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youvebeenlivingfictional · 16 days

Text

the pro

part ii: what we're willing to accept

Pairing: Art Donaldson x Reader

Rating: Explicit - 18+ only. minors, please get off my lawn.

Notes: My brain chose violence this morning. Not beta-read because when is it ever.

Length: 4.8K

Warnings: Slow burn; unhappily married reader; divorced Art Donaldson; infidelity; oral sex (female receiving); vaginal sex; unsafe sex

Summary: Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch.

He's the biggest men's tennis star since Andy Roddick.

That’s what your husband says, as if it’ll entice you. As if you know anything about tennis, about the pro that your husband says will be coming to the house to teach you to play.

It’ll be good for you. You need a hobby.

You don’t gripe or argue. You don’t tell him that five months into your marriage shouldn’t have you looking for a new hobby. You should still be in the honeymoon stage, spending all of your time with him, hanging off of his arm, off of his every word. But he works so much and he’s away so often—

I don’t want you to get bored.

It’s a sweet gesture. The maid handles the housework; you have a chef that handles most of the grocery shopping and cooking, unless you insist on making something yourself; you have a housekeeper that arranges for anything you need—dry cleaning, maintenance. And it’s no wonder that with all of his money, his power, he can just order a retired pro tennis player up to your house, like you’d order a pizza. There’s a tennis court in the back of the mansion, a few feet from the pool. You’ll get some new outfits, the best sneakers, the nicest rackets. You’ll finally have something to do to fill your days.

Art Donaldson.

You know his name before the lean, fair-skinned patrician man turns up at your front door. He trails you through the house, politely declines your offer of a beverage.

“You ever played tennis before?” He asks.

You haven’t. Before your husband arranged this for you, you hadn’t so much as given the sport more than a passing thought. You don’t have the heart or confidence to tell that to a man that’s made tennis his whole life, so you just give him a small, guilty smile and say no, you haven’t. He nods, waves you off, insists that it’s fine.

“We’ll start with the basics.”

Two months of lessons on the basics make your arms tired, and your hands sore. But where your swings are clumsy and your grip is weak at first, you can see improvement in the way that you move. Your steps are less clumsy when you go after a ball; you’re more aware of the service line and the base line; your forehand stroke from contact to your left shoulder is smoother; your rotation and follow-through on your backhand is coming along, but has a long way to go.

Art’s instruction is calm and steady. He explains technique as much as he demonstrates it. When you get something wrong, he doesn’t scold, just lightly corrects. When you do something well, his encouragement is constant and free-flowing. Every accurate move and motion is met with, “Nice,” or, “Perfect,” or, “That’s it.”

On the days when you don’t have a lesson with Art, you practice. You order a tennis ball machine to work on your forehand and backhand. You attempt (and fail) to learn how to slice on your own. You try anyway—you can only imagine the way his eyes might light up if you manage to surprise him.

You’ve tried to ignore the rising interest that you have in Art, but you can’t help the little…Crush that’s developed. He’s just so attentive, and kind. When you find yourself smiling these days, it’s often because of something that he said, or did. You can’t remember the last time your husband made you feel giddy this way. It was probably when you started dating—before you’d made the decision to marry for comfort, rather than love. Your husband is practical, rarely physically affectionate, more heavily involved in his job and social circles than with you.

But you’ll have to find a way to thank him. He’s given you a hobby, and a man that grins at you like you just painted the goddamn Mona Lisa when you serve your first ace.

“So, tell me about the Mark Rebellato Academy.”

Art smiles, dipping his head as he reaches for his coffee. It’s taken a few months, but you finally convince him to have something to drink with you after practice. Your chef is blessedly out shopping for ingredients for dinner, so you have the kitchen all to yourself. Art has watched you putter around, seeming surprised that you know where everything is. You can’t blame him; the kitchen is chef-grade, and you don’t cook much these days.

“Did your husband tell you that’s where I went?”

“No.”

“Then how do you know?”

You’re too embarrassed to admit that you’ve done some googling, and watched a couple of clips of him interviewing before and after his matches.

“I’ve just heard,” You fib. “Tell me about it?”

He leans back in his seat, eyes skating across your face as he seems to consider something.

“What do you wanna know?”

“Did you enjoy it? I mean—” It feels like a dumb question once it’s out, and you hurry to redirect, “With what you know now, if you had the choice, would you have learned how to play tennis somewhere else?”

He considers for a moment, trailing his finger over the side of his cup. Your gaze flits to his fingers, and your own flex around your mug handle. You’ve spent far too much time looking at and thinking about Art’s fingers—their length and quickness; the slight roughness of his calloused hands; the lingering tan line from where his wedding band used to sit.

“Yeah,” He admits, drawing your full attention back to his face. “I would. It was foundational, you know. I’ve been thinking of sending Lily there.”

“Lily?”

A bittersweet smile twists his lips. “My daughter.”

“Oh!” It catches you off-guard.

“Tashi, uh—” He clears his throat, “Lily’s mother, my ex-wife. She and I are thinking about schools.”

“I’m sure they’d be glad to have her. Does she play tennis?”

“Little bit. She didn’t start until last year, but she's a natural.” He clears his throat again, presses, “Are you and your husband planning on having kids?”

“Oh god no.” You blurt it out, and realize as he raises his brows that you’ve spoken too quickly. You lean back in your seat, stirring your coffee quickly to distract yourself from your growing embarrassment. “He actually has kids already. Two girls, seven and ten. They’re at boarding school and they stay with their mother when they're on vacation. I haven’t gotten to spend much time with them.”

“...He seems to be pretty busy.”

“He is.”

“So it’s just you in this big house?” He tips his head to the side, brows knitting with curiosity. “What do you do all day?”

“Play tennis.”

He grins, chuckling, and your stomach flips at the sound.

“It shows, you know,” He says.

“What do you mean?”

“I can tell you’re practicing without me. And,” He leans across the table, running his fingers lightly over the exposed skin of your bicep, “You’re getting stronger.”

You wonder if he can see or feel the goosebumps that break out across your skin at the gentle sweep, his gaze heavy on yours.

“I have a good teacher,” You murmur. Art’s lips twitch with a soft smile, his hand gently cupping your arm.

“Just good?” He plies.

“The best. A real pro.”

His smile widens, and the flash of his tongue sweeping across his lower lip makes your face go hot. You know that you’re caught when Art’s touch becomes firmer, pulling your arm toward him just a little.

The sound of approaching footsteps startles you, and you hurriedly tug your arm away. The sight of your husband makes your heart leap into your throat.

“There you are,” He smiles. “Art, how’s she doin’?”

“She’s killing it.”

You don’t dare look at him, but you can feel the weight of his attention lingering on you still. You just give your husband a smile, tipping your cheek up obligingly as he leans down to kiss it.

“Actually, Art,” Your husband straightens up, hands resting on your shoulders. “I’m glad I caught you. There’s a charity event for a local club this month. It’s for uh…What is it?” He squeezes your shoulders for answers, and you have to keep from rolling your eyes.

“It’s a charity tennis match to raise funds to fix up the local courts. They need resurfacing and they’re raising funding to keep the fees down.”

“We could use a sponsorship from the foundation,” Your husband adds.

“Honey,” You glance back, wary of insulting Art. But—

“I’ll do it,” Art agrees. “Send me the details.”

“Excellent,” Your husband grins. “Maybe we could coax you into a match or two.”

You don’t chastise him this time—not when you see something light up in Art.

“Maybe.”

You haven’t seen Art play before. You’ve specifically avoided it. You’ve known that when you saw it, you would be too intimidated to do a damn thing on the court with him. But now, you can’t stop watching him. You don’t even care that you probably look so out of place—where everyone else is watching the ball, you’re just watching him.

His movements are so neat, so precise. It’s like watching a dance. He’s running the poor guy on the other side of the net up and down the court. And the sounds that he’s making—god. Every little grunt and groan is weaving increasingly filthy thoughts in your mind. You already know that you’ll seek out the memory of those sounds, as you reach between your legs later. His shirt clings to his chest, showcasing the muscles that you’ve always suspected he has. Strands of hair plaster to his forehead as sweat drips over his cheekbones, down the bridge of his nose, over his jaw.

When he scores a match point and he looks toward the cheering crowd—when his eyes land on you instantly, without having to search—it’s like you’ve been hit by a bolt of lightning. You can’t think, or move. You barely have the focus to applaud, but you manage to raise your hands and clap.

Every lesson becomes an exercise in self-control. You force yourself to try, really try, and not make silly mistakes for the sake of Art coming closer, grasping your arm or elbow, pressing close and redirecting your swing. You don’t know what you crave more these days: his praise or his touch.

Coffee becomes a post-lesson ritual. He starts to stick closer and closer to you as he follows you into the house until he begins to rest his hand on your lower back, guiding you to your door. He keeps nearby when you’re making it, brushes droplets of sweat off of your forehead or neck. Every touch is electrifying; you have to make a concentrated effort to keep your hands steady, your face neutral as your heart pounds and your stomach floods with butterflies.

He pushes you harder on the court, and you force yourself to meet the level that he sets for you, even when you don’t feel confident in it. But you want to make him proud.

It spurs you to lunge a little too far.

The sharp stabbing pain in your left ankle makes you shriek, and you tumble to the ground, dropping the racket with a clatter. You hear the pounding of his feet, glance up just in time to see him clear the net before he’s on the ground at your side.

“What hurts?”

“My ankle,” You grit out, hissing softly as he helps you straighten your leg out. He smooths his hands over your calf, leaning over you and gently guiding your foot in a few different directions. You whimper as he starts to guide your foot to the left.

“Okay, okay,” He soothes, “Let’s get you inside.”

For as much as you damn the throbbing in your ankle, you thank it a little, too. You lean heavily against Art, making the slow, arduous journey back to the house with his arm wrapped tightly around your middle.

When your husband comes home, he finds you with on the couch with Art coming back in from the kitchen, an ice pack in your hand.

You’d hope for concern, but your husband frowns, glances at the swelling knob of your ankle, and simply asks: “What did you do?”

“She lost her balance.” Art sits down on the other end of the couch, soothing you as the chill of the ice pack makes you shift with discomfort.

“Are you going to be able to walk tomorrow?” Your husband presses. “We have dinner at the Fineman’s.”

“I'm still going, don't worry about that."

“...Tomorrow might be a bit soon,” Art warns.

“I’ll be okay. It’s just a sprain, right?” You tip your brows up, hoping, praying that he’ll agree for your sake. His fingers flex around the ice pack, jaw ticking as he clenches it. He doesn’t say a word as your husband sighs heavily, grumbles, “I hope so. Still, we should put a pause on the lessons until she’s fighting fit again.”

Art finally tears his eyes from yours, a tight smile on his lips.

“Of course.”

“How’s the ankle?”

It takes you a moment to scrounge up an answer. You can’t believe that he called. You knew that Art had gotten your number when you started taking lessons with him, but he’s never used it beyond texting to confirm a lesson time now and again.

You look down at the still-swollen flesh as it strains against the thin strap of your slingbacks.

“Fine,” You lie, “It’s um—” You glance over your shoulder, listening for your husband. “It’s not that bad.”

“Good enough to walk on?”

Hardly.

“Yes.” You think you’ve gotten away with it, but when you hear Art sigh and chastise, “You should rest,” You know that you haven’t.

“I have,” You insist, “All day.”

“Are you sure you’re alright?”

“Yes.”

“You can tell him no, you know.”

Your mouth works wordlessly, body going hot with indignation. You can’t think of a thing to say. You can’t tell him that he’s wrong, that your husband’s connections are the lifeblood of his business. You can’t tell him that if your husband’s business falls apart, you won't be able to afford those tennis lessons, and then how the hell are you supposed to see Art again?

You just yank your phone away from your ear and hang up.

I invited Art.

It shouldn’t be a surprise, but your husband’s statement makes you feel like you’ve swallowed your tongue. You haven’t seen or spoken to Art in nearly two weeks. Your doctor recommended putting off any physical activity, which your husband surely relayed to him. He was the one whose name was on Art’s checks, after all.

Your husband has always thrown a massive party to kick off the summer. Every year, 150 of your husband’s closest family, friends, and business associates flooded into the house. It shouldn’t be such a surprise that your husband invited Art after the performance he had given at the fundraiser—$25,000 from the foundation, and ticket sales went through the roof when it had been announced that the Art Donaldson would be making an appearance. Your husband owed Art a lot, and probably saw this as an opportunity for him to network, to take on more clients. He had been evangelizing Art’s training to any of your friends that would listen—how good you are on the court, how engaged and energetic you seem to be these days.

It’s one thing to know that you’ll have to put on a happy face for the crowd, but to know that Art will be among them makes your insides twist with nerves. You can’t stop thinking about the way that he had spoken to you when you were hurt; his calm, steadying demeanor as he’d gotten you inside; the careful coaxing and gentle touch that he’d used as he’d taken your shoe off and examined your ankle more closely.

You think about it now, as you strap on another pair of heels. Your ankle really is doing well, though you have a little lingering pain in shoes like these. You’ll likely be on your feet for the length of the party; it’s going to be a long night. You look over yourself in the mirror, self consciously tipping your ankle from side to side for anything that he may spot or catch out. But there’s nothing, you reassure yourself. You slide your hands over the skirt, plastering on a smile as your husband pokes his head into your dressing room.

“Almost ready in here?” He asks.

“All set!”

He doesn’t come over to you. On the crowded patio, you can feel him watching you—you’ve gotten so used to seeking out the sensation that you can’t ignore it now. The first true look at him is agony. He watches you from just a few feet away, a glass of champagne in hand as he speaks with your husband and the Finemans. He openly looks you over, eyes drifting over your body to the flash of ankle revealed by the slit in your dress. He tips his head to the side just a little, squinting before his eyes flit back up to your face, lips twitching with a small smile.

You want to hate how good it feels; you want to be angry with him for his smug knowing, his insistence of You can tell him no, you know. But it feels so goddamn good to have his attention again that you can’t bring yourself to be annoyed. You know that you’re staring—that you both are—and you force yourself to turn away and excuse yourself from the conversation you’re in. You go inside, murmuring your thanks for the waitstaff that pass you along the way.

The house isn’t nearly as busy as the patio, and you're able to slip into your darkened study unnoticed. You leave the lights off, certain that if you turn them on, people will be drawn in to bug you, like moths to a flame. The party’s lights and music filter in through the partially-closed blinds.

You lean against the desk, circling your ankle and wincing a little. You’ll hide for a few minutes, let it rest—

Your breath catches in your throat as the door opens. You expect your husband, ready to scold and usher you back to the guests.

You only have a second to get a look at Art before he shuts the door behind himself, plunging the room back into darkness. Your fingers tighten around the edge of the desk as you use it to ground yourself.

“...Do you need something?” You ask, voice wobbling with nerves.

“Wanted to come say hi.”

“Well. Hi.”

You hear him chuckle, his footsteps muted by the carpet.

“Thanks for the invite.”

“It wasn’t my idea.” It’s not polite to admit, but you want it to sting him, just a little. Maybe it does; in the dim of the room, you can’t see Art’s expression as he comes to a stop just a couple of feet from you.

“Do you want me to go?” He asks. You know what you should say, but you can’t bring yourself to say it.

“No,” You whisper. You feel the heat of him as he comes closer, his hands resting on the desk and caging you in. You bite your lip as gently brushes his nose against yours.

“He isn’t taking care of you.”

“My ankle is fine.”

“I’m not talking about your ankle.” He lifts a hand, smoothing it over your hip as your breath mingles. Art’s fingers drift from your hip to stroke over the apex of your dress’s slit. His fingers slip further down, and you nod as he palms your thigh. Before you can say or do a thing, Art sinks to his knees. He curls his hand around your left calf, lifting it. You shiver as his lips press a gentle kiss to your ankle. His hand and lips travel up, easing the fabric of your dress higher with each second. The first brush of his knuckles against your panty-covered clit makes you jolt. Your hands dig into the wood of the desk as his fingers hook between the fabric and your skin. You lift your hips without a word, allowing him to draw them down.

Art presses a kiss to your mound before he lowers his head, giving your lips a sweet, sucking kiss. You gasp softly as his tongue swipes across your clit. You look down despite the fact that you can’t see him well. You can just make out his blissful expression, his eyes closed as his laps broadly across your aching cunt. You lower your hand to his neat hair, winding your fingers through it, unable to help grasping it. His heady moan vibrates against you and you nearly cry out at the sensation. You manage to just catch it, the sound dying in your throat as Art buries his tongue inside you. He sweeps his thumb over your clit in rush, harried circles, panting against your heated flesh. You rock your hips down against his lips, tightening your grip on his hair as you guide him. He lets you do as you please, whining against your skin as your movements become less controlled.

“Art,” You warn, “I—Oh, oh god—”

He hums in encouragement, sucking your clit back between his lips and lashing it with his tongue. Your jaw drops open, your hand shoving Art even more tightly against your skin as you cum suddenly. A stunned, breathy moan slips from your lips as Art leans back, smearing his lips against the inside of your thigh.

You use your grasp on Art’s hair to draw him back up off of his knees, giving him a crushing kiss as he catches his balance. You swipe your tongue across his lips, whining against his lips as you taste yourself on him. He presses close, his hard cock straining against the fabric of his pants. You reach down, palming and squeezing his length as you trade slick, messy kisses. He steers you back onto the desk as you fumble to undo his belt, button, and zip.

“Condom?” He asks.

“Pill,” You reassure, shoving his pants down. You lap broadly across your palm, grasping Art’s length and guiding him closer. He brushes the tip of his cock against your still-throbbing clit, smiling as you whine. You’re going to ache tomorrow, but you’ve never been so happy to be sore.

“Art.”

“Sssh.”

“Please—” It’s hardly out of your mouth before he shoves his hips forward, seating himself fully with a single thrust. You bite down on your lip to quiet your moan, curling your arms around your shoulders. He rocks into you with firm, quick strokes, his mouth covering yours. You can hear things on the desk rattling with each thrust, kisses growing less controlled as he hoists your thigh up around his hip.

“Oh, god,” You breathe, “We have to be quick—He’ll come looking—”

“Not until you cum for me again,” He urges. “I need to feel it, sweetheart.”

“Art—”

“When’s the last time he did this? Hmm?” He presses, “When’s the last time he made you cum? When’s the last time he tasted you?”

“Never,” You admit with a shiver. It seems to renew Art’s passion, his thrusts and hold growing more intense. You squeeze your eyes shut, hands hooking tightly in the fabric of his jacket. He yanks the front of your dress down, bowing over you and drawing one of your nipples between his lips. You whimper as he toys with the bud, tugging it gently with his teeth before swiping across it. You arch into the slick heat, using your leg to tug him even closer as you chased the swelling curl of your orgasm.

“Just like that,” You urge, “Ffffuck—yes, yesyesyesyes—”

Your eyes squeeze shut as your hips buck down against his, pussy pulsing as he spills into you. Your heart pounds in your chest as the two of you slow and still. Art rests his forehead heavily against your neck, peppering gentle kisses across the exposed skin. You have to move—now. You don’t know if anyone heard you, but if someone did, you’re screwed. If no one did, your husband will probably be looking for you anyway, ready with a scold for neglecting your hostess duties.

“...I have to go,” You warn softly. It takes Art a moment to move, but he does, gently drawing himself back from his still-throbbing cunt. You hear the clanking of his belt buckle as he tucks himself away, and you reach down, righting your dress where it’s been pulled away. You take up your panties from where they’d been discarded on the floor, tugging them on before you straighten your skirt and hurry out of the room.

“Can I see you?”

It’s only been an hour since the last guest has left, and you are so, so fucking tired. You glance toward the bathroom door. You know that you locked it, and you’re certain that your husband can’t hear you over the shower running, but you can’t help but be paranoid.

“You just saw me,” You remind him.

“Tomorrow,” Art clarifies.

“Where?”

“I’ll send an address.”

You bite your lip, toying with your earring. Your pussy is still aching from the stretch of him, your ass sore from getting fucked on the desk.

“...You regret it?” He asks.

“No,” You don't give your answer a second thought.

“I’ll send an address. Whether or not you see me is up to you. Just…think about it. Okay?”

“Okay.”

You lower your phone, hanging it up and watching his contact information blink away. It’s only a moment before a text with an address lights up your phone. You don’t have to think about it. You already know what you’re going to do.

You know that you’re staring, but you can’t bring yourself to stop. Art has spent so much time in your home, so you feel entitled to look around a little bit. You eye the row of trophies on his mantle, photos of him playing when he was young. You come to a stop at a picture of him with a young girl, a racket in her hand and a medal around her neck.

“Is this Lily?” You ask.

“Yeah,” He nods. “First competition.”

“Already getting gold,” You smile. “The Mark Rebellato Academy isn’t ready for her.”

Art chuckles, nodding as he steps around you.

“You, uh…You want something to eat, or drink, or…?” He trails off, tucking his hands into his pockets as he takes a couple of steps back toward his kitchen. You turn to face him, taking him in more fully.

“Art?”

“Yeah?”

“Why am I here?”

He doesn’t answer for a few moments. You can see him weighing his options before he comes closer.

“I…I’ve been thinking about last night.”

Fear shoots through you, but you force yourself to stand tall. “Okay.”

“I could lie and tell you that it should be a one-time thing, but I can’t remember the last time I got through a day without thinking about you. And I think you’ve been thinking about me, too.” Art stops as the tip of his shoes brush against yours, and you let your eyes slip closed as he rests his forehead against yours.

“Tell me I’m wrong,” He pleads. “Tell me to fuck off right now and I will never say another non-tennis related thing to you again.”

When he fucks you, he curls close, chest pressing against yours as he catches your lips in a kiss. You sink back against his pillows, your head cradled by his broad palm as he rolls his hips achingly slowly. You don’t bother to hide your whines and moans, and you revel in his. Every grunt and whimper and groan that Art lets out lights you up.

And when you cum, you don't have to quiet yourself. His name tumbles out of your mouth, cushioned between expletives as your nails dig into his shoulders.

"What time is he home tonight?"

You don't want to think about it. You want to stay in this cozy little bubble, trailing your fingers over his muscled chest as he massages your nape and kisses your forehead.

But you know that you'll have to let the world back in sometime.

"I don't know," You admit. "Late."

"...Could stay."

"He'll be suspicious if I'm not home when he gets there."

Art sighs softly, running his hand down to rub between your shoulder blades.

"This isn't going to be easy, is it."

"What?"

"Letting you go every day."

"Every day?" You tease, pushing yourself up to get a better look at him. "Don't get greedy, Mr. Donaldson."

He smiles, raising his hand and cupping your cheek. "Is it greedy to know what I want?"

You shake your head a little, lowering your lips to brush against his.

"Not when I want it, too."

part ii: what we're willing to accept

Tag list: @missredherring ; @fantasticcopeaglepasta ; @massivecolorspygiant ; @blueeyesatnight ; @amneris21

@ew-erin ; @youngkenobilove ; @carbonated-beverage ; @moonlightburned ; @milf-trinity

@millllenniawrites ; @chattychell ; @thembosapphicclown ; @brandyllyn ; @wildmoonflower ;

@buckybarneshairpullingkink ; @mad-girl-without-a-box ; @winchestershiresauce ; @lorecraft ; @kmc1989

#Art Donaldson x Reader #Art Donaldson x You #Art Donaldson/Reader #Art Donaldson/You #Art Donaldson fic #Art Donaldson imagine #the pro

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tootiecakes234 · 4 months

Text

Warning: NSFW

Character aged up

You ask Katsuki if you can paint his PP🤭:

“No! Get the hell away from me!” And he starts walking away from you.

“But Katsuki! I’d make it so pretty. I already have a vision in mind. I want to paint it into a microphone! Maybe sing a song into it.” You say following behind him, positive you aren’t helping your situation.

“Y/N if you don’t get away from me right now, we are breaking up. I’m packing my shit and leaving and you’ll never see me ever again! I meant it.” And he plops down on the couch with an exaggerated groan. “You’ve lost your entire fucking mind, smooth brain.”

You know you’re gonna have to grovel for this one. You try to slide yourself onto his lap, but he pushes you off and you bounce a little on the couch cushions.

“No, you’re not kissing and snuggling your way into this. I’m not letting you practice your goddamn painting skills on my dick. Where do you even come up with this shit?” He says now looking at you with wide, concerned eyes.

“Well I was scrolling on TikTok-“

“And there it goes. I’m not even surprised.”

You lean over and run your hands over the his wide chest and buff arms.

“‘Suki when you think about, a microphone is only two colors. Black and grey. It would only take me like 5 minutes.” And then you start pressing kisses to his neck. “Pretty please. I’ll even hop in the shower with you after and help you clean up.” There’s a sultry lilt to your voice. This is something you pull out all the weapons in your arsenal for.

“Y/N i go along with a lot of your dumbass ideas, but I’m drawing the line. No paint on my d-dick. Fuck, cut it out.” You had slipped your hands down his stomach and right under the shorts he had on.

“But it’ll be easier to paint if its hard Kat, don’t ya think?” You whisper up against his ear. You run your thumb over the top and smear the precum over his slit.

“Ugghhh. I hate you, you know that.” He groans really low.

“Mmmmhhh. Pretty please,” you say and stroke down to the base of his cock and then back up. “With a cherry on top.”

“You have 10 f-fucking minutes! And that paint better be safe for skin or I swear to god!” He shouts at you.

You’re up and off the couch before he can even finish that sentence and within a minute you’re back with the paint you already had prepared and brushes.

You get down on your knees, in between his legs, and place your supplies on the ground next you. For him to be so against it, he’s already pulled off his shirt and underwear. He’s accepted his fate.

“Okay, if any of the brushes are uncomfortable or the paints don’t feel good, let me know k?” You say looking up at him.

This man has his arms crossed over his chest and he’s glaring daggers into you.

“What the hell ever woman. Hurry up, your time’s tickin.”

So you pick up a big fluffy brush and dip it into the black paint before you start working on the base of his dick.

As soon as the brush touches against his skin Katsuki screams bloody murder. Its scared the hell out of you and you’re surprised at yourself that you don’t drop the damn brush and get paint everywhere.

When you look up at him to ask him what’s wrong the bastard has a smirk on his goddamn face his shoulder are shaking because he’s holding in his laughter.

“You should’ve seen yourself. Your entire body took a screenshot. I thought you might go into shock.” Now he’s outwardly laughing loud as fuck.

He thinks he’s such a comedian. Well too bad for him because we’re a freakin party clown.

While he’s still laughing you bend down and take the head of his cock in your mouth and swirl your tongue all over it.

