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yoonpobs · 3 years

Text

bad boy good thing xviii. | m [last chapter]

pairing: jeon jungkook x oc

genre: angst, smut, fluff, miscommunication (we hate her lol), pining

warnings: sad and happy tears, growth, so much cuteness, smut, face-sitting, oral (f receiving), fingering, unprotected sex, jk's body o-o, mentions of a quarter-life-crisis, the END ;(

words: 15, 628 (!!!!!)

summary: a series of drabbles where you’re confused and jungkook’s confusing

a/n:

oh my god!!!!!! we're finally here. the last chapter of bad boy good thing. honestly, it feels surreal to even say because I couldn't ever imagine it getting this far, especially with the love and support that it's gotten along the way. I've grown attached to the characters, especially since I was essentially writing them through each chapter and it's nice to see that they've grown along with the story.

i wanted to end the story in a way that's both satisfying and necessary, and I really enjoyed writing this chapter despite it being the last one for bad boy good thing :(

thank you so much for everyone who has read this story and has shown so much love and support that I frankly don't know if I deserve or not. i hope you enjoy this chapter, and find it as pleasurable to read as it was to write.

[and on another note, I'll be opening up an Ask My Muse for bad boy good thing, so please drop any questions that you have for the characters in my ask! I'll release it all as a separate post at a later date 🥰 happy asking!]

- pobbie <3

What people don’t ever tell you about change is that you can never plan it. No matter how stringent you claim yourself to be in following timelines and the zero hour—life will work out in the way it’s supposed to and you’ll have absolutely no control over how things will play out. Usually, these thoughts unsettled you. Your routine was the most important aspect of your life because it never changed. It was always to keep up with how you’ve got by so far, kept the people you were already comfortable with close—and never do things that you were uncomfortable with. A routine was perfect—for you. Not for the people around you.

To a certain extent, you couldn’t even fault people for saying that you had a stick up your ass. Though there were definitely far more constructive ways of pointing it out—you knew that people were simple yet utterly complex creatures. Often, they made split-second judgements in scenarios that required more thought and care. While on the other end, simple decisions were decided with rigorous usage of your brain muscles that lead people in creating unreal, unsolvable and frankly—uncomfortable—problems.

But complexity was unnecessary and unhelpful. Especially when your heart and mind are on two completely different pages. Yet, they remain the two organs that play the most vital role in keeping you alive and sane. People are aware of the internal conflict that most face when it comes to making rational decisions, though verbalising these exact sentiments never come easy. How do you accurately depict a struggle that is both so universal yet so personal all at once? It’s a paradox that only continues, and as humans, we add fuel to that already blazing fire.

You suppose that time did indeed dictate all. It was linear, continuous, and perhaps a social construct. Nothing worked out in a timeframe, yet we adhere to strict rules of day and night, do or don’t yesterday and tomorrow—we followed time because that was the only thing that allowed us space. You didn’t understand when people said that things will just feel right, because how could something feel right? Right wasn’t tangible. It wasn’t just a direction, it wasn’t just the socially acceptable option—it was a multitude of things. But like most things in life, they only become real when it happens to you.

And today, it felt right. It felt like time.

It could have felt right a week ago when you first got your tattoo. The impulsive yet not-so-impulsive decision felt right. It felt uncomfortable, terrifying and frankly—stupid—but it didn’t for one second, feel wrong. But somehow, the tattoo being right was the only thing that you could truly feel. The apology you owed? Not quite.

Not even when your friends carefully gauged your reactions to let you know that Jungkook was joining your group for lunch a few days back. You missed him, your heart definitely did—but your mind did tell you—it wasn’t right. So, you let them know. The right time will come, but until then, you’ll do your part and allow time to dictate your next steps for you. They didn’t pry, though you could tell Jimin was curious while Namjoon remained concerned. You didn’t need to explain anything. What would you say, anyway? Your existential thoughts were candidly absurd to be comprehended by most. It was things that ran through your mind, not necessarily needing to be shared.

You don’t know if it’s the tattoo, or if it’s Jeonghan, or if it’s Jennie, or if it’s Jungkook—of if it’s just you—but there was something that you buried deep down in your chest for a long time, and it finally felt big enough to leave. To let go.

Maybe it’s because you officially turn a year older today. The impending doom of a quarter-life crisis washing over you while you frantically decide that you didn’t want to take the mindset you and in the first twenty-five years of your life along with you into the next chapter. It could be a multitude of things. But you woke up today, weary yet determined—and you knew that it was the right time.

“Happy birthday!”

You’re welcomed with an overexcited Yena as she topples into your body in giggles and grins while she wraps her arms around you. You stumble back but catch yourself before the both of you fall over. Though you’re surprised, you can’t help the smile that makes its way to your face—sincere and happy.

“Thank you,” you laugh, hugging her back as you rest your head on your shoulder.

She hugs you for a while longer, as if you were going to head anywhere but into the apartment, you rang the doorbell to. You don’t complain because you know she likes this. It’s her way of telling you that she’s happy and glad you’re here. You understood her well enough to know that the way she clings to you is her love language and you appreciated that.

When she pulls away, she’s still beaming. It’s almost comical to see Yena so happy. Not that she wasn’t on a daily basis. But her facial expressions were usually limited to her usual stoic appearance and misleading resting face that intimidated people. This Yena was a cheerful puppy waiting to be played with.

“Very Gemini of you to turn up late,” she says snootily, eyeing you up and down as you roll your eyes.

“By five minutes,” you clarify.

“I’ll let it pass only because it’s your birthday,” she pinches your cheeks as you nearly bite her finger off at her attempt. You’re about to finally enter the apartment but her hand on your shoulder stops you from getting far. “New outfit?”

Her question makes your eyes dart down to your attire. You take in the relatively risqué apparel you opted for today. But in reality, it was simply just a cropped tank top and a pair of high waisted jeans that showed a little bit of your skin. You weren’t thinking much when you reached for the outfit, your only intent was to show off the tattoo you got. But now as Yena ogles you further, only do you realise how different it is from your usual style.

“Yeah,” you breathe, even if your heart rattles a little in anxiety, “Is it okay?”

Yena grins.

“You look gorgeous,” she compliments before she’s gripping you by your arm and dragging you into Jimin and Taehyung’s apartment.

You stumble forward, and you’re greeted by blown up balloons that wish you a happy birthday, along with streamers and party hats that adorn your friend's heads. They’re all beaming at you, eyes crinkled into thin slits as you laugh at their keen endeavour.

“The birthday bitch is finally here!” Yena hollers, queuing the loud horns of streamers that Jimin and Taehyung attempt to deafen you with as Namjoon slams his hands un-rhythmically against a tambourine.

Your eyes soften ever so slightly when they finally rest on Jungkook, who’s slightly tucked away from the rest but yet still carries a sincere enough smile on his face. You know him well enough that it doesn’t quite reach his eyes, and your heart clenches for a split second when you recall the reason. But you hear the birthday song be led by Taehyung, and you’re snapped out of the mini-stare off you and with Jungkook.

“Happy birthday to you!” He all but shrieks, drawing closer as you wince, “Happy birthday to you!” Taehyung ditches his instrument to wrap an arm around you while the rest of the circle you like prey as you laugh at their antics. “Happy birthday to ____, happy birthday to you!”

Your cheeks hurt from laughing and smiling, and your heart feels content with the way your friends continue to huddle around you, squeezing you until it hurts to breathe. In the best way possible.

“Is this what icon treatment feels like?” You snort.

You spot a grimace on Jimin’s face, even if you know it’s a light-hearted jibe. He rolls his eyes but tugs you to his chest fondly anyway, his arms immediately providing you with a sense of warmth in a friendship that’s lasted for over a decade.

“Don’t get used to it,” he warns, “I think I’ve exercised all my festive spirit this year.”

“My birthday is in September, you know,” Namjoon interjects.

“Then celebrate it by yourself,” Jimin sticks a petulant tongue out that Namjoon gapes at.

“It’s my birthday month too.” And for the first time, Jungkook speaks loud enough that it has all of your heads turning to him. The millisecond of silence is loud enough for you to hear, and perhaps to everyone else too. Your cheeks heat ever so slightly, but Jimin—ever the observer—picks up on this immediately.

“Hm, no wonder the two of you are so alike,” Jimin mumbles off-handedly, a glint of mischief painting his tone.

You don’t miss the insinuation behind his words as you shoot him a glare that you hope isn’t as obvious to the rest as it is to him. He smiles innocently before ruffling your hair, hopping away towards the table of assortments that they likely prepared for the celebration.

“Happy birthday!” Namjoon walks over with a dimpled grin, arms immediately open for you to lean into as you giggle at his exaggerated expression.

“Thank you, Joonie,” you beam up at him.

Namjoon gives you a tight squeeze before he reaches his arm towards the couch where you only notice the small box that lays atop of it. Your eyes follow his arm where he subtly (or not so) hides it behind his back that makes you shoot him an unimpressed look, your heart immensely thankful but the gesture still flustered you.

“I got you something,” he mumbles.

You whine, “Joon.”

“No, none of that,” he scolds, “I wanted to get you something, okay? Just let me gift the birthday girl.” He adds on playfully.

You scowl but receive the gift anyway, wrapping an arm around his waist as you admire the pretty mint colour the box was embellished in.

“You didn’t spend too much money, right?” You ask sceptically.

“And if I did?” He retorts.

You scowl.

“Namjoon.”

He sighs, “Okay, it was a decent amount of money but”—he stops you from returning to gift into his arms as he shoots you a stern look that you pout at—“I told you. I wanted to get you something. You’ll make me really happy if you accept it.”

You know he’s baiting you with his puppy eyes and you sigh at your resolve dissolving at his attempt.

“Fine,” you accept, “Thank you, Namjoon.”

