continued to fuck her. 

She was pulsing around him, her pussy clenching tightly as she came with a cry. The pressure was too much for him to bear and he roared out his orgasm. He swelled, filling her up with his cum. He continued to fuck her as she sobbed against the mattress until he was sure he had given her every bit of his seed. He held onto her tightly. Purring in her ear as she shook.

Sol suckled at her skin, tasting the coppery blood of his mate. 

His.

“Mine.” he rumbled quietly.

She nodded, beat. “Yours.”

[ronearoundblindly]

Hideout (3.1)

touch-starved!Nomad Steve Rogers x motel employee!Reader

Sensitive Boy, part I (see previous or series)

Summary: Steve surprises you with help at the perfect time.

Warnings for light smut (I have to split this chapter or it's just suddenly twice as long as the last, but really there's just massage and an implied orgasm in this half. You know me: too many feels and too much development...) MINORS DNI. This series is 18+ only. If you are underage or simply enjoy lighter content, there is plenty for you to read on my Light Masterlist, but this post is not for you! WC 3.2k

With so much on your mind, scaring the crap out of you is not difficult, so his strong hands hold you upright.

“Don’t do that,” you shriek, barely glancing at Steve’s face. You startled so suddenly your housekeeping cart is left rolling away at a snail’s pace.

“Sorry, I—“ long arms abandon you and reach to stop the bin “—it said on your website you were closed for renovations, and…”

You look him up and down. You were sure after he left two months ago that you’d never see him again. You’d gone too far. You’d pushed him too hard. He wasn’t ready.

Steve adjusts the strap over his shoulder. “I thought maybe I could help out…if you want?”

The last guests checked out a half-hour ago, and you readied to spend the whole week meticulously refreshing each room with your parents. The list of what needs done, however, doesn’t only include the motel. There’s a bunch you all had let slide up at the house. Help would…be extremely helpful actually.

Steve pulls a paper bag out of his knapsack. “Or I brought you some lunch if you just want a break or something.”

“It’s okay,” you rush out. “More than okay. Thank you, yes. We’d love—I’d love that.”

No one else can know it’s him-him there though. You’ll have to think of a way to keep your parents and St-‘Grant’ as far apart as possible, and how long you can manage that is…questionable.

If Steve’s not worried though, you’re okay.

Turns out, keeping your family up at the house is easy. Your mom shouts down the phone with relief that she can tackle the fridge, and you hear your dad mumble something about ‘the garage in daylight.’ You can enjoy a sandwich in the office with Steve in peace, explaining what all needs done before the electricians show up Friday afternoon.

The closure hasn’t been planned for a long time—not even before Steve and ‘Tom’s’ last visit—hence why you just painted Room 8, 5, 2, and 1 since March, but doing all those is how you and your parents really noticed that the light fixtures from the ‘90s were not only dated but very worn and that the same color layered over and over again for twenty years was, well, getting old.

Warmer months are better for the work. Pipes won’t freeze while you air out paint fumes, etc. The week after the gigantic, city festivities of Independence Day is notoriously dead. Since there were no reservations this stretch as of April, the family jumped at the chance to fix it all in one big, daunting go.

Saying you’d looked forward to this is a wild overstatement. You’ll be glad when it’s finished, and that’s the bulk of your excitement.

With his assistance though? Hope soars.

Steve will help you take down the sconces, the hanging lamps, and the panels above the vanities, then you both can—

“Where’s the paint?”

He’s very intense with the gameplan. Three guesses why.

“Dad’s gonna pick it up today. Probably. I’ll text him.” You whip out your cell again. “We didn’t think we’d get that far by evening.”

Steve nods.

“We also need to move all the furniture away from the walls and drape plastic to protect the carpet. Oh, and put tape along the trim and doorframes, ya know.”

Steve nods again. He wads up the wrapping from his sandwich and casually asks, “are all the doors open?”

You only just get your finger in the air to point at the desk.

“Master key is—“

But Steve is observant and has clocked everything about his surroundings each time he’s stayed, apparently. He stretches over to the wall beyond the counter, snatches the (correct) unmarked key, and heads out the door.

The service bell rings gently to emphasize the conversation is over.

All furniture in every room is pulled away by the time you finish sanitizing the one guest room he interrupted.

He asks where you keep the ladder, not that he’ll need it, but you will for reaching some of the lights.

You don’t know whether to be in awe of or exhausted by his efficiency.

He’s rigid and militant—go figure—until these few moments he suddenly can’t be.

As you toss plastic over the last bed to move, Steve yanks that sucker across the floor so fast, you roll off. His eyes are saucers as he apologizes, but you get the giggles and pick yourself up.

His fingers can’t separate thin layers of the plastic at one point, and he throws a minor fit until three rip apart together. Steve frowns at you and grumbles that he’s only ever used cloth for this before. It seems to take everything in his power not to say “back in my day,” but you can read between the lines.

Years of crusted paint makes the removal of some fixtures tricky.

Steve rips out one stripped screw with needle nose pliers, squeaks in alarm at the hole left behind, and then quietly asks if you have patch paste.

You call your dad before he’s left to buy paint. He adds spackling to the list.

The closest Steve comes to telling you anything specifically about himself is when you struggle with a stuck bolt.

“Just a little trick I learned when I was—“ Steve wraps his big hand around yours to pull the wrench instead of push from the other direction “—smaller.” He huffs out a laugh, adding, “when I couldn’t, ya know, ‘put my weight into it’ because a feather could’a knocked me over.”

As you relish the simple contact of his fingers, you smile, too.

“Hmm. I heard you got into back alley scrapes.”

“If you heard that I won any of those, you were lied to.” He patiently waits for you to finish removing the bolt before he pries the aged metal and glass away from the old paint it’s stuck in. Steve sighs dramatically.

“Shoddy education these days…”

“I…” You tap his bicep with the claws of the wrench. “I can’t argue with that. We hear only what they tell us about…heroes.”

You should have known he’d shut down at that word, but it’s the truth. Even with him right in front of you, the only things you know about Steve Rogers are from books, newspapers, and the internet. At face value—looking directly into the face of this man—all of what you’ve been told is hogwash. It’s insufficient. It barely covers 1% of who this man is.

He teaches you tricks of the weak man’s trade because it helped him once, too. Today, he’s friendly. Not that he was unfriendly before, but Steve is so reserved he never reference the past, in general, i.e. that there was a past existence of like the planet much less him.

It’s the number one rule of Fight Club: you don’t talk about Fight Club.

If there was ever a real fight club, it’s the Avengers.

You have no official rules for what this is between you. You don’t have to to know that is the most important one. You do not talk about Fight Club. Steve isn’t afraid of silence, that much is clear, but he isn’t a fan. He tries—he is trying—to connect and relate. He can’t be a man of the people, however, if he can’t talk to the people. 

It’s important: connection. You know with every fiber of your being that Steve deserves it, but even with unlimited, super-human strength, he cannot get himself out from between this rock and that hard place.

You do not talk about Fight Club, especially when you’ve been kicked out of Fight Club.

Today, though, he’s a little different, a little softer. Perhaps it’s knowing there are no other people in the building, perhaps he is truly more comfortable with you, but either way, Steve is not flat or off-putting.

His organized persona, his focus on the work, his indirect interactions and practical touch; they all fit here while he has a project. It’s the closest he can be to his old self, maybe even his real self, without mentioning the past—the fighting past—at all.

“You’re really good company,” you tell Steve, “even when you make holes in the walls.”

He tilts his head down and blushes. He shrugs as he takes the sconce out to the dumpster. Although he didn’t say it, you hope this is okay.

Either way, you relish it. The help. The touch. The silence. All of it.

You relish Steve.

Your dad brings by the paint, spackling, and a surprise of pizza for dinner while Steve is taping the baseboards in a corner. You introduce ‘Grant’ from afar and haul the cans and boxes from the car to the room, cataloguing all you two have finished to this point and what you’ll do before stopping for the night.

Dad is impressed. He’d suspected the three of you—you, he, and Mom, that is—might settle for slapping some paint up around where the electrician would install the new lights. No one planned on getting this far in one evening.

He won’t stand in the way of progress, so your dad simply calls out, “bit of an artist, are ya?”

Steve looks up, confident with only the side table lamps plugged in, he can barely be seen. “Just want to be useful,” he mutters.

You wink at your dad as he heads back to the still-running car. “Grant is a jack of all trades.”

You’re sure to thank him for the food and let him know all the motel stuff is completely covered for tomorrow, too. You’ll work as late as you can and start as early as possible.

Dad says your friend has gone ‘above and beyond.’ You agree wholeheartedly.

‘Grant’ would more aptly be described as a machine.

All the furniture moved, all the lights taken down, all bordering taped, and now all blemishes in the walls smoothed, your impromptu contractor finally calls it quits when he’s forced to watch stuff dry.

You’ve kept the air conditioning going in one room.

Steve tentatively asks if he should walk you up to the house, but you counter with “it’s not any less dangerous for an average guy alone to return” and a cheeky smirk. Besides, it is very late. You let Captain OCD keep going; you tapped out a while ago.

He puts his hands on his hips, arms akimbo, thinking of a comeback that never manifests. After giving up, Steve takes his tiny bag into the bathroom and brushes his teeth.

You can faintly hear it over the murmur of the TV.

You aren’t really watching. It’s background noise to your general exhaustion.

With only a side lamp and the screen as light, Steve’s bare feet crumple over the discarded plastic sheet on the floor. He falls into one side of the bed, fully-clothed and (finally) tired.

Though productive, the day has been a distant one, working in different rooms for most of it and tiptoeing around real conversation. You want him to feel appreciated, not pressured, so you ask if he’d like the TV on for a while or would rather quiet.

Steve just grunts with his eyes closed.

Gently, you place a hand on his chest to steady you, leaning to kiss his bearded cheek.

“Thank you, Steve,” you say softly. “Good night.”

He hums when you say his name, and before you can lift your hand away, he captures it under his, holding you in place.

His eyes aren’t open. He can’t see you smile wider.

“Okay.” You tuck yourself into his chest as he raises his other arm out of the way. “Okay.”

Your ear sits in the dip beneath his collarbone, listening to his steady heart, his thumb sweeping back and forth over you knuckles.

He smushes you closer to his side. You toss your leg over his.

You forget to turn off the TV.

He’s sanding the spackled spots by the time you wake, so you rub across his back and dismiss yourself to get breakfast up at the house.

Steve makes no effort to go with, which is fine. You assumed as much.

Your dad calls Grant a ‘magician’ over the pop of oil in the skillet and insists you give your friend whatever he needs to keep working so fast. You are only half-joking when you admit the key is staying out of his way.

Bonus: the exchange reinforces your parents simply leaving the two of you alone down the hill, and you proudly tell Steve that when delivering him an enormous plate of scrambled eggs.

He jumps right back into planning-mode and orders you to roll the first coat of paint onto large areas. He’ll follow, completing the edges and corners.

It’s such a domestic thing to do. There is no one in danger, there are no bodies piling up if he makes a wrong move, and he can go faster or take his sweet time. Steve breaks when he wants or needs to. He sits outside and listens to the birds in the sunshine. No one is around to question him, not even you. You are only there to encourage.

You realize he was looking for a project. He’s used to—and likes—being busy, getting his hands dirty, producing results.

It’s a long, messy day where he becomes more serene in spirit the more intensely he works. You reward him with gentle sweeps of your hand down his arms, pats on his shoulders, and brushes at the small of his back.

Despite the almost constant movement, the day is over before you know it, earlier than yesterday, but it’s too hot to go on.

All the windows stay open to air out the fumes.

Though it won’t stop you from sweating, you both shower off as many splatters and flecks of paint as you can. You insist he goes first so there’s plenty of hot water.

He’s sitting on the bed, shirtless, checking his phone when you come out of the bathroom, but he immediately squirrel the device away in his small bag. Not much to carry around. Not much to leave behind. Steve can’t leave a trace of himself anywhere.

Hunched over and fatigued, he flashes a polite smile your way and blinks heavily.

He deserves the world.

You grab the small bottle of lotion from the countertop and playfully jump onto the bed behind him.

“How about a massage, yeah? You much be aching.”

Honestly, you don’t mean for it to sound sexual, but the phrase comes out downright dirty, making Steve awkwardly chuckle.

“You don’t have to,” he placates.

“Nonsense, I want to. It’ll make the air feel cooler.” That’s as good of an excuse as any. Who cares when the rippled expanse of his back flexes wildly in your touch?

His breathes are audible from the beginning.

You dig at his traps, his leg bouncing as he tries to relax. You use your thumbs, the flats of your hands, and your knuckles.

He shoves his fist in his mouth when he starts to moan, covering the move with a cough, but muffling the noise is abandoned in favor of clasping over his lap. He’s intent on hiding his hardness this time. There’s nothing you can say to truly lessen the sting of needing more. You can’t simply tell him he’s allowed to desire this; you have to ignore his misplaced shame.

But you can take pity on him.

“If you lie flat—“ you step off the bed to give him privacy “—I’ll have more leverage.”

You hear him crawl and adjust on the sheets. “Unlike the torque on a wrench,” you add, just to show you’ve been listening to him.

More lotion is needed for the surface area.

You turn up the TV, feining interest in the late night show so any noise he makes is not as obvious. What the speakers can’t cover, however, is Steve’s involuntary thrusts when you rub the heels of you palms up and down the sides of his spine. If you prop up on your knees, he has more range of motion and doesn’t obviously rock you while mindlessly humping the bed.

His sweats are slung low on his hips, two darts of muscle prominent above his ass.

They are irresistible, the perfect grooves to target and roll into, and he immediately mewls long and deep into the mattress, fingers curling and relaxing while his body seizes.

He hasn’t even finished coming, you think, before he taps at your leg and races to the bathroom.

You hope you didn’t push too far. You hope he’d tell you to stop if he needs more space, more time. Mostly, you hope he knows you’d give him every conceivable pleasure, just because he is him.

The water runs a long time, continuous splashing in the sink, and then nothing.

He didn’t bring much because he doesn’t have much. Your heart sinks, realizing you’ve made him soil one of only two pairs of pants he has here.

He cracks open the door, muttering, but you can’t make out the words.

You turn the volume back down. “What?”

“It pretty hot.” He clears his throat. “Would you mind if I sleep…without…?”

“Naked?” you squeak before composing yourself. “That’s fine. Whatever’s comfortable.”

You shuffle up the bed to click off the lamps. This man isn’t the type to strut around in the nude—yet, anyway—so in the faint and ever-shifting glow of the screen across the room very little can be seen.

‘Little,’ however, can’t describe anything that is visible about the man emerging from the bathroom.

You have to make a point not to stare, but no skit or commercial on the channel promises the same level of entertainment.

Steve slides himself beneath the sheet, sitting near the headboard.

You hold up the remote. “On or off?”

“Off,” he says, “please.”

You’ve certainly done enough for one day. You won’t push your luck, so you hit the power button, toss it on table, and snuggle into your half of the bed, facing away.

“If it’s too hot for any covers, that’s okay, too.”

A rustling interrupts the rhythmic whir of crickets in the night until you feel a warm hand lightly mold to your waist.

This should be encouraged. This should be rewarded.

“Hey, Stevie,” you whisper, waiting for his hum, “happy belated birthday.”

At most you expect a grip of notice, but instead, the big hand snakes across you and hauls you into his chest, his long legs bending to match the crook of yours, his nose and forehead tucked against your occipital.

“We did okay today,” Steve mumbles into your shirt.

You walk your hand over your stomach to find his, lacing the fingers together. “Yes. Yes, we did.”

Steve got to be useful today. He had a partner today. He will tomorrow and the day after, for as long as he stays, for as long as you’re alive. Nothing can change that.

Maybe he can’t talk about Fight Club, but he connects with you anyway.

A/N: Whoopsy. Didn't want to make y'all wait for a 6k+ chapter, so here's the first half! I am DEEP in the feels of this one. So, so many notes have been taken. The brainrot is real, and I fucking love it!!!!

[Next: Sensitive Boy, part II]

[Main Masterlist; Ko-Fi]

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[simp4konig]

König mistakenly shoots you on the battlefield

König x Gender-neutral Reader

Word count: ~4500

*SLOW burn but when my writing finally has that spark this fic catches FIRE and FAST so be prepared!! 🔥🔥

*⚠️Angst Angst! ANGST!⚠️

*THABK YOU SO SO SO MUCH TO AZZY MY NO.1 FAN FOR THIS AMAZING IDEA!!!! 🥰🥰🥰I LOVE *YOU* VERY MUCH!! 🥹🫶🫶💞💞💞💞 💞💞💞💞💞THANK UVFOR ALWAUS LIKING MYNPOSTS AND BEING SO KIND TO ME YOU MAKE EBERY HOIR SPENT WRITING WORTH IT AS I AM ALWAYS EAGER FOR YOUR MESSAGES😭😭💓💓💓💓💓💓I AM *YOUR* NO.1 APPRECIATOR IN ALL RHE GALAXIES🌌🚀✨🌠QNDVWISH U ALL THE BEST ALWAYS!!!!!!🫂🫂💗💗 THIS ENTJRE POST IS DEDICATED TO YOU !!! 🥹(,,havinf said that, i hope u arent TOO taken aback bu tje level of angst here 💀💀REALLT went overboard and I completely apologize 💔)

TWs: König is in love with you. König's sanity slowly deteriorates as the fanfiction progresses. Mentions of attempted suicide, graphic depictions of gore, potentially triggering depictions of depression. König has suicidal thoughts after shooting you. König experiences intense trauma after shooting you and has survivor's guilt.

*Reader's callsign is "King". Implied age gap. One-sided pining from König... but the ending is purposefully kept ambigous (as you, the reader, can interpret the final interaction however you like)! Can be read as a standalone if you have never read any of my works before. <3

*To clarify to those that have already read my works before, this is *NOT* a direct continuation to 1.my fluffy 2.series! This is a separate imagine, but DOES take place in the same KönigxKing microchosm. Whether the following events take place in an alternate timeline or happen at some point in the future/past is for you to decide. Idk man i just write the fics I don't do the world buidling 🗿I write sotires without thingign about the greater picture u honestly think my one shots will tie to a greater plot?☹️No 💔

...

Right from the beginning, König had a gut feeling that this mission was going to go wrong.

It was a deep sense of foreboding in the pit of his stomach, making him feel queasy on the helicopter ride as the both of you with an additional three others were scheduled for contact in a few minutes' time.

You were just a recruit, and this mission was far too intense for someone with next to no experience in an active warzone for it to be their first. He knew the dangers of missions like this, knew how things could go horribly wrong in an instant.

It wasn't that he doubted your ability. Not at all. From the corner of the room he would silently supervise as you sparred another person, monitoring your movements incase your opponent had the upperhand and you needed guidance.

However, he had never needed to intervene, as he was impressed with your quick reactions and your controlled steps as you'd move on the balls of your feet, arms held up in front of your face. Ambition was in your eyes, your face scrunched up in concentration as you calculated your next move.

You'd defend yourself up until the moment you'd pounce and in a blink of an eye be on top of your opponent, your entire weight pressed on their theirs on the ground. Whether it was another woman, another man, or even a person with bigger bulk you were clearly disadvantaged by, you'd never give up, and took on any challenge with an impressionable passion of a young recruit.

Once they'd be the one to tap out, you'd immediately push yourself off them and offer them a hand, asking them "Are you alright?" in a concerned tone as you were pulling them up. "Sorry for getting aggressive there, sir/miss! I hope I didn't hurt you!"

To which they'd respond with boisterous laughter and a strong clap on your back, you doubled over as they were congratulating you for knocking them off their two feet and telling you to keep up the good work. König couldn't wipe the triumphant smile from his face, filled with pride at your personal victory.

Once you'd be the one to tap out, you'd part ways honourably, never disrespecting the person that came out on top. If anything, your loss only added fuel to the fire burning in your eyes, driven to work harder. He still admired you, and would be the one to pull you up as he dusted you off, telling you that you did a great job regardless.

"Thank you, sir!" You'd reply bashfully, face red from effort and embarassment. "Though, I'm sure I made a fool of myself with how I was flailing my arms just then..."

"Nein. Not at all," he'd say, eyes glinting with something that you couldn't quite recognize. "You did very well."