His laugh is cut short and you look up to see him squeezing his eyes shut. You pull your head back up and give him a sweet smile.

“So now, how about you cut out the jokes and let me focus on my masterpiece.” And you hear him grumble back some kind of rude response but you take that as an understanding.

You breathe and try to gain your composure before you start back on the task in front of you. You again start at the base of his cock and then do long stokes upwards until you get right below the shroomed tip.

You’re about halfway through when you notice his cock twitching and leaking pre all over.

Oh my gosh he likes this. Or it at least feels good because damn. When you look up at him there’s a blush covering his face and his lips are tight like he’s trying to hold in sounds that might escape. His eyes though are trained on the brush in your hand as you work.

You were about to speak when he cut you off, “Don’t. Just hurry up and finish”

“Yes sir” you say slyly as your start working on the other side.

“Ok. Base is done. Now the tip, I know how sensitive you are so I’ll try to be gentle.” And now you’re the one with a smirk on your face. “Look I can’t paint correctly if there’s precum constantly leaking up here.”

“The fuck do you want me to do. I’m not making it leak out on purpose.” He rolls his eyes at, throws his head back and uses his arm to cover his face. Hes not quick enough to cover the blush that’s dusting his cheeks.

It’s so funny that he still get embarrassed in front of you. You take your thumb and lightly run it over the top to pick up as much pre as possible then you pop it in your mouth. Then you get to work.

You dab lightly around it and make sure to avoid the opening. You hear Katsuki’s breath become more ragged.

“Ok, I’m all done. Take a look.” He removes his arms and leans his head back up. You see that his eyes are blown but you try to ignore it for now. “Do you see the vision?”

“This is so dumb.” Is the only answer you get from him.

Next thing you know you’ve wrapped your hand around it and you start singing. “ANNNNDDDDD IIIIIIIII—eeeee-IIIIII will always love Y-“

You’re cut off because he’s gotten up grabbing you with him and now you’re thrown over his shoulder.

“I’m done with this. Not about to watch you sing Karaoke into my penis. You promised me a shower.”he says as he starts striding toward the bathroom.

“But I wasn’t done! I wanted to take pictures and maybe rap a verse or two. Kats wait dammit.”

“No. I was nice. I let you play and have your fun. Now it’s my turn to play around and have some fun.” You can hear the smug grin on his face.

You take this opportunity and slap his naked ass hard asf. You were right outside the bathroom door and the jerk sets you on your feet so quickly you feel like you’re gonna fall.

“You’re gonna pay for that brat.”

And oh do you pay for it.😭

Katsuki Masterlist

Tags: @dreamcastgirl99 @i-literally-cant-with-this @xxvendettaxx @justbepeace @moonpieshawdy @theloveofnagiseishiroslife

*I have a tag list. Let me know if you wanna be added💕🤗

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kooktrash · 8 months

Text

LIMERENCE | jeon jungkook

summary: a recent discovery of old VCR tapes takes you down a rabbit hole of self-pity, remembering what you once had and how it all went down the drain over youthful mistakes. suddenly, you find yourself playing back the old tapes of the best relationship you’ve ever had and all you can think about is how to get it back—if you could get it back

warnings: angst. smut. [jk and oc in videos: 18-20 | jk and oc now: 26] retired emos. exes to lovers. unprotected intercourse [listen it had been six years they weren’t waiting 😭] jk has a bellybutton piercing and he smokes. jk owns a camera shop. supportive besties Jimin and Tae and Yoongi. Y2K styled camcorders. a small argument on one of the tapes

LIMERENCE MASTERLIST

➢ genre/au: exes to lovers, smut, Y2K videotape style [ ex boyfriend!jk x ex girlfriend!y/n [she/her. female anatomy ]

➢ 18.4k words

song inspo: risk — deftones, 505 — arctic monkeys, afraid — xavier omar, who [feat. BTS] — lauv

The end of a chapter in your life always came when you least expected it. You’ll wake up one day and it’ll hit you that you don’t talk to the same people. You don’t do the same things or act the same way and when you look back at before, it will feel so far from the person you are now.

Standing before your half empty apartment began to bring this growing feeling of sadness inside you. It made you feel stupid but you just couldn’t help it, this was the end of a huge time in your life where you felt like you really began to develop into who you are. After seven years living here, you’re finally moving on and everything that happened here would be left behind. All the laughter, the crying, the break ups that left you balling your eyes out on the kitchen floor. You would soon move into a clean slate and for some reason that was hitting you hard.

It probably didn’t help that your dear friend managed to find a box of things— you haven’t thought about in quite literally years—hidden away in an old storage space on the ceiling. The sides of the cardboard box were in ruins with wet patches and bent corners. There was no writing on the sides but on the top a big line of red duct tape with the words ‘JJK’ and a few small scissors stab marks next to it. Jimin looked up at you with a raised brow, “Are you keeping this one?”

Your expression seemed to flatten as you looked down at it, unsure what to say and he sighed, “Come on Y/n, it’s late, I want to get as much of this out as we can. Are you keeping this one?”

“Um,” You looked back down at it, nodding your head, “Yes.”

Since the day you found that box and told Jimin you were keeping it, all it’s done is collect dust in the corner of your new living room, out of place and constantly on your mind. Your friends were a big help in the move, especially Jimin who had hauled that huge cardboard box up three flights of stairs to your new place without question to what was in it. It wasn’t until he got tired of seeing it sit in the corner for an entire week after everything had been unpacked that he really began to get curious about it.

“So what’s in that thing?” Jimin asked that Friday night you lounged around your apartment, proud to have finally gotten everything out. Tonight was the first night your mutual friend would be over and it was like a housewarming party with the only two people who can stand being around you.

“What’s in what?” You asked, catching a glance at your friend, Somin, who’s knowing eyes bore into yours—already knowing what he was talking about. The thing is, Somin was very aware of what was in that box and she’s been biting her tongue all night from asking why you still had it.

“The box, it’s just been sitting there,” Jimin said pointing to it, “It’s kinda ruining this whole vibe you’ve got going on here with all the black decor and house plants.”

“Just some old stuff,” you shrugged it off, looking back down at the playing cards in your hands, “I haven’t found a place to put it.”

Somin raised a brow at you but you ignored her this time to continue your game of cards and drink your wine. Jimin looked at her, “Do you know what’s in it?”

You sighed, “Jimin, I told you it’s just some old stuff.”

“Yes, Y/n, but old stuff can be a lot of things and that box was heavy so I’m curious,” Jimin said exaggeratedly, “Can’t a man be curious these days?”

“It’s no—“

“It’s a bunch of old home videos,” Somin said as she poured herself more wine casually like she hadn’t just exposed what was inside your secret box. Jimin’s jaw dropped, “Wait, Y/n, you used to do porn?”

“What!?” You nearly choked, “No—well, like on—no! Those aren’t that type of home video, they’re just… y'know old tapes.”

“Like from when you were a kid?” Jimin asked with a scoff, “Let’s watch them.”

“I’m not a kid,” You said shaking your head no, “And no, let’s not watch them.”

“I agree with Jimin,” Somin cut in after watching you begin to panic a bit, “You kept them for a reason, let’s see why. Jimin’s never seen them.”

You laughed nervously, “Come on, it’s just silly stuff, I just kept them for the memory, that’s all.”

“We don’t doubt it,” Jimin said with a smirk, “But come on, let me see one—just one.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Fine!”

The three of you huddled around it with a pair of keys using the jagged end to cut into the old tape and the box nearly fell apart just like that. When Jimin pulled the tabs open, the three of you seemed to lean in closer and closer with anticipation for the reveal until finally, a silence fell over you.

Jimin didn’t hesitate from reaching into it, scabbing row after row of old VCR tapes with white labels on the sides with similar titles in a numerical order.

‘JJK 1’

‘JJK 2’

‘JJK 3’

‘JJK 4’

There were 24 tapes in the box and he counted every single one meaning these spanned two years with one tape filmed per month. The same initials that had been on top of the box had been written on the tapes and he couldn’t help himself from picking up the first one. “Let’s watch it.”

“No! No,” you said, taking it out of his hands, “You wanted to see what was inside and you saw, be happy with what you get, I don’t have anything to play these on anyway.”

“I do!” Somin piped in, “I’ve got my old tape player back home, say the words and I’ll go get it.”

“Not neces—“

“Do it.”

What you wanted at the moment seemed to be outnumbered by your friend’s curiosity and your other friend’s need to satiate it. You were left alone with Jimin for twenty minutes as Somin left to get it and he rummaged through them trying to ask you what they were, only for you to evade each question out of stubbornness. Now she’s back and you’re watching them set everything up on your flatscreen while you sat back on your couch chugging back your glass of wine nervously.

Jimin smiled mischievously as he held up a tape, building anticipation before placing it into the player and letting it start.

․ ∘ ⊹ ✰ ┆ JJK 1 : THE SHOP ┆ ✰ ⊹ ∘ .

There was a pungent chemical smell surrounding the register you currently sat on that had the customers in line scrunching their noses in disgust but that didn’t seem to stop either one of you from what you were doing. He worked with one hand as best as he could while you worked on the other applying a cold layer of polish onto his fingers.

A small black nail polish was set down on the counter next to a silver cam recorder that had been angled at the two of you this whole time, capturing on video the way you painted your coworker’s nails. Jungkook bid them farewell before turning his attention back on you, “Hurry up, we’re starting to get busy again.”

“Shh,” you pointed a manicured finger up, “You can’t rush perfection.”

“I’m not rushing perfection, I’m rushing you,” Jungkook said as you brought his hand closer to your lips trying to dry his nails with your warm breath. The video seemed to have a perfect view of the way his eyes glossed over with affection when he looked at you and you weren’t paying attention.

“Oh my god, every girl is going to want to sleep with you,” you eyed his nails proudly, “You look hot.”

“I’ve always been hot,” Jungkook said looking down at his black nails that complimented his black leather and beaded bracelets that lined his wrists, “Okay but how cool do these make me look? Like, would you sleep with me?”

He tilted his head toward you in curiosity and for a moment you just looked at him in thought before finally shrugging, “Yeah, I’d do it.”

“Do what?” Jungkook asked, shaking his black hair out of his face. With the way the camera was aimed, the two of you looked zoomed in but it still managed to capture the way your eyes stayed on each other wordlessly, the tension felt through the screen.

‘Can someone help get a shirt down?’

He watched you hop off the graffiti-covered counter and grabbed the long hook that helped get things down and left with her—not before responding with a simple, “You.”

Once your answer registered in his head, he wasted a single second to look at his camera, wondering if it had caught this small flirty moment the two of you had while you painted his nails and the thought alone made him smirk, biting against his lip ring too. He didn’t think he would get his nails painted at work today but when he saw you doing your own, you convinced him and he spent the last ten minutes messing around with you, flirting here and there.

The shift had been boring for the most part and all the songs that played he'd already heard a million times over. This is his fifth time singing along to Falling Away From Me by Korn. Do you think he wants Korn stuck in his head all day?

His beanie clad head bobbed to the rifts in the song, quietly lip synching as he went back to doodling on an old receipt paper. Some of the ink from the pen he used was smudging and the black hearts he drew were getting ruined but he didn’t care. He’ll either throw it away or stick it on your back if he wants to.

“Beating me down! Beating me, beating me down, down, into the ground,” a voice sang loudly in his ear making him jump in fear.

“Don’t moan in my fucking ear, bro,” Jungkook said holding a hand to his ear, the softness of his beanie tickling his fingers. Taehyung threw himself against the counter with his back pressed against it looking at his friend, “You know you liked it.”

“Fuck off,” Jungkook said as he blew air on his nails again, drawing Taehyung’s attention to them. He stuck a hand out as if waiting and Jungkook put his hand over it to show him his nails.

Taehyung seemed impressed as he asked, “Who did them?”

“Y/n.”

“Y/n!” Taehyung shouted abruptly and Jungkook flinched away with annoyance, ready to tell him you were helping a customer when you popped around the corner with a t-shirt and hanger in your hands and the customer behind you.

“What?” Your brows arched in confusion as you looked at your coworker who has spent the last twenty minutes in the stockroom between Nirvana posters and new Metallica tees hiding so he could play his Nintendo GameBoy. Jungkook was careful not to fuck up his black nails and took the shirt from you so he could check the customer out.

Taehyung pointed to Jungkook’s nails,“Can you do mine next?”

A scoff left your lips, joining him next to the counter standing close to ask, “Are you going to pay me?”

His jaw dropped as he turned back to Jungkook, “What the fuck? Did he?”

“Thank you, have a good night,” Jungkook mumbled to the customer as she left with a new t-shirt before turning to the other two, “I’m buying Y/n lunch tomorrow.”

“I’ll buy you lunch the day after.”

“You can’t. That’s not original.” You said to him with a teasing smirk. The two of you were standing close to each other as you talked, Taehyung’s voice dropped when he spoke to you, “You know what, just because the two of you got a little crush on each other doesn’t mean you’ve gotta favor him.”

Jungkook looked down at the drawing he made, trying his best to act like he hadn’t heard what Taehyung said, but it didn’t stop the growing blush to his cheeks. It’s true, maybe he does have a thing for you but it’s still too early to tell, y’know? He’s not sure how to explain it but you seem to get him. The two of you like the same kind of music and know the same sort of things. You listen to him talk and when he’s quiet, you don’t question it. You make him feel comfortable and when you flirt with him he wonders if you feel the same.

Honestly, that’s all he’s wanted these days, his attraction toward you to be reciprocated anyway it could be. He thinks about you constantly, probably more than what’s healthy but he can’t help it.

“Oh shut up,” you rolled your eyes playfully, feeling the shuffling movement of Jungkook pulling himself up on the counter, “Just say you’re jealous and feel left out.”

“Bitch?!” Taehyung scoffed, “I wouldn’t feel this way if you treated us fairly, instead you give him special treatment.”

“You realize you’re arguing with me over getting your nails painted?” You asked with a roll of your eyes, crossing your arms over your chest, clearly annoyed and once Jungkook saw that he was fully pulling you his way. He threw an arm around your neck, hugging you from behind as he sat on the counter and rested his head on yours, “Ignore him, he’s in a mood because he just got dumped.”

“Fuck you, I broke up with her!” Taehyung nearly yelled, staring at the two of you with disgust as Jungkook fixed the beanie on your head that had slipped a little too low over your eyes.

Just as you were getting ready to respond to him, the door of the stockroom opened and your boss was coming out with a blank expression, “Can you guys do your jobs instead of fuck around?”

“Yoongi, I’m being bullied,” Taehyung argued, “Fire them already.”

“I’ll fire you too,” Yoongi teased before looking at Jungkook, “Get off my counter.”

․ ∘ ⊹ ✰ ┆ THE END ┆ ✰ ⊹ ∘ .

The video came to an end as your old boss stood in front of the camera, blocking out the footage that ended with Jungkook whispering something into your ear.

“Who’s that guy? An ex boyfriend?” Jimin asked as the video came to an end. Somin released a soft laugh as she looked at your blank expression, unsure what to say. Before you could speak up, she was doing it for you, “That's the ex boyfriend. Jeon Jungkook.”

“Don’t immortalize him,” you said with a slight roll of your eyes as you watched Jimin rummage through the box in search of another video to play. Your bottom lip was pulled between your teeth as a strange ounce of nerves began to set in, watching him unlock a deep rooted memory you had told yourself you had forgotten. Somin sent you a knowing look as she matched the roll of your eyes with her own, “How else should I refer to him as? The guy who filmed a video each month that you two were together?”

“Damn,” Jimin laughed, slumping back in a chair as he looked at you, “So how come I’ve never heard of this videographer.”

“Because Y/n’s asham—“

“Alright! No more wine for you,” you leapt forward to snatch the glass out of your friend’s hands watching her giggle drunkenly, “You’re just saying things now.”

“Come on Y/n, I’m curious,” Jimin said tugging on your sleeve, “If you won’t let her tell me… you gotta do it. Don’t act like you don’t still think about it, why else would you have all these tapes still?”

“Because it’s not everyday someone makes 26 movies for you—and not all of them are as happy as this one,” you confessed as you looked down at ‘JJK 1’ it had been a video log of when the two of you really began to show some attraction toward each other just before he asked you out. Looking back at the video all you could think was how back then you were both young, you could see it on your faces and the sparkles in your eyes. Not all of the videos in that box would be like this one.

“Alright,” Jimin sighed, “Well then just tell me who Jeon Jungkook is.”

Sounds of a rock song’s electric guitar blurred out the noises from inside the dark shop. The store was covered in black and dark blue with its black walls and blue hues of light that shined down over dozens of cameras and melancholic portraits. It had an obviously cold aura and for some reason that had a tendency to always bring him comfort.

He felt warmth in the coolness of his small shop and oftentimes it was difficult to leave it behind, even when the night sky had appeared and the ‘closed’ sign had been flipped. The only thing that kept him from spending yet another night in the store was a set of plans that had been made days prior by someone who wouldn’t take no for an answer. When it came time to leave, he locked up shop and left on his motorcycle.

“Look who finally decided to show up,” his dear friend raised a glass of whiskey to him as he sat alone at the bar, “I was wondering if you were gonna come or not.”

“I didn’t realize I had an option,” he joked bitterly, making his friend send him a glare that was quickly wiped away when something came to mind. “So I met this chick, she’s got this friend wh—“

“No.”

“Jungkook,” his friend said, watching his friend stir the ice in his scotch, “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

Jungkook released a scoff as he looked at him, “You were going to say that this friend wants to meet me and that I should go and get drinks with her or something.”

He sat there quietly, speechless by how spot on his best friend was, “Alright, maybe you did know what I was going to say but just hear me out… she’s hot. Uh, um, she’s your type—honestly, I’m your best friend so trust me.”

“No, Taehyung, you always say the same thing and it's always a huge waste of time,” Jungkook shook his head adamantly, “I don’t get why you’re always trying to set me up with someone whenever you get into a relationship. We’ve been friends for eight years and you’re still this clingy?”

“Okay first of all, fuck you, I’m not clingy,” Taehyung told him with a scoff, “Second, I’m trying to do you a favor considering you can’t keep a relationship to save your life.”

That made Jungkook roll his eyes as he looked anywhere but at his friend. The two sat at the counter of some quiet lounge bar where they had agreed to meet at. He raised his glass to his lips for a drink as he said, “Some people aren’t meant to be in relationship—“

“No, you wanna know what your problem is?” Taehyung cut him off, “It’s that you’re too damn picky. Hate to say it friend, but nobody is ever going to be her.”

His expression hardened as he forced his glare on the silver rings he wore, listening to the way they clinked against the polished bartop. He didn’t give Taehyung a response right away, too busy trying not to roll his eyes again but it was no use, his tongue poked against his cheek and his friend knew he got a reaction. Jungkook tilted his head in thought, “Why do you still bring Y/n up?”

“Because she was your longest relationship,” Taehyung said with a shrug. He was pushing his friend for a response and he felt a little bad but sometimes he just needs to get his friend to talk. Jungkook has always been on the quieter side, even years back. All he did was listen to music and videographed things he liked. He was a bit intimidating—still is—but it was only because he was so quiet. Sure, he knew how to joke around but Taehyung’s known him long enough to feel the difference in his friend lately. He’s become more of a shut-in, busy with the store and not focused on anything else.

“Yeah, six years ago,” Jungkook emphasized with a scoff, “And she broke up with me, remember?”

“I mean… yeah but… don’t you ever think about it?” Taehyung asked suddenly, “I still think about my first love.”

“Y/n was not my first love,” Jungkook’s brows furrowed, remembering the two girlfriends before he ever met you. Taehyung gave him a look, “Not your first girlfriend but definitely your first love. What do you think Y/n’s up to?”

He hadn’t noticed how his leg began to bounce anxiously as he took a sigh, “How would I know? You’re the one who still talks to her.”

“Not true,” Taehyung shook his head no, “We haven’t talked in over three years.”

“Hm,” Jungkook sounded unimpressed as he chugged back the rest of his drink, motioning the bartender over to ask for another round. He wasn’t in the mood to keep talking about this and it caught him off guard.

He couldn’t remember the last time he thought about you but he’s got no doubt in his mind it was because of Taehyung back then too. This is the problem with being best friends with the guy who was with you through all the ups and downs and hasn’t seen you put your all into a relationship since. The only thing Jungkook doesn’t get is why Taehyung is stuck on the idea that he never got over you.

You both were young back then. The end of your adolescence started with the beginning of adulthood and the two of you had just so happened to spend the first two years together like that. You dated when you were 18 and broke up when you were 20, it was so long ago and now it’s just a last memory to him. He hasn’t seen you in six years and the only time he ever wastes time thinking about you is when you’re brought up. He’s managed to push you so far back in his head that he’s only reminded of you when someone else mentions you and every time it happens, it hurts a little more.

Taehyung has this problem with revisiting the past anytime he’s drunk and since he met him at the same time that he met Y/n… it’s no surprise that some of those early memories had you in them. He never failed to remind Jungkook that he had felt like a child with divorced parents having to choose a side when you two broke up. Time and time again Jungkook reminds him that he could’ve gone off and been best friends with you if that’s what he really wanted but then it would end in an argument over the friendship.

Jungkook reached into the pocket of his black jeans for his pack of cigarettes and offered one to Taehyung, “So tell me about this friend.”

“She’s blonde—natural or not, I’m not sure—but she’s attractive and nice. She seems a bit extroverted, kinda bubbly so I don’t know how you’ll feel about that but I’m telling you… you’ll like her,” Taehyung said, happy to drop the current topic to go back to the original point in conversation.

He tried to listen to his friend’s description of this woman he wanted Jungkook to meet but he couldn’t. It was really all Taehyung’s fault for making him think about you and all his past relationships. He’ll admit, he’s been in quite a few and none have lasted more than a few months aside from the one with you. It was normal for yours to be the one that left the biggest impact on him but he wouldn’t say that’s why he stays away from relationships.

There might be a time here and there where Jungkook does indulge in carnal desires and sleeps with someone but they’re never anything more than that.

He’s got too much shit going on to waste time dating someone.

After a long night of hearing his friend go on and on about a woman he thinks is good for him, he returned to his loft apartment tired and alone. Like his shop, his apartment had the same cool tone to it. The walls were black and some brick, blue lights were tucked away in corners angling up toward photographic portraits he’s done in the last few years and his black 1968 Gibson Custom Les Paul Electric guitar hanging proudly in his living room. His Doberman leapt happily at the sight of his owner and he followed after Jungkook as he stepped onto his couch taking the guitar off its hooks to examine it.

To be honest, he rarely plays the guitar nowadays and it’s not because he forgot how to play or because he lost his love for it but it’s not the same anymore. Now it just sits as a reminder of who he was with when he got it and just how he got it. As if this guitar wasn’t a constant reminder of you, his dear friend felt the need to bring you up too.

It wasn’t Taehyung’s fault things happened the way they did and it’s not his fault that it fell apart for him too but… sometimes he wonders if things would have been different if Taehyung didn’t push him to date you all those years back.

For days on end all you could do was think about that stupid box. It didn’t help that you had no room for it so it remained in your living room taunting you, pressing you to play just one more video. It’s strange how you hadn’t thought about this box or Jungkook in a long time and now he’s randomly showing back up in your life without even knowing it. Honestly, it was embarrassing.

You’ve randomly begun to think about a guy you dumped when you were 20 years old and for some reason that’s starting to get to you. It was making you anxious like all of a sudden you’ve realized how much time has passed. If it wasn’t for moving out of your old apartment, you wouldn’t have even thought about this but not that you’re looking back… this was supposed to be that ending.

You were supposed to leave it all behind when you moved and instead you brought it with you to your new beginning.

“Y/n.” The man across from you called your name as you stared off in the distance. He released a small sigh, “Come on kid, you wanted to get lunch, what’s up?”

“I’m not a kid,” you told Yoongi with a glare in your eyes, “And maybe I just wanted to catch up with an old friend of mine.”

Yoongi lifted an unamused brow, “Are you calling me old or our friendship old?”

“A little bit of both,” you said with a teasing smile, taking a sip from your drink as the two of you waited for your food, “But anyway, no, I haven’t seen you in like a month and I kinda missed you.”

“Right…” Yoongi looked away, “So what have you been up to? How’s the new apartment?”

You released a sigh as Yoongi began to ask you things and tried sorting your answers in your head, “I’ve been too busy moving but the apartment is nice, a little less space than I originally thought but nothing I can’t manage.”

“And how’s the magazine?” Yoongi asked, taking a short pause to thank the server who brought your plates out, “Did you get that promotion?”

“Yes!” Your eyes widened and a smile came to your face, “I did, we’re still working on transfers but you’re looking at the new Editorial Assistant.”

“Soon to be new Editor,” Yoongi said proudly, “I can’t believe I’ve seen you grow from some emo kid who used to work for me to an adult on their way to their dream job.”

“I know,” you released a sigh at the thought of how far you’ve come. When you graduated high school you worked at a streetwear shop and you stayed there part time when you started college. It’s gotta be the best place you’ve ever worked at and the environment was always laid back. Yoongi was the one to push you and ask what you wanted to be and when you told him your plan to work at a magazine he was always right there beside you. Now at 26, you’re just a step away from Editor. It’s crazy how much can change in six years and that alone made you ask, “I know this is random but do you still talk to old employees?”

Yoongi’s brows furrowed, “I talk to you.”

“I mean beside me,” you said with a roll of your eyes as you poured yourself more water in your glass. You wanted to say this was all just out of curiosity considering he’s the one who brought up the time you worked for him but in reality… you planned on asking him this when he agreed to lunch.

“Mm, not really. I talked to Taehyung for a while after he quit but it didn’t last long,” Yoongi said as casually as ever and he looked at you with curious eyes. Your lip was pulled between your teeth and you were no longer eating, just using your silverware to play with your food and he knew you well enough to know his answer didn’t satiate your curiosity. He purposely left out any mention of him but maybe that’s what you were looking for? “I haven’t talked to Jungkook since he moved—but last I heard he came back a couple years ago and opened up a store.”

“Store?” You asked, watching your friend’s eyes widen in surprise.

“Yeah, he, y’know he opened a camera store, a couple second hand guitars too,” Yoongi said, “You didn’t know?”

You shook your head no, “When?”

“I don’t know, when he came back? Jin told me he had seen him around but I never talked to him. We didn’t keep in touch when he went back to Busan so I figured it would be weird to want to know what he’s up to now, right?” Yoongi said, unaware of the way you had tuned him out, lost in thought.