He waves you off with a bashful smile as he urges you to open it. You abide as you carefully unravel the meticulously tied ribbon (that you’re kind of sure that he got help with) as you wonder about what he had gotten you. Namjoon was always a thoughtful person and you were really warmed by his consideration—so you knew that whatever he got you, you’d love.

Once you finally reach the end, you lift the lid as you gasp—an intricate ceramic planter that mirrored your favourite animal—a cute rabbit that peers up at you with wide eyes. It’s a pale yellow, with a red ribbon carved around its ears as your face crumbles in adoration.

“Oh my God,” you marvel, “It’s adorable! Thank you so much, Joon.”

He grins at you as he leans forward to admire the piece with you.

“It’s a customised order by one of my favourite ceramic artists,” he tells you, “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”

You nod your head vigorously as he chuckles at your awestruck expression.

“It is,” you breathe, “God. It must’ve cost a lot, didn’t it?” You accuse playfully with narrowed eyes as he rolls his own at you.

He brings his finger up to his lips to mimic a lock before he throws away the key, smirking at you when you huff petulantly. Nevertheless, you were touched and you absolutely loved the gift. It was very Namjoon and very representative of what you liked—and what he did.

“Thank you again, Joon,” you murmur, engulfing him in another fond hug that he returns with equal affection.

You’re not sure if it’s bad taste to hug someone like this when they had feelings for you. But Namjoon was a great friend and a great person in general. But when you peer up at him with gentle eyes and he returns the gesture, you know that despite it all—he’s a friend that you’re willing to fight for.

Before he can get another word in, the presence of another person hovers by your side as you feel their shadow loom over you. You release Namjoon from your tight hug, and his eyes briefly dance across the guest as he smiles knowingly to himself, shooting you an equally implicative glance that makes your throat clamp up. You recognise it intimately; and even if you didn’t. You knew that only one person would induce this type of reaction, especially in the current setting.

“I’ll … I’ll leave you two to talk,” he smiles, and that’s when your head finally turns, face facing Jungkook who stands awkwardly by your side with his hands stuffed into his pockets. Namjoon squeezes your shoulder to bid farewell for now, but you know the implication runs far deeper than it did. “Hope you like the present.”

Namjoon leaves with a smile before you can muster a thank you. He leaves you with more than just a gift, but an empty space waiting to be filled. The person was right there, Jungkook hovering quietly as he awaits your introduction. You knew you knew that it was you who needed to take that leap of faith. His silence or perhaps his patience was a queue for you to take that.

Not here. But you’d do what you could with what you had.

“Hey,” you say breathlessly, offering a gentle smile to Jungkook.

He returns the gesture but his eyes aren’t settled on your face. They’re on your shoulder, or more specifically—your upper arm and on the comprehensive detail that marks your skin permanently.

“Hey yourself,” he replies equally as breathless, then he looks up at you with the same gentle eyes that you grew up with, that evokes far more than a sense of familiarity but thunder in your chest. “Happy birthday, by the way.” He says softly, knocking your elbow in a way that’s both friendly and hesitant.

You laugh softly, “You can ask you know.” You say teasingly, an attempt to defuse the situation. He was too tense. It was odd because it was definitely a switch in your roles. But you supposed it was necessary, the only way that you could grow and learn.

“Oh, I definitely was about to,” he snorts, “A tattoo, huh?”

You nod, twisting your body ever so slightly so that he gets a better glimpse of the artwork.

“Yeah,” you smile, sincerely pleased with the choice you made; albeit spontaneous and driven by the inherent need for change. “I took the leap of faith.”

He catches on your double entendre, and a small smile twitches on his lips as he nods his head slowly. He leans in closer to observe the work, and his eyes squint as if he was taking the time to appreciate the beauty of it. You suppose it’s the artistic side of Jungkook that pushes him to do so. He was talented, in more way than one. He knew what looked beautiful, how to create beautiful things—and definitely how to appreciate them.

“The line work looks familiar,” he peers up at you, “Did you get it done at the tattoo parlour by the book shop?”

Your eyes widen at his spot on pinpointing. Was it that familiar? Or was it just a tattoo-lover thing?

“I—yeah,” you nod, “How did you know?”

His eyes harden along with his jaw but he shakes his head off-handedly, shrugging his shoulders.

“I recognise it. Got some of mine done over there,” he mumbles, “Maybe not anymore.”

You know exactly what he’s referring to, especially when the second part of his sentence comes in as you freeze. You nibble on your lips, chest needing relief on the truth behind your tattoo. But you’d settle for the surface level honesty before anything else.

“Jeonghan did mine,” you blurt, “Maybe that’s why you recognise it.”

Jungkook’s eyes widen, next to his brows furrows, clearly displaying his confusion when the words leave your lips. You don’t fault him for his confusion, especially when the last interaction you had with him turned out more sour than pleasant—all at the hands of someone who apparently gave you your first tattoo.

“You—?” He starts, brain gearing to piece the information together. “He gave you your first tattoo?”

You nod your head, firm and resolute. You muster a smile, one that you hope tells Jungkook that it was far more than just him giving you a tattoo. It was a needed sense of closure that you didn’t plan for but somehow needed.

“Yeah,” you murmur, eyes peering up in a gentle and calm way. “I think it’s exactly what I needed.”

Jungkook accepts though you can tell he’s still slightly perturbed by the information. He still stares at your tattoo, though. He smiles ever so softly that you almost miss it, but you’re highly tuned to Jungkook’s every reaction. The smallest change of mood is easily picked up on, and you know that he likes it. That’s all that mattered to you.

“It looks beautiful on you,” he says softly.

You flush, fiddling with your thumbs.

“Thank you, Jungkook,” you say in a low whisper.

He shifts his weight across both his heels, hands still stuffed tightly into his pants pocket in a way that shows his restlessness. You can tell he’s thinking of something else to say, but can’t quite find the exact words. The situation is all too fresh, you suppose. You don’t blame him. You wanted to tell him that he didn’t need to feel that way, that you were done running. But you don’t think now is the time and place—not with the cackles of your friends as the background music, or with the promise of cake to be devoured.

He settles for a tight smile before he turns to leave, but you stop him before he gets far—your shaky hand wrapping itself around his wrist. Jungkook stops, head-turning over his shoulder with a raised brow as you clear your throat to prepare for the next words that leave your lips.

“Can we talk?” You ask, and Jungkook’s eyes widen. You realise the lack of context immediately as you flush in embarrassment. “After. I mean. At your place—or mine. Wherever works for you.” You stammer out nervously.

Jungkook’s gaze rests on you for a tense second as you nervously wait for his response. You almost think he’s about to say no, but a small smile makes its way onto his face that immediately soothes your nerves.

“Mine. It’s closer anyway,” he says, “Happy birthday, again.”

He stuns you by pulling you into an unexpected hug, chin resting on the top of your head as he squeezes you tightly but holds you contrastingly soft. You immediately melt into his hold, missing the warmth of his sincerity in the short yet long time away from him. You smell him, and he smells familiar. He smells safe. You sigh contentedly when he doesn’t let go, and neither do you.

“Thank you, Jungkook,” you repeat.

“I—” He’s about to say something but cuts himself off immediately. He pulls away, ears slightly flushed as he shoots you a brief grin before shaking his head. “Never mind. I’ll tell you later.”

Your head tilts to the side, but you don’t question his vague statement. You allow him to leave with a tender grin. You had things to tell him yourself, too.

“Hey, you,” Yena bumps into your shoulder with her own as you turn your head to face her. Her head cocks to Jungkook’s retreating figure where he joins the rest of the boys in an attempt to devour the assortments that you hadn’t had the chance to dig into just yet. “Everything okay?”

You smile gratefully at her before bringing her into a hug, surprising her ever so slightly.

“Yeah,” you murmur, “It is.”

And for once, you mean it.

“Sorry about the place,” Jungkook apologises when the two of you step into his apartment.

He’s referring to the pile of clothes sprawled across his couch and the numerous amount of art supplies that take up the floor space. You wave him off with a smile.

“Don’t mention it,” you say, “Your room, then?”

Jungkook raises a brow at you before you blush ever so slightly, catching the insinuative tone before you’re offering a meek smile and a correction.

“To talk.”

He nods his head in understanding before returning the gesture with a small grin of his own. He helps you with your stuff and sets it aside, as well as your shoes because Jungkook was meticulous about things like that.

When the two of you approach his room, you take a few moments of silence to get your thoughts in check. It’s terrifying, knowing exactly what you want to say but having no idea how to say them. You always told yourself that honesty is the best policy—but your mind races at a hundred miles per hour whenever you’re around Jungkook, and you don’t know if you have it in you to be eloquent.

His room is the same, and so very much like him. It’s neat and it smells fresh of laundry. He’s nothing like the stereotypical college student that dumps his laundry in one big pile (though the mess outside suggested otherwise), but you’ve always remembered Jungkook to have been a fan of tidy spaces.

He’s like this with his habits too. Strict and clean, always going the extra mile to ensure that his comfort was maximised in a cosy environment. And his room clearly represented this habit and goal of his in mind.

He gestures for you to sit on an old beanbag you fondly recall from your younger days where you’d sprawl across when you hung out with him. You know he took it with him to college for that very same reason. Well, before everything that has transpired between the two of you anyway.

Though things are not quite the same—you don’t wish it to be. You don’t want to be the same person you were just a week ago, let alone years ago. You wanted to be the person you were meant to be now. And that meant doing things you would’ve never done but should’ve done a long time ago.

Before you can plan out a speech like you usually do with any events you considered important, your mouth moves faster than your brain does.

“I’m sorry.”

Jungkook’s eyes shoot up from where it laid on his lap as he eyes you with a wide gaze.

“Why are you—?”

“I know you don’t think I need to apologise, but I do,” you say with a sad smile, “I owe you an apology, Jungkook.”

Jungkook purses his lips, hinting that he wants to say something but decides against it when he recognises the determined expression that lingers on your face. It’s the same one that you have when you really wanted to do something. Or at least had a plan on what to do.