Target practice displayed your accurate aim, wool seeping out from the heads of dummies and the targets regularly replaced as the wood would cling in pieces, the center blasted into smithereens by repeated bullseyes from you.

Always lingering nearby to assist, you would gratefully accept König's help and allow him to demonstrate how to operate another gun with an appreciative smile on your face, your genuine eagerness to learn making König's chest tighten. You seemingly never knew the effect you had on him.

You were a naturally skilled soldier, he had observed, and he knew that you'd make an incredible addition to the team, he couldn't deny that.

Yet, he couldn't shake off this feeling as something more grave.

All personel debriefed and the plan disclosed a week prior, the superior went over the plan once more back at base. A large blueprint spilling over the table with weak spots and areas to beware were annotated, his forefinger pointing at different areas of interest. Sketches, photographs, and jottings were displayed from a projector for all to see as you listened closely.

König's jaws were grinding against each other in agitation, having doubts about you being deployed on this mission.

Despite this operation being portayed as an in and out extraction, König knew better. He knew what the stakes were. Intuition urged him to warn you, to confide in you about his doubts and even considered crossing your name off the list and assigning you elsewhere last minute without anyone knowing.

But the thought that he could be controlling you — a young, innocent recruit — and even considered doing something so foul didn't sit right with him.

You were your own person, and he couldn't be your shadow, couldn't act as a human shield against all that was cruel and gruesome in life. You had chosen this job, and therefore must have had at least some idea of what your responsibilities would entail, some knowledge of what soldiers go through in pursuit of glory.

Instead of being so pertubed, he should keep it together, he thought, should maintain a stoic façade. He was your superior — your colonel, for God's sake — he was someone you aspired to be, someone that should be an inspiration, a role model, someone that could have your back and be a reliable body to fall back on.

Not someone that couldn't keep it together when you around.

Especially when he shouldn't have been having feelings for you.

You, a young person vulnerable and easily influenced by people older than you, by the likes of him.

It wasn't right. He wasn't right for what he was feeling, for what he had been thinking. It wasn't right for his feelings to cloud his judgement, wasn't right that abusing his power had even crossed his mind, let alone been tempted to act upon it.

Your voice pulled him from his thoughts. "König? Are you alright, sir?"

Turning his head to face you, he nodded with false certainty, containing his worry in an attempt to appear confident for you.

"Ja, King, it's okay. Just thinking, that's all."

You quirked a brow, not convinced. "Hey."

Placing a firm hand on his shoulder, a serious expression was on your face, which caught König off guard and made his eyes widen. "If you're thinking that I'm going to get myself killed then you've got another thing coming, because I will NOT get shot by the enemy."

His back slumped over a little, averting his gaze for a moment. "Nein, sie haben recht."

"Ich sollte nicht zulassen, dass meine Gefühle mein Urteilsvermögen trüben." König mumbled something else under his breath in German, then quickly shook his head and laughed, looking into your eyes again.

Tension in his body was eased a little. "No, you're right."

A little. Because he wasn't going to dismiss the thoughts gnawing at the back of his head as mere paranoia.

You perked up. "Good, glad we've got that cleared up, sir! I want you to know that I won't disappoint!"

His heart skipped a beat at your smile, so eager to please and make him proud, that he shuffled uncomfortably, trying to get the butterflies in his stomach to calm down. Now wasn't the time.

Idly fidgeting with his combat knife as the helicopter blades hummed above, he went back to thinking over all the possibilities and different ways this mission could go awry:

...What if these were the wrong coordinates, or the helicopter would be attacked the minute they landed? The thought of an ambush wasn't an irrational one — it had happened before, he reminded himself — so he had brought a few more weapon crates than necessary for safekeeping.

...What if the helicopter's signal was intercepted and everyone including the pilot were destined for a fatal crash? Counting the number of parachutes and noting the fire exit, he could rest a little easier if an emergency like that was to arise, yet it still did little to soothe his nerves.

...What if you really did get shot? In case that happened, he had alerted some operators beforehand to serve as re-enforcements, one of those on board including a skilled army medic, under the guise of needing more manpower in case things went south. After all, this extraction could not have go wrong. It shouldn't have gone wrong.

But... what if you died? König wouldn't know how to deal with the feelings associated with your death, knowing that he had loved you from afar yet never acted on it. At least he'd be able to keep his shameful secret a secret, and you'd pass away never knowing what he truly saw you as, truly thought of you.

He had little time to figure out what was causing the trepidation to stiffen his muscles as the helicopter suddenly swerved and lowered, landing kilometres away from the designated building yet on unstable ground nonetheless. Any moment soldiers could attack it if they had known the group's location, so the blades kept spinning and the engine kept running for an immediate getaway.

König assumed authority. "Everyone remember the plan?"

Four heads nodded in sync.

"Gut. Then you all know what to do. I will enter from the side with my Lieutenant—" he said, gesturing with his head at a masked operator beside you, "—while you three—" referring to you and two others you were only vaguely aquainted with, "—storm from the back. Ja?"

König's eyes stalled on you for a moment longer than necessary. You were going to be alright, he told himself. He'd keep you in his field of vision and could provide you with cover once you regrouped when you'd really need it.

"A quick extraction," he reminded, eyes stern yet heart disbelieving. "Simply go in, get the data, and go out."

A final nod of the head from König as he and his associate separated from your group. You headed towards the back of the building, fully alert, aiming behind corner incase there had been someone waiting to assassinate you.

Doors creaking as one of the men pushed, the three of you filtered in noiselessly, attempting to be as discreet as possible and wincing when the door slammed not so quietly. Guns cocked and silencers attached, you advanced in a line, blending in to the shadows.

As you walked, there were no signs of life, and the storehouse seemed abandoned. No machinery was being operate. No voices could be heard.

All was still and quiet.

Eerily quiet.

Feeling the hairs on your arms and neck stand on end, you shuddered. You made eye contact with one of the men in front of you who had more expertise, and he looked on edge, eyebrows creased in focus under his balaclava. None of this felt right.

Suddenly, something small rolled over towards you all. Blinking once, twice, you let out a panicked scream and dived for cover.

"Grenade!"

All hell broke loose.

Bullets ricocheted over your head, guns blasting from so many directions you couldn't pinpoint their source.

Slowly recovering from your momentary shock, you gripped your rifle tight and started shooting back, hidden behind a load of wooden crates. When you saw your hooded colonel crouching in a corner, you relaxed. With an encouraging nod from him, that was all you needed to go change positions, and you lunged forward. All was going smoothly at that point.

So engrossed in eliminating the threats in front of him, however, König only came to the realisation that you weren't there when he didn't see your figure in his peripheral vision.

Panic consumed his senses and circulated through his veins. All at once, he was frantically scanning the immediate area, searching for any trace of you.

You were thrashing and kicking as you were being pulled by rough hands, your fingers reaching for your holster through gritted teeth, yet it was just out of grasp. You were thrown harshly against the wall, and the enemy towered over you, feeling high from his power trip and excited to exert authority he had never had up to now.

Just as a knife made its way to your throat, your hand finally found your side arm and shot a bullet between his eyes, body falling on top of you like a sack of potatoes.

You convulsed involuntarily, hyperventilating under his weight and the sudden situation. Noting your surroundings, your heart sank.

You were in no man's land, full view of soldiers shooting at your team. The extraction point was just in sight, exactly how and where it was illustrated on the blueprint.

So far, no one had noticed you, too preoccupied aiming down their sights to see you shuffling under a corpse. You could enter those headquarters right now, could be proclaimed a hero of this story, and make your colonel proud and finish before schedule.

The risk was too big. You were bound to get shot.

Yet, against all better judgement, you dashed for the entrance, taking advantage of the element of surprise as three men turned towards you with wide eyes, not expecting to see you enter. Two were haphazardly shoving papers into a half-open folder thrown on the table.

Three shots fired before they could scramble for a gun, you rushed towards the desk. Scanning the material, your eyes widened in shock. This was it.

Now, your only choice was to crawl back into the line of fire. Soldiers still kept shooting with their backs turned, endless ammunition right at their disposal.

You were totally helpless on your own. Just one pair of wandering eyes from the enemy and just one shot in the back of the head would be all that would take to end your life at that moment and make all of your efforts go to waste.

Although an atheist, you mouthed a silent prayer, before taking a deep breath, and sprinted.

Seeing sudden movement headed towards him, König acted on instinct, and pulled the trigger on you.

His heart stopped.

Time slowed as your body fell in slow motion, more bullets piercing through your gear.

Realising his mistake immediately, he almost vomited his own stomach out at seeing you fall lifelessly on the ground, eyes wide and body dropping on impact.

"Scheisse, cover me, verdammt!" He yelled over his shoulder, all rational thought ceasing.

Breathing rapid and strained, he rushed towards you, gently wrapping his arms around your body — growing weaker by the minute — and headed straight for the first sign of cover he could see. Behind unstable and temporary refuge that could be blown to pieces, König was at a loss at what to do.

He had expected everything, evaluated every possible scenario, every possible outcome, even prepared a lifeline for you on the off-chance that you'd be injured in action.

Yet he hadn't anticipated that he would be the one to shoot you. Never.

Shaking violently, König could barely get any words out. "—S-schatz, please please please—"

Hesistant hands hovered over your wounds, conflicted, as blood was staining your uniform, wrenching König's heart. His mind kept repeating you did this. You did this. You did this.

You needed urgent aid, and you needed it right now, yet he didn't deserve to touch you, his hands clenched into fists as he didn't want to break you further, treating you like fragile glass that could shatter into pieces under his touch if he so held you.

He was the one that did this to you. You, the young recruit he was so hopelessly infatuated with, a person who he had cherished and loved from afar, the person who made him feel good things for the first time ever in his life.

He did this to you.

He was the monster in your closet, the threat that König had desperately attempted protect you from all this time, the threat that you were told to eliminate on this mission. The enemy.

The enemy that had mistakenly shot you.

"Es tut mir so leid, I'm so sorry—" König's mind couldn't function properly, speaking in broken mix of English and German. He couldn't gather his thoughts, couldn't think.

"—I'm so so so sorry. Please don't die, bitte vergib mir, forgive me, forgive me, schatz. Forgive me. Ich liebe dich, schatz, do you hear me? I love you."

Bullets whizzed past you both relentlessly, both of you still caught in crossfire. König's lips were moving yet you couldn't hear what he was saying to you, couldn't feel anything as you slowly lost consciousness, slowly closed your eyes.

A calloused hand tapped your face in desperation, your vision blurred.

"—Nein, nein, King! Stay awake! I'm calling for the re-enforcements now! Please, don't die on me— I'm so sorry..."

Shaky yelling through the walkie-talkie, voice cracking. "This is your colonel, König! We're retreating right now! One of ours is wounded! Send the re-enforcements right now to this location! I repeat, we are retreating! I am calling this mission off!"

"What? Are you crazy, König?!" A break in character from the commander, before immediately assuming professionalism once more. "Proceed with the mission! You are on the verge of breaking their defenses! You will enter their headquarters and be able to—"

"Nein. That was an order, commander," he hissed through gritted teeth, nearly crushing the device in his death-grip. "We are retreating. I am calling this mission off."

A pause. Then: "Copy that, colonel. We are sending your re-enforcements to cover you as you exit. Your helicopter is waiting. Hold out for thirty seconds longer."

Sighing with relief, he suddenly thought his heart stopped beating when he saw you laying there motionlessly, eyes closed. Desperately tapping at your cheek did nothing to awaken you. He prayed that you'd survive, willing time to go faster.

At last, loud whirring from above gave him the only comfort. Not waiting a second longer, König picked up your limp body and dashed outside, the helicopter lifting off as the rest of the crew threw themselves inside.

Opening your vest to inspect your wounds, he saw a blood-soakes folder secured tightly to your chest.

It was the data. You risked your life for the mission. You risked everything to accomplish the task and he had shot you anyways.

"—This is your colonel, König. We have the data. Mission accomplished, I repeat, mission accomplished. King has the data."

The radio crackled with an indistinguishable response, yet König heard nothing, blood rushing to his head and ringing persisting. Medics wasted no time to wheel you into an operating room, tearing your limp body away from his arms. He avoided the celebrations and cheers for their colonel, leaving everyone dumbfounded at his reaction. Shouldn't have he been proud? The mission was a success!

Yet the mission wasn't a success, and if anything, he felt shame. No one knew why their colonel holed himself up in his room aside from himself.

The news of you in critical condition in the hospital broke König.

As much as he wanted to see you, to check on your health and be the one to see your first signs of recovery, he couldn't. He couldn't bear to witness the colour drained from your face as you laid unmoving on the bed, the slow beeping from the heart rate monitor machine the only indication that you were alive.

He just couldn't. Not when he caused this. Not when he fucked up this much.

Using the gym as a coping mechanism for a while, he trained harder and more often than ever before, only wishing to make the pain go away. When he wasn't at the gym all throughout the day or at odd hours of the night, he'd toss and turn in his bed, having nightmares about your body bleeding out below him as the shot relentlessly echoed in his head. Or worse, he'd imagine himself shooting you again, only this time he'd find the barrel of his gun was aimed at your forehead execution-style, your unassuming face suddenly exploding into bloody pieces and what was left of your bewildered expression still remained even after he had pulled the trigger.

At those, König would spring upright, screaming "No!" in anguish.

He'd be panting heavily, bedsheets drenched in his own sweat and feeling like he was suffocating with each rise and fall of his chest. When the situation sunk in, he'd clench his fists so tightly his knuckles went white, shaken to his very core. On those nights, König wanted nothing more than to hurt himself, to compensate for the injury he inflicted upon you and how he had completely disgraced you.

At one point, when he had finally had enough, in his blind craze snatched the pistol laying by his bed, flicked the safety off and aimed it at the same place he had shot you, just to break down in despair when no bullet came out, the clip hidden in his bedside drawer.

Hand tightly squeezing his heart through his soaked t-shirt, he was repulsed by the fact that he was completely healthy and could walk freely while you lay injured and dying.

Under his watch, you had been injured. Under him, your body had crumpled. And it was his fault.

In emotional turmoil, he soon lost all ability to function. He couldn't eat, couldn't sleep, and could hardly find the motivation to get out of bed most of the time, convinced that he had killed you, convinced that he was a monster. Responsibilities were kept on hold, the next best person taking his place. No one questioned the new arrangement, despite the shared confusion from everyone on base.

He couldn't take this. He couldn't take this any longer. He would have rather died, sacrificed himself in any way possible if it meant that you could live another day, as you could make a greater impact on the world than he ever could. Could be a better person than he ever could.

It was his fault. He shot you. He had shot you. He had shot the recruit that he had hopelessly fallen in love with, yet only he himself was to blame for it for his lack of control, for his inability to be unaffected by his feelings.

One day, a knock on his door pulled him out from his trance.

Prior to the interruption, König was staring at the cement wall, his eyes unfocused, completely still and barely breathing. He wasn't himself.

Immediately straightening his legs and nearly tearing a tendon from how fast he got up despite having been so inactive for the last few days, he stomped quickly towards the door, his face glum yet eyes glinting with the merest hint of hope.

Hand reaching for the handle, he had readied himself, expecting bad news coming from a surgeon wearing a medical mask and a blue uniform, a solemn expression as they devasted him with your passing.

All but the latter was true.

"Colonel König, sir. The patient is awake. You may now visit them if you so wish."

Blinking a couple of times, König thought he had heard incorrectly.

"...P...Pardon?"

Repeated were the words that König was shocked to hear.

"King is awake, sir. Their condition is a stable one. Our team thought to notify you first since you were on the mission with them."

Gasping, König could barely breathe. He felt like he was drowning, drowning despite his head breaking out from the water. "What... I... where?"

"Ground floor, room twelve. They're on medication as of this moment yet are fully awake."

König nearly fell to his knees. You were alive!

You were alive! He hadn't killed you! He thanked the Gods, and could barely keep composed, barely able to stop himself from dashing to the center of base and yelling into the sky in pure joy.

"I— thank you... so much."

Running faster than he had ever ran in his whole life, he was at your door in minutes.

Yet, as his fingers reached for the door knob, he suddenly stopped in his tracks, hand poised mid-air.

What if you didn't want to see him after the whole ordeal?

What if you resented him, and would spit in his face the moment he walked in?

What if you hated him, and wanted nothing to do with him ever again?

Hesistantly knocking twice, he nearly had a heart attack when your voice broke through the door:

"Come in," you called simply; your voice was hoarse, but it was clearly still you.

Taking a deep breath, König pushed the door open.

There you were. He was having heart palpitations at seeing you awake and looking at him.

The light coming through the open curtains made your skin glow despite how pale you were, eyes sparkling and crinkling in happiness despite the dark circles and heavy bags under your eyes, hair splayed out behind on your pillow, resembling a halo, despite how greasy it was.

He had missed you. So much.

Then his heart sunk as he reminded himself that he was the reason for why you were here, why you were in in this state to begin with.

Seeing König, You shot him a daring smirk despite how numb your face felt. "Hey, König, sir. Did you visit me at all? I'm sure you missed me."

Waiting in anticipation, you kept looking at him excitedly. At the lack of response and his refusal to meet your gaze, it faded completely. "—Wh—what? You—"

"Not— not even once? Not—"

Tears were welling up in your eyes. "—you didn't come see me even one time?"

Maybe you shouldn't have gotten your hopes up. Maybe you should have thought that König would not have time to spare in his busy schedule.

Yet you couldn't not get your hopes up when as soon as you woke, your first thought was of König. Although the grim reality hit you hard like a bucket of cold water dumped over your head, you still wished to see him.

And yet, he hadn't wished to see you at all. He had avoided you like the plague.

"Scheisse—"

König started pacing the room, head hung low as he weighed the pros and cons. Indecision.

"—Do you really... do you really want to know why I didn't visit you, King?"

You nodded meekly, lip quivering.

He finally made up his mind.

If you rejected him, at least he'd rest easier knowing that you'd live, and continue to be happy for you from afar. He'd still support you, still be your colonel, still love you even when you found someone else.

"I... I put you in this position, King... It was all my fault," he begun, his voice barely above a whisper.

Tone softed as he finally stopped, as still as a statue, a metre away. From this angle, you saw how bloodshot his eyes were, how they sagged in sadness, how dark circles had formed from lack of sleep. His pale blue eyes were dull, glued to the ground.

"Not only did I lose sight of you on the battlefield, I also shot you. Shot my own—" Pausing, not knowing how to refer to you.

He carried on. "I couldn't live with myself. I still can't live with myself. I'm walking, uninjured, as you are laying in bed, recovering from an injury that I am the reason for. From bullet wounds that were the result of me."

Voice hitching slightly, he tried to keep his breathing under control. But he couldn't.

"How could the monster that shot you enter your room and dare to look at you? How could I watch you cling to life, while I walk freely despite causing you this— this agony? What right do I have looking at you after putting you here?"

You allowed the tears to spill down your cheeks.

He stopped, eyelids drooping, finally meeting your eyes.

"I have feelings for you, King, I—" Trembling "—I do. But... I shouldn't be feeling this way. You have your whole life ahead of you and I—"

"—I've... aged... I'm not the same man I was before. I've witnessed things far too disturbing to ever share with you. I... I know that you should be with someone better and I—"

Although still in a daze and sedated by the drugs, your thought process was still clear enough where you could be sure about this.

Reaching with a tentative hand for König's larger and rougher one, you squeezed it weakly, looking up at him with a heartfelt expression.

König smiled for the first time in ages.

Through that gesture alone, König knew that you forgave him.

He allowed his breathing to stabilise, wanting nothing more than to start over with you.

...

Note: MY FAT FUCIIJF FINGERS SLIPPED AND I POSTED THIS EARLIER THANI WAS SUPPOSED TO OJ MY GOD I AM AN IDIOT 🤡🤡

Edit next day: how tmdid this fet 100+ notes im sobbing 😭😭. thabk you everyone for readijg this angst fest!!!!!!! ❤️❤️❤️

[orgasming-caterpillar]

Mahabharat characaters on Social Media: pt. 1

Yudhisthir

Mostly reblogs "Am I The Asshole?" polls and somehow each with a detailed and insightfully correct answer. Most people just look for his reblog and then vote whatever answer he's deemed right. That's how he earned the nickname "Dharmaraja"

Always explains stuff to the asks he gets and does it very politely so. You could ask him about anything and as long as he knows about it, he'll tell you about it.