Talking about Jungkook to Yoongi felt strange because he knew the two of you in a different way than Somin did. Somin knew Jungkook because of you but you and him worked for Yoongi for two years. It’s like with Taehyung, he met you the same time he met Jungkook but the two grew closer even when you fell out. Your breakup with Jungkook was a bit of a tricky subject and you’ll take the blame for it. Back then you might’ve tried and argued that it was a mutual agreement but now that you’re older you’ll admit you were in the wrong, or maybe the things you said were wrong.

“Y/n,” Yoongi called your name, snapping your out of your state of daydream and caught your attention, “Have you really not spoken to him since the breakup? I don't remember it being that bad.”

You shrugged, “Honestly I can’t remember, a lot happened that I didn’t say and I’m sure he didn’t either so it makes sense.”

“What’s wrong?” He asked, “I can tell something is on your mind, why’d you ask who I kept in touch with? Have you been trying to contact Jungkook?”

“No,” you nearly choked on your drink, “No, I just, um, I was just curious.”

Yoongi didn’t press you for more, he could see it on your face that there was more you weren’t telling him but he didn’t want to force you to come out with it. You ended your little lunch date with plans to meet up again and went back to your respective jobs.

It wasn’t until nighttime that you found yourself thinking back to that stupid fucking box that just grabbed your attention everytime you were home. If Jimin had never wanted to play the first tape then maybe you wouldn’t have been so stuck on them but you just can’t help it anymore. They’re all you’ve been able to think about which has led you to think about Jungkook. You have not questioned him or his whereabouts in so long and this sudden interest in how he’s doing is starting to get to you.

When you got home you tried distracting yourself from them. You still had to figure out where to put them if you even want to keep them and although you think you shouldn’t… you can’t just throw them away either. It’s a memory, a cute little memory if you only watch the first few videos and you’ve moved on so they shouldn’t bother you anymore—they don’t bother you anymore. You spent part of your night finishing up a project from work, drinking a glass of wine and listening to Bloodhail by Have a Nice Life, only looking at the box every now and then.

You always preferred working in your living room because it helped you resist the urge to lay in bed but right now you can’t focus on your project and you can’t take it anymore. You took a tape out of the box and put it into Somin’s tape player, turned on the tv and the volume up just a bit as the video began to play.

․ ∘ ⊹ ✰ ┆ JJK 2 : THE SKATEPARK┆ ✰ ⊹ ∘ .

The sky was dark and you doubted anything could be seen on the camera set up beside you but neither of you seemed to care. The camera had been rolling since the store was open and you had been filming with him since but you never expected Jungkook would ask you out. Could you call this a date?

“Y/n,” Jungkook’s voice was calm and collected over the loud rock music that played in the skate park, “I’ll pull, all you have to do is try and balance.”

“I am trying,” you took a deep breath staring down at the skateboard underneath your worn out converse, “Just give me a second, alright?”

Jungkook just smiled, he took a cautious step back when you released his hands and he picked up his camera trying to make sure you were in view. Things have begun to change between you two drastically. Sure, you always did a back and forth flirting at work but lately it feels a bit more than that. You’ve been messaging every night talking about random things, sometimes talking about more meaningful things. Whenever he was near you his touch always seemed to linger and now he’s asked you out tonight—nothing serious… just feeling it out.

“Okay, okay, wait I think I got it,” you waved a hand excitedly as you called him back over. He didn’t hesitate to take your hand in his free one and aimed the camera down at your feet. He began to pull you forward, feeling your fingers lock with his when you nearly lost balance.

Jungkook was walking backwards as he helped you skate across the cement, not watching where he was going until he bumped into a ramp nearly yanking you off the board. The camera fumbled in his hand as he tried to save you instead and wrapped an arm around your waist to keep you steady. You clung to his arm, heart racing from the near fall and yet you couldn’t help but laugh as you fumbled to keep the camera safe. Since you met him you realize he had a strong tie with his camcorder and got used to his need to always be recording, you found it cute so you didn’t want something to happen to it.

He was hesitant to let you go even when you stood up comfortably, tucking your hair behind your pierced ears and biting your lip, “I need a break.”

Jungkook didn’t question it as he followed you to sit down on a grassy hill just outside the cement confines of the skatepark. He reached into his black Jansport backpack and took out a bottled water to hand to you. You smiled, taking it with a thank you and asked, “So do you come here every night you close?”

“Sometimes,” Jungkook shrugged, watching you tip your head back to drink from his water bottle, a small droplet slipping down your chin that had him reaching out a thumb to wipe, “Helps clear my head.”

“That’s nice,” you said softly thanking him, cheeks flush red, handing him back the water and watching him take a drink next, “Is that why you’re always recording too?”

Jungkook looked down at his silver camcorder that sat in the middle on the grass, “I don’t know, I find it relaxing but at the same time… it makes me anxious? I want to capture everything I experience on video because I’m scared that one day I’m not going to remember any of this. Sometimes I wonder if I’m missing out on the moment itself but then I think about right now an—no, nevermind.”

Your brows furrowed as he stared down at the people skating, eyes narrowing as he listened to the next song someone played. It was late and that definitely wasn’t a skating song but it was one of his favorites and he had to say it, “I like this song.”

Bloodhail played somewhere off in the distance and he softly hummed to the beat but you were too focused on what he never finished saying instead, “What were you going to say?”

Jungkook played with his lip ring, the beating red light from his camera recording in his peripheral as he shrugged, “It’s nothing.” There was a small pile of loose grass blades he’s pulled from the ground next to him.

He looked at you to see what you had to say but instead you just stayed silent, slightly drawn back from him and he didn’t want that. It’s not like what he was going to say was bad but… the two of you have only ever flirted. What if he said something that pushed you away? But what if he chose not to ever speak up and you got tired of waiting?

The song really was one of his favorites but he’ll admit he used that as a distraction to change the subject but he couldn’t just not answer now.

“I think about what would happen if I didn’t have my camera when I’m with you,” Jungkook confessed, laying on his bed to look up at the stars, “Would I remember everything you said? What jokes I said that made you laugh? Or even the way you looked at me? I wouldn’t want to forget these things.”

All that was heard for a good long moment was the sound of the music and muffled noises from people still around. He felt his stomach tighten, shaking his head in the grass, “Shit, sorry, that probably sounded weird.”

Your eyes met and for a second he forgot where the two of you were or that his camera was still recording at a bad angle, “What will you do when you’re done filming us?”

“Give the tapes to you, maybe keep a couple,” Jungkook answered truthfully, “They’re as much yours as they are mine.”

“But you’re the one always recording,” you told him but he just shrugged.

“Because I like it and I like you and I just want to capture every moment we have,” his words sounded more confident now as he sat up not wanting to beat around the bus anymore, “So, Y/n, will you go out with me?”

․ ∘ ⊹ ✰ ┆ THE END ┆ ✰ ⊹ ∘ .

A chill ran down your spine as the song you currently listened to matched the one that had played in a video that was seven or eight years old. As much as you’ve told yourself you’ve changed your music taste has stayed the same and the strange serenity you felt in the beginning with Jungkook never changed either.

Why were you missing him?

It was another late night at the studio, Jungkook spent more time there than at his apartment lately and tonight was no different. Although he did have plans with Taehyung and that blonde he had been telling him about, he’s not sure if he’s interested in actually going. He met her a couple nights ago and Taehyung was right, she’s great, honestly, but something didn’t click right away.

If he met up with Taehyung for this ‘double date’ that might give her the wrong idea and he doesn’t want to hurt her. If he could have her as a friend that would be best. He’s just not ready to give himself to someone when his last break up ended because of something so stupid that he just couldn’t let go.

Jungkook stood outside under a poorly lit street lamp just outside his studio as he smoked a cigarette, taking a small break from photo developing. His studio was located on a quiet street uphill, it had a simple cinderblock look and it wasn’t big but it was somewhat popular. People liked to see his photographs and he would do photoshoots, sell cameras, fix them, he did pretty much anything you could do with a camera. Business might be slow at times but it was peaceful and he made a living wage off doing something that he loved, that’s all he had ever wanted. He was content with where he is now at only 26 and his own business. He didn’t mind being single nor did he care to change that… so he decided he was going to miss out on tonight.

Once he finished his short smoking break, he put the bud out on the floor with his shoe and picked it up to dump in the trash. Just as Jungkook turned back to the door of his studio, he seemed to go still.

For a second he debated rubbing his fists into his eyes in hopes of washing away this mirage but all he managed to do was blink, speechless and frozen. You weren’t better off despite being the reason he was stuck like that and all you could do was stare at him in disbelief.

It was very obviously Jungkook, there was no mistaking it but it also looked like someone completely different in a sense. The Jungkook you dated always dressed in band tees too small for him, spiked chokers, checkered belts, the full emo scene of the time minus the side swept hair—he preferred the longish curls instead. He had a lip piercing and a belly button piercing but that was it. Now you’re looking at him and you’re seeing a man after six years realizing just how much time had passed. He had a tattoo sleeve and small gages, a lip piercing and he wore overly baggy black clothes. His hair was short and straight but it looked good on him and you can’t believe you’re admitting that to yourself right now.

“Is this JeonStudio?” You asked as calmly as you could but your voice still betrayed you at the end. You avoided his gaze, choosing instead to eye the small building somewhat proudly and awkward too. Coming here was on a whim, you had been out with friends when you got curious and searched him up. Yoongi had told you he owned a shop so it wasn’t hard to find and honestly… you didn’t expect to go in and actually see him. Imagine your surprise when he caught you standing outside slightly tipsy? “I don’t suppose you’re open at this hour.”

Jungkook just looked at you, heart racing and half tempted to smoke another cigarette due to growing anxiety but you seemed so casual and he didn’t want to overreact. It’s been too long anyway, he’s dumbfounded. He cleared his throat uncomfortably before walking to the door, not bothering to look back at you as he held it open for you to go in.

Immediately you winced at the loudness of the rock song that played, ears nearly sore from the volume as you stepped into the dark studio. Korn’s ‘Coming Undone’ played loudly as it reared its end and Jungkook left you alone for a moment to lower it back down, skipping the song in favor of listening to something by Alice In Chains. You’ll like to correct yourself; Jungkook might look slightly different because he’s older—but he still seems like the exact guy you left six years ago.

“So what can I do for you?” Jungkook’s voice sounded deeper, more manly and when he stood behind his glass counter of cameras with his hands leaning against it, silver rings on his tattooed fingers and a slight smell of nicotine, you were brought back to before. He let his gaze travel over you in half surprise and half amazement.

Just seeing you after having you stuck in his head for a couple weeks now was a surprise, but to see how you’ve changed? He was amazed. It’s not that you were a completely different person but… wow you’ve grown. You no longer wore your ripped fishnets or beaten Converse and Dr. Martens. Your hair wasn’t in knots and your makeup wasn’t smudged or messy like you did it in the back of a bus on your way to work.

You looked… you looked good, like a matured version of yourself who wasn’t shy to show small hints at what you used to be like.

“I just…” you trailed off looking around the room, “I heard you had your own shop an—“

“And?” Jungkook asked with a firm expression making you look back at him, “I’ve had it for a couple years now, why the sudden interest, Y/n?”

He acted cold and it was a bit of a surprise and you scolded yourself for thinking that. It’s not like you expected him to be all smiles seeing you again. God, why did you come? It felt like one second you’re leaving your friend’s movie night to go home and next you’re standing outside of his studio as he smokes.

Maybe you’ll just leave before you do anything embarrassing.

Jungkook watched you with a blank expression but he would be lying if he said his heart wasn’t racing as he watched you look around. He stood behind the glass case of cameras where the register was at and waited for you to say something.

The changes were subtle but there was no way he could miss them. The biggest was of course your fashion style now, it was different yet he could still pick up hints of how you used to dress. You still preferred black shoes and silver jewelry. Your hair was styled differently now but it still suited you perfectly, you still had your nose pierced and your nails painted.

Something that didn’t change was that familiar sparkle in your eyes when you were curious and right now he could see it as you did a 360 of his studio. He didn’t notice the way his finger began to tap anxiously against the glass waiting to see what you would say about it. He wasn’t looking to impress you or anything but…

“All of these are yours?” You asked as you stepped closer to a portrait on the wall with blue and black hues. Your gaze never shifted away from the portrait so he was forced to give you a verbal response, “Most, some are Taehyung’s.”

At the mention of your old friend you seemed to freeze up a little, “How is he?”

Jungkook couldn’t hold back a scoff as he crossed his arms over his chest, “He’s great, thanks for asking, don’t you want to ask how I am?”

Once again his slight attitude caught you off guard but you weren’t going to let it bring you down, you’ve come this far in your reconciliation. Your eyes narrowed as they met his glare and you rebutted, “I was getting there, jeez.”

This time around it was his turn to be surprised when you rolled your eyes and he hated that the corner of his lips threatened to turn upward in amusement. You finally quit looking at everything but him and turned in his direction like you were finally going to say something only for you to look up in search of the speakers that played a song you remembered he liked. Pink Maggit by Deftones started off slow and quietly but slowly raised volume that Jungkook had to lower it down a little more. He pretended not to notice his ringing phone that buzzed on the counter with Taehyung’s name displayed—probably wondering where he was.

“I don’t know if this holds meaning but I love this place,” you said and a shaky breath he hadn’t realized he was holding slipped out.

“Thanks,” Jungkook said with a huff.

“Seriously Jungkook,” you stood in front of the counter now, “It’s like everything you’ve ever wanted.”

“It is,” he agreed, studying you and falling silent.

The longer he stayed thinking the harder it became to hold himself back and this time, more gentle and calm, he asked, “Y/n, why are you here?”

His phone lit up once more and he flipped it to face down and waited for you to respond. You were quiet for a moment as you tried gathering your thoughts and in the end you found yourself sitting alone in his studio with him confessing about the tapes.

There was a slight tension in the air that seemed to blur out the background noise of the restaurant’s chaos. He felt it but he pretended like he didn’t as he looked at his menu, not sure what to order or if he was even hungry.

“Yuna thinks you’re not interested,” was one of the first things Taehyung said to him as the two met up for dinner one night. Jungkook had already expected his friend to have something to say about the other night when he ditched their plans because something unexpected happened but… but he hadn’t processed what Taehyung had said until it was too late.

“Who?” Jungkook asked absentmindedly, unaware of the glare Taehyung sent him that had him snapping back into realization, “Oh… Oh! Yuna? Yeah, sorry about that.”

“I mean it’s whatever to me but the two of you were really hitting it off,” Taehyung said with a shrug that had Jungkook rolling his eyes.

“Come on, we’ve met once and I was drunk,” Jungkook said, “She’s cute but… I don’t know.”

He ignored the way Taehyung’s eyes seemed to narrow suspiciously, “You don’t know? You seemed to be pretty good talking to her over drinks and now you don’t know? What made you ditch out on me anyway?”

Jungkook cleared his throat awkwardly, “Something came up—“

“No!” Taehyung groaned, “Don’t give me that bullshit. What was it?”

There was a slight pause in the conversation as the server came to take their orders but Taehyung just ushered them away to come back later. Jungkook ran his fingers through his hair, seeming exhausted before saying, “Nothing, honestly, just…”

“Just?”

“Y/n came to the studio.”

Silence filled the space between the two again as Taehyung stared at him dumbfounded. Jungkook couldn’t even think of anything to respond with either so they just sat there feeling the tension grow thicker by the second. After a while, Taehyung released a nervous chuckle and sighed, “Alright, for a second I thought you were being serious. Come up with a better excuse ne—“

“I’m being serious,” Jungkook said and Taehyung was finally able to see the small difference in his friend. His hair was a bit messier and he looked tired but he didn’t look bad he just looked different. “I was working late and you were blowing up my phone to get me to meet up with you guys but there I am smoking a stupid cigarette and she’s standing there like nothing ever happened asking if it’s open!”

“Shit,” Taehyung listened, “So what happened? That’s it? Did you talk? What did you talk about?”

“She asked about you,” Jungkook said with a roll of his eyes, “Then worried about me later but, she still had the tapes.”

“What tapes?”

“The tapes,” Jungkook didn’t care to clarify because his friend should know exactly what he is talking about. It took Taehyung a moment but realization dawned on him and he gasped, “All of the movies you made with her?”

“Yes,” Jungkook said, “I-I had forgotten all about them, honestly but then she comes along telling me she was moving and a friend of hers found them and they made her curious a—fuck, it’s so weird seeing her again.”

“Did Y/n change?” Taehyung asked, watching Jungkook nod his head. Jungkook really did look exhausted like he’s been thinking about this nonstop.

“So much but like… at the same time, it’s still Y/n,” Jungkook said with a small hint of a smile, “She’s still got the same look in her eye and her smile is still the same. I don’t know, we talked about the tapes but that’s really it an—“

“So go talk to her, even if it’s just to catch up,” Taehyung tried saying, half expecting his friend to reject the idea the way he’s rejected anything that had to do with you so to hear that he ditched him because you showed up out of the blue… he wants to know what this means.

In truth, Taehyung cared a lot about you both despite not being friends with you anymore. The three of you met at an impressionable age in your young adult years so it’s hard for him to act like he didn’t care about you two. You would hang out at the skatepark, record stupid videos, do stupid things at work, and you had been one of his best friends. To even hear that you asked about him made him feel good because there’s been so many times when he’s debated just picking up the phone and calling you but never brought himself to do it.

“You think I should talk to Y/n?” Jungkook asked as the server came back once more to ask if they were ready yet but once again Taehyung asked for another minute. He nodded his head, “I think… the two of you didn’t end terribly and if she came to find you then it wouldn’t hurt to talk. I know that it’s been six years and you don’t care anymore [ you’ve said that so many times now ] but personally I would want to see the tapes.”

Jungkook’s leg began to bounce anxiously under the table as he gnawed on his lip ring in thought. “So I should see Y/n?”

“I think so,” Taehyung said with a small smirk, “Or do you really not care because it’s been six years?”

There was a mocking undertone in his voice that Jungkook chose to ignore as he suddenly rose to his feet making his decision abrupt. Taehyung didn’t even bother stopping him as he left him behind in the restaurant, he just found it amusing. When the server came back to check if they were still not ready, Taehyung apologized for wasting their time and left them a tip before leaving too.

It has been six years, that thought hasn’t slipped Jungkook’s mind yet but that’s why he’s so confused. It’s been so long and you dumped him so for you to reach back out to him suddenly telling him you still have the tapes… don’t you realize how that can mess with his head? He’s over you, you’re over him so why would you do that? He has to know and that’s why he called the number you gave him the other night and asked to meet up.

When he got to your apartment building he was a bit taken back by the size of it. Compared to the small shoebox the two of you lived together in once upon a time, this was big and spacious. The inside was honestly what he expected. There was a record player in the corner with some old vinyls he knew you had: Deftones’ Around the Fur, Nirvana’s In Utero, Flyleaf’s Flyleaf, etc. You had a couple dead houseplants in various shades of dark green but no flowers, you seemed to still like the color black and you liked your bands and horror movies. On your coffee table was an arrangement of magazines all from the same publication and a drawing board next to it.

“Do you want anything to drink?” You asked from the kitchen, nervous to see him looking around so curiously. It was strange to have him here at your new place after claiming you were leaving the past in the past. Clearly that had been a lie because you’re the reason he’s here right now, you’re the one who reached out to him so you have no right to feel weird about him calling you tonight.

“Just water,” Jungkook mumbled to himself as his eyes casted down on the rundown box that he had been trying oh-so-desperately to avoid. It was shut but not well and the tape player laid next to it connected to the TV. He was itching to go through the tapes but he was also scared of what he would find on them.

Instead, he walked over to your record player looking through the various vinyls to see if he could play one. You’ve had the same player for years, it’s one he bought with you so he was well used to it and for some reason, he didn’t hesitate to go to it and play something himself like he used to. He chose a Deftones album and ‘Sextape’ began to play just in time for you to come to him with a glass of water looking at him curiously.

“Sorry,” Jungkook said once he realized he had subconsciously done what he used to do anytime he came over to your place, “Force of habit?”

It was stupid that a habit he had six years ago was coming back to him but for some reason seeing you again was making him realize how much the two of you used to love each other. He doesn’t think he has feelings for you still but he did miss you and he’ll never deny that.

Okay, false, he denied it all the time to Taehyung but that was then. He thought he would never see you again and if he did it was just in passing and that you would barely acknowledge him but that’s not what happened and he couldn’t help but miss you. If only he knew you felt the same but he always struggled to read you.

“It’s alright,” you said, moving to sit on the couch with his glass on the table letting him come join you. He sat down with a foot or two of space in between and looked around making you smile. You didn’t mean to smile but he just seemed so curious and intrigued by everything in here and as he looked around you looked at him.

God, he looked different. Last time you didn’t get a good look at his tattoos but right now you’re taking them all in with interest. Back then he would go on and on about all the tattoos he would get and now that he has them, you’ll admit he looks so good. He seemed to be doing so well for himself and that made you feel happy to see him doing what he always wanted to do. The confidence just radiated off him when before he was always a bit more insecure.

Not even just in his future plans but his looks too and now you’re noticing how buff he’s gotten. His arms and shoulders were huge and he looked intimidating, you’re sure if the 18 year old Jungkook saw what he looked like now, he wouldn’t believe it.

“How many have you watched?” Jungkook finally asked in regards of the tapes and for a second you forgot that’s why he came and it wasn’t just to catch up.

“A few, not all of them though,” you confessed looking at the box, “Some are hard to watch.”

He didn’t need you to elaborate to know what you were talking about. Toward the end of your relationship, there wasn’t a time Jungkook wasn’t recording you too and unfortunately that meant he caught a few rough moments on video. He developed them on tapes because he didn’t want to waste them and when he had given them to you he was mad and wanted to be petty so he gave them all but now he wishes he didn’t.

He realizes now that he’s not mad about the past. You dumped him because you were going to school and Jungkook wanted to go back to Busan with no real plan for his future. You worked so well together but it was so obvious that you reached a point where you wanted different things and you’re the one who had the guts to end it. Of course at the time it destroyed him but now that he’s grown from it, he can’t be mad anymore.

“Do you want me to play one?” You asked once he fell silent for too long. Jungkook bit his lip nervously before nodding his head shyly. You left his side to go set everything up and he just watched you feeling anxious. He hasn’t seen these tapes in six years and he’s not sure what to expect.

․ ∘ ⊹ ✰ ┆ JJK 21: THE ARGUMENT ┆ ✰ ⊹ ∘ .

The video started with a view of a snake terrarium in your old bedroom. It belonged to Jungkook but when he moved in with you, he brought it with and it stayed. It was red and warm with a small snake hiding in its cave but it was pretty and the two of you used to pass time staring at it with curiosity. There was a soft rock song playing in the background but it was muffled by your voices.

In truth, Jungkook had forgotten he was recording.

“So you’re going back to Busan?” Your voice was a bit groggy and low like you were scared to raise your voice too much. It was late and the two of you had spent most of your time at some manga store after work and have just now gotten home. You’ve been quiet since you had dinner and this is the first thing you’ve said to him since.

Jungkook was in a small Korn band tee that didn’t cover his full waist and showed a bit of his belly button piercing but he never really cared how his clothes fit him. His black jeans were always baggy and torn and his beanies always flattened his hair. He used to have a certain look that drew everyone’s attention even when he didn’t want it.

“Come with me,” Jungkook said in his deep tone, “I know it’s sudden, Y/n, but I don’t want to leave you, I don’t care if it’s not that far.”

“So why leave at all?” You asked, sitting down on bed avoiding his gaze, “You can do whatever you want here, why do you want to go back?”

Jungkook stayed quiet for a moment as he thought about it, “I don’t know, I don’t feel at home.”

You didn’t say anything as you sat on the edge of the bed staring at the wall to avoid looking at him. He hasn’t forgotten that you haven’t answered him yet, “Come with me.”

“I don’t know,” you admitted after some time contemplating, “What would we do?”

“We can stay with my brother for a while, find a job and start working,” Jungkook offered excitedly as he dropped down to his knees in front of you, making sure your attention was on him and not the ground, “We’ll find a place together.”

“What about school?” You asked. You’ve got about a year left, if that, and you can’t just move somewhere else and register all over again. You’ve got internships lined up and the right connections here. You have plans.

Jungkook’s brows furrowed, “You can transfer, it’s not hard, right? Just think about it Y/n, just you and me. We don’t have to worry about your family or anything else.”

“I can’t.”

For a second he wondered if you said anything at all because it was so quiet but when you looked up at him apologetically, he asked, “Why not?”

“I can’t just pick up everything and leave with you Jungkook,” you told him, slightly bothered by the fact that he didn’t understand that, “I’ve got plans that don’t involve me moving to Busan with a boy I’ve dated for a little over a year and who I probably won’t even be with for long.”

“What?” His face hardened as he listened to you, “You don’t want to be with me?”

“I didn’t say that,” you sighed, “I’m sorry, that’s not how I meant it, I just…”

“Just what, Y/n? Because last night we were talking about spending forever together and now you’re saying we won’t be together for long?” Jungkook said with a scoff as he stood up, his camera completely pushed to the back of his mind.

You ran your hand over your face with worry, “That was before you told me you want to move back to Busan,” you said honestly, “I don’t want to go anywhere, if you want to go and start over somewhere else then do it but you can’t just ask me to change everything I’ve had planned just so I could follow you. You don’t even have a real plan to go back. It might not feel like home to you here, Jungkook, but it does for me and it’s not fair that you can just ask me to pack up and leave when we’ve got nothing going on.”

“We have each other,” Jungkook’s voice was softer because he sounded hurt, “Isn't that enough?”

“For you, maybe, but not for me,” you argued coldly, “I can’t change my life for you.”

Jungkook stood there seemingly frozen as you got up from the bed, pushing past him and locking yourself in the bathroom away from him. He wasn’t sure what to think right now other than this was the first argument the two of you have ever had. It was an argument, right?

What even happened? You had spent such an amazing day together, he picked you up after your last class and you went out to eat. You went to a park where he played a song for you on the guitar you bought him and the two of you had been laughing all day. It felt so sweet until the moment he mentioned Busan and suddenly you had grown distant.

Suddenly you were saying the two of you wouldn’t last, is that true?

“Y/n?” You could hear Jungkook call for you with a small knock on the door, “Babe, can we talk?”

“I don’t want to,” you sniffled, “I just want to be alone right now.”

Jungkook pulled away from the door feeling dejected and blown off. He ran his fingers through his messy hair anxiously and looked around your shared bedroom for his things. He’ll just give you time to yourself and maybe later you could think things through again.

As he looked for his phone and keys, his eyes landed on the camcorder that captured the moment his snake left its cafe to curl up against a small log. He picked the camera up curiously, eyes widening as he saw it was recording.