He doesn’t interrupt that momentum, not when you take another deep breath.

“I’m sorry for not choosing you.”

He flinches, head drooping to his lap while he fiddles with his fingers.

“I’m sorry for not choosing you the first time,” you repeat, and his head glances up with a furrowed brow, “I’m sorry that it took me this long to realise that all I needed … that all I needed was you—not anyone else.”

“It’s not your fault.” He interjects softly.

“Maybe,” you shrug, “Maybe it is. But that’s not the point,” you say softly, “The point is that I was searching for answers everywhere else but where I could find one that mattered. I looked for answers in people, in the words of others—as if what they said somehow would change the way things were.” You murmur. “It didn’t.”

“Then why look?” Jungkook asks, the question heavier than it sounded. You know it’s because he wonders, too.

“It’s because I was afraid,” you confess, “I was afraid of so many things that I didn’t even know what I was afraid of anymore. I kept on making excuses for us—because that was safer than … than choosing. Because choosing meant there was a wrong choice and I didn’t want to make a wrong choice.”

Jungkook looks at you with a solemn expression before you begin to fiddle with your thumbs.

“My tattoo means a lot to me,” you tell him.

“Well, it’s beautiful,” he murmurs quietly.

“It means I’ve grown,” you continue, “I-I always wanted a tattoo. I just—I never got around to getting it until recently.”

He nods his head in understanding as he eyes the piece once more. He takes it in gently, not judgementally, and you can feel his smile than see it when your eyes dart to your lap.

“I’m glad you finally did.”

“Me too,” you say. “I’m glad.”

“But …” he trails off, “Jeonghan did it—right?”

You can hear the edge in his voice when he brings up a name that should’ve evoked a sour feeling in your chest. The discomfort is there, but just like anything in life—it would always exist. It was just a matter of what you focused on and what was your priority in that moment.

And now, when you see Jungkook, you know it’s not yourself—but it’s Jungkook who’s your priority.

“Yeah,” you breathe, “It didn’t matter, though.”

He raises a brow, “Really?”

You nod.

“He doesn’t matter,” you say softly.

You hope Jungkook gets it, that this is you letting go of the fear of judgement that took away such a huge part of your happiness—for the both of you. But you knew that speaking in riddles wasn’t what he deserved. He deserved to hear it—to feel it.

“Why not?” He asks, just as softly.

“Because no one else matters but you, Jungkook.”

Jungkook freezes, but you don’t let that deter you when you look up at him with gentle and resolute eyes.

“Because you were the only thing that should’ve mattered,” you say more firmly, “Because …”

You swallow when you realise that Jungkook’s staring straight at you.

“Because I love you.”

You don’t know if this is the first time you’ve said it. But it’s the first time you’ve allowed yourself to truly feel the way that you do. There’s no more judgement from your end. No more critical words on how other people may talk. There was nothing. Nothing but pure, unadulterated love.

“Is that enough?” Jungkook asks.

“It is,” you smile softly, “You are.”

Jungkook smiles, gentle and calm when you allow yourself to just look at each other. And for some reason, his face makes your throat clamp shut and your eyes water. It’s more than just him—it’s what had happened.

It’s the fact that you’ve been stalling for so long, hurting each other in the process when you could’ve just been honest. When you could’ve just chosen him.

You should’ve chosen yourself, too.

“Hey, why are you crying?” Jungkook asks softly, even though you hear a small smile in his voice.

He’s a distance away, yet you feel his sincerity, his concern. And that makes you cry harder.

“I’m sorry,” you choke, “I-I’m so sorry.”

You don’t leave your spot, too flustered to do anything.

“It’s okay,” he returns gently.

“I want to be with you, Jungkook,” you mumble, “I want you.”

Your second statement returns with much more determination, even through your puffy eyes that you’re sure made you look ridiculous. But you can’t think of anything more than you wanted—that you’ve prepared for.

“Me too,” he smiles, “I want to be with you.”

For the first time, you feel like your feet takes you further where your heart yearns to be. One moment you’re sat in the small beanbag that Jungkook keeps in the corner of his room, and the next you’re toppling over his startled frame and onto his plush bed. The two of you land (more so him than you) on his bed as his palm rests on your waist to catch you.

Your arms are wrapped around his neck while you helplessly sniff into the crook of his neck. Your heart lays easy and your body feels light. There’s still a fear in you but it doesn’t matter. Not when he laughs, clear and loud as you whine against him.

“Stop laughing!” You hiss, and your words sound clogged due to your stuffed nose, which only makes Jungkook laugh harder.

His hand squeezes your hips when you don’t bother to pull away, even with the potential of suffocating Jungkook to death with your body atop of his.

“Sorry,” he snickers and his apology is half-hearted at best. “You’re just—you sure you’re okay?”

His hand leaves your hips, much to your disappointment, but reaches up to your face to force your cheeks to peer up at him. He chases your wandering eyes playfully when you avoid his wide smiles, eyes still unalterably puffy from the tears you shed earlier. You were sure that the tip of your nose was still red and that your cheeks were tight with your dried tears. But he doesn’t relent, even if you threaten to bite his fingers off.

“Stop looking at me,” you snap.

He shoots you a toothy grin, “But you’re so cute. How can I not?”

You tuck your face back into his neck and make a noise of frustration, mostly because you were so flustered that you didn’t know what to do with yourself. Jungkook seems to enjoy your demise, however. He was definitely far better at the teasing than you were—that enough was obvious, especially when he coos onto the crown of your head while you pinch the skin at the back of his neck in warning.

He yelps, shooting you a playful glare that you return with you sticking out your tongue.

“Don’t be mean, baby,” he husks, and you’d be lying if the term of endearment didn’t make you squirm, both under his hold and his intense gaze.

“You were being mean first,” you pout.

“But that’s because you’re too cute,” he retorts smartly, “All I wanna do is be mean to you and see you blush.”

Jungkook’s grin is nothing short of mischievous as you gawk at his blatant admission. He doesn’t look embarrassed, that was your job. His job, was just as he said, to be mean to you and see you quiver.

“Shut up,” you scowl.

“No,” he smiles, and before you can get out another retort, or shove yourself off of him, he pushes the two of you up until you’re straddling his hips. Your head spins at the sudden movement as your arms leave Jungkook’s neck to scramble for balance, but the one arm around your waist is enough to keep you comfortably rooted into position—right on his lap.

Just as you’ve recovered from the sudden whiplash, you’re about to give him an ear of expletives until you realise that he’s yet to shift his gaze away from you. In fact, Jungkook’s just staring. Soft and gentle, yet wickedly all at once. Your faces are so close, and despite the heartfelt moment the two of you shared just moments prior—you still can’t help but get flustered at the proximity.

When you’re this close, you can see all of his pores. You see the freckles adorning his cheeks that he never quite grew out of, despite his whines. You see the scar on the top of his cheekbone, a permanent reminder from his rough-house days with his older brother. You knew he grew up to accept it, and you found it adorable. A necessary part of Jungkook that made him him. The slope of his cupid's bow is more apparent than ever when you’re basically pressed against his body, and foolishly, your eyes dart down.

You feel his breath on your lips, yet neither one of you moves. It’s intimate like this, just being held. You wonder if this is what you could’ve had if you weren’t too caught up in your own thoughts. You wonder if there was an alternate world where you weren’t as selfish.

“Hi,” he murmurs, breaking you out of your thoughts as your eyes snap back to his.

His eyes are still gentle, especially when the arm around your waist tugs you impossibly closer until you’re all but flushed against his chest, hands looping around his neck as the only space available for you to leave them.

“Hi,” you return shyly.

He’s gentle when he brushes the hair out of your face, fingers trailing across your cheek and down your face until it’s softly gripping your jaw. This time, his thumb rubs across your cheekbone and all you can do is melt into his touch. You’ve never felt so accounted for. As if you were being studied by someone who wanted to melt your feeling into memory. And the fact that it’s Jungkook giving you this attention makes your heart uncontrollably flutter.

“This is real, right?” He asks in a soft whisper.

“I am in fact, very real,” you joke, even if you know what he’s implying.

He rolls his eyes, squeezing your jaw in warning as you swallow. The heat in your stomach is soft, but definitely brewing. It didn’t help that you were precariously placed in Jungkook’s lap, where your hips could just inch—

“Don’t be a smartass,” he sighs before leaning closer to you, “Makes me want to do real mean things.”

Your body heats, but you’re empowered by some sort of confidence that you only get when you’re intoxicated with Jungkook’s warmth and scent.

“Then do it.” You challenge.

Jungkook’s jaw ticks and you note that he doesn’t relax the hand clasping your jaw. You teasingly rub your cheek against his thumb, hips slightly inching forward. And as observant as ever, Jungkook’s other arm that was wrapped around your waist stops you as his fingers drop down to your hips—squeezing in another warning that has you anticipating for more.

“I don’t think so,” he shakes his head as you frown. The expression he gives you isn’t one that’s saying no. Instead, he still smiles. “You deserve a tender kind of love.”

When he whispers those words to you, you literally melt into his hold. Your mind and heart can’t take it anymore. They make the decision for you to lean forward, crushing your lips against his as you chase for that euphoric feeling that only Jungkook can evoke in you.

Jungkook grunts at your force and uncoordinated movements. You don’t think too much about how there are more teeth than mouth, but what you do focus on is how Jungkook taste. He tastes like the strawberry chiffon cake from earlier mixed with cherry whine. It’s addictive—and you wonder if this is what love tastes like.

“Calm down, angel,” he whispers onto your lips, briefly pulling away.

Your eyes are half-lidded and dazed when you watch the string of saliva that connects your lips. He sees it too. His eyes darken significantly as you tug on the collar of his shirt, a whimper stuck in your throat as you peer up at him with your best version of a bedroom gaze.

“Kiss me,” you all but demand, “Kiss me stupid.”