Women respector since before 5000BC.

Never annoyed by hate comments on himself. Calls the fuck out of them if they disrespect his brothers.

Bheem

Posts photos of foods he likes.

Always posts about what he's cooking.

Gives gym tips to beginners.

Probably has "never stop bulking 💪" in his bio

Definitely makes it his own duty to teach his mutuals how to cook.

Arjun

Crazy good archery skills. Knows it. Shows them off.

(most people just look at his arm muscles flexing though)

Arjun: Madhav! Look at how famous this post about my archery is getting. I don't understand though. All I did was hit a bull's eye.

Krishna, looking at Arjun in that video being completely shirtless and slicked with sweat, brown skin glowing under the sun: *sweats*

Doesn't understand the thirst comments. ("Madhav what does railing mean and why does this person want me to do it to them?" "Uhm, it means they want you to "train" them haha. It's a slang. Haha." "*Replies to comment* sure I'd love to rail you")

Nakul

Sexy and he knows it.

Thirst traps.

Actually works very hard and always helps people, but he's such a troll that people just think he's a unemployed gymrat pretty boy until he attends some big event and people are like "YOU HAVE A JOB??????"

Loves his fans (I just know he'll heart each and every thirst comment go argue with a wall)

Always tagging his twin in the most random posts (most of them are jumpscares)

Sahdev

Does not want to be here

Always duets the videos nakul sends him and screams at the jumpscares ("I do not like this TRICKERY!" "The ball hit the camera Sahdev it wasn't gonna jump out the phone and hit you in the face" "I am BLOCKING YOU")

The fans love his reactions. He doesn't know, he never checks the comments.

Gives in after some time and creates a no-bullshit self help account to help people manage their life and work more efficiently

Krishn

The definition of Hot Mess™

On every platform he's on, which is every platform that exists, this man is Chaos. One post will be "My wife is so beautiful" and then "I miss Arjun" and then "here's three legal ways to loophole out of a lawsuit" and then a motivation post and then a video of a cute baby cow he saw on the sidewalk.

Pranks the fuck out of everyone and everything (his favourite victim is arjun)

Professional roaster. Has online beef with Shakuni. Insults in the most insufferable way possible you canNOT find a way to insult back it's so annoying cuz then he's like 😇🦚

Cute couple reels with Rukmini

[jimilter]

make-believe it’s hyperreal | jjk. (m)

The Chairman of Jeon Security has finally decided he needs a Vice Chairman to shoulder the responsibilities. You know you're the only one at the company who deserves this post, so if everyone thinks the promotion should stay in the family? Well, fuck that shit; you're gonna get engaged to your frenemy-with-benefits, Jeon Jungkook, and join the damn family! Or, at least – you're gonna pretend to.

pairing: jungkook x reader

rating: m (18+)

genre: angst | smut | fluff | fake dating!au | enemies to lovers!au | fwb!au | chaebol!au | ceo!jungkook

word count: 20 k

— warnings: swearing + alcohol + misogyny in bulk + reader’s dad’s soul got left behind in the 13th century + unhealthy parental relations + daddy issues? ig? + hints of the beginnings of an emotional breakdown + angsty confrontations + some crying + pining + misunderstandings + insecurities + overthinking + multiple smut scenes + explicit sexual situations (dom!jk, sub!reader, sex against a wall, rough sex, unprotected penetrative sex, oral (f.&m.), kind of a rougH blowjob bec JK likes some teeth action, strength kink, biting, marking, dirty talk, degradation, praise kink, spanking, throat fucking, cum eating, face-riding, jungkook is still a Boob Guy™, one (1) playful/loving slap to one (1) boob, breast play, nipple biting, clit biting, pussy slapping, spanking…i think, orgasm denial, multiple orgasms) + A GLIMPSE INTO JK’S POV!!! + oc is sad in almost 75% of the fic :( + jk is sad in the last 5% :(

— note: i knoW it took me too long w this (pt.3 was posted in julY???) and i apologize :( i got busy w too fkn many exams and then a full time job and more exams - ugh. but it's finally done! guys, the first dash of angst in the endless hilarity, are we excited? 👀 i hope y'all like the developments in the story~ 🥺💜

ps. title's from lorde's buzzcut season that makes my heart bleed for no reason <3

in case this is your first encounter with this universe: i would recommend reading at least disaster management to get a better grasp on the characters and setting, but to briefly summarize - jungkook and reader come from chaebol families that are great friends, but they have grown up as rivals even tho reader has always found him hot af. reader is working as vice president and now president at jungkook's dad company, and he has recently (some ~4 years back) been brought on-board as the ceo whom she was earlier tasked to train. now, things have progressed b/w them physically but reader still can’t bear his presence.

— masterlist | taglist | feedback?

↝ the damsel & her knight ⁘ 01 02 03 [04] 05

You wonder if this conversation would still still be so unbearably shitty if your dad didn’t keep interrupting Chairman Jeon with his two cents every five seconds.

Probably not.

“Training is important, of course, but what you receive in your blood – that is unmatched. No amount of hard work you put in can ever make up for what heredity plants in you,” your dear dad articulates with his neck stretched like that of a Siberian crane, gaze haughtily flitting over you and landing on Jungkook. “What do you say, son?”

Barf.

With a roll of your eyes that you hide behind your glass of wine, you look at your father's 'son.'

What can Jungkook say? If he says no, it's disrespectful. If he says yes, that's plain stupid. You’d hightail out of this really unnecessarily uncomfortable dinner party if you were put in a difficult spot such as this. 

If only Jungkook’s granddad was alive, he could smack some sense into his son for befriending a misogynist like your father. Jeon Security was created by Grandpa Jeon, after all, contrary to what everyone else seems to think. But that is besides the point, because what really stuns you is how  a man as kind and genuine as Jungkook’s dad has managed to hold onto his values in the presence of your dad’s such horribly suffocating opinions.

So much for Chairman Jeon wanting to celebrate his twenty years at Jeon Security. 

But to be fair, Chairman Jeon isn’t only celebrating an anniversary. He’s also subtly gearing up to make an announcement, and dread is collecting like lead in your stomach in fear that this announcement might have something to do with the man's resignation. Why else would he suddenly talk about how ‘the next generation should start to prepare well to  shoulder the responsibilities soon’?

Dear God. Jeon Security isn’t ready to stand on its own without Chairman Jeon. Besides, how old is the man, anyways? Fifty? Fifty-five, at most? This is no time to retire.

And then your mind flashes back to the pillowtalk you had with Jungkook, a week back. It was kinda awakening – and also somewhat gross and also eventually lost to sex, the way things usually are when they involve this guy – but it had certainly made you pause and think. Granted, you hadn’t thought the proceedings would be so quick or that they would happen in the presence of your dad.

𝐀 𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐊 𝐀𝐆𝐎;

"I think dad's tired."

You honest to God did a dramatic double take at the words because they fit absolutely nowhere in the post-coital lethargy you and Jungkook were supposed to be basking in. 

Not that you usually talked much after sex; one of you usually fell asleep and the other left. Sometimes you both fell asleep. You never talked, but you especially didn’t talk about your parents because they were far from your heads when you were riding Jungkook’s dick. 

As they should have been right now. Your breathing was still labored. Why the fuck was this guy already thinking about his dad?

"His twentieth anniversary as Chairman’s coming up," Jungkook continued with his contemplative gaze stuck to the ceiling; completely unobservant of your disgusted scowl. “He’s been giving these vibes lately, I don’t know… I – I feel like he’s gonna retire.”

That had you sitting up in alarm. “What? Reti—what? Why? What’d he say?”

Jungkook raised an amused brow – looking sexy as fuck with the way he had his thick ass arms folded beneath his head; nearly managing to distract you from your present distress – but then he gave an exhale and shook his head. “Nothing, actually. But… he keeps bringing up talks of responsibility with me, you know?”

With a snort, you twisted around and rested your head over his abdomen, lying perpendicular to his body. “And that is unusual?”

He slapped at your bare breast in admonition, and you rushed to hide the way your breath hitched at the action which wasn’t even imbued with any sexual intent. But then his palm stayed, loosely cupping your boob, fingers massaging the plump flesh until your nipple had pebbled, and then his fingers moved to play with the nub. 

At this point, you were holding your breath to keep your reactions from slipping. 

“It’s kinda unusual,” he gruffly murmured, other hand disappearing behind your head, and then you heard the distinct rasp of him stroking his cock. “You know, Prez… When it comes to it, you’ll make Chairman and I’ll stay CEO…”

You huffed a laugh, mind barely on the conversation anymore. God, and you’d just finished having sex. What about him was it that made you so insatiable? “Uh huh… Guess you’ll get to be under me for once, huh?”

Jungkook gave a slow smirk at your blatant use of his words from a few years ago against him. “Dad adores you. Would have you marry me if he could…”

And there he went talking about his dad again.

You sat up and moved to straddle him, slick pussy pressing his fully hard length against his chiseled abdomen, and hands playfully gripping his wrists. “Shut up about your dad and start practicing your position under me, yeah?”

The rest of that conversation was lost to sounds of skin slapping against skin, Jungkook’s whines and your own whimpers of his name, but – that was the first time it hit you. 

Who would assume the throne if Chairman Jeon did retire?

You’d worked your way up at Jeon Security. And Jungkook’s dad definitely did adore you. If it came to pick between you and his son, would he really choose you?

𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐒𝐄𝐍𝐓;

You come back to the present with a blink – and some really misplaced wetness in your underwear, for fuck’s sake – and realize Jungkook is still fidgeting in his place. For the tenth time tonight, you admire how good he looks in his casual, teal blue sweater – accidentally coordinated with the teal of your dress; this is why you never wear anything but black – and the deep blue jeans he has on. 

Guy can wear a three piece suit, fleece pajamas, or nothing at all – he'd never not look good. This is probably why your hook-up at Yoongi's wedding, some five months back, hasn't stayed a hook-up despite the complications continuing this thing brings for you both. Jungkook is just too freaking hot and uncannily, really good at sex.

You fucked again when you went back to your place. And then again when you dropped him off at his. Then he stopped by your apartment on Friday, and as he ate you out on your dining table, you both decided to make this a regular thing.

He is a lot more bearable when he’s ripping orgasms after orgasms from you. Which makes you kind of friends now, you guess, so mayhaps you can be termed friends with benefits. Way better than Jungkook's insistence on terming you his "sneaky link" even though that is essentially what you are, given how absolutely no one knows about your entanglement. 

No one at the company, and no one in this room.

Mrs Jeon suddenly clears her throat not-so-subtly, and with a cough, Jungkook finally opens his mouth to respond to your dad.

“W–well, dad,” he begins uncomfortably, and for the first time in your life, you think it actually doesn’t please him to be addressing your father with that title; you know it has never pleased you and the man literally caused your birth. “To be honest, I think Y/N, here, is an example of how there are exceptions to – to your massively valid statement.”

You would laugh at his adjective if you weren’t currently gaping at his praise.

“Ah, yes! Our Miss President has created history in securing deals and sponsors in this financial year!” Chairman Jeon grabs that opportunity to jump in and take command of the conversation back from your father – who now sports a bewildered frown because how could the son he should have had ever disagree with him? 

Feeling so murderous towards your own family should be criminal, but here you are.

“Absolutely,” Jungkook’s mom chimes in, eyelids fluttering at you from her position at the other end of the table. “Both my men cannot sing enough praises for you, honey, and I agree.”

And yet your dad fails to catch the memo, huh? Not to be an asshole or, you know, weird, but you seriously do not understand what your mom even saw in him.

The woman herself gives you a small grin from her seat across from you. Your father, meanwhile, has recovered from the shock of his life that Jungkook gave him and is now frowning at the guy’s dad. Oh, no. Here come the Big Guns™ – this is your father’s no-shit-straight-to-business face.

“Jeon. Your son was born into this legacy. He is your family’s future. He has your name.” He looks at his best friend down his nose. “Surely you won’t send a company that carries your father’s name out to… others?”

Others. Marginalized by your own damn father. Ouch.

You lean towards Jungkook’s ear. “Hey?”

He doesn’t move, gaping at your father wide-eyed, one hand fisted around his fork on the table and the other fisted in his lap. But he grunts in response and tilts his head toward you a little.

“Is your dad about to… quit?”

This time he turns to meet your gaze with his troubled one. “I’m so fucking sorry your dad’s an asshole.”

You blink at him. “Not what I asked—”

“I have no such intention.”

You and Jungkook freeze as Chairman Jeon’s words make their way to you. Did he just agree with your father?

“I am not giving the company up,” he shortly reminds your father, a displeased frown downturning the man’s usually smiling mouth. “All I am seeking is support. Help, if you will.”

Oh, so he didn’t agree, just… dodged? Not the most reassuring course of action from your personal point of view, but you guess he cannot curse his best friend out in front of both their kids. 

Sometimes you wonder how your life would have been if you weren’t an only child. If you had, say, a brother. Would his presence have mellowed your crass father a bit? Because not all of his frustration stems from misogyny; some of it finds roots in the way you chose to pursue computer science and not business studies like he had wanted.

Sometimes you wonder if your refusal to join your father’s hotel business because it didn’t interest you is where it all started to go wrong.

Yep, that one’s pretty much on spot. But then again, does your father really have to be an – in Jungkook’s words – such an asshole about it?

“It isn’t all about legacy and names,” Jungkook’s dad continues further. “The Vice Chairman has to be someone who knows the soul of Jeon Security. Someone who understands the company and all its people; someone everyone can depend upon. Someone—”

“Someone trustworthy?” Yep, your dad is back again!

Chairman Jeon frowns a bit but nods. “Uh, yes. Certainly. Not that any of my executives are anything less than.”

“Oh, please. The girl who couldn’t be loyal to her own family – you expect her to keep up your legacy, Jeon? You have pitied her long enough, don't make a rash decision that might cost you your company. Family comes first. The Jeon name is bigger than any sympathy you can show my daughter.” 

The man whose genetics flow in your veins looks at you with such vitriol, you feel like an insect he’s about to crush under his boot. You clench your fists, curl your toes, grind your teeth, but nothing can stop the jitters in your limbs that make breathing a little difficult for you. 

And then Jungkook’s large hand is placed above your tightened fist – and something shifts in you.

You look away from your father and into Jungkook’s eyes. He looks pained, guilty, so immensely sad, but he doesn’t look like he pities you. He does look like he wants to sock your father in the face, and the anger in his gaze gives you power.

Taking a deep breath, you hold it in for a few seconds, and then release it.

Your father doesn’t know shit.

All these years you have busted your ass at work. You have sacrificed the leisures that people your age have indulged in, you have kept yourself focused, you have built yourself up.

And if someone at Jeon Security is capable enough to aid the Chairman with running things, it is you.

More than Jungkook, more than anybody else, it is you that deserves to be the Vice Chairperson. And Chairman Jeon has to know that and agree with it. He has to know how fiercely protective you have been of the company, of the Jeon name and legacy.

The same name that your father is using to manipulate Chairman Jeon with. A name that isn't Jungkook's own, not even Chairman Jeon's own because he got it from his father; the man who actually risked it all by starting this business.

The same name that is so fickle, a girl will take it upon her wedding to Jungkook. She won't have to work hard, make sacrifices, fight misogyny. She will simply fall in love with a boy and become a Jeon – fitting the oh-so-perfect parameter your father has been stressing.

Jungkook's wife will be a Jeon.

Jungkook's wife – probably some airheaded, leggy model, given the guy's taste in girlfriends from his past – will be more fitted to run the company that you are, according to your dear father.

Jungkook's damn wife.

The urge to scream makes a lump form in your throat. 

You try to distract yourself by looking down at your lap. Your eyes fall upon the guy's hand that has now entwined fingers with yours. Put a ring on his finger, and nothing else matters, huh? 

Put a ring on his finger, and no one questions your capabilities. One ring, and you're suddenly an acceptable part of Jeon Security.

Something is starting in the back of your head. 

It is reckless, bitter and completely insane, but your mind has traveled to a dark place. Insecurities and deeply rooted pain that your father has been causing you ever since you picked your college major, it all roils into a twisted mixture of anger and vengefulness.

Right now, you need something to shove in your father’s face and you will do it. Consequences be damned.

While Chairman Jeon is still floundering, flabbergasted at the hatred your father is unashamedly spewing at you, you clear your throat to draw everyone’s attention to you.

And with five pairs of troubled but expectant eyes looking your way, you announce: “It’s a good thing I’m about to become his family too then, dad.”

Your mother is the first to gasp, joined by Jungkook’s mother, while the three men continue to gape at you, clueless as ever. Turning your face to softly smile at a doe-eyed, rounded-mouthed Jungkook, you slowly raise your entwined hands above the table, while softly cupping his cheek with the other.

“We got engaged.”

The room erupts in chaos, gasps and laughs and indignant screams – your father’s, yep – almost drowning the muted, “What the fuck?” Jungkook sends your way. His eyes are still wide in alarm, but you hold your expressions.

Some of the steam clears from your head and you are somewhat beginning to see the ‘what the fuck’ you have caused. But now that you’ve said it, the only way to go is forward.

Mrs Jeon has tears in her eyes, Mr Jeon is smiling proudly, your mother is, oh dear, ugly sobbing into her hands and your father looks very suspicious. His eyes scan both your hands that are in plain sight.

Oh no—

“Where’s the ring?”

Both mothers turn their curious gazes towards your bare fingers as well, giving you confused pouts after their scan. Fuck, you don’t wear any rings. Y don't like rings; they’re too tacky and uncomfortable, borderline unhygienic, and they leave tan lines.

And there goes the rest of the steam away from your head, leaving clarity in its wake. Your rationality comes running back to smack you against your face. 

What the fuck did you just announce? 

Holy shit, are you crazy? 

While you begin to feel sweat rolling down to your buttcheeks, Jungkook gives a very convincingly bashful giggle. 

Yours, as well as everyone else’s, shocked gaze lands on him. “Ah, we had decided to keep things secret. And I thought rings would make it too obvious, you know?” 

Awe is the word you would use to describe the emotion in your chest. Maybe a bit of adoration, as well. Beyond the respect you have started to show for his intelligence, and the unhinged lust he instills in you, this is the third emotion you admit to having felt towards Jungkook. 

The rest of the dinner and dessert go by with you and Jungkook running a secret competition of who can make up more embarrassing stories about the other. Most of them are actual, true events from your lives – just painted in a romantic light that is far from reality.

By the time everyone’s ready to take a leave, the entire conversation about the post of Vice Chairman has been left behind. Chairman Jeon ends up making no official announcement like you'd hoped you would.

After saying goodbyes, you’re waiting at the porch of the gigantic Jeon family estate for the valet to bring your car around, when your dad comes up to stand next to you. Back stiffening, you sneak a glance at his reflection in a metal plate hung on a nearby pillar, only to find him frowning into space.

“This is the best achievement in your life, so far,” he tells you and you freeze. “I wish you both the best. It’s your birthday next Saturday, right?”

Close to shivering from nerves, you manage a jerky nod.

“Hm. Come over on Saturday. Bring Jungkook.”

And then he’s walking back in the house and you’re doubling over to take in long, gasping breaths.

His words mean nothing to you. Nothing at all. At least he believes you’re capable of finding yourself a decent guy to marry, yeah? At least he doesn’t deem you completely good for nothing?

At least he remembers your fucking birthday.

None of those thoughts help, though, exhaustion pulling your shoulders down. The first ever words of appreciation you have heard from your dad in ten years, and even they are to belittle all your achievements in life. Why didn’t he just adopt a child and start afresh after you left for college? Why does he choose to do this?

You can’t wait to get out of here and sleep for, like, 42 hours. Tomorrow’s a Sunday anyways. Maybe you’ll curl up with some Marvel movie, tonight. No stress that Chris Evans’ ass can’t take away.

Just as your car stops in the driveway, though, you realize there is one more stressful confrontation left on your schedule for the day.

Jungkook is calling for you. “Wait up, Prez!

Fuck fuck fuck, you were hoping you’d be able to avoid him for the next century and a half.

But no such luck, because: “I’m not gonna stay here, I’m going back to the apartment. Let me drive you?”

Jungkook rushes out of the house on quick legs, flashing you a momentary glare of pure wrath, contrary to the cheerful tone of voice he just addressed you with, and then jogs down the driveway to his silver Mercedes convertible parked way closer than your limo was. He drives up to the porch of the house and pops the gate open from inside. 