․ ∘ ⊹ ✰ ┆ THE END ┆ ✰ ⊹ ∘ .

Jungkook sat there as still as ever, staring at the screen with glossy eyes as he watched the frozen image of himself pick up his camera—realizing he left it on. He looked down at his glass of water, feeling his throat become dry as he brought it to his lips, hand shaking.

Although it was six years ago and he had not thought about it once… seeing this video just brought him back to that day. It wasn’t the only argument the two of you had but he must’ve learned his lesson and kept the camera off. Later on the two of you argued and you said some hurtful things to him that you later apologized for but it didn’t make him feel any different.

That was the moment he realized maybe the relationship really would not have lasted long.

“Jungkook,” your voice was so soft now, slightly deeper and more mature but anytime you said his name it made his head spin nonetheless like he still couldn’t believe it.

When he looked up at you, you’re not sure what you had expected but it definitely wasn’t the sight of his reddened eyes as he took jagged breaths trying to calm his racing heart.

It’s just… back then he had been struck with such limerence that all he could think about was the two of you together anyway it could be. Sometimes it didn’t even matter if you weren’t sexually intimate, just knowing someone loved him and wanted him was enough and when you broke up with him… it hurt. It hurt really fucking bad and this video reminded him a bit of how that felt.

“I kept some tapes too,” he finally admitted, clearing his throat and changing the subject in hopes that you wouldn’t see how he was feeling. He circled the rim of his glass with his index finger as he looked down at his lap to avoid your soft gaze. A smile came to his face as he scoffed, “Um, this is kinda embarrassing to admit but… the last person I dated dumped me because I wouldn’t throw them away.”

“Because of the memories?” You asked quietly and he nodded. That’s how Jungkook was, once he told you how he never wanted to forget anything no matter how it made him feel and in this case he wanted to remember you no matter what happened and in a sense you had been the same. You wanted to keep the tapes because being with him had felt like home to you and you never wanted to leave it behind even if you said you were over it.

Watching them again was making you realize how much you needed Jungkook at the time and how much he had needed you. Maybe you still need him and it took you this long to admit that, knowing he couldn’t let you go either was like a slap in the face after the things you said to him.

The amount of times you argued that you had a future planned that didn’t need him in it only because you were heading toward different directions in life. Where Jungkook was more laidback, you were uptight and that had not been a good mix then. You told him you couldn’t just sit around in Busan and only have what the two of you had to rely on because one day he might decide he doesn’t need you anymore and throw you away after you changed your life for him. In the end, things happened in reverse and you wish you could just take it all back.

“Y/n—“

Jungkook went quiet as the soft buzz of a phone ringing cut him off and he was thankful. He didn’t even know what he planned on telling you and that scared him. Would he tell you that he missed you or that he thinks it would be best to never speak again?

You both looked down at your phone screen as it sat on the coffee table with a picture of you and Jimin smiling happily as he called. Your gaze shifted to Jungkook, “What were you going to say?”

The call came to an end and your attention was on him but he didn’t want to speak anymore and before he could tell you it didn’t matter, this stranger called again. He cleared his throat, “Um, you should answer that, it’s late anyway and we’ve both got work tomorrow. If you ever want to talk again… maybe we can, you have my number but I should go.

Your brows furrowed, shaking your head no as he set the glass down next to your ringing phone and stood up suddenly, “Jungkook, wai—“

He didn’t stop till he was out the door running his fingers through his hair, feeling exhausted and unsure of himself.

Watching that video reminded him that the two of you broke up for a reason and it had been valid at the time. It has been the right decision too even if it hurt and although it felt like a ‘Right Person Wrong Time’ moment, there’s nothing to do now and there’s no point in dwelling on the past.

He’s moved on.

Just as you debated following him out, your phone rang once more and with a dejected sigh, you answered, “What do you want?!”

“Whoa, chill on the attitude I’ve been trying to get you to answer because I have a serious question,” Jimin said on the other end of the line. Your face softened as you grew curious and worried “What is it?”

“Am I a gold or silver jewelry type of guy?” Jimin asked as he held up two matching bracelets in thought. You went quiet on your end and he raised a curious brow only to wince at the second your voice rose a couple octaves.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” You groaned, throwing yourself back on your couch annoyed that Jungkook left in such a hurry because Jimin had been blowing up your phone.

“Dead serious.”

Click.

“Hello?” Jimin spoke to himself hearing the line end, “Did you hang up on me?”

The end of the week came quicker than you had expected and yet time felt to slow down for you too. Ever since Jungkook came to your apartment and watched that video with you, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about it. The look in his eyes had captured your attention more than the video had but when he left without finishing what he was going to say… that’s when you got caught up. He used to always do that to you, he would start to say something and then try and push it away so he should know by now that you would think about it.

You just can’t help but wonder what he was going to say and it’s been eating at you for days.

“Y/n, can you pretend to listen to me?” Jimin asked as he bumped his wine glass again at yours to get your attention.

“What?” You asked looking up at your two friends who stared at you with confusion, “Sorry.”

Somin’s brows furrowed, “What’s up with you? You haven’t even touched your food.”

Your plate sat there barely eaten while theirs had been cleared out. You seemed to have forgotten where you were and it wasn’t until now that you looked around to see the three of you were still sitting in a dimly lit booth having an extremely late dinner on a Saturday night.

“Nothing, I’ve just been… y'know,” you shrugged, lifting up your silverware in hopes of finding the motivation to finish your meal. You bit your lip anxiously, your friends watching you made you nervous and it was very apparent. You haven’t told them about seeing Jungkook again but you’re not sure what they would make of it and that’s the only thing that has stopped you. You’re not sure what you even make of it, much less what they would think but you’re starting to realize maybe you need a second opinion.

“I met with Jungkook,” you finally said and despite the loudness of the restaurant, your table seemed to fall silent as they both looked at you.

“When?”

“Well, the first time, a couple weeks ago,” you said honestly, “The last time… two nights ago.”

They shared a look with each other that you had no desire to learn the meaning of before Jimin asked, “This is the ex boyfriend, right? The VCR tapes boyfriend?”

“That’s the one,” you said awkwardly, “We watched a tape the other night, it wasn’t a good one but… I don’t know.”

“You mean you invited him over?” Somin asked, making you shake your head no and she continued, “He just showed up? So did he find you first?”

“Nope, I looked for him,” you told them, hiding your face in your hands, “I’m so stupid. I shouldn’t have done that.”

“Why?” Jimin asked, “Did you two argue?”

“No,” you told him, “No, we didn’t… it’s just…”

“It’s just now you can’t stop thinking about him,” Somin said instead of asked and you nodded your head yes. She released a sigh, “It’s been six years, Y/n.”

“I know,” you groaned letting your head fall into your hands further, “That’s why I’m so confused.”

“But was he mad or anything?” Jimin asked.

“No.”

“Then why don’t you try and talk to him?” He went on making you look at him.

“And tell him what?”

“That maybe you should start over—“

“No!” Somin said, “No, it’s been too long. Do you honestly think Jungkook would want that? All they did was talk, it just doesn’t make sense. It’s not like he's been waiting six years to hear from Y/n.”

You had to agree with her, you have no idea what Jungkook thinks about all this if he even does.

Not far from where you were with your friends was a packed street filled with nightlife and club goers all getting into their Saturday night and he was amongst them. He rarely chooses to come out for drinks and loud music unless it’s with his friends and this time was no different. After spending the past forty eight hours practically shut in his shop, Taehyung finally got him to come out to meet with the girls from last time.

Although he had sworn off meeting with Yuna again so he wouldn’t lead her on… he found himself doing it anyway. He just needed a distraction, you’re all he’s been able to think about and it wasn’t good for him. He couldn’t think about you like this.

You were his ex-girlfriend from so long ago and though meeting with you reminded him little by little of how well you used to be together… he can’t get over the fact that you left him. You left him when he needed you and that should have been the end of it. That had been the end of it. He had gone to Busan and you went your own way, when he came back to Seoul he only thought about you every now and then like when Taehyung would bring you up… or when he would remember the tapes… or listen to Deftones… or look at the guitar you gave him…

Maybe he did think about you frequently but not as frequent as this and he didn’t like it. You’ve been a constant in his mind since he first saw you standing under a street lamp not far from him asking if his studio was open. You’ve been a constant in his mind since he first ever met you too and it’s not fair that after you left him you get to come back and try to reconcile as friends.

“Want a smoke?” Taehyung asked his friend after he realized Jungkook had gone quiet for too long even when Yuna tried to ask him things. He didn’t give a verbal response, only nodded his head and began walking out of the packed club in hopes of more room to breathe.

Taehyung didn’t hesitate to reach into his pack of cigarettes and hand one to Jungkook watching his friend take it gladly and search his pockets for a lighter. He lit the end and did the same for Taehyung, looking up at the sky and attempting to tune out the loudness of the club behind him.

“So what’s up?” Taehyung asked, “You agreed to come out tonight but you seem out of it. Yuna’s been asking you questions nonstop and you’ve barely batted an eye at her.”

“I don’t know,” Jungkook took a drag of the cigarette, blowing it out shortly after with a shrug of his shoulders, “I’ll tell her I’m not feeling good or something.”

Taehyung didn’t say anything for a moment as he studied his best friend, finally asking, “Did you end up seeing Y/n?”

When Jungkook didn’t immediately react, Taehyung knew the answer. He flicked ash off the end of his cigarette and asked, “The night we had dinner?”

“Yeah,” Jungkook said, avoiding his friend’s gaze, “She didn’t ask about you this time, sorry.”

Taehyung just shrugged, knowing his friend was trying to lighten the growing tension but he didn’t care. He asked, “So then what did you talk about?”

“Not much,” Jungkook cleared his throat, a cloud of smoke covering his vision for a moment as he moved to the side to let a group of drunks through, “We watched one of the tapes though.”

“Which one?”

“It was an argument. I think it was when I first brought up Busan,” Jungkook admitted, kicking a rock with the tip of his black combat boot.

Taehyung nodded understandingly, “That’s it?”

“Pretty much, I left because some guy kept calling her,” Jungkook said, “I wasn’t sure if it was her boyfriend or not.”

Taehyung released a scoff, “You couldn’t have asked?”

“Why would it matter to me if it was?” Jungkook asked, “We’re exes for a reason, right?”

“And what was the reason, Jungkook?” Taehyung asked with a slightly harsher tone at his friend’s nonchalance, “Because you wanted her to follow you somewhere new and she didn’t want to. You’re back now, there’s no reason to not talk anymore so why didn’t you ask?”

“It won’t change anything,” Jungkook argued, annoyed by his friend’s need to always make him think about you when he didn’t want to, “So why bother?”

“Because it’s Y/n!” Taehyung said, “I get it, I really do. It’s been so long since you dated and it might not mean shit now but it did then and that’s never going to change no matter how hard you try and lie to yourself about it. And if it really didn’t matter anymore then you wouldn’t be out here tonight trying to forget seeing her again.”

“I went to see her because you told me to,” Jungkook said through gritted teeth.

“No,” Taehyung scoffed, “You went to see her because you wanted to, I just gave you the final push.”

“Nothing’s going to change thinking about her,” Jungkook said, “She’s a new person, so am I.”

“But on the inside you’re both still those same kids who ran away from home only to find it in each other again,” Taehyung said with a softer tone, “Come on man, I hate this sappy shit but open your eyes and realize that your home has always been with Y/n, that’s why you came back.”

“You’re wrong,” Jungkook glared at the ground, a lump forming in his throat, “She dumped me, she didn’t need me—“

“That’s not true and you know it, you grew apart because you wanted different things at the time but what about now?” Taehyung asked, “Y/n looked for you—I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to make you mad talking about it but Yoongi called me a few weeks back—right before you told me she went to the studio. Who do you think told her you were back?”

Jungkook didn’t say anything as he watched his cigarette burn on its own. He remembers when you went and you talked about the tapes but he didn’t have the courage to ask how you knew where he worked or that he had moved back. He should have asked but did it matter?

The muffled sound of music and chatter blurred out the silence that had grown between the two friends and Taehyung knew Jungkook had nothing to say. When a phone began to ring and the chest pocket of Jungkook’s black plaid flannel lit up with the outline of a screen and Taehyung didn’t have to ask to know who that might be. He dropped his cigarette on the floor to put it out with his shoe before placing an encouraging hand on his friend’s shoulder and leaving him outside alone.

For a moment Jungkook debated following him back into the dark nightclub and pretending like he was having the time of his life with Yuna but he knew he wouldn’t. He reached into his pocket and answered the call without another wasted second of hesitation, “Hello?”

“Jungkook, hey?” Your voice sounded a bit hoarse and he could hear noise behind you, “Are you, um, bu—do you have a moment?”

Jungkook looked up at the moon, taking a deep breath coming to terms with the fact that he’s afraid to open himself up to you again even if it’s just as acquaintances, “I’m not busy.”

“Really?” You asked slightly surprised, “Well, I—I was wondering if maybe you… um… maybe you wanted to meet me somewhere? O-or if, y’know you’re home… maybe I could come over to talk about us? My friend interrupted us last time and I feel like a lot of things went unsaid.”

You mentally cringed at yourself for sounding so nervous but what else was there to be expected? If you didn’t tell Jungkook how you felt now then maybe it’ll be another six years before you get to do it again—or worse, you won’t get another chance.

Jungkook looked around for the street sign as if he could imagine the distance he is from your place, “Where are you?”

Your heart seemed to raise, “I’m out with friends downtown but I can leave right no—“

“Where downtown?” He asked, walking just a bit away from the club entrance, listening to you tell him the street, “I’m a couple blocks down from there, at Club X.”

“Club X?” You asked and for a moment he debated telling you he was just with Taehyung but you quickly said, “Don’t move, I’ll walk.”

“Y/n, wai—“

Click.

Jungkook ran his fingers through his hair nervously, looking around once more knowing he should just stay put but you told him where you were too and the thought of just standing here waiting for you to arrive didn’t sit well with him. It would be too long of a wait and if he waits any longer he’s scared he’ll back out from wanting to see you too… so he ran.

You left your friends without much thought to how they felt about it, you paid your bill and left them just like that, practically running out the door. Before Jungkook could reject your proposal you hung up on him and that meant that if he didn’t want to see you then he would be leaving soon and you had to get to him before he did. You just needed to be honest.

Your feet ached from the heels you wore but that didn’t stop you from running down the uneven sidewalk, bumping into people on your way and checking for traffic whenever you crossed a street.

You wanted to be with him again, or at least try to be even if it was just as friends. It didn’t even have to be romantically [even if all the romantic feelings you had for him came back], you’ll take whatever he gives you as long as you know that he might feel the same. That’s all you want to know, that he might feel the same so you ran to him.

Jungkook was out of breath but he moved at a quicker pace than you did, running so fast he nearly dropped the person that bumped into him but he caught them before they could fall and held them by the arm, “Sorry.”

You stopped, tightening your hold on his forearm in shock, “Jungkook?”

He nearly stumbled as he froze on the spot, looking down at the person he bumped into on his way to you and his heart raced, “Y/n.”

“Jungkook, I—I told you to wait,” you stuttered as the two of you stood there at the end of a crosswalk ignoring all the people that passed you, “I—it’s about us, I wanted to see you—“

“Y/n,” he repeated your name, eyes scanning your face for any sign that you might regret asking to meet him but he found none. Before he could stop himself, his hands had made their way to your jaw, pulling you closer and it was all you needed to see to throw your arms around his neck and drag him down to meet your lips with his.

Jungkook didn’t hesitate to kiss you back with as much need and desire as you had and let his eyes shut, relishing in the feel of your soft lips that he had forgotten the taste of. The small kiss had been everything he missed, so soft and tender yet there was no mistaking the intense longing in each languid movement of your tongue with his that he nearly forgot where the two of you were till a car was honking annoyingly at the public display of affection—egging it on.

You pulled back with a pant, trying to catch your breath as your eyes ran along his face trying to understand his expression, hands sliding down to his ribs unsure if you should hold him or not. There was a lot you wanted to say but right now you wanted to feel him like this more, “Where?”

Jungkook bit his lip, breathing heavily through his nose as he slid his hand into yours and pulled you toward the street raising a hand to call a cab, “Mine.”

He was also aware that the two of you needed to talk and he planned on doing that but first… first he just needed to have you in his arms again. He just needed to feel you want him back one more time before the weight of whatever the two of you talked about came crashing down and there was no going back. It’s been six years of not being with you, you would think any ounce of romantic attraction would be gone and yet every time he remembered you or thought about you, it hit him harder than before and he spent the cab ride kissing you like he would never get the chance again—and he might not.

When you got to his house, you didn’t get a chance to look around when Jungkook was dragging you back into his arms, kicking the front door shut and kissing you.

“We’ll talk after,” you said more to yourself than to him when he yanked off his unbuttoned flannel, walking you backwards down a hall.

“After,” Jungkook repeated, breathless as he pulled away to kiss down your neck, placing soft kisses along your jaw and down your jugular. You craned yourself back to give him more room and dunk your fingers into his short black hair. He let his hands roam down your body, memorizing the feel of you under his fingertips once more and gripping your sides as you released a small gasp when the back of your knees hit a bed and you were falling back. His hands went to your back feeling along the material of your short black dress he hadn’t had a chance to admire and gently touched your ass, making you breathless before you felt his fingers slip under the hem further to feel along your spine, pulling the dress up until you were taking it off.

“It’s been so long,” he whispered softly between small kisses along your shoulder blade, letting you fall back on the bed in nothing but your underwear and bra. He sat back on his knees, staring down at you with glossy eyes. God, he missed you so much. He missed everything about you from your body to the way you used to softly run your fingers through his hair.

Six years.

Six years without seeing you laying down underneath him sliding a finger between the valley of your breasts teasingly, reaching behind you to take it off. He watched, nearly hypnotized by the way you slowly revealed all of yourself to him, saying, “Too long, I’ve almost forgotten how you feel.”

Jungkook licked his lips looking down at your bare chest, sinking down to lower his head until his nose lightly brushed against your soft skin making you wither just a little.

“I’ll fix that,” he whispered, eyes meeting yours and pressing a light kiss on your exposed breast, warm breath tickling you and making you bite your lip with anticipation.

“I want to see you,” your voice was as soft as his had been and he couldn’t help but sigh in content, nodding his head and pulling back to undress. He yanked off the black t-shirt he had worn under his flannel and kicked off his black denim jeans throwing them off somewhere on the floor near his snake terrarium that produced a red light—a huge contrast to the blue hue of light the rest of his apartment showed. When he sat bare between your parted legs you took in the sight of him.

His tattoos danced across his skin with every flex of his arms and it was all so new to you that you wanted to memorize it all. You reached your hands out hesitant to touch him, and heard a quiet gasp come from between his lips when your hands ran over his chest feeling every ridge of abdomen muscle, until you touched the top ball of his belly button piercing—surprised he still had it. His muscles tightened, feeling your fingertip slide back up until you were tracing the patterns of ink on his arm and shoulder.

"Y/n," Jungkook said your name with such tenderness that you stopped and looked up immediately, watching him hover over you and lower his mouth to the expanse of your neck sucking on your skin lightly. You bit your lip with want feeling his kisses moving lower, kissing along your collarbone. You ran your hands along his back when his tongue licked down to the valley of your breasts, tracing circles around your hardened nipple teasingly, bringing one into his mouth and sucking gently. The tip of his tongue flicked at your bud before capturing the whole thing in his mouth and licking the end, hands running along your sides to keep your body in place.

He kept this up for some time that all you could do was lay there and attempt to catch your breath as he memorized himself with your body again. It wasn’t just your breasts that got attention, he kissed your ribs and stomach, down your arms and along your neck. When he kissed along your navel toward your pelvis, his rough fingertips played with the hem of your panties until you were lifting your hips enough for him to slip them off you, leaving you just as nude as he.

“I missed this,” he said hoarsely, hands sliding down your inner thighs until he was slowly pulling them apart and fixing himself comfortably between them, “I don’t think you realize how much.”

He didn’t even realize how much he had missed—he didn’t allow himself to and now that he’s done it, it’s all he could focus on.

“I missed you too,” your tone was soft yet he could feel the emotion through it and it made him pause for a moment, debating if this was a confession or not and if he should stop so the two of you could talk.

He hadn't even touched you in the place you needed him most and yet you were on edge already. It’s not like you had expected to even kiss—much less this—that you found yourself already aroused but it felt so good to have him touch you again. After so much time apart, your body still reacted to him the way it used to and part of that scared you to admit.

"Jungkook," you licked your lips when his hair tickled against your cunt meaning he was getting closer. He hummed in response. Your voice was dry as you asked, "Condom?" It took him a second to pull away looking you in the eye as he sat back. Realization hit him like a truck as he stared down at your naked body then his, painfully aware of his hardened member and how quickly you had made him like this with only some kissing and teasing. He shook his head, "I don't—"

You sat up enough to pull him down and kiss him again, wanting nothing more but for this to continue whether you had a condom or not. “I don’t care, if you don’t.”

It didn’t take him long to understand what you meant and with the way your tongue kissed his, he couldn’t deny you even if he wanted to. Before, he used to take his time with you, making sure he satisfied all your needs with his tongue or fingers—whatever you wanted and he had subconsciously decided to do that tonight too. The only difference is that it’s been too long to take his time, he needed you now.

Your eyes ran over his body, still in disbelief with the sight of him above you, watching his hand slide down his toned stomach to his aching member. He stroked the tip of his cock softly, in search of some release as he let you take all the time you needed to watch him. The room was quiet aside from your heavy panting and buzz of his heat lamp but it still felt so loud. Your blood rushed to your ears, realizing what the two of you were doing and for a moment you wondered if this was a good idea but it didn’t take long for you to realize you didn’t care either way. You could worry about the repercussions later.

Jungkook leaned down between your parted thighs until his lips brushed against yours and his hard cock pressed against your wet heat, “You’re still the most beautiful girl I’ve ever seen.”

Your heart dropped at his tender words, breath hitching in your throat and letting your hands touch against his arms, “Even after so long?”

There was a soft sound of a cricket not far outside the window and when he whispered, “Everlong,” to you, you had to stop and stare into his eyes in search of something to say. It was a small ode to Foo Fighters’ song ‘Everlong’ and how no matter how much time you spent apart, he would forever feel this way about you.

The red heat lamp did little to light the room along the moon but he still saw the way your eyes seemed to water, feeling your hands brush against his cheek, “I’m sorry.”

He seemed to freeze even as his cock aligned with your folds, coated in your arousal and all he needed was one push of his hips to feel you once more and yet he stopped, “Sorry?”

Did you want to stop?

Did you realize that this might not be the best idea?

Had he said something that made you want to leave?

“I was scared,” you admitted suddenly, “We wanted different things and I was scared that you would realize that after it was too late and you would just throw me away.”

He resisted the urge to scoff, bringing a hand up to push your hair out of your face and onto the pillow, “You know I never would have, baby.”

The pet name slipped out without his intention, “I never loved anyone as much as I loved you.”

It didn’t slip by either of you his use of past tense but you understood what he meant and you hated that you couldn’t before. It’s crazy how a silly little friendship between two coworkers who like the same music and style had developed so far out into the future that when your relationship ended, you couldn’t ever fully move on.

“I want to feel you,” you whispered, your nose brushing against his as he dropped his head to look down at the small space between your bodies. Jungkook was gentle in finding your entrance with the tip of his cock, guiding himself between your folds until you released a gasp at the stretch. Although it hurt for a moment, it didn’t take your body long to get used to him—like it had been waiting to feel him all this time and your mouths drew open in silent gasps when he bottomed out waiting there for the stretching. Even without foreplay your bodies seemed to know exactly what they needed to do and you hugged him, releasing a small moan in his ear as he dropped his head against your neck. Jungkook felt his heart race as you clung to him, letting him get used to feeling your walls around his dick once more and for a second it felt like too much, “Oh fuck, I missed you.”

“I missed you so much,” you confessed with a sigh when he drew his hips back slightly before bringing them forward in a single thrust as if testing the waters first, “So much, Jungkook.”

What’s crazy is how you had been so unaware of it as if some of the things you did weren’t constant reminders of him that you had to force yourself to forget. You still wore beanies because of him, you listened to fucking Korn because of him, you still slept on the right side because he liked the left—even when past partners would argue that they liked that side too, you never changed it. You had craved him in every aspect of your life even when you had forgotten it… that’s why you kept the tapes.

You let out a moan from his slow thrusts, in and out, in and out, dragging his cock out slowly as if letting you remember what it felt like to have him inside of you against and it had your legs moving to wrap around his waist. You grip his shoulders tightly moving your hips in rhythm with his, it was a slow and sensual yet rough fucking that had you begging, “Jungkook, more."

He rose his head from your neck, hips thrusting his thick cock into your wet pussy, doing exactly what you wanted.

He licked the corner of your mouth as you watched his hips draw back before pushing forward harshly, “I wanted to stop thinking about you, baby, but I couldn’t.”

You heard him clearly and you didn’t need to ask to understand what he meant, you simply ran your hands down his toned, muscular back guiding him to fuck you harder as he went on, “Even when I thought I hated you, I couldn’t let you go.”

The two of you were supposed to talk after and yet he he was losing his rhythm and talking to you while passionately and aggressively fucking you. “I’m sorry,” you repeated with a soft moan, “I should have never left you.” You kiss him for a moment before he moves down and leaves a bite on your chest making you whine out from it and he moves his hands down to your hips, gripping tightly as he fucked you harder, “You’re right, you shouldn’t have.”

" Jungkook," you moaned again, clinging to him, feeling your climax close, "I still love you."

He seemed to come to a halt at your sudden confession and you nearly pushed him away, surprised by yourself and your impulsiveness but he only pressed his body harder against yours.

"I love you so fucking much," he growled into your chest as he began to pound into you. The room filled with a string of moans as he fucked you unlike he ever had before, completely different yet still as passionate as he used to and moaned into your ear, “So close.”

“Ngh,” you gasped, “You feel so good, I think I’m gonna cum soon.”

“Mhm,” he hummed in content, clinging to you as much as possible, “Please, Y/n, I need to feel it, one more time baby, it’s been so long since you came for me.”

His thumb had slid down your body until it found your clit which had hardened with arousal and he rubbed light patterns around it, feeling your walls twitch and it became harder for him to drag his cock back out with the way you tightened.

“I’m going to cum,” he admitted, nails digging into the soft flesh of your thighs urging you to let him go but your legs held him in place and he realized what you wanted—he wanted it too. He didn’t want to pull away from you for even a second and as your walls convulsed around him with release, he couldn’t help but let go with a moan.