Jungkook looks at you filled with lust before he’s recapturing your lips with his own. This time around, he leads. He’s by far more experienced in dragging out the experience and heightening all of your senses when he plays with the pout of your lips, purposefully dragging his teeth over the creases and nudging your lips open with his tongue.

He’s especially good when he groans into your mouth, low and husky as it pulls out a whimper from you. His hands explore your body, running up the curves of your waist, over your hips, and unconsciously pushing you forward on his lap.

“So pretty,” he murmurs, kissing down your jaw as you tilt your head up to give him more space to work with. When he looks up for a brief second, your breath hitches at the way his lips are swollen at red. His gaze is dark, and you suppose it’s because your lips are likely the same. “So fucking pretty.”

You whine in embarrassment, approaching to cover your face with your hand but Jungkook stops you with a firm grab to lock your wrists together. His look is enough of a warning, and your lower body clenches in response.

“Don’t,” he warns, “Wanna see your face.”

What else could you do but comply?

You nod silently, and all your senses are in overload when he returns to laving at your neck, tongue darting out to soothe any bites that he’s left. All you can do is helplessly gasp as he sends goosebumps all across your body, growling into your skin with a purpose to drive your mind wild.

You never imagined making out to be this pleasurable. But you suppose it’s both because of Jungkook’s skill and your ardent feelings for him that makes you crazy. It’s the same feeling that makes you want more, that makes you grind your hips in a slow circle, right on his crotch.

Jungkook’s hand stutters as well as his mouth, probably not expecting the sudden onslaught of pressure on his lower half. He groans, tucking his face into your neck as you continue your ministrations, your own bundle of nerves stimulated with each grind forward.

“What are you doing?” He hisses.

He looks up and his eyes are completely blown up. You swallow, the fire in your chest already slowly starting to erupt into flames. His palms are unconsciously splayed across your ass, and you just know he’s tempted to push you forward.

“Wanna—” you croak, emphasising your point with another grind that has him hissing in pleasure. “Wanna feel you.”

“Don’t start a game you can’t finish, baby,” he grits, eyes fluttering shut as you continue rutting against him; your own breathless whines escaping your lips.

You shake your head frantically, “N-No!” You deny, and suddenly you’re darting forward as your foreheads clash. You wince in pain, and so does he—but the clumsiness of it all only makes Jungkook smile fondly at you, briefly dropping the persona he’s admonished. “I really—I really want you. All of you.”

Your desperate pleas don’t go unheard by jungkook. In fact, his arms completely still, as if he took a whole out of body experience to process your words.

“Really?” He smiles playfully, a look that has you softening into his hold. “You want me?”

You nod your head, “Y-Yes.”

Jungkook nudges your nose with his before he’s kissing you again. You whine, frustrated at how he still insists on kissing you. Sure, you loved his lips on yours—but you were undoubtedly wet right now, and you felt the telltale signs of his cock pressing against your inner thigh.

“Jungkook,” you whine, pushing him away as you scowl at him, “I want you.”

You’re aware of how petulant you sound, and it’s almost embarrassing when you shamelessly rut your hips forward. Jungkook laughs with a small smirk, and you’re about to chew him out for laughing at you when he was clearly hard! There was nothing amusing about the fact that you were so wet that you could die and he was doing absolutely nothing about it.

“My pretty girl wants me?” He croons, pulling you flush into his chest until he’s plopping back to the bed. You shriek, falling forward as you all but gracefully crash into his chest. “You want me?” He teases.

You scowl, suddenly more irritated than horny.

“Oh my God, do you have comprehension issues?” You snap, glaring at him when he grins cheekily at you from where you tilt your head up. “I said I want you!”

He hums noncommittally, “You gotta be more specific than that baby. Use your words.”

The way he shifted from such an alluring and … dark tone to such a light-hearted jibe that still makes your stomach clench is stupefying and impressive. But this Jungkook seemed more collateral with an easy smile marring his face, arms wrapped around you in a relaxed way as if he had all the time in the world.

“I-I—” you stammer, cheeks flushing embarrassingly red, “What part of I want you do you not get?” You opt to scowl at him further, glaring at him with your red cheeks.

“Let me help you then,” he murmurs, shifting backwards ever so slightly until his head was perched upon a pillow, right against his headboard. He looks at you with lazy eyes that has your core clenching unconsciously. You blush, unsure if he felt. If he did, he doesn’t say anything but smile. “Tell me how you want me.”

You blink.

“H-How?”

He nods, hands resting around your hips as he nudges your body upwards until you’re the one fully straddling him while he lays down, comfortable and casual as he rests his arms behind his head.

You gape at him, especially at the relaxed state he was in. As if he hadn’t riled you up in a way that has you wanting more while he awaits your answer as if you were just having an ordinary conversation.

“Yeah,” he nods, “You’re always complaining, right? Use your mouth and tell me then, and maybe if I’m feeling nice I’ll give you what you want.”

You still completely above him, legs resting at the sides of his hips while you stare at him like a deer caught in headlights. You were unsure where he was going with this, but you liked it. Despite the sheer mortification you felt at the insinuation of the fact that you had to verbalise what you wanted, the wetness pooling in your panties definitely told you that you were enjoying whatever Jungkook was playing at.

Especially when he sighs as if you were taking too long. The inherent need in you wanting to please him was overpowering your senses, even the one where you feel embarrassed.

“I,” you clear your throat, eyes looking away with red cheeks. “I want you to … I want you—to—t-touch me.”

“It’s rude not to look at people when you’re asking for something,” he snaps.

His voice suddenly startles you into looking back at him. He’s frowning at you, and your heart suddenly drops.

As if he senses your hesitation, the gentle look replaces the bored one almost immediately, hands darting out to grab your hands.

“Are you okay? We can stop—”

You shake your head immediately. You were way too worked up to stop right now and Jungkook looked too appetising with his cold expression. You knew that you’ve come to a point where your feelings for each other are known and that you are his as much as he is yours. It was nice, to have the coldness—it’s almost shameful to admit. But you thought it was hot. And the fact that you knew it would go away right after this was done made the situation even more arousing.

“N-No!” You deny, “I-I’ll be good. I promise.” His eyes widen at the sudden breathlessness of your voice. “Sorry.”

You duck your head down, and Jungkook gauges your expression for any hint of discomfort or uncertainty but doesn’t find any. He almost chuckles at how eager you seem, all innocent and doe-eyed when you struggle to find the right words.

“I forgive you, baby,” Jungkook husks, thumb rubbing a circle against your hip before his arms return to the back of his head. “You remember, right? Use your words and focus on me.”

You nod your head obediently, swallowing the saliva in your mouth as you shift around on his lap, unconsciously trying to relieve the pressure in your lower region. Jungkook’s lip twitches in a smirk at your semi-frustrated expression but doesn’t comment on it. He’s enjoying this way too much, and it was taking him more self-restraint than ever to not give in.

He knew what you wanted. But he wanted to be sure. He could wait for years if that meant having you fully be ready. This playfulness that he adopted was a first too since he was usually a one-and-done kind of guy. It wasn’t something he was proud of but it worked. It worked with women he didn’t care about. But you weren’t just a woman he cared about. You were the person he’s in love with. The woman he’s been in love with for the last decade of his life and the only other woman that wasn’t his mother or grandmother that he loved.

And you seem to be enjoying it, even if you’re a little unsure. It only adds to the sexiness of the entire situation. Even with your flushed cheeks and wide eyes, he thinks you’re stunning.

When you decide you’re ready, you clear your throat and establish unwavering eye contact with Jungkook, even if you felt like your face was the surface of the sun with how hot it was.

“I want you,” you say softly, yet your voice is firmer than before. “I want you to—touch me. To t-touch my body.” You say breathlessly, leaning forward ever so slightly as your hair dangles in front of your face. Jungkook clenches his jaw at how you’re progressively getting breathier, almost desperate as the manic look in your eyes surface.

“Where, baby?” He prompts.

You flush harder but swallow.

“My b-breasts,” you whimper, embarrassment painting your face, but Jungkook nods in contentment, cocking his head for you to continue. “M-My … my …?”

You didn’t even know what to call it. You knew it was your vagina—you weren’t stupid. But the lewdness of all other alternatives made you want to quiver into a hole and never return. It sounded good when Jungkook said it but what if you sounded awkward? What if he thought the way you pronounced its synonyms was unsexy—?

“You want me to touch your pussy?” He finishes for you, voice low in a whisper as your eyes widen.

You nod shamefully, still maintaining eye contact as you unconsciously find yourself nibbling on your bottom lip while you gauge his expression. Jungkook’s eyes immediately dart down, as he licks his own lips in response.

Jungkook smirks at you, suggestive and devious while he rakes his eyes all over your body. Your outfit is different from usual, but still nothing to rave about. Yet, with the way he ogles you, you feel almost naked. And, an even more absurd realisation comes across you when you note that you don’t mind.

“You gotta say it, baby,” he sighs as if he were disappointed in you.

Your confusion only spurs him further, cock straining against his pants when your mouth moves to get the words out, the lewd term still feeling foreign on your tongue.

“I—I want you t-to touch my—” the breath you take is shaky, but as always, you were always a determined person by nature, especially when something you wanted was on the line. “—want you to t-touch my p-pussy.”

When the words leave your lips, you hear Jungkook groan under his breath, eyes fluttering shut as his hands twitch behind his head. His obvious satisfaction causes a deep sense of pride to swell in your chest, the humiliation being overpowered by the innate desire to have Jungkook make that sound again.

“Please touch my pussy,” you beg, almost whiney when you look down at him.

Jungkook’s using all the restraint in him to keep himself level-headed. Where in actuality, he’s both baffled and thanking the Gods above for having you in front of him like this. He’s never allowed himself to delve much into his fantasies, even if he’d shamelessly admit that he had one too many of these same scenarios play out in his mind. It sounds sweeter on your tongue, almost verboten when you whimper those words out.