“Come on!”

Rolling your shoulders back, you walk down the small flight of stairs and get in. 

You really didn’t know Jungkook drove. He looks sexy like this. One hand on the wheel, the other fisted in front of his face, elbow resting on the gate. Eyebrows furrowed. Jaw clenched. 

Yeah, maybe he’s a bit angry too.

Five or so minutes of the ride go by in absolute silence. Jungkook’s parents live in the quiet, almost too quiet, outskirts of the city. Both yours and Jungkook’s apartments are quite a long drive away from here.

Not great news, given your current scenario.

“I just wanna know why.”

You almost jump when the words finally echo around you. And then you blink at Jungkook’s frowning face. “Dad was getting too smug. The opportunity was right there – so I took it.”

“Wha—that’s it? You were trying to shut him up?”

“Well, didn’t you wanna do it too?” you challenge him and he rolls his eyes.

“Of course, I did. But not like this, obviously! This is plain crazy, Prez…”

“I was really angry, okay?”

“You—” He breaks off in a tight exhale. “You didn’t think about it for more than five seconds, did you?”

“I didn’t think at all.”

Jungkook gives a groan, long and frustrated, and despite the entire situation, the quality of the sound shoots a prick of arousal through you.

“For fuck’s sake, Prez,” he cries to you, clicking his tongue, “we aren't even dating and you told both of our parents we're engaged. To be married. That you’re about to become my family. What the fuck?”

Well, when he phrases it like that, it makes you wonder what the fuck indeed.

"Did you think of the plan when I held your hand?"

Kind of? You shrug. "I think fast."

"You think too much," Jungkook groans again, and you press your thighs together. "Now what? Can't say we lied because did you see how emotionally they reacted? Your mom fucking sobbed."

You snort at that. "She's ready to bawl her eyes out at the drop of a hat, Jeon. Don't think we can count her."

"My dad looked so proud of us," he adds and you pout.

"That he did." 

"We can't even say we broke up because they'll just push us back together."

Jungkook seems to be so desperate to get out of this at the earliest, you would feel offended if you were thinking straight. But the truth is that your mind's still hanging in a limbo somewhere, not fully absorbing everything that's happened, everything you've caused. It'll hit you later, but right now you're just content relishing Jungkook's luxurious car's luxurious seat warmers.

"Let's keep this up for a week or so and then… let it fizzle out," he finally concludes with a nod to himself, quickly looking your way to see you nod as well. 

“It’s my birthday next Saturday, though, so maybe a bit longer than a week?”

Jungkook looks at you with wide eyes. “That would be so horrible.”

“My birthday?”

“Breaking up on your birthday!”

You chuckle at the horror on his face. “So two weeks?”

“Yes, please.”

“Okay. So this means, in two weeks’ time, we'll say that we hadn't discussed announcing our relationship yet, so we fought over it and, what? We’re taking a break?”

Jungkook shrugs a shoulder. “Taking breaks in a relationship more often than not leads to breaking up, so I’d say that’s a good plan.”

You exhale in relief, resting your head against the cushy back of the seat. “Still gotta figure out how we’re gonna break the news.”

“And to whom,” he adds with a muted curse.

There's silence for a bit which you spend slumped in your seat, looking out at the passing countryside as the car nears the city limits. And then you groan with another realization.

“Your mom’s gonna tell Yoongi, isn’t she?”

“Yep,” Jungkook pops his p like an annoying fucker, but he looks miserable, tugging at his hair with a hand, grimace on his face. “But on the brighter side, this gives us the perfect opportunity to hook up at the office!”

“No, it doesn’t.” You shoot him a scowl and he just rolls his eyes. The fact that Jungkook’s shameless grins have been reduced to eye-rolls tells you how much this has stressed him out. You give a sigh. “We also need to properly plan out the details of our relationship.”

“Our moms are gonna corner us and dig for details within the next seven business days.” He gives a nod. “Let’s go to my place and discuss everything tonight.”

You cock an eyebrow. “Is that the only reason why we’re going to your place?”

“Obviously not. I’m gonna angry fuck you into a wall, probably tie you up? Mayhaps fuck your mouth? And then we’ll talk about it.”

You’re gaping at his declaration, panties flooding with arousal now. “I…”

“This is serious, Prez, focus,” he admonishes as if you are the one making panty-melting promise of sex in the middle of talking about the headache-inducing troubles you have to go through. “We have fourteen days to convincingly be in love and fall out of it.” 

You purse your lips in laughter at his dramatic phrasing. “You make it sound like we’re in a rom-com, Jeon.”

“Ah ah, you’re about to be one, too, remember? No more Jeon-ing your way around me.” He finally stops looking worried and cracks a smirk at you. “Time to choose a pet name for your fiancé.”

You snort at his words, but do pay heed to them. He’s right. But you are terrible with pet names. Your last boyfriend, one you had in freshman year of college for three months before academics began to choke the life out of you, used to call you ‘doll’ and you used to throw up a little in your mouth every time the tem reached your ears. He encouraged you to call him ‘honey’ but that shit just wasn’t for you.

It still isn’t. 

Is calling your fiancé by his name not good enough? 

“I can't get into lovey-dovey terms of endearment, but maybe something like… Kook? It's still your name, but it's also cute."

Jungkook has been looking straight ahead at the road while you pondered his words, but you can see the way he blinks slower when you say the name. Humor and mischief seems to leave his face to make way for traces of something tender. You don’t know what about the name elicits such a reaction from him, but what concerns you more is the subtle loudening of your heartbeat at his very unexpected, extremely soft smile.

A corner of his mouth curling to make a simple flash, Jungkook hums. “That sounds perfect.”

You roughly swallow, uncoordinated and spiraling into confusion. “Wha… why’re you smiling?”

To your utter horror, his smile grows deeper and wider, without losing the distinct gentle quality it has. You’re grateful he’s not looking at you or you’d have to risk jumping out of the moving car.

“What is it?”

“What?” He chuckles, finally moving on from all the mysteriously warm smiling to give you a lopsided smirk. 

This is familiar territory. You roll your eyes with a subtly released breath of relief. “What’s cooking up in that head of yours?”

“I’m just thinking you should practice it a little.”

Your brows drop in a confused frown. “Practice… what?”

“Your pet name for me.”

“What do you—oh.”

He’s talking about sex. Of course he is. Jungkook snickers when you scowl at him. 

You’re not even annoyed, at this point, just infinitely grateful he’s not being all ooey-gooey and soft anymore. It spooked you so much, you can’t even bring yourself to ask him to clarify what it was about. 

“No more yelling out Jeon when you come for me, yeah?”

You ignore the shiver that runs down your spine at his low baritone. “I don’t yell.”

Jungkook gives a hearty laugh at that, setting your cheeks on fire. “You’re so funny, Prez.”

Okay, so you might yell a little, maybe; at least you’re not a screamer.

“Jungkook—I—fuck fuck—ah!” you screech at the top of your lungs, uncaring of who hears, because there’s a deliciously thick and long cock deep inside of you right now, stretching you wildly and nudging right against the right spot within your walls.

Speaking of walls – there is one behind you, currently, next to the door to Jungkook’s penthouse that you barely made past before the guy was pushing his tongue down your throat and pulling your dress up. There was little to no foreplay, because you’ve been dripping wet since the car ride, and Jungkook literally went from sporting a semi to being rock hard with leaking precum within minutes of you sucking on his tongue. 

And now he’s got his jeans pushed to his knees and your dress pushed to your hips, strong, bulky arms looping beneath your thighs to hold you open against him as he drives into you with purpose. You feel malleable when he manipulates your body like this, wholly dependent on him for your pleasure. And he revels in this power, moving his mouth down the line of your throat, to sink his teeth into the ballooning flesh of your breasts that he can reach above the neckline of your dress.

“Fuck, you’re so fucking sweet,” he breathes through a groan, and proceeds to suck a bruise into your skin.

You can’t be bothered to respond, though, because his hips are unrelenting against yours and you’re close, so fucking close to your high, you can taste it in the air. “J–Jeon—”

He cuts you off with a growl, “That’s not—” He bites into your nipple over the fabric of your dress. “—my fucking name.”

“Jungkook!” you readily sob out, head thrown against the wall, eyes screwed shut, and nails digging into his sweater. “P–p–please—I’m—ah!” 

A rough thrust drags you up the wall, jolting your eyes open because you can see your climax looming over you. Jungkook pulls back from your clothed breasts with a grunt that seems to brim with frustration. You’d help him bare them to his skilled mouth if you could find a single neuron in your head that wasn’t focused on the pressure building in your stomach with every thrust of his. And then he’s pushing harder against you, grinding his pelvis into your clit the way he knows you love – and you fall apart. You’re screaming incoherently – almost sobbing, because you’re pretty sure he hit your fucking cervix, you’re that sore – and clutching onto his body to ride out your orgasm.

When the white light finally recedes from the back of your eyelids, you open them to find Jungkook panting heavily. Sweat streaks across his entire face, dotting his hairline and making the wet strands hang in front of his eyes dangerously. 

You notice his lids are closed. And then you notice his hands are not on you any more and this guy seriously has you pinned against the wall with the strength of his hips alone. Your pussy gives a clench and Jungkook grunts in frustration again.

“Stop.”

You wanna tell him you didn’t do it intentionally, but you can find neither your voice, nor your breath.

His hands, you finally realize, have been busy digging into the neckline of his sweater to pull the piece of clothing off of him. He’s doing that thing that boys do when they grab a shirt across their nape and tug it off with a single hand. His other hand moves to grip at your waist, and when you see that he has pulled his shirt up as well, you quickly move your own hands to aid him with the removal, sliding your palms up his firm, muscled torso as it is bared when the clothes move up.

Okay, so maybe you’re not entirely helping him. 

In a moment, he is heaving rough breaths inches from you, bare chested and sweaty, with droopy eyelids and a thick, hard cock which is still nestled inside of you like it belongs there. The combination of his piercings, his wet hair and his fucking tattoos – the sleeve on his arm and that dragon on his back that peeks past the nape of his neck – makes you wanna lick the guy from top to bottom. 

Sighing at the carnal image he paints, you attack. Nails raking down his chest, your tongue moves to lick a strip down his sternum, until you’re close enough to catch his nipple in your mouth and drag your teeth against it.

“Fuck, baby…”

He sounds guttural, and tastes ten different kinds of delicious. His hips snap against yours again, regaining their rhythm as if he never stopped. Nearly delirious from your previous orgasm and the taste of his skin, you dig your claws into the flesh of his shoulders and moan against his nipple.

“W–want you…in my—fuck—in… want you to—ah! Mouth! My m–m–mouth!”

The words that you manage to cry out make barely any sense to you, but they sure do to Jungkook. Even as the head of his cock continues to mark a stain against the deepest spot within your wet channel, pace unrelenting, he chuckles against your forehead.

And it’s not like he’s all that composed himself, breath hitching even as he laughs, but is he going to be a decent human being about it and understand your state of horny delirium? Nope. He’s going to be an asshole and make fun of you.

“Can you—” He pauses to shove your body against the wall and tear your dress up and above your chest with his free hand. “Can you say that again? Preferably as a sentence? Preferably with a please?”

You sincerely loathe him. 

Managing the fiercest glare you can when you’re literally bouncing on his dick, you bring your hands up to cup his jaw from both sides. His own eyes jump from your bra clad boobs to your angry eyes. Nails scratching against his scalp and thumbs dragging against his cheekbones, you bite down on your bottom lip to stifle any building moans in you and then clear your throat.

“Your cock. My mouth. Now.” You’re proud of the sternness in your voice, but Jungkook just looks all the more amused, eyebrows raised and lips quirked; all his piercings wink at you. “Isn’t that – isn’t that enough?”

Jungkook pulls out of you and drops your legs to the ground, making you immediately stumble into him. Snorting in humiliating amusement, he lowers himself and lifts you over his shoulder, your naked ass right next to his face – and his, right next to yours. Flailing, you yelp and hold onto his thighs.

“What the—Jeon! What the fuck?”

“It’s Jungkook, for the last fucking time.” He plants a smack against your ass cheek, walking towards his bedroom, and his hand stays there, grabbing and squeezing a fat handful. “I’m carrying you because you can’t walk…”

“There’s – there’s other ways to carry!”

He drops you on his bed. “Oh, are there? Strip.”

You would protest at the harsh command if he wasn’t doing the same. Your eyes nearly glaze over when he shoves his jeans down his legs and bares his meaty thighs. You’re gonna ride them someday. Hastily, you throw your dress, your bra and your mangled panties off your body. 

Jungkook stands in front of you, looking like a sex god with his toned body lined with a layer of perspiration and legs spread. One of his hands is pumping his hard length while the other curls around your ankle to tug you to the edge of the bed. 

And then you notice the leather belt lying on the carpeted floor next to his feet. 

Did he just take it off?

It doesn’t matter because all Jungkook cares about is making you kneel in front of him. “Arms up.”

You hesitantly raise them, frowning in confusion and trying to think past the saliva collecting in your mouth when his angry cock is this close to your lips. Then Jungkook holds onto your hands and walks behind you to pull them down over your back. Cool leather wraps around your wrists, breaking your trance.

“Wh… What is this?”

Jungkook doesn’t answer you, tightening his belt over your hands and locking them firmly in place over your lower back. You’re flexible but not flexible enough to move your arms.

“Jungkook! Did you—hey! What the hell?”

Smirking at your wide eyes, Jungkook places a finger on your lips to shush you. “Open these lips only when you’re ready for a mouthful of cock, yeah?”

Fuck, he is too sexy like this. 

While you’re still reeling, one of his hands goes back to stroking his length, pierced eyebrow hiked up, and the other pinches your nipple to tug at your breast. Wetness drips out of you, making your thighs shake when you press them harder together to relieve some of the pressure.

And then you open your mouth in invitation. 

With another smirk, Jungkook cups your jaw and pushes his cock past your lips, slowly. Your moan is instantaneous, as is the way your tongue runs up and down the length, and you close your eyes to fully absorb the deliciously heady taste and smell of him. You've been doing this on the regular for months, but the feel of him on your tongue still makes you thrum with excitement, every time. The urge to please him, make him lose all control and shoot his release down your throat seems to have only increased over the time you have spent with him.

Your eyes meet his own across his toned, sweaty body, mouth suctioning on him tightly until he breaks the stare by rolling his eyes to the back of his head. Then you get to work, moving your head on him the way you have learned he loves.

Jungkook’s groans of appreciation reach you through the fog of your own desire, and you redouble your efforts, making way for him to reach your throat. 

“Yessss,” comes his hiss. “Lemme fuck your throat – just like that…”

His hips snap against your face with purpose, the head of his cock meeting the back of your throat, roughly. The room fills up with the echoes of your combined moans, heavy breathing, and the lewd sound of your lips drooling a wet mess on Jungkook.

“Fuck, fuck, gimme your teeth, baby,” he murmurs through a whine, and you’re a goner.

He’s a kinky, filthy, freaky piece of shit, and you can’t get enough of him. 

Slowly and smoothly, you pull your lips away from your incisors and allow the blunt, flat edges of your teeth to glide delicately across his velvety skin. Jungkook gives you a litany of unintelligible curses in response, gripping your hair so hard, you wince in discomfort.

But then a broken call of, “more,” tumbles past his wet lips, and any pain is wiped right out of your head. You grant him another scrape of your teeth, very alert and attentive about it no matter how hard he tugs at your head. And given the pain that is building at the base of your skull, he tugs pretty fucking hard.

Looking up, you aren’t surprised when you find his eyes screwed shut, brows furrowed and lips pouted. He’s lost – floating away in another world, and you aren’t sure if he even realizes what he’s making you do to him.

Sometimes you wonder if you both need a safeword between you. He looks so out of it, is this really safe? What if you couldn't control yourself either?

But he trusts that you will; that you can.

And so you do.

Even though he hasn’t stopped tugging and pleading for more, you decide that this is enough thrill for the night, and shield your teeth behind your lips again. When his eyelids part and he frowns down at you, as you knew he would, you move your head down on him and swallow around his length.

Your eyes water and breathing stutters, but the throaty groan of your name that Jungkook releases is absolutely worth it. Both his hands cup the sides of your head, and he uses your mouth like a toy, moving you up and down his cock like a cocksleeve. It makes your mind go numb with desire.

"Yes, yes, Jesus—fuck! You're – you're so fucking good to me, Prez," Jungkook grunts between wheezes of breath. 

Maybe you are, but you want to be better – you want to make him lose himself. 

You thrust your chest up and shut your eyes, kneeling in a proper posture to allow Jungkook to fuck your face. His breathing gets more and more haggard and shorter, until he's gasping your name. His hips stutter with his release, all of which he fucks down your throat in messy thrusts.

When he finally pulls out, you wheeze in a huge gasp of breath and watch him stumble back to the bed on unsteady feet. Leaning back on his elbows, he flashes a lazy grin at you. 

"You okay?"

Nodding, you shuffle towards him on your knees and turn sideways. "Just… wrists are probably numb, but the rest of me is—fuck!"

You gasp in surprise when Jungkook leans down to push two fingers into you. His face hovers above yours for a second before he's pulling you into a kiss.

"You're fucking dripping, baby… how's that okay?"

He doesn't allow you a moment to answer as his fingers work up in you, curling just the right way to make your hips stutter and the walls of your pussy to pulsate around his digits, an orgasm tearing through you.

"Fuck! Kook!"

"Yeah, baby, that's like a good girl," he praises you with a flurry of kisses sponged against your forehead and the crown of your head, while your brain collapses on itself from blinding pleasure. "Let it all out…"

When you finally come back to your senses, Jungkook greets you with a small smile, holding you firmly in his lap. He's already working on removing the belt from your wrists.

"Better?"

You roll your eyes, but can't help the smile that pushes at your lips at his soft eyes and the fluttering kisses he brushes against your wrists. "Tremendously."

Giggling, Jungkook stands up, still holding you in his arms, and carries you to the bathroom to clean the two of you up. He's attentive and delicate, running a warm, wet washcloth across your body to clean any and all fluids off of it. The two of you take turns to pee and take care of some more personal hygiene, and eventually retire to his bed, falling face-first into it, side by side.

Laughing at each other, you snuggle under the covers, still fully naked, and let your legs entangle together as you find a comfortable position to sleep in. Your eyelids are growing heavy, your body feels thoroughly drained, but the cogs in your brain refuse to stop turning. 

You flop to your back and exhale. “Should we make a spreadsheet?”

Jungkook lifts his head to gape at you with clueless eyes. “Uh…”

“About the details of our… relationship,” you clarify with a grimace. “We need to be consistent to keep things believable and steady."

He looks at you with barely concealed mirth and then breaks out into laughter. "You're something else, Prez…"

"Okay, have you met our moms?" You scowl at him when he winces at the reminder. "Exactly. I'm making a spreadsheet and sharing it with you."

As ridiculous as it sounds, it actually turns out to be very convenient once you get started. You list down everything you can think of, from the place you had your first kiss, to your future plans. You both decide to stick as close to facts as you can because you're both bad at remembering stuff, so your first kiss is placed under the trip to Vegas, and the actual proposal is pinned on Yoongi's wedding day. You do have to lie about some other stuff, though, because you've never even gone on a date with Jungkook. But even all of that stuff you manage to substitute with occasions that have occurred in the real world, just not under a romantic context; exactly the way you did at the dinner when this damn announcement was made.

It's nearing three in the morning by the time you two finish up editing the file on your phone. You toss the device at Jungkook and roll away, yawning with your entire mouth so wide open that your eyes water.

"Add your email to this so that you can peek at it whenever you need to," you almost mumble due to how sleepy and tired you are, eyes shut and head nestled into a fluffy pillow.

"I think I'm gonna remember it," Jungkook claims, unsurprisingly, and you click your tongue.

"Don't rely so much on your brain, Jeon, we both know it can't be trusted."

He just laughs and is silent for a few seconds. You hope he's actually sharing the file with himself. Seemingly done, Jungkook gives a loud exhale and turns to spoon you, which you allow mostly because you're too tired to protest – but partly also because he's warm and cozy and the weight of his arm over your waist actually lulls you deeper into sleep.

"You aren't going home, right?"

You snort at his ridiculous question. "I'm literally inches away from death, right now…"

"Good."