He held your body to his panting heavily as your sweat covered bodies clung to each other desparatelt, both letting your orgasms ride their wave before pulling apart.

It took him a moment to gather enough strength to pull out, doing so with a small tired grunt until he was rolling onto his back feeling out of breath, hand searching for yours on the bed.

The realization that the two of you just had unprotected sex after six years apart seemed to hit you first and you sat up worried, looking over at him as he struggled to catch his breath, “Bathroom?”

He lifted a tired hand toward his en suite and you left him tired and alone in the darkness of his bedroom.

You cleaned yourself up as best as you could, trying not to let what just happened cloud your mind and remind yourself that you had wanted to talk to him. You’re not sure what this meant, if this meant anything more than just sex between ex lovers or if this was more but you didn’t have much time to question it when Jungkook knocked on the bathroom door and let himself in. He walked past you to the large bathtub, running the water and letting it fill as he looked at you with worry, “You okay?”

“Yeah,” you nodded your head, biting your lip, “You?”

A small smile came to his face as the water quickly filled behind him, “Yeah.”

When the bathtub was filled, Jungkook took your hand in his and led you inside the water, “But we should talk.”

“I agree,” you said, suddenly shy by your nakedness and brought your knees to your chest, sinking into the water with your back pressed against the side of the rub. Jungkook sat on the other end, never letting go of your hand as he pulled you toward him until you were between his legs with your back against his chest.

“Y/n,” his voice was soft as he cupped water in his palm to pour down on your bare shoulder, “I really did miss you.”

You released your lip from between your teeth, leaning further against him, “I missed you too.”

“And I want to be with you,” Jungkook admitted, “Even if it’s not how it used to be.”

It was impossible to be how it was six years ago and he’s realized that now but he doesn’t care. If you asked him to be friends even after the passionate sex the two of you had just had, he would do it as long as it meant he could be with you.

“You don’t hate me?” You asked sounding worried. You still loved him and it was embarassing enough to know you finally admitted it when he was inside you but it didn’t change the fact that it was true. You loved Jungkook so much and maybe you always had deep down even when you told yourself you didn’t but could the two of you really try this again?

“I could never,” he said placing a soft kiss on your shoulder as he began to wash the front of your body with his sponge, “You know that.”

“But I left you—“

“No, I left you,” Jungkook said, “I’m the one who wanted to move Y/n, not you. I’m the one who made you feel like you had to choose.”

You stayed quiet and he worried he upset you.

“I came back because I realized that my home wasn’t anywhere else but with you,” he confessed, “And I was too much of a coward when I came back that I didn’t go looking for you the second I had the chance to.”

“Jungkook,” you turned to face him, cuddling into him in the bathtub and eyes wide with affection, “Let’s try, one more time. L-let’s, let’s give us a shot… I… I—I have so much I wish I could’ve done better and if you just give me a chance I promise I will love and support anything you do—“

“Y/n, I would give us a million chances over again if it means I could be with you still.”

::.

yallllll the took me forever 😭ik there wasn’t too much focus on their relationship in the tapes but that’s bc I’m gonna do drabbles of them when I get the chance

permanent taglist: @notmyfaultbutours @rerefundslocals @fandems @sugaluvmyg @guvgguk @kimyishin @libra04 @kooromiwrld @classycreationcupcake-blog @alwaysdreamingnotsleeping @cherrymonlightt @nikkiordonez12 @asking4-sanity @thvlover7 @saweetspoiled @uwu2rawr @shaybts-blog @babycandy111 @tearyjjeon @joons-uparupa @jeonninja @yellowcupid08 @02010802faves @knudsenheggedal edel @skzthinker @unnatae @aurorthi @beautywine e @95ene @taekookstata @lilliankoo @shescharlie @annenakamura @lesoleile @burnahtsw @babybella337 @kooloveys @ku-ku @chaelvrx @minnie-mouser22 @Imeneghd @whoa-jo @evajeonsworld @marvelbun n @sunnikthv @kochycooky @heyhowyoudoin3 @acielelyseen @giselleswifeee @jeonjk25 @ilikeitlikethatt @bangmechanpls @lvr2seok @badbyeyoongi i @jaerisdiction @watermelonjuice15 @artmsmaid @xyahrinx @angeleen777 @jooniesxbby @brillantdarling

#jeon jungkook #Jungkook smut #jungkook scenarios #Jungkook fic #Jungkook oneshot #Jungkook one shot #Jungkook angst #jungkook imagines #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #Jungkook fluff #Jungkook drabble #jungkook series #jungkook #jungkook bts #bts jungkook

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katiexpunk · 2 months

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Desert Dust | Joel Miller's POV

Summary: The last place Joel Miller expected to find himself at this point in his life was in a small highway town in Arizona, passing the days by. He never really though he needed more -- until he met you.

Warnings: This is Joel's POV from Desert Dust. Yeah, if you thought he was a consent king in the original, this just further proves it. Tommy comes with his own cheeky warning. No age gap mentioned (make it your own), but Joel mentions feeling old. Joel Miller has a bad back (it's canon). Self-deprecation. Attempted assault (not by Joel)/nothing too graphic (please be responsible about what you consume). Joel beats up a bad guy., and like actually kinda wants to kill him for trying to hurt you. References to blood and first aid. Alcohol. Pet names. Flirting/slow burn. Inexperienced reader. Body hair. References to taste of vagina. Smoking/cigarettes (it's bad, don't do it). Oral (f receiving). Praise kink. Rough sex. Sex on a desk. Just a really passionate, filthy fuck. Creampie (shocker, I know). No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. TLOU au. Reader has no physical descriptions apart from female anatomy.

W/C: ~8K

A/N: Thank you for all of the love on Desert Dust. Nobody asked for this, but I couldn't get Joel's POV outta my head, so I hope you enjoy a little deep dive into what Joel was thinking when he first walked into that restaurant. Your honor, they're in love. Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

Did you ever see a robin weep When leaves begin to die? Like me, he's lost the will to live I'm so lonesome I could cry

The timbre of Hank Williams’ voice fills the truck's cab as Joel drives. It’s early, the sky is just beginning to transition from a deep midnight blue to a gradient of warm orange as the sun gradually emerges. While Joel likes to think of himself as a morning person, his back has other opinions on the matter. It’s to be expected, though, that’s what nearly 30 years of hard labor will do to a man.

The warmth of the thermos in between his thighs contrasts with the chilly morning air pouring in through the cracked window. Smoke dances lazily around his broad frame, a burning cigarette clenched between his calloused fingers. He greedily draws long drags, knowing it’ll be hours before he can have another one. He should quit, he knows he should quit. The half-used pack of Nicorette gum that sits in his cupholder in front of him is proof of that.

But like picking at a scab or peeling the skin of a sunburn, sometimes we all do things we know we shouldn’t, things that make us feel good, if only for just a minute or two.

In truth, there isn’t a lot that makes him feel good anymore. Jesus, when did he turn into such a grumpy old man? Probably sometime between Sarah going to college, and Tommy convincing him to take this contract job in the middle of fuck all nowhere.

The silence of a falling star Lights up a purple sky And as I wonder where you are I'm so lone–

Williams’ voice falls silent as Joel turns off the truck, having pulled into the work site. He snubs out the cigarette into the ashtray in the middle of the dash and grabs his jacket, a clipboard, and safety helmet.

“Another day, another dollar,” he mutters to himself, pulling the handle on the driver's side door. The ground crunches below him, his boots are so dusty he doesn’t think he’ll ever get them clean again. God damn desert dust. He shakes his head and walks to the white trailer in front of him, unsure of why he’s so frustrated in the first place.

“Well aren’t you a ray of fucking sunshine this morning,” Tommy says, responding to the quick snap of the door after Joel enters their makeshift office.

“Don’t,” Joel bites back.

“What’s got your panties in a twist this morning, princess?” Tommy chides, sitting behind a wooden desk covered in blueprints and safety checklists.

“This really the way you want to start the day, Tommy?” Joel says, voice low and even, masking his emotions. “Just, get to work.”

He rounds around to the desk opposite Tommy’s and places everything down. The ripped chair lets out a little puff of air under his weight as he sits.

Tommy, of course, knows what’s eating at Joel. He needs to get fucking laid.

Tommy can’t even remember the last time he saw Joel with a woman it’s been so long. He was always so focused on Sarah, or growing the company, that he always put himself last. He’s tried to set Joel up on dates, but he always declines, citing he’s too busy or maybe next month.

And while Tommy doesn’t say anything, it’s as if Joel can practically hear his thoughts.

“Would you stop thinking so damn loud,” Joel mutters, and Tommy gives him a knowing smirk. “‘M fine. Worry about how we’re gonna finish this project and less about me,” Joel tells him. They both return their attention to their work.

As Joel works to finish up his administrative tasks before the rest of the crew arrives, he tries to shove down the annoyance he feels that maybe Tommy might be right. Maybe it has been too long, besides, rutting his cock into his fist in the shower every night is starting to get old.

He’s not intentionally trying to avoid meeting someone, it’s just that nobody’s ever really caught his attention, not in any genuine way. He knows he’s attractive, but it might as well be poison to him for the types of women he attracts – it’s all fake tits, tight jeans, and money-hungry cougars just looking for someone to show them a good time.

Just as he starts to think all of the good girls might be gone – he meets you.

++++

God, either this booth is uncomfortable or his back is getting worse. He tries to relieve some of the pressure by hunching over for a second. Nope, that’s worse. He sits up to full height and that’s a little better, for now, at least. He looks at the menu in front of him. He thinks about ordering a burger, but with how busy it is, he’s not confident it would come out in time before his lunch break ends. Besides, he told Tommy he would be back in less than 30.

He didn’t intend to stop, he was just looking for an excuse to clear his head. But when he went to grab his coffee, he realized he had left it on his desk. He’d taken the highway exit to get to the restaurant by chance, hoping he might find a Starbucks or something quick. But nope, as it usually goes in small towns, the only coffee place nearby is where he currently sits.

He notices you coming up to the table out of the corner of his eye and turns his head to look at you.

Shit – you’re beautiful. He thinks he might have died and gone to heaven. He watches as your thighs come flesh with the edge of the table, a coffee pot in your hand.

"Hi," you say, he notices your voice is soft. "Can I get you something to drink?"

He’s so fucked. You even sound pretty.

Your eyes find him, and he swears he feels something shift, electricity courses through him. You’re the first person to look at him, actually look at him, in years. He tries to keep his face level, not wanting to give away any of what he’s thinking.

His eyes drift down to your chest until he notices the nametag pinned to your shirt. Cute name. It matches your pretty face. He internally chuckles to himself when he notices the coffee stains and what he thinks might be ketchup on your shirt. It makes him smile, mostly because he’s no stranger to wearing food himself, although you’re a waitress, it makes more sense to him that you’d be a little messy, a little dirty. He doesn’t quite have the same excuse.

Distracted, it dawns on him that he’s probably staring. Stop being weird, she doesn’t need some old man gawking at her while she’s just trying to do her job, you fucking creep.

He moves his eyes to the coffee pot in your hand. Right. The whole reason he’s here in the first place.

"Just coffee, darlin'," he says, watching as you pour some into the mug that was already waiting on the table.

“You let me know if I can get you anything else,” you whisper.

He thinks he might pass out when he sees your smile. So, so fucked.

“Just coffee for me today, sweetheart, thank you.”

He internally grimaces when he realizes he’d let sweetheart slip, hoping it didn’t weird you out. You can take the man out of the South, but you can’t take the South out of the man. He tries not to stare as he watches you walk away, but he can’t help himself.

Sitting in silence, he nurses his coffee and tries to ignore the annoying glances that he seems to be getting from, well, everyone. He feels like he might as well have a giant arrow above his head screaming I’m horny for the waitress. He knows he’s looking at you more than he should, but like a moth to a flame, he just can’t seem to look away. He wonders how long you’ve worked here, and what your story might be. He wonders if you’re happy. Why the hell would he be wondering that? He just met you, for fucks sake.

He’s just another customer.

The establishment itself is pretty much what’d you expect for a small-town dive, the smell of grease and hamburgers wafting through the air. The portions are huge, and the coffee is good. There’s just one annoying thing about it, and he quickly learns her name is Tracy.

He only knows this because she’s quick to offer it up, calling him baby and sugar, pestering him like a fly. She’s attentive in a way that’s forced, suffocating in every possible way. He can tell she’s the type of woman who craves the attention of any man who’s willing to give her the time of day, the type of woman that lets her boobs do all the talking. He’s lonely, yes, but he’s not desperate. He wants nothing more than for you to refill his coffee, just so he can hear your voice again, but she makes it near impossible.

More than three cups of deep, but still bone tired, he feels his phone vibrate in his jeans and he knows it’ll be Tommy asking where he’s at. He pulls it out and sure enough. He looks around the restaurant, hoping maybe he might be able to cash out with you, but you’re nowhere to be seen.

He opens his worn leather wallet, the same one he’s had since Sarah gifted it to him all those years ago, only to find a handful of $20s. He drops one on the table and decides it’s not worth it to ask Tracy for change; he could go the rest of his life never talking to her again and be fine with it.

He silently slips out of the restaurant, and his curiosity about you nearly drowns him on the drive back.

But this time when he walks into the trailer, he can’t help the cheesy grin that involuntarily appears on his face.

“Who are you and what have you done with my brother?” Tommy teases, his words slightly muffled from the bite of PB&J in his mouth, the sticky tack of peanut butter glued to the roof of it.

“Shut up,” he says, but there’s no bite behind it.

++++

The days turn into weeks, and he tries to step away from work, he does. Every day he tries to find an excuse to go in and see you, a reasonable time to step away for an hour or so. But it’s hard, project demands are at an all-time high, and the client is up his butt, freaking out they won’t be done in time. He works overtime, arriving earlier than usual and leaving close to midnight nearly every night.

Joel Miller is a lot of things, but above all, he’s a man of his word. He and his brother didn’t build this company by being late or half-assing work. We’ll get it done, he reassures the client. And they will, he’ll make sure of it.

“Joel, get up man,” Tommy says, shaking his shoulder. He jolts awake, his vision a little fuzzy, slightly disoriented.

He must have drifted off during his lunch break and passed out cold on his keyboard. When he finally comes to, he automatically feels a twinge in his lower back. He’ll pay for that little nap later, he can already tell.

“You’ve been working too hard, why don’t you call it a day, go home, and get some sleep? I’ve got it here for the rest of today,” Tommy offers. As much as they fight, there is a mutual understanding there – respect, even love, although they’ll both never admit to that outright.

He starts to protest, but the pain in his back tells him that maybe he’s right. Lord knows he could benefit from a hot shower and a good night's rest, but even those things, things that should be relaxing, don’t offer him any respite. When he’s not thinking about work, he’s thinking about you. Your kind, soft eyes, and warm smile have sunk their teeth into his mind, and no matter how hard he tries, he just can’t seem to shake you.

A rather frustrating fact, considering you’ve probably forgotten all about him. Just another customer, he’s just another customer.

On the drive back home, he realizes he’s not far off from the exit to the restaurant. You’re probably not even working, and he knows he might be risking seeing Tracy again, but fuck it. Before he has time to talk himself out of the decision, he’s pulling into the parking lot.

He’s surprised at how quiet the restaurant is, a lot different from his first visit. He looks at his watch, it’s close to 3 o’clock, and from the state of the place, he can tell the lunch rush likely just finished. He tries to not be obvious about the fact that he’s scanning the place, looking for something, someone. You.

He sees you before you see him. You look – focused. He can tell you’re a little worn out, but fuck if you aren’t still adorable. He flexes his hand open and closed a few times, trying to calm nerves he didn’t even know he had anymore.

He grins a little as you tell him to take a seat wherever you want, as he watches intently as you throw the final pieces of flatware into the bin. He’s kind of impressed with how quickly you cleaned up the mess, how easily you hoist the heavy bus bin onto your hip.

When you finally notice him, he lifts his hand in a silent hello.

You look cute when you’re surprised. He can tell he’s caught you off guard. Like you weren’t expecting him. He notices as you scan his body, taking him in. He wonders if you feel this too, whatever the fuck this is.

“Oh, hi. Um, go ahead and take a seat, I’ll be with you in just a second, just gonna drop this in the back,” you say. The smile and obvious excitement that washes over your face tells him everything he needs to know.

He’s a customer. But what if he was more than that?

Jesus.

No.

He’s just a customer.

He decides that the booth by the window looks decent enough. The booth and his back fight once more, but he eventually gets comfortable. When you greet him again, your smile and soft voice melt into him, making him forget all the stress of the past few weeks. It takes him a second before it dawns on him that he hasn’t responded to you, that he hasn’t said anything. Talk to her, say something…say anything.

“I was, uh hoping you’d be here,” he says, realizing how cringe he probably sounds. Has he always been this bad at flirting?

But before he can recover, Tracy swoops in like a hawk, eager to monopolize his attention. He watches as you sink back into the depths of the restaurant, leaving him with her. No, come back.

She's quick to bring him a menu, some coffee, and offer him a selection of homemade pies, her enthusiasm bordering on overwhelming. He’s being rather curt with her, not even trying to hide the fact that he’s not interested, but the more he seems to ignore her, the stronger she comes on. He’s a thin thread away from telling her to just fuck off, but he doesn’t want to be rude. Besides, he knows you’re busy. He might not get to talk to you this time, but he will – or at least he hopes he will – especially if everything goes according to his plan.

He’s not even sure if what he intends to do can be classified as a plan. Hell, he’s just glad that he even has a spare business card in his wallet.

He scans the dining room for you, and once he spots you, he rises from the booth and intentionally catches your eye. With the worn card in hand, folded between the folds of some cash, he hopes that you understand his message when he nods and tucks it under the coffee cup. Please call. He’s not sure he’s ever been more hopeful for anything, ever.

He swings by the grocery store on his way home, picking up some beer and a frozen pizza, too tired to cook anything real for dinner. He sinks into the cushions of his couch and tries to drown out his hopefulness with the distraction of T.V. But, he’d be lying if he said his heart rate doesn’t quicken with every notification that comes through his phone.

But you don’t call or text.

He thinks that maybe you’re just trying to play it cool, not wanting to come across as too eager.

But as the days go on, still not a peep from you, he tries to shove down the darker thoughts that cross his mind. Maybe he had misinterpreted the signals you were giving him, misread the energy that feels palpable when you’re next to each other. Maybe he’s just out of practice. Not your type.

You don’t want him. Why would you? He’s just some contractor, an old washup. Probably one of dozens of men who spend their nights waiting, wishful and hungry for even just a glance from you. One of the dozens of men who spew hot loads of come onto their bellies alone at night brought to a tipping point thinking about how sweet you might sound chanting their name, how tight your pussy would feel gripped around their cock.

Fuck.

++++

Some weeks later, he’s pulling another late night at the job site. And when the fluorescent lights get to be too much, he decides to call it a night. He can’t quite put a finger on it, but there’s a gnawing in the pit of his stomach, a silent feeling like he should swing by the restaurant – maybe even apologize for coming on too strong or weirding you out. Before he can even rationalize what he’s doing, he’s once again pulling into the parking lot. Except –

Somethings wrong.

There’s only one car in the parking lot, and the neon open sign remains lit, but something feels…off.

He can feel it, like some sort of primal instinct laying dormant in his body has woken up.

It all happens so fast, faster than his mind can register. When he sees you, struggling in the hands of some fucker, he intervenes. He moves fast, doesn’t think twice, just lets his body take over. He pulls the man off of you, adrenaline coursing through his veins, his blood red hot, and his jaw tense.

“I’d think twice if I were you before you try and win this one,” he says, voice low and threatening. Don’t make me go to jail tonight.

He’s not surprised he hits the guy as hard as he does. He barely feels it, the bone-crunching under his fist. He’d probably kill the guy if you weren’t right there, watching his every move. It’s not a fair fight, not really. Joel knows he’s bigger and stronger, and has the unfair advantage of being sober. He can tell he probably broke the guy's nose, and that’s probably punishment enough. He drags the man out of the establishment and tells him to get the fuck out and never come back. He hopes the warning is enough, the message clear that if he tries to touch you again, ever, it’ll end worse. He’ll make sure of that.

He locks the door and turns to face you. You look so – scared. So innocent, shaken, like a baby deer who just saw its mother get hit by a truck. He even thinks for a second that you might be afraid of him, a thought that makes his heart sink. I would never hurt you. He brings both of his hands to the sides of your arms – keeping the touch intentionally light, with a gentle, reassuring grip. It’s okay, I’m here. You’re safe now.

“You alright?” he asks, watching with concern as you try and put on a brave face. God, he hates to see you cry, hates that anything could ever make you cry. He can tell you’re trying to avoid looking at him, not wanting him to see your vulnerability.

It’s okay. No one is going to hurt you.

He brings his hand up to cup your cheek and uses the edge of his thumb to tilt you up to look at him. God, you’re perfect.

The hand that meets his is soft until a sharp sting comes to his attention. He watches as you grab his hand and bring it down to your eye level, noticing the blood on it, a giant split down the middle of one of his knuckles. Fuck that guy. He wishes he would have given him just a little more, maybe a black eye or two.

"You're hurt," you say, the tears in your eyes now replaced with genuine concern.

He can tell you’re worried about him, a fact that makes him feel a little fuzzy inside.

"It's okay, don't worry about it, doesn't hurt," he tries to reassure you. And he is. He’s suffered worse, nothing that won’t be better in a day or two, even if it does sting like hell right now.

"We've got a first aid kit in the back. Let me clean you up," you insist, nodding towards the rear of the room.

He doesn’t want you to have to put up with that right now, especially after everything that just happened.

"It’s alright sweetheart, you don't have to, really…" he protests.

"You just defended me. Bandaging your knuckles is the least I can do to thank you," you tell him firmly, leaving no room for refusal.

Fuck, you’re so sweet. So perfect and sweet. You could ask him for the moon and he’d try to find a way to lasso it down for you.

His heart quickens as you interlace your fingers with his on his left hand and guide him through the restaurant. He even chuckles a little to himself when you tell him to watch his step. You’re being so nice, he can’t be misinterpreting this – there’s no way. But why didn’t you call? The question weighs heavy on his mind.

In the small office, you flick on the light switch and rummage through the cabinets until you find an old first aid kit tucked away in the back. He leans against the desk, quietly observing you, taking in the fact that he’s here, in this tiny office, with you. That you care enough to help him. That he cares enough to protect you.

"Ah, got it," you say with a hint of excitement that you found the kit, a little surprised there was even one stashed away. Though most of the bandages and finger condoms are missing, there's still plenty of gauze and alcohol wipes.

His cock twitches a little when you rip open the alcohol wipe with your teeth, he thinks you might be good with your mouth in more ways than one.

"This might sting a bit," you warn, meeting his gaze with genuine care. I can take it, baby. He can tell the way you’re being with him right now might be your nature, to want to take care of those around you. To be what they need.

“‘You can make it up to me later,” he whispers, hoping you’re sensing the intention behind his words. As you’re patting the blood on his knuckles, he feels the need to know why you didn’t call bubble up to the surface, the question at the tip of his tongue. Oh just ask her.

“Can I ask you something,” he says, looking down at you, not even realizing he’s holding his breath. He exhales when he hears you say mhmm in response.

Rip off the fucking bandaid man.

“Why didn’t you call?”

He watches as you close your eyes and take a deep breath. “I wanted to. I mean, I almost did – I typed out so many texts to you it’s borderline embarrassing,” you pause for a second to grab the gauze from the counter behind him. As you lean in closer to him, you bring with you the soft scent of your shampoo. You smell like honey and the earthy, clove smell of tobacco. You smell divine.

“I guess I’m just not used to being wanted. Don’t know how to do this kind of thing. I’ve been alone for so long, and I guess, I don’t know, Joel,” you affix a little piece of tape to the gauze, before dropping his hand, all finished. How could anyone not want you?

He watches you intently as you stand before him, grateful that you’re being so honest with him. He wishes so badly you would look him in the eye.

“I didn’t want to embarrass myself. Not sure why a guy like you would even want a girl like me to call him anyway…” you trail off, letting out a small cough to hide the emotion creeping up in your throat. Is she joking?

He floats his hands up to your hips, and he tugs you in closer to him, body weight still propped up against the desk, his thick thighs bracketing yours. You still avoid his eyes, your gaze seemingly fixed on a button on his shirt.

“Look at me, sweetheart.”

His hand still hurts a little, a dull throb, but he could care less right now. He trails it up over the side of your body until his fingers land under your chin. Sweet girl. He uses his thumb to tilt you up to look at him. You look so beautiful right now, so raw and so perfect. The soft plush of your lips draws his attention, and he can’t help but touch them.

There’s so much he could say, so much he wants to say. He wants to build you up, to tell you that you’re worthy of the whole world. That you’re beautiful and kind, and that any man would be lucky to have you. He doesn’t even have to deeply know you to know those things.

But he can tell from the look in your eyes that it’s not what you need right now. He’ll tell you someday. He’ll tell you every day if you’ll have him.

But no.

Right now you don’t need someone to tell you how gorgeous you are, you need someone to show you.

“Joel,” he hears you whisper, knowing full well that his thumb is still on your lower lip. He wants so badly to know what they’d feel like on his.

“Ki–”

Fuck it.

He drops his hand and leans in to crash his lips into yours, and holy shit. He wants you so fucking bad. He’s never wanted anything, or anyone, more.

He sucks your bottom lip into his mouth and his cock hardens when you let out a little whimper. He holds you tighter to his chest, his thick and capable hands admiring the soft curves of your hips. He needs more, needs to taste your skin, needs to know what it feels like on his lips. He dips his mouth to your neck, kitten-kissing you as delicately as he can. More, he needs more.

He skims his injured hand underneath your shirt, caressing the skin between your shoulder blades. Jesus, you’re so impossibly soft, your skin feels like silk compared to his. He nips at your jaw, and the soft moan escapes your lips makes him feel feral.

“Fuck, baby. Wanna go slow with you, take my time. Do it right,” he says, internally acknowledging how wrecked it comes out.

He trails his hand up and pulls the shirt of your uniform down over your breast, exposing the simple lacey bra. Ugh. It’s so much for him, the little moans you keep making for him as he kisses your neck, the way your nipples respond beneath the fabric to his touch.

“Wanna show you what you’re worthy of sweet girl, in all the ways,” he groans into your chest, and he means it.

“I want you to fuck me so badly,” you blurt out, lost in the delusion of arousal.

Fuck. Yes.

His cock is rock hard, so stiff it’s almost painful. He doesn’t even remember the last time he was this hard. He wants so badly for you to just fall to your knees in this tiny little office and suck it. He wants so badly to hold the column of your throat while he shoves his thick cock into your wet and waiting mouth, feel him deep down your throat. More. He needs more.