The usually kept together version of you is slowly unravelling, and Jungkook never thought he had a corruption kink—but he definitely did. Or, maybe it was just you. He wasn’t going anywhere else to find out.

“What a good girl,” Jungkook murmurs, hands teasingly drafting across your thighs as the lower half of your body twitches ever so slightly at the touch.

He smirks at your eagerness, but there was a devious part of him that wanted to drag this further. To see you completely be his, even if he knew where your heart laid.

“Take off your clothes, then.”

You were just about to rut against his crotch desperately, the heat in your body almost searing uncomfortably as you feel the fabric of your panties sticks against your folds.

“M-Myself?”

Jungkook tongues the inside of his cheek, “Do you see me helping?” He asks with a raised brow.

You don’t, in fact. Jungkook’s completely still, perched snugly under you as he continues to draw lazy glances over your body, awaiting your next move. Your cheeks are still on fire, and every inch of your skin is begging to be touched. It’s almost hysterical at how Jungkook’s managed to reduce you into an absolute desperate mess without even needing to touch you—directly, that is.

He’s fully clothed, cock hard—and he commands you to his will. And you obey.

You’re about to push yourself off his lap, but he stops you before you can get any further.

“On my lap.”

His authoritative tone makes you whimper, almost frustratedly begging for him to do something. To touch you. To kiss you. Anything.

When people spoke of sex, you always thought that they just got to it. Sure, there was foreplay that was enjoyable, but sex has never been something that you found inherently desirable. That’s one of the reasons why you still hadn’t had sex yet. It’s because you never saw the appeal.

But you suppose you’ve never had a reason to. Not until now, at least. Because Jungkook makes you want him. Makes you want to feel his cock in you while you moan and cry. It’s a part of you that you’ve never seen, but you imagine has always been there. You wanted him—and that was still as scary as it was the first time you realised it.

You hesitantly start at the hem of your tank-top, fingers stuttering when you realise that Jungkook’s just staring. It’s different this time. His eyes are dark and purposeful, trained sternly on your upper body that still remains covered.

“L-Like this?” You ask hesitantly, lifting the fabric ever so slightly.

You realise that you’ve never been fully naked in front of Jungkook before, despite him being somewhat familiar with your intimates. The thought makes you nervous, but the way he’s looking at you makes you feel sexy. Like you were capable of making him push himself over the edge.

“Touch your body, baby,” he directs.

You follow his instructions obediently, albeit a little stiffly. You try to channel your inner seductress out when you graze your fingertips across the panel of your stomach, the sides of your body and up your breast. It’s so intimate, especially when Jungkook’s looking at you so intently while you attempt to map out your body. It’s funny how it’s been twenty-five years, yet this is the first time you’ve properly felt your body. That it’s the first time it’s felt like a home.

“You’re doing so good,” he encourages you softly, eyes raking over your breast when you give them an experimental squeeze. Your hands are small, but they do the job of alleviating some form of pressure. You gasp, eyes fluttering shut when it starts to feel more natural.

Jungkook’s praises spur you on, as you finally decide to tug at your tank-top, slowly and steadily as you attempt to teasingly lift it up.

“You’re a quick learner, aren’t you?” He murmurs, smiles apparent in his voice as you slowly peel your tank-top off, your heart beating with the adrenaline pumping through your system at the prospect of Jungkook seeing your body for the first time.

It’s both terrifying and arousing. You wonder if he notices the flaws you see when you undress at the end of every day. You wonder if he likes your body—more than you—or less than you. Though, it’s even exponentially more terrifying to think if he liked it less than you did. You’re nervous, especially when he hasn’t said anything and you’re fully topless, with the exception of your bra that covers the last bit of modesty across your chest.

What if he didn’t like your boobs? Did they look awkward in the bra? It wasn’t … sexy. You weren’t trying to get laid tonight. But you don’t know if Jungkook preferred the extra get-ups, or not. You didn’t know at all. And you definitely didn’t know what he was thinking when he continues to stare at you, face surprisingly blank.

“J-Jungkook?” You whisper, voice nervous.

Then, his eyes flutter shut, as if he was defeated before you hear him mumble a low fuck under his breath.

Your eyebrows furrow in confusion, and before you can do anything else—he stares up at the ceiling as if there was something he needed to contemplate before you proceeded.

“You’re gorgeous.”

You don’t know how to react, especially because his works sound almost pained when he chokes it out. He wasn’t even looking at you—so you were rightfully confused.

“I—thank you?” You say slowly.

“I love your tits.” He blurts, eyes suddenly returning to zero onto your chest.

You blush at his vulgar words, hands immediately rushing around to hide your chest despite the fact that he continues to ogle.

“Don’t,” he whines, suddenly turning into the regular Jungkook that you know and love. Your eyes almost widen comically at the duality of the man in front of you, especially when he petulantly tugs at your hand to reveal your cups back to him.

“Did my tits really break you out of your persona?” You snort, finding the situation both funny and stimulating.

There was something about breaking a joke with someone during foreplay that made the build-up to sex much more enjoyable, and your heart nearly flies out of your chest when you realise that you’re experiencing this with Jungkook.

“I’m sorry but if you’re finally seeing the main character of all your teenaged wet dreams in person then I think you’d react the same way,” he snaps back.

You gawk, “Y-Your teenage what?”

He scoffs as if he can’t understand your disbelief.

“Don’t act so surprised,” he sneers accusingly at you while you continue to gape at his sudden confession, shirtless and all. “The number of things that I did on your tits—” And what makes it worse, wasn’t that you were turned on, but was when Jungkook’s eyes fluttered shut as he groans—as if he was picturing it all over again. “—fuuuck.”

“Jungkook!” You shriek, slapping his chest as he sighs, a dopey smile on his face.

“Promise me you’ll let me.” He begs.

You look at him dubiously.

“Let you what?” You ask carefully.

“Cum on them. Fuck them. Suck on them.” He shrugs. Your jaw is slackened when he says them so casually. You also note the jump in his pants, his cock twitching against your core as you gasp.

“J-Jungkook!” You say, scandalised.

(Though your panties are definitely drenched.)

“Please take your bra off.” He croaks, hands finally reaching out to grab at your hips.

You roll your eyes at the desperation in his tone. Even if Jungkook had done some growing up, he was still such a boy. You find his fascination with your tits almost amusing, especially when his eyes darken even further when you reach out to unclasp your bra.

You feel empowered on top, even if you know that ultimately, Jungkook calls the shots. It’s the way that he groans beneath you when your tits finally fall free, cups thrown carelessly aside as you smile bashfully at him.

“I’m going to die,” he groans.

“Just because you saw a pair of tits?” You snort, “Hm, maybe you really aren’t as impressive as I thought you were, Jeon.”

Jungkook immediately snaps up to look at you, eyes narrowed at your amused grin painting your phase. You’re about to continue jibing at him, but you realise that his eyes are hooded and menacing when they stare straight into your soul. Your face slowly drops when you realise he doesn’t respond with an equally light tone.

“I-I was just—”

You can’t even get another word out before he’s interrupting you.

“Pants off, baby.”

He doesn’t ask this time. He’s demanding.

You don’t argue this time. Even if you’re excited at the way he so effortlessly switches back into his first persona—you didn’t want to piss him off. Yet.

Fed with more confidence than earlier, you trail your hands up your thighs until they reach the button of your jeans. Jungkook’s still watching you intently, face void of any emotion that you can read as you begin to undo each button until your panties are peaking through the slit.

You slip your jeans off, a little unseemly, but it gets the job done. You aren’t sure if you can keep up being patient this way, especially when you return to settle down onto Jungkook’s lap, you feel the roughness of his jeans press against your clit as you gasp.

“So fucking wet, baby,” he smirks, “I didn’t even do anything.”

“Jungkook please,” you beg, hips jutting forward to chase anything. This time, without the barrier of your jeans, it feels so much better. So much more raw as the bump of his zipper nudges against your clit, your wetness lubricating the movement. “Do something.”

He stops you from moving before peering up at you with dark eyes and a warning expression. You immediately halt, the same fear returning as you whimper in a desperate tone.

“On my face.”

You blink owlishly at him as you attempt to process his demand.

He quirks an eyebrow up at you, impatient when he clicks his tongue.

“Did I stutter?”

“I’m sorry but did you just say—your face?” You ask incredulously.

Jungkook sighs, annoyed.

“Yes, my face. Hurry up before I get mean.” He warns.

You almost tell him that you wouldn’t mind, but the demand finally settles in as you gape at him in horror.

“I-I can’t sit on your face!” You snap, “I’m going to crush you.”

“I’m a big boy,” he rolls his eyes, “I can take it.”

You don’t think you can.

“Jungkook, you’re literally going to suffocate and die.” You deadpan.

“I’m not,” he drawls as he shoots you an unimpressed look before he’s pulling your hips forward. You nearly stumble off if it weren’t for your palms that press against his headboard. You turn absolutely red when you realise that you’ve hovering above him, cunt in his face as your scent essentially surrounds him.

“Fuck. You smell so good.” He groans, sniffing your pussy in an obscene manner that has your cheeks burning.

“J-Jungkook—“ you say nervously, attempting to shuffle back in embarrassment.

“I’ll be fine.” He snaps.

“I really don’t—”

“Why do you have to be so bratty,” he sighs with an irritating tick to his brow when you peer down, “Even if I die—I’d be happy to go by your pussy.”

You flush even harder at his crude words.

“Jeon Jungkook!”

“What?” He says defensively, “Do you need it in black and white in case I do? I’ll write you a contract if you—”

“Oh my God,” you huff in exasperation, “You’re unbelievable!”

“Unbelievably hard and horny so if you mind I’d really like for you to sit that pussy on my face,” he retorts snappishly.

You sigh to yourself, still embarrassed. You’re still confused at how Jungkook’s able to switch from one personality to another, and you suppose it’s just the many faces of Jungkook you’ve yet to learn about.

“Jungkook, I really—Jungkook!”