Your brows furrow a little at the unexpected response, but you actually are literally too tired to spend another moment doing anything but losing yourself to some delicious sleep.

So that's what you do.

People at the office have taken you and Jungkook really well. Too well, you’d say, if the squeaks, awed sighs or giggles that the two of you receive any time you so much as smile at the other are anything to go by. It's almost as if everyone at Jeon Security has been rooting for you and him. Much like the pair of your parents. Ugh.

Director Min and Jungkook’s assistant are the only two people that don’t look at you with actual heart eyes. 

Yoongi has been mostly nonchalant, but he has shown curiosity about when this thing between you and Jungkook even began when he works in such close quarters with the two of you at all times. Man, if only he knew what went down at his wedding reception; he’d probably never invite the two of you to any of his wedding anniversary parties. 

Haeri, on the other hand, expresses her shock at the rapid development, especially from your end when she has very closely witnessed the way you have been at Jungkook’s throat at all times. Beyond your concocted it just happened gradually, there isn't much you can explain to her; but she has enough workload on her that she moves on from suspecting and settles on vaguely appreciating your relationship very soon.

So yeah. Everyone loves the fact that you’re together.

But to you, personally, pretending to be Jungkook's fiancé is turning out to be a lot more tiresome than sneaking around with him used to be. Earlier, you just had to stay strictly professional at work and ensure your schedules were free when you met up at each other's places. Now, though, you are actively seeking out prying eyes to go be disgusting in front of them, intentionally. Jungkook is relishing the way everyone is eating it up, the way you absolutely expected him to.

It's been three days of this bullshit, and you already wanna step on Jungkook's foot with your heel when he takes your hand in the empty elevators.

"Jeon."

"There's a camera here!"

His eyes are innocently wide but his lips are twitching. You really wanna step on his shoe.

"Jeon, you know—"

"It's Kook."

He's smirking now, and you just give up, tipping your head back against the wall of the elevator to release a groan. “Your dad’s not gonna view the fucking security camera feeds, Kook.”

There’s that soft look on his face again. Why does he react this way to you calling him that? Sometimes you feel like there are parts of Jungkook you will never be able to figure out. Not that you are actively trying to.

“You don’t know my dad, Prez.”

“Oh, so you’re Kook but I’m still Prez? Where’s your loving pet-name for me?”

His soft smile grows, if possible, even softer and borderline affectionate. Something a lot akin to panic rises up in your chest, but you immediately push it back down because this is Jungkook. His definition of “affection” is just glorified roasting.

But then his fingers squeeze yours tightly. 

“Prez’s always been my loving pet-name for you.” There are actual sparkles lighting up his eyes, now, and try as you might, you cannot tear your gaze away from their innocent shine. “But I can always call you baby.”

The sparkles are embers now, challenging your fucking sanity because a shiver runs down your spine at the rumble in his voice when he articulates the one name he loves to call you in bed. Fuck.

You’re saved from having to respond – but he knows you were dumbstruck because his cocky-ass smirk is back on his face – when the elevator announces its arrival on your floor.

“Are you gonna walk me to my office?” You sarcastically bat your eyelids at him with a huge, saccharine smile as the two of you step out together.

“Of course. And leave you with a ‘have a nice day’ kiss, too.” His smile looks exactly the same as yours feels – but his eyes twinkle, and you suddenly wonder if he is, perhaps, enjoying this. “I’m an amazing boyfriend.”

Your face drops into a deadpan. “You’re my fiancé.”

His eyes widen in blatant panic. “That’s…what I said?”

“Je—Kook, my lovely lover boy,” you coo at him, freeing your hand to place both palms on the lapels of his suit jacket and lean closer to his ear under the ruse of brushing a kiss to his jaw – you actually brush a kiss to his jaw because it looks too sexy to resist, but that wasn’t your original intent – and in a lowered voice that is close to a hiss, you finish your sentence with: “get your shit together!”

Jungkook, who seemed to be melting into your embrace initially, especially after the peck you planted on him, straightens into attention at the scolding. Face scrunched in a wince, he nods at you. “Right.”

“I’ll see you after work?” You’re smiling again, this time with actual humor and very reluctant but inevitable fondness because he looks kinda cute when frustrated.

“Mm hm, and I’ll drive you home.” 

You both know what that means, and the way Jungkook swipes his tongue across his bottom lip to confirm that sends a jolt of arousal through you. That’s twice since morning and it’s barely nine am. Good God, you’re a horny mess.

Chuckling at your obvious stiffening, Jungkook waves his fingers at you in goodbye and walks off into the direction of his office. You heave out a loud exhale and turn to walk towards your own—

Only to pause in your steps.

Min Yoongi stands in your direct line of sight, eyeing you weirdly. He is sipping from a cup, wedding band glinting, and has his other hand folded into the pocket of his pants. 

Casual, laid-back, regular Yoongi. 

Not consistent with the narrowed eyes he's giving you, though. 

Self-conscious, you run a hand over your hairdo, wondering if your bun is lopsided, and then down your pencil skirt, wondering if it is stained. Yoongi's eyes don't stray from your face, though, and that prompts you to pay around your lips to check for any smudged lipstick. Not that you were involved in any lipstick-smudging business, this morning, given the fact that you and Jungkook stayed at your own places, last night, and so arrived at the office separately.

So why the unnerving staring from Director Min?

By the time you've crossed the twenty-something feet that spans from the elevators to the door to Yoongi's office he's standing next to, you are wearing a squint of your own.

"Good morning, Director Min."

Yoongi's lips twitch into a smirk. "Good morning."

You scowl at him. "What's with the stare?"

"What's with the over the top PDA?"

“You weren’t supposed to be looking,” you lie because everything you and Jungkook do publicly is absolutely meant for the public's viewing pleasure.

But then you pause to wonder if the kiss you secretly planted on his jaw was even clear enough to be witnessed? You doubt anyone but you and Jungkook even knows it happened, and the sense of secrecy sends a very unwelcome and really unwanted thrill through you.

Is your brain melting down because what the fuck? You barely tolerate the guy, what the hell is your body getting all excited about?

You are not enjoying this. At all. 

“Fair,” Yoongi allows with a roll of his eyes. “We have four meetings today, back-to-back, so snap out of your lavender haze soon. And for God’s sake, hire a new assistant!”

“I will, let me just—”

“Ohhh, now I see it,” he cuts you off with raised eyebrows and wide eyes and you are wholly clueless.

“Literally what? Why’re you being so weird today?”

Yoongi shakes his head, looking all awed, until his cheeks lift up and he breaks into giggles that make his shoulders jump. It’s a very jarring sight, a guy as quiet and intimidating as Min Yoongi laughing like this.

“Director Min…are you going clinically insane?”

“You fired poor old Jimin because Jungkook got jealous!”

You gape at him. 

No, that is not what happened! 

Jimin quit because he was done rioting against his parents – he didn’t even need the job, he only interviewed to make a point and you just helped him along. Jungkook had gotten pretty annoying around the time, but you wrote it off as a classic case of Jungkook needing attention and acting out when not receiving it. 

He wasn’t… jealous, was he?

Why the hell would he be? You were barely into a month of sleeping together when that happened, and you both literally fought every single time after sex.

But maybe this can work in your favor; it adds more credibility to your story. 

You turn your chin up at Yoongi. “So what if I did?”

A small smile plays on his lips. “So nothing. I’m just surprised I didn’t see it, because you’ve been pretty obvious, huh?”

What should you even say to that? Obvious? When nothing even is there? You don’t know if this is naïve of Yoongi or just ignorant, but you take it with a pretend grin.

“Time to get your prescriptions updated, Director Min.” 

The day proceeds normally, after that, exhausting you to the bone because sitting through meetings after meetings is never not hell. But after the recent successful launch with the Lims' project, Jeon Security has been the talk of the town and everyone wants to collaborate with you in whichever form they can.

The proposals are endless and so is the shit on your schedule.

You've accepted your fate and canceled all your extracurricular plans – ones not involving Jungkook, of course, because he's gonna crawl into your bed no matter what – for the coming few weeks. You might even have to stay past working hours because you have a bulk of emails to answer at the end of the day, everyday, when you've been running between meetings all day long.

God, you miss having Jimin around.

It's a little after five and you and Yoongi have just returned from an hour-long session in the conference hall, ambling towards your respective offices with droopy eyes and a desperate need for coffee. Just as you start the machine placed in the sitting area in your personal space, your phone pings with a text message.

Kook 💍 are you going to your parents' for your birthday? your mom told my mom i'm invited too? prez, i literally can't please you have to understand

You give a deep sigh, pressing two fingers to your temples. It's not that you don't understand, because God knows even you don't wanna go. But Jungkook not going would give your dad just that much more incentive to mentally torture your.

↳ Today's a Tuesday, we have three days to talk abt this ↳ Why're our moms in a hurry? ↳ I'll come over tonight and we'll talk ↳ Okay?

Kook 💍 sure i still won't say yes, but sure

Well. You'd just have to convince him.

Except – you couldn’t. You were unable to.

Tuesday night came and went, but Jungkook was unmoving. Similarly on Wednesday and Thursday – which really took you aback.

You knew he would put up a great fight, and you were prepared to convince him with a solid blowjob or two. But you did not expect the extent to which his vehement protest went. Man was immune to all your charms.

And on Friday night, he even refused to hang out with you, claiming you needed your beauty sleep to recharge yourself for tomorrow. Dude left you alone to fend for yourself with a lame ass happy birthday text and disappeared on you.

Okay, no, that's a lie. He didn't really disappear, you had a long winded conversation on facetime where he actually managed to convince you with some solid logic.

He said he feared he'd end up getting into a physical brawl with your dad if he went, and absolutely refused to even entertain the prospect of sitting back while your father tore you down. Which you both knew he'd do. 

That, and you also had some personal fears of your own. Your dad would definitely take Jungkook aside to have a private conversation, and knowing him, would probably spew shit that would be poisonous enough to ruin the night – and potentially your bond with Jungkook – really bad.

So you ended up going alone, telling yourself, repeatedly, that they were your parents, at the end of the day. They won't crush you under their boots like a bug.

Now, as you drive back home a little before midnight, you feel nothing short of crushed like a bug under some heavy, stomping boots, so who's the fool?

You. It's always you.

With a groan, you leave your car in the lot and drag your high heeled feet up the elevators, to your apartment. When darkness greets you at home, it feels more metaphoric than it is.

Parents shouldn't be this exhausting. What happened to all the love they promised to give you for life? 

After a warm shower to relax your tense muscles, you don one of Jungkook's five sizes too big hoodies that he's left at your place atop some fluffy, fleece pajama pants, and reach for the bottle of dated whisky Yoongi got you as a gift. It was surprising to you that he remembered your birthday, and you gave an actual gasp when he presented you with an actual gift at the office, yesterday. Sweet guy. Sweeter gift.

Extracting the box from one of the chic shelves in your kitchen that are usually empty, you look at the sleek design and wonder how expensive this is. It looks very high-end.

You can't really read the name on the gorgeous black and golden bottle and decide that you don't really need to. It begins with a K and Yoongi told you it's Irish. That's more than enough for you to decide to save it for special occasions.

The way today's events have been making you feel as if you've been placed in a hydraulic press, though? Definitely qualifies as a special occasion. 

Carefully opening the seal, you take a whiff and hum.

"You're way too fancy to be poured into a glass, baby," you murmur to the bottle like a completely normal human being. But this is your first conversation of the day where you're certain nothing hurtful will be said to you back. "How about I splash you into some hot chocolate, hm?"

The bottle, regretfully, doesn't respond, and you take that as it's reluctant acquiesce to your plan. The moment you reach for a packet of instant cocoa mixes stashed away in another one of your highly unused cupboards, your doorbell rings.

Now. It’s well past midnight, close to one am. If someone has reached up to your apartment without you having to buzz them into the building at such an odd hour, it must be someone familiar.

A couple of possibilities cross your mind, but there’s one that sticks with a concerning amount of hope to it. Your hands get clammy at the nervousness that blossoms in your chest, and you absolutely do not allow yourself to explore it, at all.

Swallowing, you walk up to the door and pull it open.

Jungkook is dressed in a cozy looking gray hoodie and dark cargo pants, prescription glasses on and all jewelry taken out. He looks warm and…delicate. Gentle.

His lips, simple and soft without his signature ring in them, curl up in a small, kind smile. Your own part to let in a large gulp of air to fill up your lungs that you now realize were emptying out for a while.

They had been empty for a while; for hours. Tight and tired and heavy, but without any air.

The heaviness finally lifts and the tightness finally unclenches to allow relief to flood in. 

It makes you feel alive again. It scares you to death.

"What—"

He interrupts your question by producing a small box in front of his face. "Happy birthday, Prez."

Your jaw drops. "What? Is that a…"

"A gift, yeah. To celebrate? And – and tell you I'm sorry that I wasn't with you today?" He scratches his head with his nose scrunched up. "Despite the conversation we had last night… I feel like I should've been there with you. So, I kinda figured you'd need a booster to get your serotonin levels back to normal, and here I am!"

Tears prick at your eyes, unprompted and uncontrollable, and you press yourself against him, winding your arms around his waist for a desperate hug. Jungkook accepts you with an inhale of surprise, but then walks the two of you in and kicks the door shut behind you.

"Hey, hey – are you okay? What's going on, Y/N, talk to me…"

His usage of your name jerks you out of your sudden vulnerable moment, and you pull away with a watery chuckle, turning your face away to swipe under your eyes. 

"It's – it's nothing, just—um, I'd been… Th–this is a surprise," you finally manage to say, forcing another chuckle out.

Jungkook frowns at you, obviously concerned and not really buying the way you brushed off actually crying into him, but tugs his lips up in a small smile. "That was the intention."

"But it's past midnight," you point out, trying to dissipate the heaviness that has suddenly descended upon the atmosphere. "You're late."

Jungkook's face scrunches up in a guilty smile, and you have to swallow against how adorable he looks like this; all soft-edged and open-hearted. "I know I'm technically a day late, but my grandpa used to say that it's still your birthday, even past midnight, if you don't go to sleep. You're allowed to celebrate for as long as you stay up."

A burst of laughter escapes you at how ridiculous and yet fitting of him this is. "You've totally been exploiting that clause, haven't you?"

Jungkook giggles his characteristic high-pitched giggle, and you have to hold back a frown at the way this doesn't irritate you the way it used to. 

It sounds kind of cute, in fact, and that is so, so scary.

"That is absolutely true," Jungkook easily affirms your speculation with a cheeky grin as the two of you walk into your living room. "This one time, for my thirteenth birthday, I stayed up till six am. Watched, like, five movies that night. And then got sick."

You give a snort. "Sounds like you."

"Hey—why am I being insulted when I've literally got you a present?"

Jungkook follows you to your couch and settles down with his legs crossed beneath him, facing you, while you sit in a similar position opposite him. "Are you saying calling you you is an insult? That's all I did!"

An actual pout forms on his lips. "No, you stereotyped me. When I'm just this nice, thoughtful guy who brought you a birthday gift I know you'll like!"

You can't contain your own giggles at how petulant he is acting, bringing up the gift he got you in literally every sentence. With a roll of your eyes, you forward both your hands towards him, palms up. "Okay, okay, I'm sorry. Let's see this amazingly perfect gift of yours."

In the time you've spent knowing Jungkook, there are a certain number of fun facts and behavioral habits that you absolutely, truthfully know about him. His obsession with experimental lattes; his talent at singing; his hatred for all things peanuts even though he isn't allergic to them; the weird line he walks between being a people pleaser and yet not caring about his social image. There's a number of them. One of which is also his confidence while interacting with people, which is so strong and tough that it more often than not falls into overconfidence territory.

And so, it comes as a shock to you when you see hints of hesitation on his face. 

Is he nervous? About a birthday gift? For you? Jeon Jungkook?

You shake your head in disbelief, a tiny spurt of laughter leaving you. "Jungkook…?"

Pursing his lips with an evident blush on his cheeks, he presents before you a small, dark blue box with a familiar, iconic swan imprinted on it, the word Swarovski gleaming underneath. Jungkook ceremoniously lifts the lid, in an imitation of a proposal because his sense of humor is dumb, and unveils a pair of delicate earrings – a diamond stud dropping from a slightly larger diamond stud, everything set in white gold.

They're absolutely stunning. And certainly your type; something you can see yourself wearing.

They're definitely too much.

Your gaze fluctuates back and forth between the beauty of the obviously very expensive jewelry and the guy who's gifting it to you with his lower lip in his mouth. Now there's no denying that he's nervous about this.

Which makes sense. Jungkook has never gifted you anything on any of your birthdays before. He has barely ever wished you, usually just sticking to remarks about how you're turning more geriatric every year, when you're both literally the same age.

After all that joking around, this feels extremely large.

Swallowing, you try to find words to express the gratitude – and the persistent shock – that you feel, right now, but come up empty. It's complicated, a little overwhelming. You're not technically feeling awkward, but this is definitely unexplored territory for you both, so maybe you’re a little…out of sorts?

This isn’t a gift from the bane of your existence Jungkook – it is from your tentative friend and pretend fiancé Jungkook. How the hell are you supposed to navigate this situation?

Something about your fidgeting hands, wide eyes and gaping mouth must have given your confusion away, because the guy suddenly snorts, dissolving into laughter.

“You look like you’re holding your breath,” he says with a huge, easy grin on his face; the teasing does nothing to calm you down, though, and Jungkook takes one of your hands in his to give it a quick squeeze. There’s a sincere smile on his face this time. “You can let go of the pretense for a moment. Just react how you normally would without the whole engagement thing.”

It’s nice of him to try to take the pressure away, but you’re still at a loss. He, though, looks cozier and cuter by the minute, resting sideways against the back of your couch, a grin on his face and fucking stars in his eyes. 

You do what is the only sane thing to do, then – lean forward and press your mouth against his.

Jungkook releases a breath of surprise but responds to the pull of your lips eagerly, cupping a palm around the back of your neck to support your head as you deepen the kiss. His tongue curls around yours and your teeth bite into his bottom lip – which feels different without his ring, but definitely just as delicious – and then you pull away.

Lips glistening and eyes hooded, he lowly chuckles inches away from your face, sending your heart racing faster than the kiss did. “Very unoriginal but I appreciate it.”

In the middle of rolling your eyes, you catch the way his lips are twitching up in that adoring smile you've seen him sport an awful lot of times in the past few days. And paired with the rest of his soft but sexy aura, it does something to you. 

Something dangerous.

Your ears are heating up with a rush of blood that you can feel expanding down to your chest. It’s suddenly too hot. It’s suddenly too much, all your nerve endings singed but aware. Your very breath seems to scratch against your lungs.

Oh, God.

You know the sensation. It’s been a while since you’ve felt it, but you can still recognize the signs of having a crush. Because this is exactly how you used to feel around one particular individual back in high school, the last time you ever allowed yourself to feel anything for anyone.

Fuck. A crush?

You thought you’d just gotten more tolerant of him, but… do you actually like Jungkook? Romantically? 

Holy shit?

Unaware of the emotional crisis you’re internally going through, the guy plants a small, playful kiss on your pouting lips. “This was only one half of the gift, though. Wanna sit on my face?”

A huff of laughter leaves you, breaking through your daze enough to make you move – but not enough to stop you from thinking.

Jungkook carries you to your bedroom, like he’s done multiple times in the past, and settles against the headboard, like he’s done multiple times in the past. But even as the two of you pull each other’s clothes off as you regularly do, something doesn’t feel so regular to you.

Every single breath and look and touch of his goes straight to your head, air thick with tension and something a lot like affection between you two.

“Up, up, come on,” he husks against your thigh, sitting shirtless against your headboard while you kneel between his spread legs, fully bared. Something about the power dynamics that your states of undress create arouses you that much more. “I want you to suffocate me, okay?”

He says it with such a straight face, a chuckle escapes you. “We’ve done this before, Kook.”

“Mm hm, but tonight’s more important than any of the previous ones, yeah?” Oh, he doesn’t know how true that feels to you. Although the way his lower lip is tucked between his teeth and eyes are so sparkly, it almost seems like he does. Until he winks, “I wanna die between your legs tonight, okay?”

Rolling your eyes, you push at his chest to shove him down on his back. From this vantage point, his eyes immediately shoot to your dripping center. The way he licks his lips at the sight is enough to make you come untouched – but those cherry red buds of his are beckoning to you and you’re not about to pass up the opportunity to occupy the sexiest throne you’ve been presented with.