He hopes to god that you’ll chant his name like a prayer when he unravels you like a spool of thread. He can hear it in his head now, as he licks your soft skin and holds you against him. He can’t stop thinking about how pretty you’ll sound when you come for him.

“Patience, angel baby. You’re in good hands,” he purrs.

“Can I undress you?” he asks. He wants you to know that you’re in control here, that hel’ll only do what you want him to and nothing more. You call the shots.

You toe off your beat-up sneakers and work to take off your shirt and bra, and he works to unbutton your skirt. Fucking buttons. He thinks it’s cute the way you wiggle your hips to assist him in removing the barrier. After what seems like no time at all, you’re nearly fully nude in front of him, bare save the thin cotton of your panties. Perfection. You are perfection.

He frowns a little when he notices you cross your arms over your chest in an attempt to hide your body.

“God damn, sweetheart. Look at you,” he says, taking a small step back and admiring the view. He thinks you’re a masterpiece, a piece of art holding court just for him to gaze at. He’s never really considered himself to be lucky, but he must have done something right to have you right here with him right now.

He gently grabs the arm you’re covering yourself with and exposes your bare chest. Don’t hide, baby.

“No need’ta hide from me,” he tries to reassure you.

You push your chest out to him, for him. He accepts your offering; swipes a calloused thumb across your plush, silky nipple, and crouches to catch the other in his desperate mouth. He groans into your chest the second your nipple meets his lips. He smirks at the sound of the deep hum that escapes from your throat, lips still attached to your breast.

“Feels so good, Joel,” you moan. Just getting started with you.

He trails kisses down the valley of your breasts, across the soft swell of your stomach, doing his best to whisper sweet praises as he does. It feels so good, so natural when you drape your hands over his broad shoulders and thread your fingers through the curls. It’s been so long since he’s been touched like that, the feeling goes straight to his cock. More. More. More.

He can tell you’re a little hesitant, maybe a little lost in your thoughts. He does his best to pull you back to him. On his knees, he places both of his hands on the curves of your hips and holds you steady while he looks up at you. You look so beautiful looking down at him, your lips slightly parted, your skin shiny from the sheen of sweat, your obvious arousal evident on your face. He wonders what he must look like to you.

“Can I take these off, baby?” he asks, hooking his thumbs in the band of them. He wants to hear you say it, to permit him to cross that line.

“You, um, you don’t have to. It’s okay, really…” you shy away.

Please, he pleads to himself silently.

He presses his nose into your mound and fuck, you smell so good, he can’t help but moan.

“Smell so sweet, need to taste you, sweetheart. I won’t if you don’t want me to, but fuck, I would love to,” he says, and it’s true. He suspects you’ve never had a real man take care of you, taking the time to pleasure you to your heart’s content. A damn shame.

“O-kay,” you say on an exhale.

“I gotcha, don’t worry,” he rasps out, his voice equal parts gentle, and gruff with desire. He wants to reassure you.

He gently tugs the fabric down over your thighs, the fabric gathering at your ankles. You take a small step out of them, and he gently caresses up the back of your calve, and back of your thigh, his hand landing on the curve of your ass. He tightly grabs the flesh there. He gently guides your leg up onto one of his shoulders, and you press back into the wall and lean your pelvis closer to him.

“Fuck, what a pretty little pussy,” he praises, before leaning in to place an experimental kiss on the top of your mound. He thinks this might be the most perfect pussy he’s ever seen in his life. Making sure you aren’t uncomfortable, he looks at you to make sure you’re okay with him continuing.

He’s eager, and he’s sure it’s coming across in the way he’s kissing you. Once you’re comfortable with his mouth on you, he glides the middle finger of his non-bandaged hand through your wet slit before flipping it so it’s wrist up, pausing with the pad of it right at the entrance of your tight hole.

He thinks he could come right there, with the way you’re looking down at him with lusty doe eyes and biting your lower lip. He watches your face as he gently nudges the tip in. Fuck, you’re so tight. He holds it there for a brief second, his restraint threadbare, before fully thrusting it up into your core.

“Fuck angel, you’re tight,” he moans as he continues to feel you, eventually putting his mouth back on your pussy, sealing his lips around your puffy clit. He pumps his finger in and out of you and flicks and swirls his tongue where he can feel you need it the most. You’re so wet for him, so tight, so willing. If he weren’t already on his knees, he knows he’d fall to them eventually, he’d worship at your alter every day if you’d let him.

“More,” you moan, “Fuck–please, Joel, give me more,” you mewle.

“That’s my girl, gonna stretch you out, get you nice and ready for this cock,” he whispers against your wet skin as he slips another finger in, one you greedily accept. He devours you, licks at you like you’re the sweetest thing he’s ever tasted, because you are. He could stay here for hours, making you come for him again and again.

He can tell you’re close, so he picks up his pace. You’re nearly there, seconds away from giving him what he wants. Just one more –

“Holy shit, yes, I’m coming, oh my god, don’t stop,” you unravel for him, a babbling mess of pleasure, he holds you steady as he works you through it. Perfect, sweet girl. The taste of your release and the pretty sounds you make coming have his cock aching. He gently hoists your leg off of his shoulder and rises to full height.

“Such a good girl for me, you come so pretty,” he whispers against your neck, nipping at your jaw until your lips find his. He wonders if you’ve ever tasted yourself before, or if he’s the first to kiss you after eating you out – the thought makes him even harder, to know he might be the first to show you how sweet you taste.

He watches as you begin to kneel before him. He stops you before your knees touch the floor.

“You don’t want me to suck your cock?” you ask. He does. Of course he does. He’s just not sure he’d last, but he’d never admit that, besides, there’s something he needs so much more right now.

“Oh angel baby, I would love to feel those sweet little lips of yours wrapped tight around my cock, hold your throat as you choke on me,” he coos.

He groans as he feels you bring your palm to cup him through his jeans, drinking in the sensation of your hands tracing over him. His jaw tightens and his head falls back as you work over him. His cock welcomes the attention, too. He’s already leaking, he needs to come so bad.

“But there’s something I want more right now. Feel what you do to me?” he says, pressing your hand harder down onto him. “Need to feel that sweet, tight cunt of yours around me first,” he says intensely. You make quick work of undoing his belt buckle and slip off his jeans and boxers in one swoop. It feels so good to be free of the confines of his pants, the pressure on his cock a little less overwhelming now.

“Yo–you’re so big,” you say, a little intimidated. He grabs you by the hips and holds you tight against him, his cock pressed between your bodies against the bare flesh of your tummy. He can tell you might be a little overwhelmed, but he reassures you.

“It’s okay, sweetheart. You can take it,” he says, using one hand to grab the back of your thigh and tapping the other. He lifts you with ease and spins you around so you’re sitting on the mahogany desk in front of him. He stands between your legs, holding himself by the base, pumping himself slowly up and down his length with his fist. He stares at your wet, aching hole, wishing he was buried inside of it. The thought dawns on him that he doesn’t have a condom. No, fuck. “I’m on birth control,” you say, blurting it out. “And I’m clean, you don’t have to use a condom, I mean, if you don’t want to.” And shit – that’s quite possibly the best sentence he’s ever heard in his entire life.

He knows it might be a little reckless, but he doesn’t have any reason to believe you’d lie to him.

“Okay. Open your legs wide for me, baby. Wanna see you,” he says, and you do as he tells you. He sees his hard cock in his hand and opens his mouth to spit on it. You’re wet and ready, but he knows he’s a lot to take, and he doesn’t want to hurt you.

He admires the way you’re holding your legs open for him, giving him full access to your cunt. He positions himself at your entrance and gently pushes his hips forward so the tip of him is inside of you. Holy fuck. He pauses there, giving you a second to adjust.

“Eyes on me, baby. Wanna see you as I take what’s mine,” he says, his voice a wreck. When you open them, he sinks even deeper. Halfway inside of you, he pauses again. How is he ever supposed to last with your pussy clenched this tight around him.

He asks if you’re okay, and when you nod, he pushes in a little more, dragging back out of you for only a second, until he’s jutting his hips forward, fully burying himself deep inside of you. Nothing has ever felt this good to him, nothing could ever compare.

Jesus, think of something else – make this last. He tries to distract his mind, disconnect his cock from his brain, but there’s no point. His primal urges have taken over, his body is losing the war with his mind.

He sets a slow and steady rhythm at first, dragging in and out of you. He would love to fuck you harder, deeper. He knows he won’t last long, but he doesn’t care, as long as he gets you to come for him one more time.

“You can fuck me harder, Joel. ‘M not gonna break, I promise,” you coo. His hand flexes tighter, and that’s all he needs. Give the girl what she wants. “Shit, c’mere,” he says, helping you off the desk, steading your legs. He flips you over and presses you against the desk. Your hips are perfectly positioned at the edge. He’s not sure anything could be prettier than you bent over, waiting to once again be stuffed with him.

He stands behind you, angles your hips up slightly, and once again buries himself in you.

“Such a perfect cunt,” he groans, beginning to set a relentless pace. As good as this feels for him, he can tell that something about this angle does something for you, too. His cock fits just right, pushing and gliding over the spongey spot inside of you that he can tell is gonna be the thing that pushes you over the cliff of your orgasm. He holds your hips tightly as he pumps in and out of you, eliciting throaty moans from you. The air is filled with the filthy wanton sound of skin slapping against skin.

“I –” you mew, “I think I’m gonna come again,” he hears you say, a little breathless.

“Come for me, baby. Be the good girl I know you are and show me how pretty you are when you come on my cock,” he says, a little out of breath, voice deep.

Yeah, that’s right. Use me.

And you do. Your pussy pulses around him as the wave of your orgasm takes over you, and it’s borderline too much for him. He’s gotta slow down if he’s gonna last another second.

“Where do you want me, baby?”

“Inside, please. Want you to fill me up, make me yours,” you beg for him.

Holy fuck.

After a few more thrusts of his hips, he begins to stutter and slow. He pauses buried to the hilt inside of you and groans as his cock paints your insides with thick ropes of come. The immediate release of pressure is exhilarating, probably the best orgasm he’s ever had. He feels his cock pulse out final spurts of come, eliciting shakes from him with each one. He feels weightless like he could fly away and sleep on a cloud.

The sensation of him pulling out is a little much, his cock raw and spent. “Stay there,” he says, scurrying off to the kitchen, looking for something he can give you to help clean you up. His eye catches a roll of paper towels next to the sink and he grabs a handful of them for you.

When he enters the office, he notices how breathtaking you look post-orgasm, post-fuck. It’s a sight he’ll commit to memory forever. He presses his lips to yours again, drinking in your sweetness once more. He thinks he could kiss you forever and never tire of it.

He helps you get dressed, and you fasten his belt buckle for him and check the gauze on his fist. You both stand there in silence, not quite sure where to go from here, until he offers up.

“Wanna smoke?”

++++

“So, how long have you lived here’?” he asks, holding open the lit zippo from his back pocket to you. With the cigarette dangling between your lips, you steady it between your fingers and lean in, he admires your features amidst the dim glow of the fire. So beautiful.

“Too long,” you mumble. He lights his own.

“And you, where are you off to next?” He hears you ask, and he's not sure how to respond.

“Not sure, the contract job my brother and I have in the county over ends in a week or so. Was thinkin’ it might be nice to head south, maybe Austin,” he responds, smoke twirling in the air around you both.

“Although, ‘M not so sure anymore. Starting to think I might have a few things I need to take care of here first,” he says, shifting his gaze from the ground until his hooded eyes find yours. You. I need to take care of you.

You smile when he winks at you. Gosh, you’re cute when you smile. He wants to be the reason you smile every day.

You stand there in comfortable silence, leaning up against the wall next to him. He thinks it feels nice to be wanted, to have someone to just be with.

And when it’s time to go, he offers you his hand and a ride home. He’s pleased when you accept.

It’s too soon. He knows it’s too soon, but the thought of you in the passenger seat of his truck, feet on the dash, wind in your hair, makes his heart skip a beat.

He wants more.

And something tells him you do, too.

END

Ily. Thanks for reading! Tags: @endlessthxxghts @theoasisofthings @pedrostories @bastardmandennis @milly-louise @drunk-and-capable @survivingandenduring @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro @amyispxnk @paleidiot @ghostwritesthings @kulekehe @darkheartgatita @goldenhxurs @morallyinept @missladym1981 @auteurdelabre @morgaussy @likeficsinthewnd @morning-star-joy @agentjackdaniels @cayleej @amyispxnk @zialltops @syd-djarin @untamedheart81 @gracevnn @pedrossl4t @littlevenicebitch69 @chulopascal

#joel miller smut #joel miller x reader #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller the last of us #joel miller one shot #pedro pascal character #pedrohub #pedrostories #consent #joel miller #joel miler x fem!reader #joel miller fanfic #Joel's POV

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buryustogether · 11 months

Text

lilac - chapter 4

miguel o’hara x f!reader

summary: you accidentally overhear a conversation between miguel and his ai at work.

wc: 4.5k

warnings/tags: domestic lifestyle, mentions of violence, mentions of choking and death, swearing, mentions of office sex, strippers, sex workers, strip club, private dances, cuddling

author’s note: he’s so lana del rey coded guys

Anybody with experience knew that trying to keep twenty third graders together was like herding cats. Anybody with further experience knew that keeping twenty third graders together in a sharp, sleek, trillion-dollar facility like Alchemax was like herding cats who were soaking wet and high on all the catnip they could have stuffed their stupid little faces with in the span of five minutes.

“Alexander,” you snapped as you helped your coworker count little bodies as they piled off the bus. “If I have to tell you one more time to keep your hands off James, I’m going to drive this bus myself back to school and give you a fifty-page packet while everyone else here has fun.”

While your words had the effect you hoped they did, you wouldn’t exactly classify a field trip to Alchemax as fun. It was a megacorporation that dabbled in exploits from clean energy to genetics to god knew whatever else they did in there between those fancy metal walls. The building looked as though it should have come straight from a sci-fi film compared to the other foundations on the block, all floor-to-ceiling windows and fifty-some floors and armed guards that stood at the front doors. Certainly not a place to take a field trip with a bunch of nine year olds. Again, you would have thought some place like the zoo or even an interactive museum would have been better, but when the principal wanted something, she got it.

To be honest, you had a suspicion she was hooking up with one of the guards here, but you had nothing to prove your theory.

Like the pack of raging little animals that they were, your students filed across the front way of the building and up the stone stairs to the doors, where they waited in a mass of wiggles and excited spasms. Each of them held their partner’s hand, a rule you pressed with each field trip. Going into a freaky building like this, you almost wished you had a hand to hold yourself.

“That’s all of them,” said your coworkers, one of the three teachers who had come to chaperone the trip. She looked up from her clipboard of names, double checking each kid as you both followed the crowd of children up the steps. “Christ, this is going to be a shitshow. I just know we’re going to be escorted out of here after… I don’t know, a molecular leveler gets demolished by tiny, sticky hands.”

You snuffed out a little snort, reaching up to adjust the necklace perched about your collarbones. In your free hand, you carried a coffee cup that still had the tab in; it wasn’t for you. “I think it’ll be alright,” you said, but not nearly as confidently as you would have liked. “We had an entire assembly over this.”

“And since when has that ever helped?” She followed your movements, her eyes trailing over your form. You blinked at her. “Are you wearing lipstick?”

“Hah! No…!” Quickly, before she could ask any more questions, you turned away and pressed your lips to your sleeve, trying to wipe off some of the excess lipstick you’d applied right before leaving the school. Fuck, it was too much, wasn’t it?

Definitely too much for popping in to visit during a school field trip when you should have been watching your kids.

After passing through multiple tall, sleek-looking metal detectors (and scolding a few kids for bringing their phones when they were specifically told to leave them at school), you met the man who would be giving the tour of the facility in the lobby. Overhead, modern-art-classified light fixtures hung from the ceiling like someone had captured starlight and crammed it into bulbs. A cafeteria filled with scientists and researchers and everyone in between stood to your left, each of them donned in a stark white lab coat. Some of them spoke on phones, others clacked away on laptops and futuristic-looking tablets with such an intensity you would have thought they were taking a test for their lives. A few of them spared a glace or two at your group, but they didn’t last long. Apparently field trips to designated areas in the building were normal.

You heard the tour guide talking animatedly to the kids, but his words didn’t quite register as you kept your head on a swivel, searching out something specific. After a moment, when you leaned back on the heels of your feet, you found what you were looking for; the elevators.

“Hey,” you said to your coworker as the kids began to move deeper into the lobby, “will you cover for me? I’ve got to run to the restroom real quick.”

After they had moved along to where they couldn’t see you, you grasped the coffee cup tighter in your grasp and made a beeline for the elevators. Your footsteps against the polished marble seemed deafening as you quickened your pace, realizing the cup wasn’t as hot as it had been earlier. How fucking humiliating would it be if you brought him cold coffee? There was a part of you that knew, really, he wouldn’t mind, but the larger, more insecure bit insisted he would mentally cringe and throw it out the second you left.

Fuck, you thought. This man had you whipped.

You had just reached the elevators, reaching out to tap the call button, when a voice called out to you from your left. “Excuse me,” said a woman sitting behind a large metal desk you hadn’t seen in your haste. She eyed you from behind thick lenses, brow quirked over the top of her monitor. “We do ask that you stay with your group, if you’re here for a tour.”

“Oh! Uhm…” Gripping the cup tight enough that you felt the cardboard bend ever so slightly against your fingers, you padded closer to the desk and put on your best tight-lipped smile. “I’m sorry. I was just bringing a drink to someone who worked here. He’s, uhm… he’s -”

Before you could force your tongue to get out some kind of excuse, some kind of title, the woman was pulling out a small paper sheet from a drawer beside her leg. “Are you a significant other?” she asked, pulling a visitor sticker from the sheet and leaning forward to press it to your shirt. She didn’t seem to want to wait for an answer before sitting back down and clicking away at her screen. “Just a security question before you go; name and floor number?”

Goddamn; suddenly you were so fucking glad some people sucked at their jobs.

Taking a breath, you inhaled and plastered on a grin. “O’Hara,” you replied. “Floor seven.”

“Alright,” she said without looking up again. “You’re free to go up. Please stay in the public hallways.”

The entire elevator ride up to the third floor, you were unable to keep a goofy, surely stupid-looking smile from your face. You liked the idea of being called Miguel’s ‘significant other.’ It made your stomach clench, made your pulse race and your heart thunder and your core throb with a dull ache. For just a moment, you allowed yourself to imagine that kind of role, being deserving of such a title.

Coming home from your teaching job not to immediately race to do your makeup in loud, flashy colors, but to stay in the warm, basking glow of a house or a roomy apartment each evening. The keys would always fit just right in the lock, never click or jump. The air would be filled with the sound of a little girl’s quiet giggles from her bedroom, along with the smell of dinner cooking on the stove. Small soccer cleats by the door. Trinkets and photographs and everything else that made the house a home strewn about the rooms. And a tall, sinewy figure that towered over you there to greet you when you walked inside, all warm smiles and wide, calloused hands on your hips and full lips to press against yours with enough gentleness and passion and adoration to keep you on your toes the rest of the night.

A bed big enough for the both of you, with enough blankets and comforters that you wouldn’t be cold even if you couldn’t afford to keep the heat on. Sheets and pillows that knew your white-knuckled grip, that would mold to your hands as you laid out bare for him and allowed him to worship the very ground you walked on with his mouth, his fingers, what lay beneath his slim, narrow hips…

By the time the elevator reached the seventh floor and the doors opened with a gentle chime, your cheeks were hot and your palms were sweaty enough you were sure you’d heated the coffee back up to steaming.

Wandering through the halls of Alechmax’s third floor and feeling incredibly out of place amongst the scientists flipping through reports and chattering on calls, you shuffled from office to office, searching for that familiar name that made your stomach flip. It seemed an awkwardly insane amount of time before you finally spotted his name on a plate beside a door left slightly ajar. You approached and smoothed out your shirt, preparing to present the coffee, when you heard voices inside.

“This isn’t like you, boss,” a woman was saying, her voice slightly warped from speaking over a computer. “You’re always preaching to the others that messing with canon events and triggering changes that aren’t meant to happen is wrong. You know it’s wrong.”

From across the room, a voice you recognized as Miguel’s scoffed. “This one is different. I’m balancing out the changes. I’ve got it under control.”

“Some control you’ve got. You do realize you’ve already altered enough canon events that even this universe itself doesn’t know where it’s going anymore? The bad guys here aren’t supposed to be in jail. Things aren’t supposed to get better. You know why? Because here, there is no Spiderman.”

Spiderman? Your gut clenched slightly as you inched closer to the gap between the door and the frame. If they were talking about Spiderman, then surely - he must have come from here. Some of those conspiracy theorists were right.

“Like I said, Lyla,” Miguel replied, his voice a touch deeper than it had been just a moment ago, “I have it under control.”

The woman named Lyla went on despite the dangerous rumble in Miguel’s throat you’d never heard before. “Here’s another one. That friend of yours? She was supposed to be engaged by now to her boyfriend. Her actual boyfriend. They’re supposed to have the whole angsty proposal thing, go back and forth for another three months, then end things. When he ends her. Asphyxiation by choking for approximately seven minutes, by the way.”

For a long, long while, there was silence. You realized you had been holding your breath, trying desperately to connect these pieces that just refused to fit together. What on earth were they talking about? Universes? Spiderman? Someone getting choked to death by their fiance? It sounded like a bad movie plot.

“Lyla?” came Miguel’s voice.

“Yeah, boss?”

“...Shut down and mute all alerts.”

Again, there came that horrible, palpable silence. Lyla seemed to be in some kind of shock. “Boss, I’m not sure that’s really what you want. You’re in a state of denial. Maybe you should take a break there, come back to headquarters. Jessica’s tried reaching out. Peter and Ben, too. I advise spending time with friends to decrease levels of -”

“Shut down. Now. I’m not going to tell you again.”

“...Yes, boss.”

When you heard his footsteps crossing the room, you took a small step back and clutched the surely-lukewarm coffee to your stomach. You’d never heard him take such a tone before, always used to that warm, content baritone that rumbled comfortably from deep within his throat. This kind of voice you’d just heard was cold and emotionless, without an ounce of feeling in a single one of his words.

You took a breath and exhaled it softly.

Then, as if he heard it from inside his office, the door was opened at an alarming rate to reveal Miguel on the other side. His brow was furrowed and a line had appeared at the corner of his mouth with his frown, obviously expecting one of his coworkers to be intruding at his door. Yet when his gaze met yours, when his frame towered over your smaller one, he realized just who you were, recognized that gleam in your eyes when you locked stares. His gaze softened like an airbag deflating. That line by his mouth disappeared. His tensed figure slowly relaxed, his shoulders coming down from where they’d been set.

For a short moment, you simply stared at one another. You were forced to admit to yourself that tone he’d spoken with had intimidated you.

It reminded you of the one Ferris used when he cornered you and threatened to take off for good.

Finally, Miguel’s lips parted. “Hey,” he breathed out, like he was trying his damn fucking best not to let that tone leak through to you.

You swallowed and slowly allowed yourself to relax. He wouldn’t ever speak to you like that. You didn’t know how you knew. You could just sense it in the warmth that poured from him, from the gentle honey of his dark eyes, from the way he held himself and carried his weight and set down each step like he knew the outcome of each and every movement he made. “Hi.”

Miguel inhaled, as if he were relieved you decided to speak. “Sorry about that,” he said and gestured over his shoulder into his office. “We’ve been testing out some new AI lately. Throwing it curveballs to see if it can keep up.” A small smile graced his face, close-lipped and sweet. Again, you realized - he never smiled with his teeth. “It hasn’t been going well.”

Like a dam breaking and letting a flood of water into a canal, relief rocketed through your systems and worked to ease your stress. Of course he had been talking to a computer. You doubted he could ever speak to a woman like that, much less anyone else. And that also explained all the wild things they had been discussing. Universes? Some poor chick getting murdered by her fiance?

Just the complicated workings of an out of sorts AI.

“I have to admit, I was wondering,” you let yourself laugh. “But, you know… who am I to question Alchemax’s best geneticist?” You watched in fascination as the corner of his mouth quirked upward and one eye squinted with the smile. God, you could watch him do that all damn day. Suddenly remembering the coffee in your hands, you held it up to him with an embarrassed grin. “I meant to bring you this while it was still hot, but I guess you know how hellish it can be getting a bunch of third graders on a bus.”

He took the cup with a rather confused expression.

“The field trip,” you said and folded your hands in front of you, because you knew if you didn’t, you would surely reach out and touch his face. “It’s today. You signed the permission slip about a month ago.”

Miguel blinked a few times, then took a breath and lifted his face. “Right. Right, sorry. Must have slipped my mind. I’ve - heh.” He shook his head and reached up to scratch at the delicate skin of his throat in that way he did when he spoke to you. “More going on than you would know.”

“Believe me,” you said softly, looking down at your shoes. You thought of dishes still in the sink, and band practices in your living room, and threats of leaving you all on your own because, really, that was truly your worst fear. “I know.”

You thought from there you would smile and turn, say something like, ‘Well, just thought I’d stop by,’ and leave him in the doorway of his office so that he wouldn’t see the yearning swimming in your irises. Maybe if you were feeling bold, you’d reach out and touch his wrist for just a moment before pulling away and practically sprinting back to the elevators.

But when you went to turn, he beat you to all of that. He reached out to touch your upper arm, the tips of his calloused fingers brushing along the fabric of your shirt, and he asked if you’d like to come inside, sit down for a minute. And inside his office, he told you what his department was working on, explained it in ways he knew you would understand. He spoke of a molecular collider that, in theory, would open a doorway to parallel universes.

You could have spent hours sitting in that office that smelled like his cologne, listening to him talk.

But life moved on. You were forced to pull yourself away, travel back downstairs and hold Gabriella’s hand like you hadn’t just thought about Miguel folding you over his desk, hushing your desperate cries, and gripping onto your hips with a hold that would bruise. You were forced to drive home and argue with Ferris about dirty laundry and his new keyboard girl constantly texting him. You were forced to land in the dressing room at The Menagerie, carefully dotting rhinestones to your collarbones in the mirror while the other girls buzzed around you.

“And he brought you flowers, too?” asked Shawna from where she was spread out on the couch across the room. She sighed deeply and hung her head over the armrest. “Girl. When are you going to stop playing and give that little girl of his a new mom?”

“You know why I can’t,” you replied as you pressed a small plastic rhinestone to your skin.