Your complaints are interrupted when he quite literally rips your panties off of you, the sound of the fabric tearing filling his room as you gasp.

“Jungkook what the hell?!” You shriek.

He doesn’t placate you with a response until he’s tugging your hips down to his face, his mouth immediately latching around your clit as you fall forward at the first lick. You never stood a chance.

“F-Fuck!” You scream, loud and unabashed when your lower half seizes in pleasure.

Jungkook immediately laps you up like he’s parched for water. You don’t even know where to look, especially when your body is inevitably hunched forward due to the onslaught of pressure relieved at your lower region. Your eyes eventually wander downwards and you’re welcomed with an equally as erotic sight with Jungkook’s purple hair between your thighs, his own eyes shut in pleasure as he laps at your pussy like a madman.

You’re undeniably flushing and beyond wet. That enough is clear when the wetness of your cunt is audible enough in between your gasps of pleasure while Jungkook keeps his arms wrapped around your thighs.

“J-Jungkook—oh my G-God—“ you mewl, the heat in the lower half of your body sending you into overdrive, especially when he’s dead-set on making a home between your thighs. “Oh, oh.” You’re moaning lewdly at this point, eyes rolling to the back of your head when he pushes you further onto his face. “I-I can’t—!”

Your hands reach out to grab on his hair, startled when you realise that you’re almost fully sitting on him.

“You can and you will,” he snarls against your pussy, the sound muffled by the wetness and the way he doesn’t bother to even take a breather as he drags his tongue across your folds to gather all your wetness and centre it around your throbbing bud.

“J-Jungkook, I’m g-going to crush you!” You cry in the middle of a moan, “Jungk—fuck.”

On Jungkook’s end, he’s positive he’s already dead and in heaven. All he can smell, taste and see is you. Your face is contorted in pure pleasure when he licks across your slit, tongue fucking into you with a sense of purpose that drives you insane. You taste so heady and sweet. All for him. Especially when he gets to see your tits from below.

“Fuck,” he growls into your pussy, the vibrations making your thighs shake at the side of his face. Your hands were the only things supporting your weight right now, and even then, they were close to giving out with how good Jungkook was making you feel. “Ride my face baby.”

Your eyes widen, immediately darting down to shoot Jungkook a stupefied expression. Too bad he doesn’t catch it because he’s too busy shaking his head, tongue following his motions as he presses it firmly against your clit. You let out an embarrassingly loud cry and a moan, your hand immediately reaching to clamp over your mouth in embarrassment.

“Don’t,” he complains, “Wanna hear you cum, pretty girl.”

You all but melt into him further at his term of endearment. Your legs were shaking uncontrollably at the way he refuses to give you a break. You feel the coil tighten further and further, so close to release especially when your body gives out of you—the weight of your body resting on his face as you unconsciously grind your hips across his tongue.

And fuck. Does it feel good.

“O-Oh, oh—J-Jungkook—fuck, you’re so good to me you make me—feel so—good,” you ramble manically, heading dropping forehead to rest on his headboard as you grind further onto his tongue, uncaring if he’s crushed. Jungkook lays there at your disposal, tongue out for you to use as he continues to hum into your pussy like a personal vibrator.

“Come on baby,” he encourages with a growl, “Cum for me, yeah? Gonna prep you real good for my cock. You want it, don’t you? Deep in your pussy while I make you scream? Cream my face for me, baby.”

His dirty words make you gasp, your hands tightly pulling at his hair as you shamelessly chase your hair. Your face is completely pressed against the headboard, and Jungkook can only admire the way your face is morphed into an expression he never thought he’d be able to get out of a girl—let alone seeing the girl of his dreams all desperate and wet for him like this.

You feel so filthy like this—in more than one sense that wasn’t just your sweaty body and malleable limbs—but the way he digs his nose further, occasionally brushing against your pelvis as you grind against his tongue. Your body is moving on its own, the innate desire to chase your high is the only thing your mind can register. All sense of poise and modesty out of the window when Jungkook lets you use him.

“J-Jungkook—” you sob, “I-I’m c-cumming—!”

“Cum for me baby,” he purrs, “Cum on my tongue.”

Just as you’re about to cum, Jungkook makes a split-second decision to roll you over until your back is pressed to his bed. He loves having you on his face, but he loves this. Seeing you squeak in surprise while you continue to mewl in pleasure, your back arching off the bed as you gasp for air.

He buries his face impossibly deeper, speeding up the way his tongue rolls against your clit. You’re moaning out incoherencies, hazed to absolute pleasure as your thighs quiver by the side of his head.

“Oh—!”

You cum loudly and messily, your pussy clenching and unclenching rhythmically as Jungkook laps up all of your essences, continuously tongue-fucking you through your pleasure. You almost blackout at how intensely your body was shaking from that orgasm, your thighs clamping shut around his head in oversensitivity when he continues to slurp at your pussy in an obscene manner.

“J-Jungkook—” you whine, attempting to push him away as he finally relents, parting from your cunt with a soft kiss to your clit that has your legs jumping.

Your back is absolutely damp with sweat, and sore the sheets beneath you as you attempt to catch your breath. Your chest is tight with the lack of oxygen while the room spins. You feel more than see the sheets ruffling by your sides, and Jungkook slowly inches up your body with wet kisses against your skin.

You all but let out helpless whimpers, absolutely spent—yet frantic for more.

“You did so well,” he coos, gently kissing up to your stomach, your ribs before his hands are capturing your breasts in his large hands. He squeezes them, evoking a gasp from you, body still tingling from your orgasm. “So good for me. Don’t deserve you.”

You can barely register his words, especially when his mouth attaches itself to your right breast, immediately delivering kitten licks to your nipples that causes your back to arch into his hot mouth. You mewl in pleasure when he doesn’t keep himself soft, instead, it’s wet and loud and desperate when he looks up—eyes dark as you whimper.

“Oh,” you exhale when he plops off with a pop, sending you a smile that’s far more gentle than how you feel. For that split second, you feel your heart melt, shooting him a weak smile in return.

“Can’t believe you’re here,” he sighs dreamily into your left breast, peppering kisses around your peaked buds before squeezing it between his fingers. His eyes are honest when they maintain eye contact, the gesture too intimate for you to handle as you bashfully look away. “Can’t believe this is happening.”

“It is,” you say softly, “I’m here, Kook.”

The nickname causes him to groan, his head resting on your breast as your hand finally finds the strength to instinctively wrap your fingers between his locks, delicately scraping through his hair as he sighs.

“You know I never thought I was good enough for you,” he abruptly confesses.

Your eyes widen.

“What? Why—?”

He doesn’t respond, instead; he kisses up your chest until he’s inches away from your lips, his face carrying the weight of your words as you search for an answer.

And it’s scary that he looks so much like himself. The Jungkook you’ve known for long loved for just as much—but were only brave enough to accept recently. He’s always looked youthful, though he definitely grew out of his round edges. He’s more defined, carved by years of experiences and mistakes that made him the person he was today.

He looks hesitant for the first time this night. As if he’s mulling over the next things he’ll say.

Jungkook looks at you, eyes holding more than just your gaze but the magnitude of his heart. You wonder how long he’s looked at you like that for.

“You’re amazing,” he finally says, and it’s against your lips.

“You are too,” you say with a soft gaze.

He shakes his head, and it’s probably an odd conversation to have while you’re fully naked and Jungkook’s yet to shed off a single piece of his clothing.

“I’m good at things, there’s a difference,” he sighs, “You’re … you’re it, you know? I don’t think you know how great you really are.”

“Jungkook …”

“No, really.” His eyes are suddenly wide as if he was afraid you wouldn’t believe him. Yet, you found it hard to truly trust his words, the part of you that feels lacking refuses to. “You’re driven and you’re passionate. You care so deeply and profoundly that it’s impossible not to love you. You just—how could I ever deserve someone like you?”

Your eyes soften as his eyes dart away from yours, his eyebrows furrowed in displeasure. You know he’s caught up in his own thoughts. The expression is too familiar to you because you’ve been there. You were just there, and it took a long time for you to recognise that sometimes—we won’t ever know what we deserve or do.

“Jungkook,” you whisper, hands reaching out to hold his cheeks and guide his gaze back to you. His eyes are unsure, and all you want to do is reassure him. So, you do. “Look at me. Please?”

He does, albeit hesitantly as you offer him the gentlest of smiles.

“It’s insane that you think that because I wonder how I could ever deserve you,” you throw his words back to him with a small smile.

His jaw drops, “No way—!”

You giggle, shushing him with a gentle peck to his lips that has him melting into your touch.

“My point is,” you continue, never breaking eye contact with him. “We’ll always feel lacking in some way because we always will be. We’re human. We’re bound to make mistakes and we’ll never be perfect. But I wouldn’t have you any other way. I fell in love with this version of you, and I’ll love every version of you that I’ll be blessed to learn about.”

Jungkook stares at you, awestruck as you continue smiling lovingly at him. Whatever you had just said was the truth and you’d tell him that over and over again if it meant he’d trust your words just a little more.

“Do you understand?” You ask softly, “I love—”

He shuts you up by smashing his lips to yours, causing you to gasp in surprise at the ferocity of the force. He’s pushing you into the sheets, not enough for it to hurt but enough to show you his intuitive want for you at that very moment.

His hand reach up to cup your cheeks, the other one already making its way down your body until it's cupping your mound.

“J-Jungkook,” you whimper, eyes dazed as you tilt your head to the side, “Take off your clothes.”

You emphasise your point with a tug to the hem of his shirt and the waistband of his jeans.

He doesn’t argue with you, quickly pulling his shirt over his head from the back, exposing the firm expanse of his chest. The intricate design of tattoos trail up his arm and onto his shoulder, emphasising each slope of his muscles.

You really can’t close your mouth as you’re blatantly ogling him. You’ve seen Jungkook shirtless many times, it’s a given since he basically lived at the gym and was comfortable enough around you and in his own body when he lazily throws off his shirt when it got too hot. But you’ve never seen him like this. So close to you, panting in desire while his carnal eyes rake over your completely bare body while he’s in the midst of undressing.