The two of you moan in unison when your pussy meets his lips, and Jungkook's tongue is immediately reaching out to lick into your channel before you've had the chance to even catch your breath.

"F–f–fuck!" a stuttered gasp escapes you when he wraps both his arms around your thighs and seals his mouth to you.

Although this isn't the first time you've sat on his face, this particular sexual act isn't that common between you two. It's somewhat reserved for special occasions. When Jungkook wants to celebrate or thank you or, like now, comfort you, he offers your pussy his lips to grind against.

And each time it happens, beyond the general self-consciousness of worrying about suffocating him, the experience is always a ride to remember for you.

"Mm hm," he hums against your sensitive skin, tongue traveling far deep into you. "Taste so fucking good, baby…"

You never knew you had a thing for praises until Jeon Jungkook called you a good girl, on an otherwise random night. Since then, hearing him appreciate the bare minimum about you arouses you to insane heights.

"Fuck, Kook, you're so fucking good at this…"

He laughs against your delicate flesh. “Yeah? That why you’re making me do all the damn work?”

Your eyes jump open in a shocked affront, peering down between your thighs to meet Jungkook’s hooded gaze. “Wha—”

“Fucking ride my mouth,” he hisses out, eyes narrowed, right as one of his palms thwacks a loud slap against your ass, making your body jump up on his face. “That’s what you’re sitting here for.”

Heat flows through your veins, your state of arousal heightening to the point where a thrum enters your body and your eyes begin to water. You’re beyond forming words now, not with the way Jungkook’s sexy fucking eyebrows jump at you mockingly even when you should be the one with the upper hand given your position.

This man really has you wholly ruined. The least you can do is ruin his face for him, right?

And so you clench your jaw in determination and grip the headboard with a new ferocity, jamming your hips against his face in an attempt to shut him up and momentarily smother him at the same time. But all he does is squeeze the plump of your ass and groan against you some more, so you just throw caution to the wind and begin to rock on him.

He supports your ass with one hand and brings the other to cup your boob, his favorite part of your anatomy, pinching your nipple between a finger and a thumb. Breathy whines and short curses leave you with every jump your pussy makes against his mouth, but Jungkook is so fucking active in all of it, you wonder how he doesn’t run out of stamina. Or, fucking hell, his breath.

The combination of his gaping mouth and his tongue that still somehow manages to lick at your exposed clit has your toes curling and the pressure in your stomach building up at an insane speed.

Panting, you look down at your glorious throne, only to find his eyes squinted in a smile. He winks at you when you meet his gaze.

“Fucking fuck, Jungkook, you’re crazy,” you cry out, rolling your eyes in wonder mingled exasperation when you hear him him chuckle.

He suddenly grips you in place, then, stopping your motions that were beginning to make your thighs burn a little. How did he know when to that, you have no idea, but you can only sob his name when he scrapes his teeth against your clit. The mixture of pleasure and pain is insane, and makes you scream.

“You’re… how does that feel so – so good, Jeon, you’re—fuck!”

Out of nowhere, he rips his mouth off of you. Gasping out a complaint, you glare down at him.

“What the fuck? I was so close!”

He is glaring right back at you, you realize, and before you can make sense of it, both his arms shove your legs away from his shoulders and down his body, situating you over his abs so that he can sit up and wrap an arm around your waist, only to switch positions with you and press you down into the soft mattress of your bed, with him hovering above you.

“You seem to have a problem remembering my name,” he grunts with his teeth barred, rage in his eyes. 

Before you can even begin to trace back to what you said, he sits up with your legs still wrapped around his waist, and brings a hand down to land directly on your clit.

"Fu~ck—Jungkook, what—"

"Ah, yes, there is it," he coos, a condescending pout on his lips. "What's my name, baby?"

You glare at him with tears of arousal spilling down your cheeks. If you weren't sure he'd edge you to the brink of insanity, you would have challenged his smug ass right back, right now. But you're helpless against Jungkook's truly unmatched skill set when it comes to overstimulating you, so you grit your teeth and shut your eyes.

"Jungkook."

When he doesn't move, you open your eyes to find him raising an amused eyebrow at you. "You sound like you hate me, Prez."

"Yeah, well, I hate what you're doing to me! Will you—ah!"

Another slap lands on your clit. "Stop addressing me by my family name and I'll do something you'll love."

You can't help the sob of frustration that leaves you. "Sure. Jungkook."

He winces at your high-pitched voice. And another slap is rounded against your pussy, though this one doesn't make your body jolt that hard. "Okay, less evil-witch vibes, maybe?"

"For fuck's sake, Jungkook, if you don't make me come—"

"Now that's what I'm talking about! Desperate, with just the right stroke of assertive." He grins at you, now pressing his hand down to massage at your nearly oversensitive clit with the pad of his thumb.

With his other hand, he unwraps your thighs from around him and slowly crawls down until his face is at the level of your pussy. You rise to your elbows in surprise. "What, you're not gonna fuck me?"

He smiles at you from between your legs. "This is your birthday present, Prez. Now let me eat this pussy like it deserves to be eaten."

There is no reason why out of everything you've done with this man, it's his sincere smile and the expression of him wanting to eat you out that should set your cheeks on fire. But that is what happens, your entire face flaming up when Jungkook seals his promise with a wink and presses his mouth into your waiting wetness.

You're a mess of tears, arousal and an unnecessarily loudly beating heart when you reach your climax – and you don't think you can explain why it suddenly feels like you would lose something very important if Jungkook ever walked away from you.

Dealing with a pair of cum-heavy balls when a gorgeous, sexy, available and willing girl is next to you is one of the most painful situations a man can land himself in. Jungkook will be the first to admit it.

But, he can see the red rims around your eyes and as much as he’d like to take credit, he knows the tears have their origin in something other than the mind-numbing orgasm he just gave you. 

He’s also feeling guilty about bailing on you so he wants to cut back on orgasming to punish himself in a way, too. But even if he got a do-over, he knows his answer will be the same. Your dad is literally trash and makes Jungkook’s fingers twitch with the urge to form a fist. His temper is literally always Switzerland, but your dad might just have unlocked a new trait in him because every single time the man is mentioned, quoted and/or even so much as vaguely alluded to – Jungkook sees red and has to regulate his breathing.

So being in the man’s house while putting on his best behavior to ensure a good impression? Yeah, no. There would have been carnage. 

He knows he did the right thing because he wasn’t ready, but his guilt persists. Because even though you created this whole situation by being impulsive and angry, he… he's just never been good at leaving you be. To let you deal with stuff on your own when he knows he can be there for you. 

Jungkook has a very obvious soft corner for you. 

He does, definitely, maintain riling you up as one of his hobbies. Not only that, he even considers his biggest pleasure in the world – except for when he's inside of you because that's a whole different world – to be driving you insane with irritation and anger over things he could very easily prevent from happening. He most certainly has a kink for your scowls; it stirs his insides and makes his dick come to life when you shoot daggers at him.

That is all very true. But what is also true, is that beyond all of that, Jungkook cares about you. You matter to him and it pains him to see you hurt. He has never, in his capacity, ever tried to emotionally hurt you.

Challenging your sanity? His fucking jam. But it tortures him to see you actually upset, even though you probably think it’s all playful and meaningless to him.

Now, with you having stolen his gray hoodie that he wore earlier instead of changing into one you were wearing – which, as a matter of fact, was another one of his hoodies – and him in just his sweatpants, the two of you have moved back to the living room where you are preparing some hot chocolate you'd planned earlier. And telling him all that went down at your parents'.

"He actually said that?" 

"He'd said that at your parents', last Saturday too."

Jungkook shuts his eyes and exhales, trying to calm himself down. 

What is wrong with your father? He gets that the man must be upset you didn’t join his business – but there has to be a limit, right? How can his bitterness permeate his love for his daughter to this extent that he would willingly find ways to hurt you in the worst ways?

You’re the President – and standing in line to be the Vice Chairperson – of one of the leading cyber security companies in the country, right now, which is not an easy feat to achieve. How can your father look at you and not feel his heart burst with pride?

But first, Jungkook needs to ensure that you don’t let the insecure man’s words get to you.

“What you have achieved in half the number of years your dad has lived is huge, Prez." He raises a finger to point it at you, firmly. "Don't you ever doubt that.”

“Thank you.” You give him a faint smile that twists his heart. “It’s not like I’ve ever had a drive to make him proud, you know? I’m okay with his disappointment because I’m proud of myself. But he isn’t okay with my confidence. He’s always trying to make me feel as if I’ve done something wrong…as if I am doing something that’s disgraced him or our family, and I should be ashamed?”

Jungkook doesn’t wanna conclude that the man does this out of jealousy, but there is literally no other explanation to be derived. 

You enter the room with two steaming cups of chocolate. "It's spiked with whiskey because I need it."

Chuckling, Jungkook accepts the mug and takes a whiff. "That smells expensive."

"It is." You give an impressed nod. "Yoongi's gift."

"Figures."

You’re both silent for a while, sipping at your respective mugs, and then Jungkook clears his throat to finally respond to your earlier words.

“I think you hurt your dad's ego by making it big without his help,” he tells you with raised eyebrows. “And now he retaliates by hurting your emotions.”

You snort into your cup. "Am I supposed to seek comfort in the fact that my own dad wants to deliberately hurt me?"

Jungkook nibbles on his lip, subconsciously looking for his lip-ring before remembering that he took it off along with his eyebrow piercing, this morning, when he'd been trying to convince himself to go with you. He ended up losing that debate, obviously, but then just didn’t put the jewelry back in.

He doesn’t know how to comfort you, honestly. Usually, he sticks to just listening and allowing the other person to speak their heart out. Usually, that feels like enough help.

Right now, though, he wants to do something more – something to wipe that sadness right off of your face. Doesn’t know what, though. So he just looks at your balled up form on the other side of the couch you’re both sharing.

You turn to meet his gaze, your own vulnerable and broken. He tips his head back, frowning. And something in his expressions must do something to you, because you’re crawling across the space to get to him, the next moment, and nestling into his side without a word.

Though this isn't the first time you've lounged together on a piece of furniture, something about the settings makes this occasion feel more intimate. Almost as if the two of you are cuddling.

Clearing his throat, Jungkook distracts himself from that line of overthinking by bringing his focus back to – belch – your dad. 

"You know, sometimes," he begins, slowly, bringing his free hand to run through your hair, “people you love can refuse to love you back. It’s unfair and it hurts like a bitch – but it’s very hard to escape from. Sometimes, there’s nothing to be done; sometimes you just have to accept that some situations are beyond repair.” He pauses to inhale. “Sometimes people just…don’t understand. They refuse to. And you keep getting hurt over, and over, and over again…”

Your head very slowly turns to meet his gaze, and his heart aches when he sees the tears that brim your eyes. 

“The only way you can protect yourself is by detaching yourself. I know it sounds harsh, but… isn’t self-preservation always harsh?” He gives a small smile when you nod at him with rounded eyes. “You have to release yourself from the hold your dad has on you, baby. He is disappointed in you? Disappointed by what – you being a smart, level-headed, successful woman who could very well be running an empire she wasn’t even born into?"

He sees the way your bottom lip quivers and his hand moves from your scalp to the fluttering bud, thumb pressing against it as he shakes his head. You don't deserve this hurt. Especially at the hands of your own father – someone that Jungkook imagined would have been the proudest in the world when looking at you.

“If he isn’t man enough to be proud of you, his loss. You’re magnificent either way.”

Jungkook knows he's damn proud of you. 

Overcome with an emotion that tightens his chest, Jungkook abandons his hot chocolate on the coffee table and turns to cup your face in his palms, wiping your tears away with his thumbs. Your eyes slide shut in acceptance of his touch, face tilting to nuzzle your cheek into his hand.

“I thought I’d gotten used to the taunts.” Your eyes stay shut but your eyebrows furrow with your words. “I’m usually stronger than this. Just…I really didn’t expect him to call me useless, you know? To say that I’m only good enough to snag a husband who is an heir to—”

“Don’t repeat it,” Jungkook softly murmurs, leaning in to plant a kiss to your shut eyes that are now leaking tears again. “Everyone knows it’s bullshit, even your dad.”

You nod, bottom lip tucked between your teeth. “It’s… it’s so hard facing him, Kook… And it shouldn’t be…”

His heart gives a clench at the name you use, like it always does, but exhaling slowly, he moves his arms to wrap them around you and pull you against his chest. “No, it shouldn’t be. And I can’t change that, but…” He swallows, realizing the implications of what he is about to say – but when your tear stained cheek rubs the salty water against the flesh of his chest, he knows he absolutely means it. “But I can ensure that you never have to face him alone anymore, baby. Ever.”

When you move your head to rest your chin against his pectoral, he expects to see confusion on your face. Instead, he is met by a soft smile that is so full of adoration, it makes him catch his breath. Your skin has turned a few shades darker in places as a result of blood rushes caused by your crying, but you look so pretty to him – prettier than you ever have.

Unable to resist, Jungkook leans down to press his mouth against yours in a chaste kiss. You don’t shut your eyes and neither does he, smiling against your lips when you scrunch your nose. 

“Those are some big words,” you whisper, voice light but eyes wide and – hopeful? Shit, Jungkook fears he’d agree to some pretty stupid shit if you asked him with that look in your eyes. “Are you sure?”

His heart is pounding when he nods. “A hundred percent.”

You release a giggle, almost as if you’re joking around, but he can see the way a fog of uncertainty lifts from your gaze and confidence takes its place. Jungkook grins at you, winking for good effect, and hugs you to his chest again. You plant a kiss to his warm skin, and he stifles a shudder.

“If I fall asleep,” you murmur, lips moving against his body, “please don’t wake me up?”

What?

Do you… wanna sleep like this? 

On the couch – with him? In his arms?

His heartbeat stutters when you exhale and bring an arm to curl around his torso, nails dragging against his waist as if to clutch him to you.

Jungkook closes his eyes, thinking of all the times you have willingly hugged him. Outside of this pretend engagement, he doesn’t recall a single instance of that happening.

He opens his eyes and peers down at your cutely bunched up form.

No one is watching you two, now. Obviously. There’s no one around to put on a show for. You could kick him out and go back to the comfort of your hot chocolate and Marvel movies. 

But you aren’t doing that; you’re holding onto him, choosing to seek comfort in him. 

This can’t not mean something. 

He smiles to himself, tipping his head back and shutting his eyes.

So maybe he’s liking this a bit too much. But he can tell that you don’t hate it either.

The second week of your ‘relationship’ begins with a bang – literally, because you and Jungkook fuck on the couch at, like, eight o’clock on Sunday morning. But also metaphorically, because your mothers accost you with a visit to your place, something you and Jungkook predicted to happen even sooner so they’re basically late.

You and Jungkook shower at around noon, obviously taking longer because you fuck during that too, and while you get ready in a decent dress, he storms through your wardrobe to look for his clothes. He chases you around the bedroom for a bit upon realizing how many of his hoodies you’ve actually stolen from him – which leads to the two of you making out on the floor, because he’s shirtless and you’re in a dress that makes access all the more easy.

When your mothers finally arrive with their binder of questions about every little thing they can quiz the two of you about one another, it comes as a surprise to you both as much as it does to them how well you are able to manage. 

"Oh, oh, and what happened in Vegas?" Mrs Jeon leans forward on the couch with a sly smirk. "Haeri told us something… interesting happened?"

"You've been talking to my assistant, mom?" Jungkook gapes at the woman.

"Of course, I did! You two sprung such a huge announcement upon us – we had to ensure that you weren't faking it!"

Jungkook breaks into coughs, while you busy yourself by taking huge gulps of the wine your mom has brought along.

She did raise her eyebrows when you decided to serve it right then, at literally two pm in the afternoon, but she probably understood what you'd be subjected to so she gave up. That's the thing about your mother; she understands a lot and gives up a lot. If she had even half the amount of boldness that Mrs Jeon is full of, you wouldn't suffer at your father's hands so much. It hasn’t escaped your notice how your mother is pretending as if yesterday didn’t happen.

"Is that true, Y/N?"

You blink into focus at the question, meeting your mother's wide eyes. You look sideways at Jungkook and his eyes are wider than your mother's. You pause.

And then hazard a shot in the dark: "Uh… yes?"

Both women give loud gasps with their hands pressed to their chests. "You both first kissed in Vegas! I can't believe it!"

You grimace when your mom pulls a handkerchief out of her bag, dabbing it at the corners of her eyes as she sniffles. "Well, it just…"

"Just happened," Jungkook finishes for you, grabbing your hand in a desperately tight grasp. "What – what did Haeri say to you?"

"That you got drunk and did something reckless," Mrs Jeon reveals with a chuckle. 

You subtly glance at the man and his pursed lips seem to be holding back laughter. Honestly, kissing you would have been less permanently damaging for him than getting all these tattoos and piercings is.

The conversation moves through more loops, the two of you seamlessly pulling stuff out of the spreadsheet you’ve prepared and memorized, until Jungkook's growling stomach interrupts your party of four.

Mrs Jeon checks her phone and gasps. "Oh dear, is it five already? Time flies when you're having fun!"

Jungkook rolls his eyes so hard, you fear his eyeballs would fall out. 

You bid the two women goodbye, soon after, and settle onto your couch with some reheated leftover fried rice and Guardians of the Galaxy Vol. 2. It's sorely lacking your comfort character – Chris Evans' ass, yep – but Jungkook's hands massaging your boobs sort of makes up for it.

Until he's pulling you beneath him and guiding his cock into you just as the final fighting scene of the movie reaches its climax. And then you're fucking against the background score of Fleetwood Mac's The Chain.

"I'm really fucking done playing secretary for you."

You flutter your lashes up with a wide, sweet smile aimed at a scowling Min Yoongi standing at your office's doors.

"No, don't smile at me, hire an assistant!" He scoffs. "Or better yet, don't go missing from your office without informing anybody. We know you're in your honeymoon phase but can you not keep your hands off of each other for a few hours?"

"You're just bitter ’cause your wife doesn't work here," you say without missing a beat, and with the way Yoongi's cheeks flush pink, you know you've nailed it. A loud laugh escapes you. "Yoongi, you jealous baby!"

He just sighs. "Do you or don't you wanna know what Chairman Jeon wants?"

You straighten in your seat and raise your palms up in surrender. "I'm sorry – please be a dear friend and convey the message?"

"He wants you to see him in his office."

"What? Wha—why didn't you lead with that?" You shoot out of your seat and quickly collect your bag to rush out of the office.

Yoongi hollers with laughter behind you. "Hire an assistant!"

Through the elevators and up to your boss' floor in record time, you pause before the huge double doors and correct your breathing pattern before you can knock.

"Come on in, Prez!"

Wait—

Jungkook's in there?

Frowning a little, you push the doors open tentatively and find the guy sitting in one of his dad's guest chairs opposite the man's huge ass desk. You drily swallow and walk up to the other vacant chair.

The Chairman is busy with something on his computer, and Jungkook's face is grim.

Your nerves immediately short circuit.

"Um, good morning, sir."

Chairman Jeon gives a nod, but his expressions don't change – and he doesn't look at you. You turn to eye his son with questions in your gaze, hoping to see something on his face. But Jungkook's a blank slate, business-like with an impenetrable mask on.

"Congratulations."

You jump at Chairman Jeon's sudden words.

Clearing your throat, you look at Jungkook again, only to find his face twisted in a wince. What the hell?

"Tha–thank you, sir."

Chairman Jeon frowns at you. "Oh? Won't you even ask what the congratulations are for?"

More confused than ever, you blink at the man – and then at his son who now has a palm covering his whole face. You kinda wanna run out of here. "I… Certainly for the… engagement…?"

A hum comes from the older Jeon as he removes his reading glasses and steeples his fingers beneath his chin. There's a very knowing look on his face that makes you wanna hide behind a hand like Jungkook. 

He eyes both of you for a couple of seconds. "The engagement, hm? Is there even an engagement to congratulate you for, kid?"

Chills run across your body, freezing the blood in your veins and turning you to stone.

He knows.

He somehow found out.

This is why Jungkook looked the way he did.

Your ruse is over.

There is a white noise in your head that makes it difficult for you to even contemplate how he might have come to know. Panic builds up in you and you clutch the leather armrests of the chair with your nails, digging into them to ground yourself.