Zara met your eyes in the mirror as she grabbed the back of your chair, already dressed in her colorful, skimpy outfit and her mask. “We know why,” she hissed, but not at you. “That Ferris dude has got you held under the water, babe. Serious ball and chain kind of deal here. You really need to do something.”

If you could have found the strength to, you would have rolled your eyes at their words. But you really couldn’t. You were nothing short of exhausted after the field trip today, so much that you wouldn’t be surprised if you were unable to keep your eyes open while you were on stage. God, you loved your teaching gig, but sometimes it was so, so stressful. And so was this job. Teaching, dancing, disciplining, teasing. They all collided into one big, neverending hurricane of fatigue.

“Maybe in another universe,” you found yourself mumbling under your breath, remembering everything Miguel had told you about this morning, “I could have been a flower shop keeper.”

Behind you in the mirror, a few of the girls looked at you with strange expressions.

Before you could go back to applying your rhinestones, one of the newer girls entered the room and pushed her mask up so that her face was visible. She looked to you. “Boss said you’re canceled on the stage,” she said, and you hoped for a moment you were going to go home early, before she added, “Guy paid for a private dance in Room 7.”

“Goddammit.” You groaned and leaned forward to rest your forehead on your arms. You were way too fucking tired to do a private dance right now.

“M’sure he won’t be that bad,” said Shawna as she let herself slip further over the arm of the couch.

Grumbling beneath your breath, you stood, finished off your rhinestones the best you could, and slipped your cold porcelain mask over your features. At least like this, your customer wouldn’t be able to see your exhausted eyes and lost expression.

The beating, thrumming music of the club seemed to vibrate your very soul in your chest as you wound your way past patrons and around the stage, sure to throw half-assed smiles at the people you were forced to wiggle past just a bit too close. The short corridor leading to the private rooms were lit with neons, playing with shadows across your costumed form as you found Room 7 and gently knocked on the door. You blinked a few times to clear the blur from your eyes, then cleared your throat and stepped inside.

“Hi, handsome,” you said as you turned to shut the door - your classic line, no matter who the buyer. “How are you doing tonight?” You turned around to face your customer, then came to a complete stop. Even your heart jumped a beat or two.

The man you’d seen in the shadows that night of the robbery, the man with the little scar on his collarbone, had gotten to his feet from his chair when you entered the room. He wore that same spider mask, still had his dark hair slicked back over his head.

You swallowed thick as you felt his eyes traveling over your form behind the gaps in his mask. “Hello… Spiderman.”

He hesitated for a moment, like he was lost on just what to do. “Hey,” he said in an equally soft voice. It was muted in the same way it was behind his spandex mask.

You placed your hands behind your back as you leaned up against the door - and locked it. “I didn’t think you’d come.”

“...You asked.”

“Did I?” Putting on your best flirty, coy smile, you slowly crossed the room to meet him. “I thought all I said was… if you stopped by, to ask for me.” You reached out to touch the edge of his shirt, past his dress jacket, and skim your knuckle over the tan skin of his exposed collarbone. That scar sat just where you’d seen it before. “But you’re here.”

“...I’m here.”

There was a soft lilt to his voice, one that you had not heard before. Then again, you hadn’t spoken to him much, just in the bank and on the rooftop. But it seemed long enough to know that it wasn’t normal.

“What’s wrong, Spiderman?” you asked gently, taking a step closer. Your knees brushed against his, and when you gave him a gentle push on the shoulder, he sat back in the chair positioned in the center of the room. You gingerly climbed up so that your knees rested on either side of his thighs, so that your center was just inches above his. You didn’t miss the slight hitch in his breath, the way his eyes widened ever just so behind that spider mask. “Have a bad day? Some criminals get the better of you?”

You knew, in a way, that he wasn’t going to do it himself, so you took his wide, warm hands in your own and rested them on your hips. They stayed there for a long, long moment. Then they moved not down, toward your ass and your core, but up. They felt tentatively along your middle, his thumb tickling your stomach just a bit, and stopped just below your breasts before sliding back down again.

“No,” he replied in a low, raspy voice. He paused when you slowly lowered yourself so that you were seated on his lap now, your hips pressed against his. You felt his thigh twitch beneath your ass. “Pretty good day, actually. Just… heard some bad news.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You hummed, letting your fingers drag along the delicate skin of his throat, just barely shaded with stubble. “What can I do to make you feel better?”

You expected him to hesitate, then make a request. Strip for him. Dance. Whisper in his ear all the things you wanted to do to him.

But there came none of that. Instead of touching you like you were used to, his hands - which were still respectfully resting against your middle - slowly slid across to your back and gently, gingerly, pulled you against him so that you were lying against his front. So that your chests were pressed together. So that you were slumped comfortably in his lap. He held you there against him, one hand on the small of your back and the other on the base of your neck.

“Just this,” he murmured.

You were stunned, to say the least. This was not the first time a customer just wanted to hold, or be held, or anything of the sort. But even then, those touches were desperate and needy, clingy and awkward. But this was everything they were not. This was gentle and considerate, kind and… romantic. Like he didn’t just need to be touched, he needed to be touched by you.

When you inhaled you thought you recognized the scent you breathed in. But with his body so close and his hands holding you so securely, you dismissed it like a runaway thought.

“Here.” Spiderman pulled you back for just a second, raising his fingers up to pull at the ribbon keeping your mask on your face, mindful not to catch any hair. Your breath hitched when he set the monarch mask aside, your face now bare as you stared down at him. This was against the rules. You were not supposed to do this. Customers were not supposed to see your face, know you like this.

But this?

This was far beyond any rules.

Your lips parted and your heart thundering in your chest so loud you were sure he could hear it, you found your own fingers slowly reaching up to graze at his porcelain mask. Your fingertips grazed the edge, began to hitch it up…

He caught your wrist in a hold that was so gentle, yet so commanding, that you immediately let your hand drop. But there was no venomous feeling there, no edge. Just a warning. A soft, quiet warning.

Exhaling, you wrapped your arms around his neck and settled yourself against his wide, powerful frame. Your face nestled itself into the crook of his neck, your chin resting atop his shoulder, as his hands came back to hold your form against his. One of his thumbs glided across your shoulder blade, sending goosebumps rising across your skin.

Gripping onto his jacket collar, you opened your eyes to look at yourself in the mirror that faced the back of the chair. Here you couldn’t see the mask over Spiderman’s face, just his slicked-back hair and his broad shoulders keeping you caged against him. His head tilted toward yours, your temples resting together.

For a moment, in your exhaustion and fatigue, you thought he resembled someone else you knew. But you let the thought pass, instead shutting your eyes and basking in his soft, gentle, perfect touch.

tags: @mooomeadows @twentysomethingwereyote @screamforyani @fangirlreice7 @axdjelx @ornamentalnecromancy @faust-pda @ilikethemoon28 @mrm-pachypoda @wadafrick @natthernandez @bakgoktski @soupsexsunsalutationsss @roxannarichie @lovagirlxxx @soggyeyeballsss @yoyoyoyoyo55555 @sophipet @quaintii @lavnderluv @cookiezxx @euphorica @its-a-polyglot @nicalysm @maxi-ride @exzidss @crappwr0m @femme-is-dead @bitch-onthemoon @hier—soir @takayomi @kirke-is-my-name @d1lf-loverrr @might-be-a-rat @brooks-lin @maki-z @bookfreakk @act1839 @dollscircus @sleepingaway @anxietybutterfly @bioticboot @mxkn @freeingrebels @digitalcreature404 @aimee777 @hunnaye @blahbahed @cyanide-mustard @impettywhenyouare @mental-illness-is-my-friend @bobfood

#miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x you #miguel o’hara x y/n #miguel o’hara smut #atsv miguel o’hara #miguel o’hara x reader #miguel o’hara across the spiderverse #miguel o’hara atsv #across the spiderverse #atsv miguel #spiderman atsv #atsv x reader #atsv #spiderman 2099

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wandasfifthwife · 1 month

Text

(7) please, let me stay* | I got a bad idea series

—> masterlist

southern!wandanat x fem!city-girl reader

tw: angst w/ happy ending, hurt/comfort, suggestive content at the very end (sex implied), miscommunication trope?, mentions of homewrecking, r is insecure and overthinks, bit of arguing, conflict is resolved fast though (bc if w&n have to be sharp or else r will go on forever lmao), very small injury (r)

a/n: not proofread so it’ll be fucking shit, but I hope you still enjoy.

The flight back to New York was set to leave after tomorrow. At 8AM you’ll be on the plane heading back with no form of communication with the two. Since ending up in their bed and pressed about their house by their needy bodies, they’ve not seemed to care to ask about your relationship status. It’s not them, you haven’t thought to ask either, but you felt you had reason. It was their relationship first and you barged in.

You felt it was wrong, that you were wrong and unimportant. Their relationship was built on time and trust, and the last few days have told you that yours was built on lust and summer crushes. The guilt tore you from the bottom up, but you left their house one day and didn’t return.

You had one day left and then all of this will have been like it didn’t happen. You can let your feelings fade as the months go by again, maybe even years. These thoughts were the ones you mulled over and felt yourself leaving your family to hide in the bathroom to recover.

It was a fling. Your relationship built over half a month. To say it was love, felt one sided and cheesy. It was teenager puppy love. Another person you let in and fell for too fast.

It was difficult to hide from them as they kept busy. You did too, your grandparents saw you came back and set a list of daily chores. Cleaning the stalls, feeding the livestock, and checking in on their smaller personal garden to pull any weeds. You successfully avoided them this morning, not that it should be considered one going off of how tired you felt.

It was later into the night. The sun having set hours ago and the stars beginning to scatter across the skies. Your grandma sat out in the back. You noticed the top of her head through the window, hair frizzy from the humidity.

She smiled when you came to sit by her. The little candle being the only light, a specific kind that apparently repelled mosquitos.

“Do you like it,” she asks once you’ve settled down into the rocking chair.

“I do, it spells rather nice.”

“No. Running away again.”

You held back the attitude, knowing she wouldn’t let that down for the rest of the night.

You bring your glass up to your lips, “I’m not.”

“Why do you enjoy trashing everything you have? You ran away from here and now you’re running from them,” she sighs, “have they done anything?”

“No.”

“Then why, sweets?”

“Because I’m not welcomed. They have photos lining the walls of their home with the two of them at their wedding. Why ever would I get so selfish to engage with them?”

Your grandma’s face looks sad, eyes downcast as she looks at your side profile.

You saw them pull into the driveway just then, Natasha turning the car off and stepping out, and Wanda walking towards your home. She looked fine, neutral expression as she climbs up the slight slope your grandparents house sat on.

You stepped back inside, setting the glass anywhere on the rush your room. You pitched yourself by the open window.

“Hi Wanda, what brings you over?”

“Is she home tonight.”

You prayed your grandma would be on your side, to make up an excuse to free you.

“She’s just gone to bed.”

Wanda hums, hands in her back pockets as she looks up towards your window, “wanted to invite her over for dinner tomorrow since she’s leaving town soon.”

“Lovely, I’ll tell her in the morning.”

She bids her a goodnight, walking back the way she came. You shivered from where you stood by the window ceil, rubbing your arms to try and stop the goosebumps from forming.

You got your answer. She expressed her care, putting the weight onto you now to respond.

That morning your grandmother retold the information to you, news you already knew. She stared at you long after. You felt it on your back as you walk past her on the couch.

“While you’re out could you make sure the stable doors are shut properly? Those dark clouds are bringing a storm with them, with a storm comes wind.”

You slide your shoes on, sending her a smile to confirm your answer. When you woke up that morning you noticed the room was darker than usual, the sun hiding behind your curtains.

A light shower was settling in around lunch. The rain lightly settling on your clothes, darkening where they landed on your shirt.

You carry the last bucket into the shed, shutting and locking the doors. A sharp pain enters your finger, pressing against the pad of your index. You groan but it sounds more like a cry, peeling your hand away to find a splinter lodged in the skin.

You held your finger in a specific angle so you can see it and grasp it with your other hand to peel it out. The only item with wood you touched was earlier that morning when you heaved a plank into the shed. It wasn’t an asked chore, you just wanted to since it’s been sitting out since the day you arrived, termites beginning to eat away at it.

The splinter stayed in your finger, not notifying you of its presence until you had to use that specific area of your finger. You walked the bucket to the stable, fixing to end the day soon since the sky was beginning to grow darker.

You step into the shed, setting the bucket to the left of you somewhere. The rain carried out above you, the sound providing a relaxing atmosphere within the building. You brush your hand along the horses faces if they were there, avoiding the one towards the end who’s known for snapping.

It was your last day with them. Since you left so early in the morning, you practically only had a few hours left. You’ve been mulling over the situation during your tasks. Your mind wondering as you completed the mundane tasks.

At the moment their house was down the hill. A possible three minute walk. You decided against it, wondering around the building to shut all of the storm doors.

The storm started to pick up. Trees swaying with the motion of the wind, rain turning the dirt into mud. You shut the door, mumbling under your breath about the storm as you walk back for the night. You were cold. The rain covering your body in seconds, making your clothes feel heavy as you walk down the hill, sliding once due to the mud.

You reach your hand to knock, excited to be back in a warm environment. She opens the door, hair wet from a recent shower. Her shampoo smell flaring in front of you, a difference from the past days where it’s been fading.

“I never walk in a storm, let alone wonder in mud,” you start, leaning further under the canopy to hide from the thunder strike.

“You’re very brave, would—“

“No, you don’t understand I’ve never done that.”

“Would you like to tell this heroic story inside,” she asks and leans back to allow space for you.

Wanda shows from the kitchen after hearing the voices in the living room. She looks to your drenched body and asks Natasha to grab towels.

“She could shower and wear ours in the meantime?”

“There’s lightening outside, she can’t shower.”

Natasha looks at her wife like she’s crazy, “you still believe that? She’ll be fine.”

“Better safe than sorry,” she says, wiping her greasy hands on a towel, “how about you dry off with a towel and put on some warmer clothes. I’ll put your wet clothes in our dryer for a minute.”

You thank them, not saying much as you follow Natasha around until you’re left alone in their bathroom. The weight is lifted off you once you’ve taken everything that got drenched in the storm. Their clothes are warm and fresh. It doesn’t distinctly have their smell, you realize it smells more like their laundry detergent, fresh.

The warmer clothes don’t stick to your body, allowing you to relax. You call out to Wanda, handing her the clothes so she can throw them into the dryer.

“I’ll have dinner ready in fifteen, Natasha’s in the office if you’d like to see her.”

You took it as a sign to leave, going from one stuffy environment to the next. You found Natasha sitting at the desk, focus set on the screen in front of her. It felt like the more you stepped inside the more space was set between you. You greet her, voice meek and hoping she didn’t hear you.

“When’s your flight tomorrow.”

“Early morning.”

“How long will you stay in New York?”

“Maybe a year. Maybe a few years.”

She sets her glasses down then, powering down her computer. She moves around with ease, moving to walk down the stairs.

“I don’t know what’ll happen, I haven’t decided—“

“Running away from making decisions doesn’t help you make one.”

“I’m not running away.”

She turns on her heel, “don’t lie to me. I hate liars.”

“I’m here now, aren’t I? I’m not running away.”

“Within the whole five minutes you’ve been here you’ve been looking like you’re about to run at any second.”

“And what about that,” your emotions get to you, pitching your voice, “this is the first time I’ve ever stopped trying to ‘run away,’ and you’re focused on how shy I look?”

You hate yourself for how easily you succumb and react to emotions. Tears were present in your eyes, making your vision blurry but not yet making its way on your face. Natasha doesn’t say anything, frozen where she had turned around.

“I know I’m bad at communicating, don’t you think I know that? It’s frustrating how obvious my problem is.“

Natasha calls your name, but you shove her off, “and so what if I was considering leaving and not saying anything? I almost did, and I kind of wish I did. This whole thing was a mistake.”

You look away, wrapping your arms around your body subconsciously to comfort yourself. Tears spilt when she comes closer to pull you into her. You waste no time to wrap your arms around her, crying harder into her shoulder. You mumbled repetitive apologies, every one shushed by Natasha as she tries to calm you down.

You hear Wanda’s footsteps, soft pats getting louder until she’s behind you. Her hand lands on your back, rubbing circles.

“This is why talking is important, thoughts lie and you begin to spiral.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No,” she draws it out, “not sorry. We want you to feel comfortable talking with us. Hard topics have to be talked about or distance gets placed between people and anger begins to build.”

“I’m sorry for snapping at you, I said a lot that was out of line.”

You push her off, sitting down on the couch, “it’s okay.”

“I’m going to ask a yes or no question,” Natasha says, her tone almost a whisper, “do you want to stay.”

“Yes.”

Wanda reaches a hand under your chin to tilt your face up so she can press her lips to yours, “missed you.”

She heads back towards the kitchen, asking Natasha to come help her grab the food from the oven; Something about not having any item to take it out with and Natasha was the next best option.

You only barely arise from the couch, thinking Natasha was leaning to kiss you but her lips miss yours.

“I missed you,” her lips are pressing into your neck, just under your ear.

“Missed you in my bed, I wished your fingers were mine at night.”

She laughs, leaving to no doubt tell Wanda what you told her. Wanda sees you enter, leaning back from the oven to kiss whatever was closest to her, “I’m happy you stayed. Don’t forget to cancel your flight.”

Natasha sets the tray onto the stove, rubbing her fingers onto her pants right after. You mumble about not getting a kiss from her and she’s quick to lean closer to quiet your complaining. She’s wiping away the wetness in your cheeks, fingers still warm from the oven.

“Better?”

“Much better,” you smile against her lips.”

masterlist | prev chapter

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imaginesforeons · 5 months

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One Word (Yandere!Toji x Reader)

~All he wants is a name~

CW: Previous abusive relationships. Current abusive relationship. Yandere!Toji. Kidnapping. Implied NSFW(kinda).

Word Count: 950

Reqs are OPEN! At the top of my page you can see what fandoms I write for, so DM me with your ideas!

.-.-.

Your hand squeezed the doorknob so hard you swore you heard your knuckles crack. Trembling, you let your sweaty forehead rest against the bathroom door, closing your eyes.

“Come on, sweetheart,” Toji crooned from the other side of the door. “All you have to do is give me a name. Just one word, then it’ll all be over.”

Even though he couldn’t see you, you shook your head. “No. I don’t want anyone else to get hurt because of me.”

From the other side of the door you heard a thump. When Toji spoke again, his voice was louder. He was probably leaning against it. “Really? You’re trying to protect the guy that beat on you for three months?”

“Toji,” you said. You knew how much he loved it when you said his name. Maybe it would make him go easy on you, and you could escape today without any blood on your hands. “He’s not here. When I left him, he never even looked back. I bet he doesn’t even remember my name.”

You bit your tongue until you tasted the salty tang of blood as you waited for his response. On the other side of the door he was silent; you couldn’t even hear his breath, and you were surprised that he hadn’t forced his way in yet.

It was a courtesy, you knew. Ever since Toji brought you - kidnapped you - to his home in a secluded countryside, he had removed all the locks in the house, except for the front door and windows, the former of which he had the only key, while the latter he had bolted shut. The only reason he hadn’t pushed into the bathroom was out of some misplaced respect for you. Or maybe he was having fun.

He was probably having fun.

It seemed like you were destined to have one abusive relationship after another. Your first boyfriend was notorious for his gaslighting of you, and you had to deal with a year of feeling like you were crazy until you finally caught on. Your second boyfriend had seemed, at first, to be a little better. Until you found out you were the other woman, and he had a wife and two kids with a third on the way. Your third boyfriend had worked slower. While you had dated and broken up with the other two in a span of a year or less, this one had worked with a deadly patience.

Your honeymoon phase lasted two years before any dangerous signs decided to show themselves. At first, you excused it by saying he was stressed, an excuse which would damn you. He would come home angry, shout at you, pick at every little mistake you made, then leave again. But he’d make it better the next day, bringing you gifts, cleaning the house, and taking you out to picture perfect dates. Later, you would learn that this was called love bombing. You thought it would get better, but each day it only got worse, building to a deadly climax.

It got worse and worse until one night, you found yourself out on the street, fleeing from your boyfriend and nursing a broken wrist. That was how you met Toji. He took you to the hospital, and after you left your boyfriend, you couldn’t say anything but yes when he asked you out on a date. Your reprieve lasted only three weeks, until one day you woke up in a strange bed, in a strange house, and Toji explained that you’d never leave.

Four months later, and you were here, hiding in the bathroom from a man that could break the door down with one hand. He had demonstrated his inhuman strength dozens of times, and though he’d never laid a hand on you, every time you saw him crumple a doorknob in with a single squeez, or snap a crowbar in half like a twig, you were left shaking.

“Listen, babe,” Toji said. “You know I love your loyalty, but my patience will only last so long. You just have to give me a name, and I’ll do the rest.”

You felt your heart plummet.

“Please,” you whispered. “Please, Toji, I don’t want anyone else to die because of me.”

Toji snorted. “Why? Don’t tell me you still love him. A guy like that doesn’t deserve anything from you.”

You wondered if he could hear how ironic that statement was, coming from him.

“No!,” you cried swiftly. “I just don’t want to be reminded of him again, that’s all. Toji, I never loved him-” a lie “-I’ve only ever cared for you!” Another lie, but maybe this one would make him give up.

There was silence from the other side of the door, lasting long enough that you felt hope start to bloom in your chest. Then you heard a familiar sound that made your eyes sting anew, a sound like the crumpling of a soda can. Toji had just crushed the bathroom’s door handle.

It was useless, but you still pushed back as he forced the door open. You still fought when he swept you into his arms. You snarled and cursed when he threw you onto the bed, because while Toji might be dangerous, he had never turned his anger towards you. You turned your head away when he tried to kiss you, but he only took your face in one calloused hand, holding it steady so he could place a quick kiss on your lips.

“I thought you already learned that what I want, I get,” Toji murmured. “By morning, I’ll be leaving with a name, no matter what.”

#jjk imagines #imagines #jjk #jjk x reader #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x you #jujustu kaisen x reader #yandere #yandere toji #yandere jjk #yandere jujutsu kaisen

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adonis-koo · 6 months

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sweet nothing • 8

| in which you run into an old costumer |

↳ Description: being a guest at the Jeon Estate after a mishap of being kidnapped and dragged into your brothers affairs isn’t all that bad. Truth be told it brings you a lot closer to the mobster and owner of the estate Jeon Jungkook himself.

His two rules are simple, don’t cause trouble and don’t give him a hard time. Somehow you manage to constantly do both in the most endearing way despite being pregnant and waddling around most of the time.

Pairing: Jungkook/reader, ???/reader

↳ Genre: slice of life AU, mafia!AU, pregnancy, there’s like…a little bit of a plot but not a lot, future smut? maybe? it's very domestic!

Word count: 3k

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Note: just know that the only reason these updates take so long is because I keep writing plot based chapters and I really just wanna post fluff based chapters 😭

“Thank you for taking me out!” You grinned as you took a large sip of your hot chocolate, it was still definitely not cold enough for it yet but you didn’t care.

Something about hitting your third trimester had you wanting to nest like crazy, it had you going around the estate cleaning and getting guards to help move furniture around.

You really had no right to be doing it but nobody told you otherwise.

Jungkook had come back midday, surprisingly early, he had paused in the entry hall of his home locking eyes with the pregnant menace that had abruptly put herself at the forefront of his life once again.

It was then he realized you definitely needed to get out of the estate.

“If it keeps you from not moving all my stuff around,” He shrugged, leaning back in his seat, eyes flickering from his phone to you.

You frowned, “I’m sorry, I don’t even know what possessed me.” You sighed, “Well I do, they say third trimester can make you start nesting.”

“Nesting?”

You glared are the way he snorted as if not believing you, “It’s a fact, you can look it up.”

“The fuck is that even supposed to be? What are you, a bird?”

“It means you just get the innate urge to just…” you puffed your cheeks, ignoring that look he was giving you, “Clean and decorate and just…I don’t know I can’t describe it! Just wish I had my own place to do that with and prepare for the baby.”

Jungkook sighed, his eyes went from looking at you to dropping down to your stomach, it was round when you had first come to the estate, but it was evident six weeks had passed, “Then maybe it’s time we talk about a nursery.”

You paused, getting ready to take another drink from your cup but it never meets to your lips.

Jungkook sighed, “I know you don’t wanna talk about it, but finding your brother has quite literally lead me to dead ends I didn’t even think would exist. You’re almost thirty weeks pregnant, that’s less than three months.”

“Okay yeah I can do basic math, but it’s already been almost two months. Surely it won’t take another two months to find him,” You pressed your lips together nervously.

“Would it be so terrible if you gave birth in the estate? It’ll probably be a better experience than the hospital.” Jungkook commented, picking up his coffee as he took a sip.

It wasn’t that you were against giving birth in the estate, professional staff in the comforts of a bed? That was a luxury every woman could only dream of having, it was more the aftermath of it.

The idea of still living at the estate post pregnancy…it was a dangerous thought, it was too close to the life you had once wanted with Jungkook.

You just weren’t sure how to articulate that too him.

Jungkook finally raised a brow at you, noticing your lack of reply.

“I just…don’t want to get too comfortable at the estate.” You finally spoke carefully, “I don't think that's good for anybody involved.”

“I understand but I also don’t like being unprepared- in any aspect concerning me or my estate, and that includes you whether you want it or not.” Jungkook replied, “Just because a nursery is there doesn’t mean it’ll ever be used, it’ll just be there so first of all, you stop moving all my shit and you have a place to do your bird stuff-“

“Nesting.” You glared, lips quirking into a pout as your hands wrapped around your stomach.

Jungkook’s lips curved a little, “Bird stuff. And second, if it does turn out that your stay is extended, it’ll be ready.”

You still weren’t completely sold on the idea, if anything you felt like it would just feed into the delusion even further.

“Why hello there mama.” Another voice suddenly cut in, grabbing a chair from the empty table next to you both and plopping it on the side of your table.

Jungkook immediately straightened up, eyes glaring daggers that could definitely kill, “What the fuck are you doing here?”

“Yoongi!”

The man brushed his black hair from his eyes a quirky smirk on his face as he shrugged, “Uh I’m just stopping in to say hello to my favorite barista who got put on bed rest early.”

A smile twisted on your lips, you were familiar with his face, he had been a regular for almost two years, the realization however quickly hit that Jungkook was very acquainted with this man.

You felt flabbergasted for a moment, you couldn’t believe you never made the connection that the regular customer Yoongi was also Underboss business partner Yoongi.

“It’s nice to see you again Yoongi! I can't believe I didn’t recognize you as Jungkook’s partner…” You sheepishly smiled.