“You’re staring,” he smirks.

You scoff, cheeks flushing even if you know it’s nothing but the truth.

“Pants. Off.” You demand, lips in a pout as he laughs, bending down to give you a quick smack before he shoots you that charming grin of him.

“Want to help?” He cocks an eyebrow up, licking his lips as you feel your pussy flutter at his tone.

Really, Jeon Jungkook was too hot for his own good.

You roll your eyes, yet you find yourself already shifting forward, despite the shake in your legs from your previous orgasm as you make your way towards the button of his jeans, fingers already working their way to undo it.

Jungkook observes your eagerness, especially when your eyes occasionally drift upwards as you search for his approval. All Jungkook does is rub a soothing hand over your head as you continue your ministrations. You help him tug his pants down, his briefs not doing much in covering his bulge that practically stares you straight in the eye as you swallow.

You’ve seen it once, had it in your mouth—yet, the thought becomes more appealing the longer you ogle.

Your hands are already reaching out to cup him through his briefs, your state of horniness throwing all hesitancy out of the window as you hear Jungkook suck in a deep breath before his large hand closes on top of your own.

“Next time, baby,” he murmurs, “This is about you.”

You roll your eyes at the cliche phrase, and you can’t help the indignant tone that travels through your chest and out of your mouth.

“And what if I want to suck your dick?”

Jungkook shoots you a pointed stare before pushing you down back onto your back as you squeak in surprise.

“Don’t be a smartass,” he sighs, “Besides, I’m the hardest I’ve ever been in my entire life and there’s no way I’m going to last if I have your mouth on me. The only place I wanna feel is your pussy, got it?”

Your eyes widen at his blatant words, and your gaping face may have thrown Jungkook off as his expression suddenly mimics yours.

“I-I mean—that’s if you’re still—we don’t have to have sex—”

You interrupt him by wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into a kiss.

“Jungkook,” you mumble against his lips, pulling ever so slightly to shoot him a serious look, “If you’re not going to fuck me then I’m going to be really disappointed. Or—maybe I’ll just go find someone who is going to fuck me—”

Jungkook growls, hands delivering a pert smack to your right asscheek as you gasp at his actions, his gaze dropping to yours in a hooded gaze.

“I’m not going to fuck you,” he snarls threateningly as your face drops, “I’m going to love you so good—you got that?”

Somehow, his rough tone is contrasted against his gentle words, especially when his eyes soften on your face.

“I’d really like that,” you smile.

Before you can say anything else, Jungkook already has his hands trailing down your abdomen once again to cup your mound. You gasp, squirming under his touch as you whine.

“Jungkook,” you whine, “Just—please just stick it in already.”

You realise how whiney you sound, but you were still really worked up and your previous orgasm along with Jungkook’s spit has provided enough lubricant for you to take him. At least that’s what you think.

“There’s no way my cock’s going to fit if I don’t stretch you out,” he says pointedly, “Even if your pussy’s all sloppy.”

His words make you whimper, thighs clenching in reprieve to relieve the pulsations in your lower abdomen. You can’t even imagine how it’s going to feel like—and you know that Jungkook isn’t average-sized by any means. It was already a struggle to have him in your mouth and you could somewhat contract and relax it voluntarily. Your pussy on the other hand? Not quite.

“P-Please hurry,” you beg, eyes peering up desperately.

Jungkook opens his mouth to say something but decides against it at the last minute, likely too worked up to do so. Rather, his fingers immediately gather the wetness from your pussy to your whole, causing you to mewl in expectation.

His index finger prods your hole before it slips in, as he peers up to gauge your expression. At this point, anything that Jungkook did would evoke a whine from you because you’ve already been riled up enough. He curls his digit, the pad of his finger immediately reaching deep in your wet cunt.

You gasp, head falling back onto the pillow as Jungkook smirks at you.

“Already?” He teases, “How are you going to take my cock if one finger gets you like this?”

You glare at him through lidded eyes.

“Would you prefer me to shut up and take it like a starfish?” You can’t help the spite that escapes your mouth, throwing back the familiar yet painful words back to him.

Jungkook’s eyes widen, mouth falling agape. You weren’t trying to be mean, in fact, it was more so that you were frustrated than anything else. Your heart has healed, but there was no harm in teasing—right?

“I—well”—he gulps, eyes comically apologetic as his face crumbles while his finger twitches in your cunt—“Baby you can’t do this to me.” He whines.

You roll your eyes.

“Then how about you get to it,” you smile sweetly at him, patting his cheek as he pouts, “Stretch me out so I can take you good.” You purr.

Jungkook nods his head obediently as if caught in a trance and you almost want to laugh. You quite liked the hold you had over him, even if it was just momentarily. You don’t dwell on your thoughts for too long because Jungkook’s slipping another digit in, your pussy acclimating to the stretch.

He thrusts his fingers into your pussy, digging deeper each time as you feel the tell-tale signs of your stomach clenching in desire as you moan softly.

“Does it feel good?” He asks.

You nod your head, eyes fluttering shut as he speeds up his fingers, your pussy throbbing around the digits. You were still wet from your previous orgasm, and still as sensitive—so you felt every inch of his fingers reach your walls and it felt heavenly, especially when Jungkook was pressed so close to you that his body warmed you up.

“So good,” you whimper.

“Can you take another?” He murmurs, the third digit already testing the waters.

You nod your head.

Once he gets your consent, he inserts his last finger as you wince at the burn. His fingers were long and girth enough to make you feel the stretch. He stills ever so slightly to catch your expression as he shoots you a concerned gaze.

“You okay?”

You nod your head, whimpering ever so slightly when he shallowly thrusts his fingers. Your pussy stretches to accommodate the new girth, and it’s both pleasurable and uncomfortable—but the way that Jungkook begins to press his lips to yours distracts you from the burn.

You feel his palm bump into your clit every time he thrusts harder, fingers curling expertly into the spot that has you moaning into his mouth, fingers clutching his hair in desperation to ground yourself. You think he’s just here to stretch you out, so you don’t expect much—but suddenly, he’s snapping his fingers into your pussy so rapidly that you catch yourself in a cry of pleasure.

“J-Jungkook—I—w-what—?” You ask manically, your voice high pitched as you clutch his arms while you feel your pussy clench uncontrollably around his digits.

“Cum for me again,” he grits, eyes narrowed in focus while he watches the way your wetness coats his fingers.

He scissors your pussy and you barely feel it, purely because your wetness makes it so much easier for him to thrust his fingers in and out without any barrier. It’s loud and wet, the way that your pussy squelches each time the heel of his palm purposefully drags itself across your clit.

“I-I’m going—ohohoh—please don’t stop please don’t stop,” you sob, head thrown back.

“So wet,” he growls, “Wanna see you cum again. Will you do that for me?” He whispers into your cheek, your whines caught against his mouth as you feel yourself reach the very edge. “Come on, you’re doing so good for me. Aren’t you? The prettiest and best girl.”

His praise makes you clutch onto him harder while he doesn’t stop the brutal thrusts into your cunt. And with one particularly good drag of his fingers on your g-spot, you cum—and it’s a silent cry that you let out while your lower half shakes.

Jungkook continues finger-fucking you through your orgasm, even when it begins to burn in oversensitivity as you whimper, body spent for the second time that night.

“That’s right,” he coos, “Always so beautiful for me.”

When you come down from your high, you slowly blink at him while you catch your breath. Jungkook’s already staring at you, and even if he’s yet to receive any direct stimulation, he looks equally as fucked out as he breathes, chest rising up and down while his eyes remain trained on your body.

“Jungkook,” you croak, throat raw from your moans. Your hands trail to his briefs as you tug on them, still desperate for more if it was from him. “Please fuck me.”

You don’t recognise your voice or your tone. You don’t think you’ve sounded this desperate in your life, but yet—you don’t feel ashamed. You don’t feel as embarrassed as you thought you would be. Instead, you feel even more desirable because of the man in front of you that gave you two mind-blowing orgasms while his cock strains against his briefs.

“You sure—?” He raises a brow at you as you whine.

“Jungkook please,” you plead, “I want you. All of you. In every way possible.”

The words are so similar, and Jungkook can’t stop the smile that threatens to appear on his face when he recognises it immediately. It’s the same words he’s reassured you with, and here you are throwing it back at him. You don’t realise the honest intention, but Jungkook does.

And he has to press another soft kiss to your lips before he’s quickly shrugging his briefs off, his cock springing free. It stands long and hard against his abdomen, the pre-cum undoubtedly leaking from his tip as you feel your mouth turn dry at the sight.

Jungkook was an attractive person but he was absolutely ethereal bare. His natural state, sweaty and flushed—only makes your pussy clench in expectation as you let out a tight groan of your own.

“You’re so hot,” you complain, “How are you so hot?”

Jungkook snickers leaning across your body as he reaches towards his bedside table. You briefly snap out of your horny daze as you furrow your brows at his gesture.

“What are you doing?”

Jungkook hums noncommittally before expertly dragging his drawer open to draw out a—

“Condom.”

You blink at him.

“You don’t need it.”

Jungkook freezes, hand still gripping the foil as he peers down at you with wide eyes.

“I don’t—?”

“You know I’ve been on birth control since high school. Acne and stuff.” you say pointedly, “Unless you’re not clean?”

Jungkook tosses the packet aside immediately before he’s hovering above you like a sweaty God.

“No,” he blurts, “I mean yes. I mean no, I’m not—I don’t have anything. Yes. I’m clean.”

You giggle, before wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him close, just enough so that his lips are fanning across your own.

“Then,” you lower your voice seductively, “Make love to me, Jungkook.”

Jungkook blinks at you before he’s letting out a groan of himself, looking to the ceiling for one second before his gaze returns to your own.