But nothing works.

It's over.

You can kiss the promotion you did this for goodbye forever. It would be generous of Chairman Jeon to let you continue in your current role, to be quite honest.

Oh fuck, what the hell has happened…

"I take that silence as a no," Chairman Jeon continues with a sigh. "What, then, could I possibly be congratulating you for?"

You hang your head with a wince, not unlike Jungkook, and mumble, "For being a giant idiot?"

He laughs, then, filling the frigid air with familial warmth. You and Jungkook both look up in surprise.

"Two giant idiots, because this one could have snapped you out of it instead of playing along." He points a finger at his son, and Jungkook juts his lower lip out in a pout. "But, no. I knew the engagement wasn't true the moment you impulsively announced it, Y/N."

Both you and Jungkook give dramatic gasps – and then glare at each other in reprimand. 

"What – what do you mean, dad?"

"It was quite obvious with the way she suddenly blurted it out," Chairman Jeon explains with a wave of his hand. "Both of your mothers are too emotional and her father is too self-absorbed to see the signs."

You feel so ashamed, you want the floor to swallow you up. "Chairman Jeon, I'm so so—"

"Nothing to apologize for, kid," the man cuts you off with a sad smile. "I wouldn't have known how to handle myself had my dad said half of the words yours did."

Your eyes water at the parental affection in Mister Jeon's gaze. Why didn't he adopt you when you were babies? Maybe you and Jungkook would have become friends if you were forced to be step-siblings.

No, but knowing him, man would have probably seduced you into some sinful, forbidden trysts.

"What you did happened at a family dinner, personal and outside of the office. The repercussions for your lies – if you aren't able to get out of them easily – will be handled by us, as a family." Chairman Jeon frowns at you both. "None of that reflects upon your hard work at the office, and hence, it would be unfair to have it tamper with the decisions that are made about your future with the company."

Your mouth begins to fall open as pieces of the puzzle begin to fall into place. Jungkook's hand reaches for you, fingers entwining with yours as Chairman Jeon's smile returns.

“I'm congratulating you for your new role, Miss Vice Chairperson. You begin tomorrow. Take today to move to your new office on this floor."

Everything fades away then, Jungkook's hand being the only thing that anchors you to this world. Tears flood your eyes, then flow down your face, small sobs making your body shake as you tentatively rise to your feet and give a deep bow to the Chairman.

"S–sir… I… th–thank you, sir…"

"This role was always going to be yours, kid. No matter what anyone said to me."

Jungkook helps you walk out of the office on jittery steps, and once you're outside – he crushes you to your chest with a sob of his own. You hold onto his dress shirt and allow yourself to dissolve into loud, wracking wails.

"You did it, you did it, you fucking did it," Jungkook mumbles into your neck, lifting you off the ground to twirl you around. "You did it!"

When he places you down and wipes at your face, you waste no time in pulling his own tear streaked face down for a kiss.

"Wanna escape into the janitor��s closet to celebrate?" he mumbles between pulls of teeth, tugging you to him. "One final time as fiancés?"

You giggle at the invitation, but allow him to pull you into a closet next to his office on the floor.

That evening, things officially go back to normal.

You and Jungkook stage a fight right outside the elevators on your floor, after which you angrily tell Yoongi that he was brave for marrying a 'rich spoilt brat' because you could never do that. He gapes at you and you just storm into your office.

Belatedly, it occurs to both you and Jungkook that people will connect the called off engagement to your promotion, but you both couldn't care less. You'll still be getting into each other's pants – hopefully more often than before, given your new office's proximity to his.

Haeri looks more concerned than ever when you go up to Jungkook's office to collect your 'special pens' that he'd borrowed. You don't even fucking know what that's about so you just grab a handful of stationery from his drawer and storm out.

Admittedly, breaking up ends up being a lot more fun than you'd anticipated.

Eventually, when you go back home at the end of the day, Jungkook follows you back to your place for 'some celebratory dicking down' as he eloquently terms it. There is a lot of dicking down that ends up happening, until you're spent in each other's arms, laughing at the ridiculousness of your situation at 1 am.

"And now I will officially hire an assistant and get rid of Yoongi's taunts," you confess with a snort, at which Jungkook turns to look at you.

"Not a runway model this time, hopefully?"

You narrow your eyes at him, recalling Yoongi's words from last week. "Why? Jealous?"

There's a fire burning behind Jungkook's eyes at your words, and you eagerly anticipate the yes he'll give you. You wanna discuss it, too. 

Because yes, things have gone back to normal, but something has shifted between you two over the span of these eight days. Especially after Saturday night, when you cried in his arms and he made you feel like the most cherished and precious human being in the world. A line was crossed that night – you can never go back to claiming to 'hate' him. Not when you're standing very close to the exact opposite emotion on the wheel. 

His words accompanied by his soft kisses and softer looks echo in your head.

If he isn’t man enough to be proud of you, his loss. You’re magnificent either way.

He's magnificent, too, and you wanted to tell him so, that very night. You were so overcome by your grief that you missed it. But you're ready to do it now – ready to bare all that has been building up in you, if only he'd give you the indication you're looking for.

A familiar fond smile overtakes his face. "Why? Do you want me to be?"

Your eyes narrow. If this is the game he wants to play, you can definitely one-up him.

"How about I tell you that tomorrow – in that janitor’s closet that is strategically equidistant from both our offices, hm?"

His eyes darken and you revel in the power that gives you. "I can get behind that…"

You giggle at his breathless voice and then move to straddle his naked body with your equally bare one. "Wanna get beneath me, first?"

"Always a pleasure, Miss Vice Chairperson."

Jungkook really, truly, thoroughly likes you.

He does.

Shit, he really does.

He has admitted it to himself and he’s ready to admit it to you. Confess it to you. When just thinking about it makes his stomach churn with a mixture of excitement and nervousness, he wonders how the hell is he gonna stand before you and actually say the words?

But he will do it.

It has been a long time coming, these feelings. Something has been developing beneath the surface since you both started sleeping together. Even before that for Jungkook, in fact, because the way riling you up and watching you get mad used to make him feel cannot exactly be dismissed as just harmless fun. He was endeared. 

In fact, to be very honest, he believes you have actually endeared him for a very long time. The past few days he spent as your pretend fiancé, though? They solidified it for him. Made him more certain of where his heart is, and gave him a much needed insight into where yours could possibly be. Because he isn’t courageous enough to stay unfazed in the face of brutal rejection from you. Or maybe he likes you too much? Either way, it would devastate him if he told you he cared about you and you laughed in his face.

Jungkook bites back a physical shudder at the imaginary scenario.

But no. That’s not gonna happen now. Because now he knows it hasn’t all been just meaningless sex for you. Even if last night’s jealousy conversation and Saturday's sleepover didn’t basically spell it out for him, he had slowly begun to realize the way things have changed between you both. He knew you’d grown to respect him during his time as the CEO, and he knows you’ve grown to maybe, kinda, somewhat like him during his time as your fake fiancé.

He takes a deep breath and corrects the collars and cuffs of his blue and white pinstripe shirt beneath his beige suit jacket as he walks to your new office on Tuesday morning. 

Peering through the glass wall, he waves at you, barely holding back a giggle at the delighted grin you flash at him. You're dressed very prettily today, as per usual, in a baby blue button-down formal shirt and a darker pencil skirt. You both really end up accidentally coordinating outfits more often than not.

Jungkook isn't very sure how he's gonna talk to you – he hasn't prepared a script, not even a vague outline – but he's very confident in what he feels. And looking at the sparkle in your eyes, it seems like you are as well.

Isn’t that enough?

Inhaling, he pushes the door open to greet you with a loud, cheery, “Hey, happy first day, Miss Vice Chairperson!”

Your face glows with an adorable blush and Jungkook takes the liberty to lean across the desk to plant a peck on your cheek. “Wha—Kook!” you gasp in surprise, but then just laugh. “We broke up yesterday. Have some shame!”

Winking, he sits across from you. “I will, once we’ve visited the janitor’s closet.”

A hand comes up to cover your mouth, and Jungkook wonders if you are covering up a gasp or a giggle. Knowing you, it’s probably the latter. Then, lowering your voice, you lean across the desk and whisper: “It’s barely even nine. We were fucking till two.”

This time Jungkook gives an exaggerated gasp. “Wow, woman, fucking your fiancé the day you broke up with him? Where’s your shame?”

You throw your head back in a laughter and Jungkook just sits back with his eyes wide and lips curved up, admiring you. His concentration is broken when your phone suddenly rings on your desk. It’s Yoongi. You accept the call and put it on speaker.

“Good morning, Director Min, this is your new VC speaking!” 

Yoongi's wince echoes around your office, making Jungkook bite back a snicker. "Good morning, new VC, can we not scream at nine am, please? I haven't even finished my first coffee of the day…"

"Don't you have a coffee maker at home?"

"We do, but Nari hoards it."

Jungkook stifles another laugh, and mouths 'trouble in paradise' to you. You give him a stern glare even as your lips twitch, and he feels his heart swell up with adoration. Damn, you're perfect.

"What I was going to say before you so rudely screeched in my ear," Yoongi speaks over your teasing coos, "is that you've got a visitor."

You sit up straight. "A visitor? Who?"

"Ah… He – he told me not to say."

Jungkook frowns at you and you mirror his expressions. You gaze into space, seemingly straining your brain. "Is it… a friend?"

"Mm hm, he says he is."

Your eyes suddenly widen. "Wait, is it Jimin? Tell me it's Jimin!"

The scowl that scrunches up Jungkook's face is almost reflexive. He knows it's immature and irrational, but the sheer relief in your voice that the mere thought of seeing Park Jimin brings out, makes Jungkook wanna punch the man.

He hopes Jimin isn't here to see you. Or, holy fuck, to join you as an assistant again. Jungkook has nearly ran the guy over with his car in the past, and he won't hesitate to do it again – perhaps even succeed this time.

Yoongi doesn't make it any easier with his ambiguous, "Maybe, maybe not. I'm not supposed to reveal it."

"What the—are you being held at gunpoint?" You squint at your phone. "Cough twice if you need rescuing, Director Min!" 

But the guy laughs. "Please just come down to my office and see for yourself. And, uh, bring CEO Jeon as well…if it's okay with you."

Whoops, Jungkook nearly forgot about the break-up. Wow, will the two of you have to put up a hatred act in front of your colleagues? After yesterday's very ceremonious fight, you may have to.

And you haven't even revealed anything to your crazy mothers yet. Let alone your clinically insane father. Shit, even thinking about it tires Jungkook out.

"No, it's fine. I can be professional when I want to, Yoongi."

"Mm hm, we'll see about that when you get here and meet this guest…"

Okay, now Jungkook is very curious. You don't have some estranged sibling that he doesn't know about, do you?

Disconnecting the call with a roll of your eyes, you pout your lips and frown at him. "Who the hell could it be?"

Jungkook scratches his cheek. "A...friend?"

"Friend." You look at him with a deadpan as the two of you walk out of the office. "I don't have friends, Kook. Thought you knew that."

Well, yeah, he does. He, Yoongi and Haeri are the closest people to friends you have in your life because you spent all your teenage years with barely any social interaction. You had a boyfriend for a couple of months, but you’d treated Taehyung as more of a burden than someone you had an emotional connection to. He doubts the guy would be gutsy enough to come see you all these years later when you dumped him on Valentine's Day.

There was a TA in your post-grad college that you were close to, but Seokjin cut off all connections with you after you graduated. So – wait, this guest person could be him. But if it is, he has some balls of steel to be barging into your workplace and then planning a surprise reveal. Like, what if you're not happy to see him? Jungkook doesn't think you will be.

And then there was that one guy in high school. A year senior. Handsome, cheerful, always smiling and dazzling everyone with his charming persona. Your crush.

Jungkook roughly swallows when memories of high school rush back to him.

He does not necessarily feel threatened by the thought, because what does a high school crush mean when you're in your late twenties? But at the same time, it could mean a lot to someone who doesn't have a lot of people in her life.

"I really hope it's not fucking Seokjin, that asshole literally ghosted you," he grumbles, earning a surprised laugh from you.

"You know, it's uncanny how well you know shit about me." You side-eye him, and he winks at you.

"It's because of the BFF juice our parents fed us as kids." 

It's actually because your moms always gossip about each other's kid and then tell their kids about it, and you both know it, so you just giggle at his joke. He used to make fun of you for being a loner. But looking at you now, holding the second most prestigious rank in a company you joined at an entry level – being a loner sure has paid off.

Clearing his throat, Jungkook glances at your face which is drawn tight in curiosity, and tries to relax himself about this guest thing. Even if it is Jimin, or that guy from high school, it's going to be fine. Today is an important day. Today is the day Jungkook's going to tell you how he feels about you, and you're going to tell him you feel the same.

It's going to be fine.

As you both step out of elevator and begin to near Yoongi's office, Jungkook tells himself that in the face of everything that's been building up between the two of you, you probably don't even remember the name of a stupid, high school crush—

"What the actual—Jung Hoseok?"

—or maybe you do?

Maybe it's all not going to be that fine, after all…

Everything seems to slow down – his steps, his breathing, the time – as a tall, handsome, extremely well dressed guy steps out of Yoongi's office and literally sweeps you off your feet with the force of his hug. 

Right in front of Yoongi. 

Right in front of Jungkook's wide eyes and gaping mouth.

Your giggles topple over themselves, spilling around your body that is raised above the ground and is being spun around by an equally giggly Jung Hoseok, and it becomes hard and harder yet for Jungkook to take a single more step further.

He stays rooted to his place, briefly meeting Yoongi's eyes that look just as surprised as his own, before even that stare breaks when Hoseok carries you inside the office and drops you in one of the chairs, both of your giggles never pausing for a single second. 

What the hell?

Here he was, wondering if you even remembered Hoseok's name, and there you are – laughing with the guy, painting the perfect picture for two estranged lovers' reunion.

Wait, are you estranged lovers? Jungkook knows nothing of the sort, but…

There's a limit to his knowledge. Maybe you and Hoseok are exes and maybe you kept the relationship so secret, even your mom doesn't know. Which is how he never found out. You're good at keeping relationships secret, after all; he would know.

He stays standing a few feet away from the door, still watching the way the you and Hoseok talk with very similar, theatrical hand gestures, laughing endlessly. He never thought that the brightness in your eyes could ever make him feel anything short of elated, proud and at the top of the world. But right now? It hurts.

Because the luminescence of your gaze that Jungkook spent the past week and a half celebrating has nothing on the sparkles that you direct at Hoseok's own generally bright aura. If this is how wide your grin can be, Jungkook must have been doing a shitty job of making you smile so far because you never looked half this happy with him.

His throat suddenly constricts over a lump of emotions when it hits him – harder and sharper, more painful than anything he has felt in his entire life:

You've never looked half this happy with him.

You really haven't.

God, what the fuck has he been doing? What the fuck has he been thinking? 

It has been a gigantically stupid misunderstanding, hasn’t it?

You hate him. You have hated him since you both were six, and Jungkook has only worked to cement those very emotions in you over the past twenty years. 

Did he honestly think that you'd grown to like him, that you'd overcome every negative emotion you have felt over two literal decades in a mere week, and, what? That you'd magically fallen for him as hard as he has? That you would… actually want something with him the way he does with you? Why would you? Whatever it was you were gonna say to him last night must have been a misunderstanding. A huge, stupid misunderstanding because he obviously must have misread you with his rose tinted glasses.

Because you? This version of you, carefree and happy and…borderline in love with Hoseok? You could not possibly be talking about having any feelings for Jungkook.

Fuck.

All the courage Jungkook had worked up in this time spent with you, basing off of your delicate smiles and blushing cheeks and the vulnerable moments you'd shared with him – it all comes crashing down. 

You do not feel the same.

He’s alone. 

His eyes are burning and it's difficult to breathe all of a sudden. He needs to stop looking at you. He needs to leave. He needs to…not fall for you any deeper than he has.

He needs to stop feeling.

But like a perfectly venom coated blade aimed at the perfect moment, you look up and catch Jungkook's gaze, happiness spilling off your entire face. He attempts to tug his lips into an excuse of a smile, but he knows he has failed because his lips fucking quiver with the effort of keeping his emotions in check.

But you keep grinning the way you were. You don't notice his fake smile. Which just goes on to confirm for him how little of him you know; how little he matters; how little he means.

And as if he needed literally anything more, you raise a hand up to wave at him, yelling out: “Jeon! Look who’s here! Come join us!”

He doesn't know what's worse, the ease with which his family name rolls off of your tongue as if you didn't spend all these days calling him by a name that was so special to him, or the fact that you probably never realized what your calling him Kook meant to him.

His head, his eyes, his heart hurts. A bit too much. More than it should. 

So he seals everything beneath the row of his teeth that he flashes at you, and walks up to Hoseok to forward a hand for the man to shake. "Hoseok hyung."

Hoseok, bless his soul, grabs his hand and gets up to pull Jungkook into a hug. “Ah, man, it's been years! You’ve changed, Jaykay!” 

You scrunch your nose at him playfully when Hoseok sits down again. “Has he?” 

Your hand on Hoseok’s shoulder looks like it belongs there. And the grins you both share have no room for a third person. Even Yoongi looks awkward as heck. 

Jungkook needs to get out of here before he bursts a vein.

"You, uh, you guys obviously have a lot of, um… catching up to do," he fumbles through his sentence, sending a desperate look towards Yoongi. Given the fight you both staged yesterday, the older man seems to be interpreting Jungkook’s discomfort under a whole different light, but it works. “Director Min, you wanna grab a coffee?” 

Yoongi gives Jungkook's shoulder a comforting squeeze before quickly shaking Hoseok's hand, and then walks out of the office after him. 

When Jungkook looks over his shoulder, your eyes are shut in laughter again. A painful smile twisting his own lips, he breathes in and turns away.

© jimilter | 2023

[escherbug]

YEAR OF THE GRUB: JANUARY

Project: Needle Felting with Wire Armature

CRAFT STORE RUNS: 2

(The sleepy but patient Lt. for scale)

This year I started a Master's Degree program in Entomology. I wanted to make sure I was still making fun things while I'm so busy (mostly reading papers and books), so I arranged a set of media-based projects centered around my favorite insect (scarab grubs), trying to complete the project by the end of the month.

I didn't quite make it this time because I ran out of supplies a couple times and made the project a good deal harder for myself than I thought, but I think that's okay. This is just for me, after all.

STEP BY STEP:

First, I used sculpting wire and a pair of pliers to twist the skeleton of the grub. I wanted to be able to move all the legs and the main line of the body. I thought I'd be able to get an easier anchor in on the felt if I covered the hard wires with pipe cleaners, but I was pretty much wrong about that.

Next, I felted a bunch of spare roving into the general shape I wanted, and felted the head and the back end of the grub on in brown. I also hand-sewed six little socks to cover the wires on the legs and secured them as well as I could to the rest of the body so they won't fall off at random. This came out messier than I'd have liked, but I think also that I should cut myself some slack for having designed and patterned most of this on the fly.

Next came felting on the bulk of the fatty, cream colored body of the grub. Part of the reason I didn't end up making my deadline was that I ran out of white/off-white wool roving, and was unable to find it in stock at any stores, so I had to order it online and wait for it to arrive in the mail (it absolutely did and honestly, the new stuff from Shepswool.com is way softer than the wool I was using and a softer color, so it was well worth the wait).

From here, mainly all that was left was detail work. I didn't get a ton of photos of this because all these steps ended up being my Sunday (day of posting), but I used a finer wire, the same pliers, and super sculpey to make gently posable antennae, mandibles, a clypeus and labrum (as well as a pair of maxillae that absolutely did not show up in the end, just much too small), baked the clay on the wires and then affixed them to the existing framework I'd set up on the head for most of the face. The mandibles are attached to the antennae, so they move together, and the clypeus/labrum and maxillae are held on by the wires supporting the mandibles. I also glued on some cute little eyes that came standard with my felting gear.

All that was left at this point was final detail work-- I didn't feel like embroidering on a ton of hairs in the end, but I embroidered on some spiracles and felted those little sclerotized buts near the head.

And voila! A needle-felted beetle grub about the size of a small ferret. Wouldn't it be nice if we had more grubs around this size?