Jungkook clearly didn’t share the same sentiment, his nostrils flared and he looked ready to maul his partner.

“Nah probably for the best you didn’t realize. You as well, you look only a thousand times prettier, have that pregnancy glow about you.” Yoongi threw your a wink.

Jungkook wasn’t sure what made him more violent, the fact that you both were already well acquainted or Yoongi so casually flirting with you.

It was part of his personality but it still didn’t make any attention he or any other male gave you, any easier for Jungkook to witness.

“If you aren’t here for business, get the fuck away from our table.” Jungkook gritted his teeth, as if it took every fiber of his being to not right hook.

Yoongi didn’t seem phased, “Oh I was just in the area, been coming to Serendipity for a long while now, and then I suddenly see my favorite barista who’s been gone for two months, of course I have have to say hello.”

“Okay well you said hello, now go the fuck away.”

“Jungkook!” You said sternly, “Don’t be so stubborn, Yoongi can sit with us for a few minutes at least.”

His eyes were a raging fire as they burned into you, his chest puffing but he said no more as Yoongi observed you both, a smirk on his face as he leaned back in his chair.

“How are you enjoying the estate Y/n?”

You smiled tenderly, “The company makes it honestly, I don’t know what I’d do without Jungkook and Yeonjun.”

“Yeonjun?” Jungkook looked like he sucked on a sour lemon as he spat the name out.

“I still want my apartment back but I’ve made the most of the it. What about you? Why haven’t you come to visit if you knew where I was?” You asked, curious as to what the man had been up too.

Yoongi’s gaze flickered to Jungkook, “Well…let’s just say I was asked to not drop by unless it was absolutely necessary.”

“And it isn’t.” Jungkook gritted.

“Okay well first of all this doesn’t count cause we’re not at the estate, second of all you’re not the only one who has relations to Y/n, I mean have you ever had this woman’s chai? Or her baked cinnamon rolls? Talented hands right there.” Yoongi stretched out in his seat, that playful nature about him.

“Oh don’t flatter me.” You shooed his praise.

“No you deserve all the praise in the world, in fact you deserve-“

“We’re going.” Jungkook stood up from his seat, sick of this if he had to hear one more word come out of his stupid partners mouth.

“Jungkook!” You complained, but nevertheless took his hand when he offered it, “Please visit Yoongi, you’re conversation is always welcomed.”

Yoongi only smiled, sunk into his seat as he watched the tall broody figure practically drag you away, it made him laugh in amusement.

Yoongi by no means kept an eye on you the last two years for his own benefit, but he supposed somethings would always remain thankless.

He had accomplished what he wanted though, evidently no matter how much Jungkook talked- and he talked a lot, it was clear he had grown possessive over you in the last few months.

Yoongi shook his head in amusement, watching the viper leave the parking lot through the window, he was happy to see that old spark in his partner return.

“What was that about!” You complained, immediately dialing the heat down to sixty in the car.

“You shouldn’t be talking to him,” Jungkook grumbled, hands gripping the steer wheel as if he was trying to strangle it, “If you care about your baby’s safety you’ll make an active effort to not talk to him.”

“Hes been one of my regulars for like two years,” you complained, “How was I supposed to know he was your partner? I never even officially met him! What makes him anymore dangerous then you? Hm?”

Jungkook deflated, obviously not having a good reason, “The difference is I’m protecting you.”

“Oh so you’re saying he wouldn’t?”

“The point,” Jungkook gritted his teeth in annoyance, “Is don’t talk to him.”

You frowned as you twisted to fully look at Jungkook, was he…jealous?

“Are you mad that I’m paying attention to someone else?” You asked upfront, you could only be discreet about so many things.

“I’m not mad”.

“No you’re definitely mad.” You replied pointedly.

“I’m annoyed that my business partner is talking to me outside of business.” Jungkook replied.

“But he was talking to me, not you.” You crossed your arms.

“He was doing that on purpose.” Jungkook huffed.

It was silent for a long moment as you folded your hands into your lap.

Of course you didn’t have to point it out, but truthfully it felt too ridiculous to not? “Are you jealous?”

“No.”

There was another pause.

“Why would I be jealous?”

“You tell me,” you replied, a pout on your lips, “You always do this when someone talks to me, men specifically.”

“Do you actually want an honest answer?” Jungkook looked even more annoyed, even so much as throwing you a frosty glance before his eyes returned to the road.

You blinked before a troubled frown slowly curved on your lips, you could think of several ways he’d be honest and none of them you’d be able to fully believe.

“What I want,” you took a breath, “Is to be able to have a conversation without you looking like you’re shooting daggers out of your eyes.”

“I wasn’t shooting daggers out of my eyes.”

You puffed your cheeks, “Well you claim you don’t do a lot of things, that you do in fact, do.”

“How about we just stop talking.” Jungkook replied.

You pouted but spoke no more as you yawned.

“Do you wanna go home?”

You nodded with a small groan, “Yeah, I need to take a nap,” you nodded with another yawn.

Jungkook only nodded in return, eyes occasionally glancing at you, attempting to sleep in the car, when did his life start revolving around you this much?

#bts #jungkook #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jeon jungkook #jungkook x reader smut #bts jungkook #jungkook imagine #jungkook scenarios #mafia!jungkook

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virgincels · 6 months

Text

ROTTEN LUCK !

ft. leon s. kennedy x fem!reader

tags. smut, kidnapping, leon is like mentally gone icl, references to past assault and trauma, non-con, manipulation, suicidal thoughts/reference to an attempt, general leon self destructive behaviour, physical abuse, power dynamics, throatfucking, choking, breath play, somno, 1 instance of drugging, unmentioned age gap, anal, he puts duct tape on your pussy ok just once promise it’s not bad, religious references, 1 mention of vomit and piss not in a sexual way, slight misogyny, panic attack

tumblr has started to remove fics that use tw non-con, tw incest and any nsfw tags in general. for this reason, as i’d like my fic to appear in the tags so i can have the same reach as other authors, please understand that this fic contains dark content under the cut. reading this comes at your own risk.

anyway, please ignore typos :3 rbs and feedback is very appreciated :3 my medical knowledge sucks, so keep in mind that all of this is off LMFAO crossposted to ao3 (user clitkiss)

two

Lucky. Leon hates that word. He wasn’t lucky to get out of Raccoon City, he was just barely capable, you have to be unlucky to get into that situation in the first place. You’re a lucky guy, Redfield had told him once, Chris not Claire. Claire isn’t daft. And Leon wonders what is so lucky about him. He’s forty-six and all he’s got is his trusty Matilda, his mother’s old Bible, and a failing liver. His luck is preordained by God and it’s a total sham.

Leon Kennedy’s the one who showed up to drill sessions smelling like sweat and cock. Kennedy’s the one that rolls over onto his front and takes it like a good doggy. Kennedy’s green behind the ears, pretty in the face, and that don’t fare well in a boot camp full of men twice his size. Kennedy’s the one brushing shoulders with the President, got the USA’s most prized dick in his mouth and everyone knows that he wouldn’t dare bite down. Golden boy Leon fucking Scott Kennedy would just go ahead and use his tongue to clean up Graham’s ballsack. And you’re calling that lucky? Bullshit.

The DSO’s modus operandi is strikingly similar to that of the BSAA. He is but a cog in a well oiled machine. There’s one difference, not a dog tag to his name. If he dies, then he’ll die nameless, and he’ll be cremated by something nuclear, and it’ll all be for nothing. Ain’t that just the luckiest thing you’ve ever heard?

He has tried to kill himself once or twice or thrice. He lost count after the fifth. The gun jammed once, a bad joke. Left Matilda rendered useless. Was meant to be him, not her. And if Leon’s being honest, every day is an avid attempt, as in the drinking and praying his liver gives out. Once he managed to get halfway there. Doesn’t remember a lot. Just blood. Lots of blood. Why couldn’t you be quiet about your grief, Leon? Claire’s expression had asked, how I am, how Chris is, how Jill is.

‘Cause he couldn’t. He had to go ahead and splatter his grief all over the linoleum floor. Maybe then someone would find him, and they’d mourn him, and they’d feel sorry for him ‘cause he’d pitied himself enough. Leon told her a joke, yapping away like one of those butterscotch lapdogs. Claire said that in South Korea you’re allowed to snip a dog's vocal cords to stop them from barking. Lucky I’m not in South Korea then. She handed him an orange prescription bottle with his name scrawled on it, and that was that. They didn’t speak for a few months.

Once upon a time Sherry needed him, now he needs her more. Needs her to laugh at his jokes, she’s the only one that does. And he needs her to tell him, I love you, Leon. She’s the only one that says that. No one puts up with him like Sherry does. She puts up with him in the way most women do their fathers. Love their dads unconditionally and nothing can ever fix that. Terrible illness that is. So, yeah, Leon Scott Kennedy is far from lucky. Lonely? Oh, for sure. God. He’s so lonely he feels sorry for himself. That’s one thing Leon has always been good at though. Lending himself a shoulder ‘cause no one else will.

His fingers brush yours in the record store. The hairs on the back of his neck stand. Jesus. Is it getting that bad? Leon’s been without a fuck for a few months and he’s already itching. That’s a new low. When Leon looks up to catch sight of who made his dick swell with their fingertips, he catches your eye briefly. A mousy little thing. Easily spooked it seems by the nervous smile you give him.

You’re on the phone, I don’t know what he likes anymore, dad, yeah—I’m trying to find it—Yes, I know who sang Sex and Candy, dad, Kurt Cobain right? Is that the one he likes? Dumbass. No, I’m not wrong, could you put mom on the phone—Hi mom, yes, I know he’s my brother, mom—Ever since he turned fifteen he stopped talking to me properly—I don’t know what she thinks, mom—

A mommy, daddy, a brother, a sister too he assumes. You’re what they call lucky. Nasty undertone you’re using with your parents. If Leon’s mom was still around he’d talk to her so sweet. She’d tell him to pray and Leon wouldn’t resist. Alright, Ma, Ave Maria, gratia plena, Dominus Tecum— then his voice would trail off, and he’d pretend to mouth the rest of the hymn ‘cause he remembers fuck all.

He wants to knock you around. Shake you till your brains scramble. Wants you to flinch even when he’s being nice. Leon’s nostrils flare when you raise your voice in the slightest, even if it’s playful, it’s plain rude. How dare you? He can’t even begin to fathom how incredibly lucky you are. The thought crosses Leon’s mind once, twice, thrice. Just how suicide did that day back in September. If you can kidnap the President’s daughter from her bustling college campus, throw her over your shoulder like salt, why can’t you kidnap Miss Nobody from a street corner in D.C?

Your figure is distinguished by a single, flickering street lamp. He sees your shadow. Recognises the silhouette by the shapely legs and how your belted coat flares out to create a dramatic hourglass, Leon’s got a good eye for detail. Oh, it’s kinda sexy watching you in the spotlight, like a makeshift cabaret show, go on babe, bust out the flapper dress, he knows his stuff, he read Gatsby back in high school. He listens out for the tap of your heeled boots, click-clack, click-clack, there you are, you don’t even know what’s about to happen, do you? And it really is that easy. Just like throwin’ salt over your shoulder.

Temazepam, loprazolam, lormetazepam, diazepam, nitrazepam. Some melatonin too. Magnesium’s supposed to help with insomnia. How’s he supposed to know what your body reacts to best? Leon’s not your fuckin’ GP. Chloroform does the trick for everyone. Should’ve invited you out for drinks and roofied you instead.

Leon had gone for an old-fashioned method, listen, he was desperate. He doesn’t usually resort to such bruteish tactics unlike the older Redfield, not that Chris would use a morsel of his strength to harm a lady, but it had to be done. Yes, he choked you out. No, he’s not proud of it. He’s actually pretty disappointed in his lack of preparation. Oh, cut yourself some slack, Kennedy, it’s your first time kidnapping someone, and it was a heat of the moment type thing. To Leon’s dismay, that doesn’t last long, duh, he should know better.

While you regain sluggish consciousness on his couch, Leon’s tearing through his kitchen cabinets for anything to settle you down. Ah. That’s right. Ketamine. Ain’t it horse tranquilliser? What’s that doing here? Honestly, he’s got to stop raiding the infirmary for all they’ve got. A high enough dosage will knock you out for sure. If it kills you, then so be it. Beer for guys, wine for the ladies, and Ketamine for random sluts he picks up on street corners.

You’re blinking to clear your hazy vision, feeling around your crushed windpipe to assess the damage, he leans over you like a nurse from hell. The needle breaks your skin easily, so tender, before you have the chance to kick up a fuss, your eyelids turn to lead and close like a toy babydoll’s do when you lean them back.

Fifteen to twenty minutes, google says. Leon gets down to business, strips you of your clothing, takes you to his room, throws you on the king-sized bed that’s warmed only by him. He kept your panties on. They’re light blue and sensible briefs. A buzzer rings out in his head, bzzzt, boring. A million bitches in D.C. and he picked out the most vanilla one. Just his Kennedy luck ain’t it.

One minute. Leon presses his nose to the fabric of your panties, sniffs like a pig does in its trough, isn’t that just the sweetest smell? Fresh cunt. He licks up the print of your pussy, tongue landing on the hardness of your clit.

Five minutes. With your panties soaked with Leon’s spit, he decides to move ‘em to the side, and he groans in delight when he parts your cushioned lips to find that you’re stickier than toffee pudding, drooly cunt reactive to the pads of his fingers, to the tip of his tongue. He pushes back the hood of your bud, gives it a kiss, then another.

Ten minutes. He’s opened you up, gaped you around three thick fingers, Jesus, you’re so tight. It’s like your cunt’s vacuum sealed. Leon’s fingers prod at the squishy opening of your cervix, his thumb circles your clit, presses down like a button and he’s rewarded with another gush of slick. Beer on tap.

You rouse from your forced slumber at fourteen minutes. Huh. He’ll have to up the dosage next time. “Hi there, sleepin’ beauty.” Leon says in a rather cloying voice, amping up the sweetness when in reality he is less than fond of you. The lucky girl. He strokes your head soothingly, hovers over you to keep you in place. The panic sets in almost immediately, flailing limbs, asinine attempts at sentences that crawl up your throat and spill over. Who are you, get off me, get off me, please. What did I do? I’m sorry, please, let me go, let me go, please, I’ll do anything. Albeit your words are slurred, Leon chooses not to hear you.

“Aintcha just the sweetest thing?” He cups your cheeks, gaze so gentle it’s disarming. “I opened you up, didn’t wanna break ya, just wanted you to wake up before we got it on, I’m a real gentleman, you see.” Before he rapes you, he makes sure to ask: you got a rubber by any chance, sweetheart? Oh, and you don’t like that, you really don’t. ‘Cause your face falls fast like a drop tower ride.

The chance to scream is lost on you when he shoves his fingers in your mouth, pushes them down your burning throat till you choke and drool in an unflattering manner. Your jaw is too lax to clamp down on him. Leon takes this opportunity to smear his leaky, fat tip over your folds, pushes past the barriers of resistance and slides into your pre-gaped cunt. Lucky bitch. Lucky fucking bitch. Getting yourself a piece of Leon S. Kennedy’s dick. He reserves that for only the finest ladies, aka any girl that has a nice set of tits and dark hair, greying roots are a new preference.

He’s fully sheathed inside of you, head rubbing painfully against your cervix. Bruising it from the look of discomfort on your face as you make stupid-sounding noises around his fingers. “Fuck, yeah, that hits the spot.” When’s the last time Leon had his way with a girl, wanton fucking, pulling hair, slapping— they all want it soft and sappy these days. And so did he up until a certain point. Up until he tried to kill himself maybe. Something must’ve flipped in his brain, now he’s overcome with the need to mess your pretty face up.

Leon’s forehead presses to your clammy one, your sweat is salty on his tongue when he kisses your cheek. Slightly sour scent, ugh, what’s he saying? Acting like he’s a fear-smelling B.O.W or some shit. Fuck off, Kennedy. His hips aim upwards when your body shifts due to the thrashing you’re doing, with each thrust he bottoms out with a wet squelch, rolls his hips into you at a force that knocks any chance of breath out of you.

“If you were a good girl,” Leon smiles, all teeth. They glint in the muddy darkness of his room, black-out curtains drawn so not even the moon gets to see what he’s doing to you, “then I’d be fuckin’ you real slow, real nice, rub that little clit till you came.” Your wrists are both cuffed within his grip, pinned over your head as he drives into you, as if his intention is to tear straight through you.

The heat in his gut uncoils, but he’s timed himself well enough, pulls out ‘cause god forbid he knocked you up. Knowing Leon’s luck he’d manage it. Then he puts his cock in your mouth, “I got some pliers out back.” He says in warning as he jerks the shaft and your lips hesitantly close around the tip when he gives you a mean look. Total lie by the way, no matter how abnormal Leon is he does not own a pair of tooth-pulling pliers. Shoots his load down your throat, you splutter and push at his abdomen to get him off.

He pulls out in his own time, lays beside you. All of his chakras are aligned. Apparently there’s seven, but Leon’s only got two. And they’re entirely dependent on whether he’s sucked and fucked till he’s thoroughly satisfied. By god he is. Benedicta tu in mulieribus, Et benedictus fructus ventris tui, Iesus. That’s the rest of it right. He remembers now. You might just be his saving grace, Lucky Girl. His very own Sancta Maria, Mater dei. Damn, you hear that, ma? Leon’s got it down to a T. Maybe some more pussy will get him singing out the rest of the prayer. He can get rid of that statuette on the mantle, swap it out with you.

He doesn't get a word out by the time you’re vomiting a vile mixture of acidic yellow and his seed down the front of your chest. Retching as you choke on the gift he’d given you.

Leon takes you to the bathroom, forces you into the shower cubicle as he sprays you down, not even waiting for the water to go warm. “Dry yourself off,” he gestures mildly to where there’s a few towels stored.

You don’t come back out of the bathroom for five minutes, then ten, then twenty. Don’t even answer when he knocks. Goddammit, Leon. Leave your kidnap victim alone in the room with all the razors, why don’t you? Fucking idiot. When he opens the door, you’re huddled in the corner by the toilet, dry heaving into the bowl and sitting in a puddle of your own piss. Stupid fucking baby. Is this what kids are like these days? When he was your age he made it out of Raccoon City alive, and no one made it out of there. No one lived to tell that story. And you’re here pissing your pants ‘cause he’s given you a nice, hard fucking? He pimp slaps you so hard your teeth clatter.

It takes two weeks for his Lucky Girl to be broken in. Not as long as he expected, so he’s pleased. And when Leon’s pleased, he’s nice. So today you get some screen time. You’re curled into his side, the way a baby bird does under its mother’s wing, squinting at his sixty-five inch TV, egregious really, who needs a screen that big? He’s flipping periodically through the channels whenever an ad break comes on. The 7.45PM news is on. He settles on that and you watch mindlessly, no objections.

The speech blurs like white noise to him, Leon’s not focused until your picture pops up on screen, and he just turns to you with this shit-eating grin. Graduation cap and robe on, all dolled up as you make eyes at him through the screen.

“Baby,” he grins wolfishly, ruffles your hair in a teasing manner, “you look so damn cute there!” Leon watches bright-eyed, suddenly enthralled, they list your name, your height, your weight, all stuff he actually didn’t know ‘bout you. Never bothered to ask. You don’t need a name, you’re just his Lucky Girl. “Don’t like the red lip on you,” he comments flippantly, “A red lip is for whores, don’t you think, baby?”

He was right. You got a daddy, a mommy, a brother and a sister. You’ve got it all. Lucky fucking Girl. A broken sob is torn from your throat, jagged and scratchy as you fling yourself halfway across the room, on your knees as you put your grubby fingers all over his shiny screen. Leon lets you. He finds it hilarious actually. Who’d you think you are? Carol Anne from Poltergeist? Like you’re gonna get sucked into the screen, crawling out the other end like Sadako, back into your daddy’s arms.

Our daughter—My girl, she had her whole life ahead of her—My sister wouldn’t do this—She was so excited to move on after graduation—She’s not the type to run away—My daughter—My sister—Our sister—

Your mother is a mess, barely able to get words out with the way she’s blubbering. “She’s layin’ it on a bit thick, don’t you think, babe?” Leon picks up his beer from the side table, slightly heated under the burn of the lamp. “You look like your daddy, cry pretty like your mama though.”

You stare at him horrified. Jaw hanging open as if it’s unhinged, not in the way a snake does when ready to swallow its prey whole. More in the way of a screaming corpse. When the rigor mortis has worn off, secondary flaccidity sets in, and the mandible drops open. Jeez, tough crowd tonight it seems. Don’t make him sew your mouth up, Lucky Girl. Leon wouldn’t dare, that mouth, that throat is precious to him.

CCTV footage plays on the screen, another sob racks your brittle frame, you didn’t know it was him that day, Leon realises. “Oh, baby, that’s where we met, ain’t that funny?” A blurry image of you on the phone, prattling away to your family like the Lucky Girl you are, he’s just out of shot.

We miss her—Please, if you know anything, if you find anything—Please—

“God, let me get my phone, darling, they look so upset I can’t stand it. I might have to call them up and turn myself in. Give ‘em an early Christmas gift, don’t you think?” If Leon went missing, who would look for him? Hunnigan with all her sharp edges, or Claire with her unwilling loyalty to him? Lucky Bitch. It’s making his temper flare, that’s enough TV time for today.

The screen fades out, goes black when he switches it off. “No, no, no,” you chant, “no, no, no, no, please, please—“

“I’m disappointed in you, baby.” Leon says honestly, sips his beer and laughs mirthlessly. “I thought you’d started to like me.”

You’re not listening, too busy fitting on the rug, grasping at the screen as if you can pluck your family out of it and reunite with them on his living room floor. Leon did think you were getting used to him though. Family’s family, blood is thicker than water. Cum is also thicker than water. And that’s what he’s pumped down your throat nightly in hopes of it clogging up your brain, so you think of nothing but him. Those dogs in South Korea, the ones Claire told him about, he’s got his own special method to take care of your vocal cords. No snipping, no surgery needed. Just the throat training method.

“C’mere, lucky girl.” He clicks his tongue as if he’s calling out for a dog. You lay unmoving, rocking back and forth, whispering to yourself like a crazy person. Bit creepy. Leon stands, he grabs you by the hair and drags you to sit at his feet near the couch. Simple and effective. Backhands you for good luck. He needs it. “Stop your cryin’ I’m getting sick of it.” Leon says, brows wrinkled as he lowers his sweats, brings your head down to rest on his thigh. Your tear-stained cheeks turn him on, the doleful eyes, runny nose. It’s hot. His sad little girl.

“Suck it.” Leon taps the tip against your pouty lips, swollen from his earlier kisses, coats them in his pearly pre, “I won’t ask twice, sweetheart.” You open your mouth, take him like clockwork. He don’t like that attitude. So he pushes your head down on his cock, watches your throat bob, uncomfortably full. Leon pinches your nose, listens to how you panic so nice around a mouthful of dick, gagging in a way you never have before. Not a gag that indicates inexperience, but one that is full of sheer terror, nails leaving red marks on his thighs as you drag them down his skin. Ouch. He’s gotta trim those down.

“You get it now, babe?” Leon hums, he lets you off this time, “Do what I say and it’ll be fine, yeah?”

“Yes, yes, yes, Leon,” you nod furiously through gulps of air, “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry, I’m sorry.” Fuck. Another one of your panic attacks. He’s not got the patience to deal with this. “I won’t—“ A wheeze, “ I won’t do it—“ A croak, “I won’t do it again.” You’ve learned to handle yourself. Rub your chest with your right hand, stare at the ceiling till you calm down. Leon’s dick is still rock hard. Ready to crack open a walnut.

“Good girl,” he nods, “then get on with it.”

There is nothing you’ve done in particular to set Leon off. He’s just had a bad day. Hunnigan’s senses are much too acute, she thought something was off with him. That put him on edge. So he’s like a ticking time bomb. Just waiting for you to make one wrong move. And you do. You say no to him, pleadingly so, shaking your head as you look at him with your fairytale fawn eyes. Meekly admit that you’re sore and achy and it hurts.

“That’s not your decision to make, sweetheart.” Leon informs you, he grabs a roll of duct tape from the kitchen, nicks at the edge with his teeth and tears a strip off. You bristle, completely still, a thousand thoughts running through that pea-sized brain of yours. “But I’ll be nice today, been waitin’ to fuck your ass anyway.” He puts the strip on your cunt, over your chubby lips to hold them together, it feels strange and icky. The last thing Leon wants to see is blood. He sees enough of that daily. So he’s generous when it comes to prep, busts out the cherry-flavoured lube today, squirts a decent amount on his fingers, cock, and your tighter hole.

You squirm, he watches the unreadable expression on your face carefully, the rise and fall of your chest. You’re nervous, but you’re wet, and that makes his chest swell in pride. Lucky Girl finally gets it. One finger slips past the ring of tight muscle, Ora pro nobis peccatoribus, nunc, there’s one last line he’s missing. It’ll come to him. Two fingers in, he scissors you open, spits on it just ‘cause it turns him on to see it run down your crack.

That’s enough, Leon thinks when he fits the third. He wants to make it hurt a little. Wants to feel like a big, strong man. He sits back on his knees, flips you over onto your front, he likes you this way. Just takes you in, how your tits hang low, brushing against the mattress when Leon presses a hand down on your back to keep you from arching. He takes his dick in hand and in he goes, easier than he thought. He wonders if you can cum just like this, with his dick pounding your ass.

He fucks like an animal, you gasp and yelp below him, unable to handle it as his hips smack against yours. The duct tape is starting to peel ‘cause your pussy is fucking soaked. That alone makes his balls tighten as he turns you back over to do damage control, and ‘cause he wants to see your face while he fucks. You look like you’re lovin’ it. Alright. So you’re an anal slut. Got it. He pushes back into your ass, groans when you clench around him, the duct tape peeling at the corners, he can’t handle it. Et in hora mortis nostrae. Leon’s mind blanks when he cums, fills your ass and his limp cock slips out. Shit. A-fucking-men. That’s right, he remembers. That’s how you end a prayer.

You don’t cum. He tears the duct tape off clean. You let out a loud ‘Ow, Leon!’ and frown at him. Beads of arousal stick to the piece of tape, your pussy is pulsing, walls fluttering around nothing. Leon kisses your swollen clit, rubs it steadily till you cream on his tongue, sweeter than molasses his Lucky Girl is.

“Leon?”

“Yeah, baby?”

“I love you.” You tell him shyly, gaze at him with this dumb fucking smile on your dollface that makes his heart squeeze. God, he’s gotta keep you around, his lucky charm.

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