Further notes:

1) it's nice to be making something big enough for once while felting that I didn't stab my fingers constantly! I only stabbed myself like twice.

2) I bought a multi-needle felting tool for this, but I didn't really find it helped much beyond having a safety cover. It was also super noisy to work with, so I ended up going back to using a single felting needle halfway through.

Catch you at the end of this month, hopefully having completed my February project: WATERCOLOR ILLUSTRATION!

[jaegersdevil]

boyfriend!eren headcanons pt. 3 *･｡ﾟ

going insane, so i wrote more bf!eren while in a waiting room. because of this, they are a little more......... unhinged

part 1 part 2 part 4 / masterlist

bf!eren's post-game meal is 3 big macs and 2 mcchickens AND a kids nugget meal (he wants to give you the toy that comes with it because he’s cute) but don’t forget dessert!! he sips his *diet* coke as a palate cleanser and then inhales an apple pie

bf!eren will help old people cross the road/down stairs. he is just that type of guy

bf!eren gets a job coaching a kids' basketball team, and that is a canon event

bf!eren carries your belongings in his sweatpants pockets when you’re out together (e.g. your keys, lipbalm/lipgloss, water bottle etc etc you name it, it’s probably in his pockets)

bf!eren’s phone is very simple—a black iphone 14 with a plain black case, but despite it not even being visible, he keeps a photo of you in the back of his phone (so you’re always with him even when he can’t see you)

bf!eren accompanies you to all your appointments (even if he doesn’t have to) but waits in the waiting room (spoiler: he falls asleep most of the time, kinda embarrassing eren pls wake up)

bf!eren gets you a keychain for your birthday to match his own (i fully 103% believe it would be the lego ones (he would get himself batman, and get you spiderman))

bf!eren leaves his dirty ass bigfoot black vans at your front door (a tripping hazard!!), but it feels so domestic and homey that you can’t bring yourself to scold him for leaving them there

bf!eren watches family guy religiously

when bf!eren gets baby fever, he gets it BAD

but bf!eren cannot be trusted with indoor plants 😐 so (please see part 2 for more evidence (cheez-it incident))

bf!eren buys annie's mac and cheese in bulk (read: he is a manchild who loves cheesy pasta 😋)

bf!eren has an emotional support water bottle (a 1-gallon dark green yeti his mum bought him as a college essential). he does not leave that thing anywhere (carla would castrate him :))

bf!eren owns one (1) pen, so he's constantly stealing yours when he has class and tucks it behind his ear so he doesn't forget to give it back to you (warning he does gnaw on the end like a starved dog)

bf!eren showers twice a day even though i make him sound like he does only once a week :) (and the showers are LONG rip water bill)

bf!eren has a spare charger that is for you only at his apartment <3

bf!eren facetimes you from everywhere (like gross bathroom eren wtf i don't want to hear bathroom sounds, and he just :) but i missed u........)

bf!eren kisses you on the cheeks every chance he gets (big sloppy wet kisses that are so (screaming) so cute and loving and i need him)

bf!eren's hands are rough and warm and dry (not like dry, but like man hand working hands dry you know or am i just talking shit)

bf!eren has his own pillow on your bed that he brought from home

bf!eren has half of his belongings in your room, and yours in his (literally just move in together at this point :/ come on guys)

ok ok bf!eren in those prada sunglasses you know the ones. i know i said in part 2 that he has dad speed sunnies, but those prada ones are so ASDFKJHG

bf!eren makes sure you take your meds (if you have them) every morning/night and calls you if he's not with you to ensure you've taken them (he cares!!!! he's not trying to be overbearing or condescending, i promise)

bf!eren has a nintendo switch so he can play his silly little games when he's waiting for you at your apartment to come home from class (his phone and youtube videos get boring after a while (part 1), and studying is not an option so)

i was in that waiting room for a WHILE ok

[fireflysummers]

Hey do you guys remember that time that I very very sanely drew chibis for 100 different undertale aus?

Because somebody reminded me of that recently and I figured sure why not, let’s bring that back for a bit.

I’m pretty sure you can’t find much on the bulk of these AUs. There are a lot of broken links, if you go back to the original posts. That said, there’s only one or two of these that I actually regret drawing... mostly though I think it captures a snapshot of what the fandom was like in 2016-2017.

Original Posts:

|| SET 1 || SET 2 || SET 3 || SET 4 || SET 5 || SET 6 || SET 7 || SET 8 ||

[jadevine]

Medieval Warhorses, Repost + additions!

Since people loved my "Preindustrial travel times" post so much, I decided to repost my "Realistic warhorses" info separately from the original link, where it was a response to "how to get the feel of realistic combat."

--

The original link is here.

The "Warhorse" post on my blog, plus a recent addition, is here.

And here's the text for people who want to go down my "grown up horse-girl" rabbit hole right away!

Medieval Warhorses:

First of all: DESTRIERS WERE NOT DRAFT HORSES. Horse/military historians are begging people to stop putting their fantasy knights on Shires, Belgians, and other massive, chunky farm-horses! The best known instance of “a knight needs to get lifted onto their 18-hand draft horse” is a SATIRE (A Yankee in King Arthur’s Court, if I remember right), but somehow laymen decided to take it seriously.

Hell, I think the film’s historians knew that this was extremely inaccurate and begged the director not to do it.

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For the purposes of this post, I will not get into the different TYPES OF WARHORSES. That is a hyper-fixation for another day, lol.

—

First problem with “Draft horses as warhorses:”

The bulk of modern-day “breeds” are far too recent for a medieval or medieval-fantasy story. Modern horse “breeds” began around the 1700s-1800s, so that’s in the EXTREMELY late-medieval/early-modern period. Before that, most medieval horses were referred to by “TYPE/PURPOSE” and maybe a “Country/Region.” “Spanish/Iberian horses” (the ancestors of modern-day Andalusians, Carthusians, and Lusitanos) were overwhelmingly popular for combat, and other baroque horses were also esteemed.

Destriers are physically average-height at 15 hands high (about 5 feet tall at the shoulder/withers), but the important part is that they are STACKED at 1200-1300lbs when most 15-hand horses are only 900-1000lbs, so that’s a quarter to a third more weight in muscle.

And remember, muscle will not make a given horse look “chubby!” Good ways to get across a warhorse’s muscles in writing is 1) how ROCK SOLID they are when you touch them, 2) their chiseled shoulders, necks, and butts, and 2) when they get into motion, especially for a fight, their muscles will flex and get REALLY defined. The three regions I mentioned are usually the most visible if they’ve got horse tack or a rider on them.

Think of the difference between “regular horse” and “destrier” as “regular Tom Hardy, who looks fit but normal,” versus “Tom Hardy playing Bane, where he put on thirty pounds and his torso and arms look like a fucking tree-trunk.”

Warhorses had nerves of steel, and the best-trained warhorses used could sprint and turn on a dime–they’ve been called “the sports cars of the medieval world.” This is a far cry from huge, sweet, and lumbering draft horses.

Besides Spanish horses, modern-day candidates for destriers would be European cobs (heavier all-purpose horses, large Welsh cobs are the best-known modern breed), and Foundation Quarter Horses (working/stock horses that can herd cattle and race and actually USE their muscles, not the bloated halter-horses who are mostly bred to look “good” to judges).

—

But if the destrier was supposed to be the horse equivalent of “Tom Hardy as Bane” and not “The Mountain from Game of Thrones,” then how could they carry a knight’s armor as well as their own?

First of all, human combat armor is different from JOUSTING armor and it is easily half the weight for better mobility. Warhorses from proper medieval times aren’t shown wearing much horse-armor, even in jousting. The stuff you see in museums is also frequently the custom-made armor for wealthy nobles, who either 1) wore it once or twice a year for public celebrations, which is also why the armor’s in pristine condition instead of dented and bloody like combat armor would be, or 2) wore it because they were rich enough to not want themselves OR their expensive horses to die too soon in combat.

Assuming that all destriers needed to carry 150lbs for an adult armored man, PLUS another 150lbs of the horse’s riding tack and armor, is like people from the years 2500-3000 assuming that everyone with a “car” must have a Lamborghini or a Ferrari that takes up a lot of maintenance (if you want to keep it looking nice, at least) and can go 200 miles per hour.

So the vast majority of realistic warhorses/destriers didn’t get much if any armor, because 1) horse-armor is for princes and dukes, not Count Whoever’s third son or his nephew that he tossed out on adulthood with barely any money, and 2) horse-armor is going to weigh down your FAST and NIMBLE warhorse. (Remember: Knights wanted sports cars, not tanks!) Take a look at the horses and knights of the website called “Destrier!” Most horses there aren’t notably tall, and they mostly wear head-armor and fancy but not heavy horse-tack like capes, instead of full barding.

Another reason average/short warhorses were preferred is for medieval safety issues: You wanted to mount your horse from the ground without help. The famous knight Jean Le Maingre was so dedicated to fighting that he could VAULT onto his horse in armor, without touching the stirrups. His instructions are, essentially, “put on your armor, find your horse, put your hands on the horse’s back/saddle, and FUCKING JUMP.”

Unless you’re seven feet tall or a gymnast, you’re not jumping onto an 18-hand draft horse.

So all those Red Dead Redemption animations where you get to alley-oop your way onto your loyal steed? POSSIBLE, IF YOU ARE CRAZY/ANGRY ENOUGH.

Quick note: In ancient Ireland, they refer to a “steed-leap” that nobles, warriors, and other “people rich enough to own RIDING horses” were trained to use–with the important distinction that Gaelic nobles often took pride in either using saddles without stirrups, or NOT USING SADDLES TO PUT ANY STIRRUPS ON. So the bulk of Gaelic Irish nobles could theoretically go Red Dead Redemption on your ass.

—

And the third reason most combat-ready warhorses didn’t get armor is because infantry (the vast majority of most medieval armies) just had a low chance of hitting them in the first place.

First of all, most horses are already faster than people. Destriers were EXCEPTIONALLY fast as the cream of the crop. For the horse to need armor, someone needs a good chance of hitting the horse.

Second, most horses are hard to kill physically because horses don’t tend to like getting stabbed or shot at, so they will likely try to kill YOU, which means that a knight and his horse are TWO fighters who are both very angry and very protective of each other. Most people love their horses, and many combatants share intense bonds! IMAGINE IF YOUR HORSE IS ALSO YOUR SQUAD-MATE!

And last of all, most horses are hard to kill mentally because when you want to use cavalry, you ALSO want the other side’s infantry to get consumed by panic and bolt for their lives, away from their companions and AWAY FROM THE CHARGING HORSES. (Which routinely leads to a slaughter, often called a “rout” in period literature, or a “curb-stomp battle” on TV Tropes.) While most knights could dish out one-on-one duels against EACH OTHER, a knight against a foot-soldier is going to have a huge and explicitly unfair advantage if the soldier is not specifically trained and equipped to take them on.

See, when you get a herd of knights on their steeds, the noise and the wave of horseflesh charging at you is going to make your reptile-brain instincts scream “NOPE NOPE NOPE, WE GOTTA GO!!!”

That instinct is so strong that infantry ACTORS in movies–who know that this is not a real war, and the riders don’t actually want to kill them–still routinely break formation and run.

It was possible to stop cavalry with infantry and end up slaughtering them instead of getting routed–it was just extremely notable.

Also, unless you’re specifically going for blood: You don’t WANT to slaughter a whole formation of knights! That means you’ve just pissed away a WHOLE lot of money that the knights represent!

You killed the horses that you could have used for your own side, and possibly bred for more high-end horses! You ruined the armor that you could have used for your own side, or at least melted down for high-quality, already-mined metal! You killed the knights that you could have sweetened up and used for your own side–or more likely, told their families to pay you if they wanted them home intact.

Barely anyone remembers that knights were as good for HOSTAGES as they were for actually fighting. (Except for Game of Thrones, and it’s still only plot-relevant for Jaime Lannister and Theon Greyjoy, and they explicitly did NOT get the protection a noble hostage should have.) It’s noted that Agincourt was a GREAT ending for England because capturing all those French nobles earned them TWENTY YEARS’ WORTH of regular income in ransoms. If they hadn’t won and gotten all that sweet, sweet French money, they would have been bankrupted and depopulated instead.

—

Two more strikes I’d feel are appropriate for “not wanting draft-type horses in combat:”

-Logistics 1: Too much food, too much hassle. Horses are already notorious for eating a lot, and a DRAFT horse that’s 2000lbs instead of 1200lbs will eat twice as much. No army wants to use their fodder for only half the number of horses they’d expect.

-Logistics 2: Too much hair, too much hassle. Shires and other British horses often have feathering on their legs, and anyone with long hair knows that loose hair/fur is a fucking PAIN. You can braid a horse’s mane and tail, but if you’re one of the many average/poor knights who DON’T have servants to take care of your horse for you, do you want to spend extra time cleaning and combing out your horse’s LEGS instead of necessary things? Like feeding them, grooming them, and checking for wounds? Nope, you’ll probably shave the feathering off or just pick a horse that doesn’t have it.

-Extra note on Friesian horses, who are RIDICULOUSLY common in “medieval” movies: Friesian horses are technically baroque horses in body form (Strong-boned! Big necks and butts!), but they’re also over-used in general, so most horse folks are sick of seeing them in movies. And if you don’t have the right kind of MODERN Friesian, you’ll probably be a laughingstock in addition to an eye-roll.

Some strains of modern Friesians are from carriage-horse lines, often referred to as “big movers.” This means “fun to LOOK AT, but terrible to RIDE.” Because, you know, those strains of Friesians weren’t meant for riding, but for PULLING CARRIAGES. Their movements are big, dramatic, and flashy… and their trot is notorious for bouncing people out of the saddle with every step. Not something you want for a knight who fills his opponents with terror.

A good riding horse’s movements are usually smooth and low to the ground, often described as “floating” and “effortless.”

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A horse-note that I can’t figure out where to put: Many Western cultures love the idea of fiery stallions (intact male horses) for their noble knights and kings to ride into battle on, but realistically, stallions are only half of a given horse population. Many Western stallions are also gelded if they’re not the cream of the crop (which is probably at least the bottom half of the male horse population). So mares can be used by at least half of a realistic formation who just wants a warhorse, and doesn’t care about aesthetics or masculinity.

Also, mares can be ruthless and stallions can be nervous wrecks! Horses are living creatures, with personalities and feelings!

Horses also aren’t very sexually dimorphic, so a 1200lb war mare is DEFINITELY a match for a 1300lb war stallion. And remember how Loras Tyrell used a mare in heat to distract The Mountain’s stallion? That happens with a lot of stallions… almost like they’re living creatures, with instincts that they can’t always control! So if you know when your girl is ready to go every month, you can play dirty in a joust, too!

Just remember that you’re taking an equal risk, since your mare will possibly try to let a stallion mount her instead of fighting. You will either need to bail when she starts making googly-eyes, or you need to know you have ABSOLUTE loyalty from her, and she will listen to YOU instead of “the hot dude I just met five minutes ago!” HORSES ARE LIVING CREATURES, WITH INSTINCTS THAT THEY CAN’T ALWAYS CONTROL.

Then geldings will be used by at least another quarter of “the knights who cannot afford a horse good enough to keep his testicles,” so that leaves “a quarter or less” of knights who can realistically be mounted on stallions.

WORSE NEWS: If you geld a stallion too late (usually once they’re MOSTLY physically mature at 4-5 years old), that risk may never go away–so you’ve got a gelding who’s not breeding quality, but he’s still chasing mares in heat and fighting other stallions in turf battles, without understanding that he can no longer make babies!

On the other hand, some cultures don’t geld stallions because they view it as unnecessary or outright unnatural… but they also don’t want half the horse population distracted by pretty mares, or fighting with other stallions who walk by the pasture, so those cultures breed them to be sweet and easily managed (outside of battle, at least).

In short: ALL HORSES HAVE POTENTIAL TO BE WARHORSES, WHETHER THEY HAVE BALLS OR NOT.

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Update, Feb 2 – Another day to expand on that “Different types of warhorses” mention!

Much like the common misconception of “all knights must be at least 6 feet tall and have 200 pounds of muscle” varied in real life due to genetics, cultural values, and logistics problems, the assumption that “all knights MUST have top-quality destriers that cost seven times the price of a normal horse” was not the case for the vast majority of “knights.”

Knights would have either “the best horse they could AFFORD” or “the best horse FOR THEIR SPECIALTY.”

A poor knight, or one of the early Middle Ages, would have “one horse that they’re with all the time;” that horse may not be pretty or come from fancy breeding lines, but they would get the job done and most definitely be taken care of. A wealthy knight of the later Middle Ages, when everything got more expensive and status more codified and finicky, would have two or three horses–one horse for warfare and one for regular riding, with the really wealthy knights having a third packhorse to carry all their stuff. (Moreover, they would have at least one servant to help take care of three horses.)

A muscled sprinter like a destrier is better in tight quarters and for short bursts of speed; to bring in the modern example of a classic/Foundation Quarter Horse, who are ideally “short-legged and low to the ground,” these dudes can literally hit the ground running and reach top speed in a few steps/seconds, so compare that to a sports-car going from zero to sixty miles. The tradeoffs?

1) You need to be able to hang the fuck on… and to avoid getting pitched into a wall/enemy WHEN THEY STOP.

2) That full-throttle gallop will really wear out your horse. A good commander will not bring out their heavy cavalry right away, because you also have to figure out how to get them back from the enemy’s side of the field.

In very simplistic terms, this is one of several problems that the battle of Agincourt had for the French; you had a bunch of hoity-toity noblemen with no proper battle experience who all wanted to do things their own way… and how do medieval noblemen usually want to fight a war? JUST FLOOR IT AND HIT THINGS AS HARD AS YOU CAN.

That went so badly that the recorded death-toll for the French side of Agincourt has been commented as “a roll call for French nobles.”

A destrier would not be suitable for a scout or light-cavalry; they’d need lighter and ground-covering horses to cover rough terrain, and to chase down the enemy for long stretches–akin to a modern-day Thoroughbred. For period pieces they might resemble an Akhal-Teke or “Turkmene” horse. A modern-day Thoroughbred horse can “only” reach forty miles per hour at a gallop, but they can keep that up for a whole mile or longer. So now your knight’s problem is “Hanging on for two or three whole minutes,” and anyone in performing or athletics will explain how long and agonizing a few minutes would feel on a rampaging horse. Have you seen how stacked a racing jockey is? The general consensus I’ve seen from equestrians is that barely anyone in any other horse-discipline is that built.

Meanwhile, an ideal light-cavalry horse would need longer legs for a ground-covering stride, and they may or may not be taller as well; as seen in the Akhal-Teke article, many endurance horses tend to show a lot more ribs and bones than other breeds, due to how lean they are. But think of them less as a dainty riding horse and more like a hunting greyhound/sighthound–all muscle, no fat!

The other type of light-cavalry horse would likely be a pony, used to going for miles on rough terrain, with little if any feed.

EDIT Feb 4, 2024: My post got cut off, so here's the rest of it!

The other type of light-cavalry horse would likely be a pony, used to going for miles on rough terrain, with little if any feed.

A period-accurate scout's horse was known as the Irish hobby, ridden by their eponymous hobelar troops. These little dudes were VERY little and about 12-14 hands high (48-54 inches, or 4 feet tall to bit under five feet tall). They were known to cover 60-70 miles a day in their raids, which my "preindustrial traveling" post notes is the EXTREME upper end of mounted distance travel. Their modern descendant is likely to be the Irish Connemara Pony.

Very wealthy and/or lucky European horsemen could probably manage to buy/steal an Arabian horse, as they remain exceptional endurance horses to this day. However, excessively cold/wet climates will need a lot of upkeep for a desert-bred horse to stay healthy.

While Arabians are known for their adorable "dished faces," this is not actually required! Many well-bred native lines have a regular face (ie, a "straight nose/profile") but they are from well-bred parents and have the capabilities of other Arabians. To the other extreme, you have some modern show/halter lines with REALLY exaggerated heads that hit a lot of people's "Uncanny valley" buttons, and they find it creepy/weird instead of refined. This kind of "seahorse face" would NOT be seen in a period piece.

Notice how the smaller a horse gets, the more ground it can cover? This is partly because size only matters TO AN EXTENT for "how long a horse goes," and partly because of physics! Less weight for a horse to drag around on its own body means more energy for putting miles behind them!