And the events of the entire night have been leading up to this moment, the way even Jungkook trembles when he lines up the tip of his cockhead to your hole as your heart beats vigorously against your rib cage.

It’s this. The way that Jungkook looks at you so softly while you bite your lip in anticipation. It’s this. When he finally breaks through the first barrier of your pussy as you feel the tip enter. You gasp, and he grunts, your fingers tighten against the sheets as you shut your eyes.

The burn is unpleasant. It’s expected. But Jungkook’s keeping a thumb on your clit the entire time to soothe any displeasure.

“Are you okay?” He whispers.

You nod, afraid if your voice would fail you.

Jungkook searches for any hesitancy before he continues slipping each inch in. It’s intimate this way when you see him clearly and he sees you. He watches your expression closely, even kisses away the frown lines on your forehead when you’re grimacing at the way your walls attempt to take him.

It’s when he licks his tongue into your mouth that he bottoms out completely. You gasp, feeling so wholly full and filled, even if the burn becomes more intense. It’s not painful, just … uncomfortable. But it’s almost mixed with the fact that he presses against your walls so well that there’s a fuzzy sense of pleasure that erupts in your lower abdomen.

“F-Fuck,” Jungkook chokes, his head dropping to the crook of your neck, “You feel so good.”

It strokes your ego that Jungkook looks absolutely destroyed right now. His face tight and eyes shut while he breathes heavily into your neck. You can tell he’s holding himself back because he’s scrunching the fabric of his sheets so tightly next to your hips, cock throbbing between your hot walls.

You can feel every inch of him like this, and you’re sure he does too. It’s because you get wetter just thinking about him fucking you, finally making you his while he becomes yours. The intimacy, the love, the years of pining finally bottoming out.

“You can move,” you whisper, running your hand through his hair.

“Are you sure?” He asks sceptically.

“Please, Jungkook,” you reply softly, “I’m okay.”

Jungkook lets out a sigh of relief before he tests the waters, pulling out completely before he thrusts back into you. At the impact, your body hikes up as you gasp, the pleasure tripling due to your sensitivity and the preciseness of his cockhead brushing against your sensitive spot.

“O-Oh,” you gasp.

“Baby, I need to warn you,” he says through a hitched breath, “I don’t think I’ll last long.”

You shake your head with a small laugh, your voice interrupted by your mewls when he starts to build up a rhythm of his own, thrusting into your pussy. You don’t care about anything else, except for the fact that you feel all of Jungkook. The heat and the desperation, all while he looks at you like you’ve hung the stars in the sky.

Jungkook grunts and groans above you, hips slapping against your own when he grinds his cock deeper into your cunt. He’s not rushing, and you suppose that the pace doesn’t need to be hard or at super-speed when you know what you’re doing. And in this case, Jungkook’s managed to master the art of your body and what you liked by just gauging your expressions.

His hand reaches out to intertwine his fingers with your own before bringing them to the side of your head. The gesture is so intuitively intimate and romantic that you unconsciously clench your walls around his cock, causing Jungkook’s hips to falter ever so slightly before he shoots you a playful glare.

“Don’t try and kill me now,” he warns teasingly, face leaning closer to yours as you smile brightly at him.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” you reply.

He catches himself and begins snapping his hips harder against your own, his cock brushing against your g-spot with every thrust as you moan in pleasure. The sounds of skin slapping on skin reverberate against the walls of his room and you feel yourself burn from the lewdness of it all.

But it’s worth it when Jungkook groans against your lips while you feel his sticky chest pressed against yours when he hikes up your legs with his free hand, the other still dead-set on holding your hand.

“I’m going to cum,” he warns in a breathless tone, “I’ll get you off later—”

You don’t allow him to continue until your hips are moving at their own accord, chasing his thrusts as he chokes at your sudden proactiveness.

You don’t care if he gets you off later or not, not when he looks like this above you, feral and desperate as he chases his high. His thrusts get more intense and desperate, and especially deeper when you feel his cock throb inside of you.

“Cum in me,” you murmur against his lips.

You hear Jungkook mutter a string of curses under his breath before he shoves his cock impossibly deeper into you and stays in place, all while you feel his hot seed pour into your cunt as you gasp.

Jungkook cums like he’s on a mission to milk himself dry. He doesn’t leave your lips either, mouth continuing to receive open-mouthed kisses from you while you hold him close. He shallowly thrusts into your pussy, his cum pooling at the entrance of your cunt as you whimper at how erotic it feels.

When Jungkook finally comes down from his high, chest heaving, he does so by pressing a kiss so passionate that it makes your head spin and your heart grow ten times larger. He keeps himself in you, despite the way he’s softening.

“Fuck,” he laughs, eyes crinkling, “You’re really going to be the death of me.”

You smile cheekily at him, even though you feel the exhaustion suddenly hitting you like a wave.

“Nice doing business with you, Jeon,” you giggle.

He rolls his eyes and finally slips out of you with a wince, while you immediately snap your legs shut—not wanting to stain his sheets.

He raises an eyebrow at your gesture before you’re blushing.

“So this is what this was?” He pouts, “A business transaction?”

Now, it was your turn before you’re rolling your eyes.

“Don’t be dumb,” you scold, but it’s light.

He sighs contentedly and brings you close by wrapping his arms around your sweaty body. He rests your head against his chest while you listen to your heartbeat.

You’ve always imagined having sex for the first time to feel a lot more … desolating than this. Perhaps it was the unhealthy mindset that you associated having sex for the first time with losing a part of you. A part of you that somehow was someone else’s to claim. But with Jungkook’s breathing and your own intermingled together, it doesn’t feel like you’ve lost.

“Hey,” he whispers, catching your attention as you look up at him.

“Yeah?”

“You know I love you, right?” He asks.

You grin from ear to ear before leaning up to kiss him.

“Yeah,” you nod, “And you know that I love you too, right?”

Jungkook laughs, tired as his eyes threaten to shut.

“Yeah. I do.”

When the both of you fall asleep, sticky and honestly, gross. You feel anything but discomfort. You feel content. You feel happy. And most importantly, you feel at home.

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angelfishofthelord · 3 years

Text

"I know what you did"

Whumptober Day 4: pushed. (also on a03)

From a dark au idea I've had for awhile where Cas goes off to be a vigilante post 15x03. And after seeing @dadstiel liveblogging about the end of s14 I wanted to write a scene about what happened in 14x19.

There’s been half a dozen similar stories in the past few months: a child trafficking ring in a state up north was busted and all the men holding the children were discovered either dead or comatose; an abusive father of two young girls was dropped off at the steps of a police station, reduced to a drooling crippled mess; an anonymous call about a factory with underage workers, and when the authorities arrived they found the teenagers huddled in the corner and the burnt, sightless body of the boss under the desk.

“He saved us,” the teenagers were quoted as saying in the article. Similar words used in the most recent news where a local gang that was using eighth graders to sell their drugs was uncovered in the same mysterious pattern. “It was this man...he just came in like the wind,” said Timothy Grant, one of the 14 year olds who was a runaway that had been promised protection by the gang but was then forbidden to contact his parents. “Everyone who ever hurt us was….gone. And he said we could go home now.”

Sam closes the laptop with a sigh. The descriptions in the reports vary, but there are always a few that are consistent: a man with inhuman speed, and the glowing light that either destroys the evildoer or heals the injured. It could be a rogue angel, or one of Chuck’s little comebacks like Lilith.

He ignores the other option, the faint suspicion niggling in the back of his mind.

No. It can't be.

Whoever it is, he’s finally close to finding them. They’ve been smart; security footage has shown that they change cars frequently. The most recent one was a blue pickup truck left under an overpass in the next town. Sam has been staying in the area, checking headlines and talking with local police to see if they’ve seen anyone with a penchant for dispensing judgement on those who hurt the innocents. Like some kind of vigilante, Sam thinks as he pulls up a few feet away from the dark outline of the barn. He got a call from the lady at the diner across from the motel he’s been staying at, saying her friend saw something outside the abandoned Miller farm. It’s probably nothing, but he's here to check, just to be sure.

The first floor of the barn is empty but Sam knows that someone’s definitely here. There’s a flicker of light in the loft above and the muffled sound of grunting. Sam puts the flashlight in his mouth and ascends the ladder carefully. He keeps one hand free and on the hilt of the angel blade in his jacket. As he gets closer to the top he sees a pair of black shoes and the bare, bloodied feet of another man tied to a chair. The man with shoes has his back to him; he looms over the seated man, one hand pinning his shoulder against the spine of the chair.

Sam reaches the last rung of the ladder in time to clearly see the standing man shove his hand into the other’s chest. Light swirls around the invasion, blazing and white-hot, before he withdraws his hand. The man in the chair slumps back, eyes blank and jaw slack.

He knows who it is even before he turns around. He always knew, in a way. “Cas?”

Cas glances back at him with a twinge of surprise in his eyes before he turns back around. “Sam.”

Sam steps closer to the man in the chair. His fingers are still close to the angel blade in his jacket. “Is-Is he dead?”

“No.” Cas keeps his back to him, folding up a map on the wooden table at his side. He sounds strange. Frigid. “That would be a mercy he doesn’t deserve.”

“W-What are you doing?”

“Recharging.”

“No, I mean--that’s not--” Sam rubs a hand over his face. “You’ve been doing all of this? All those people--you killed--why, Cas, why are you doing this?” He knew Cas must be devastated after Jack’s death, after Chuck’s betrayal, and some kind of subsequent fallout with Dean, but the reality of what he's been doing still feels like being hit by a tank.

“I’m saving people. Children,” he adds.

So it is about Jack. “Cas,” Sam moves closer, trying to sound placating. He puts a hand on Cas’ shoulder. “I know losing Jack wasn’t easy. I miss him too but this isn't--”

Cas whirls around, eyes burning blue, and Sam finds himself being hurled across the room, crashing into the wooden boards of the wall before landing hard on the ground. He gasps, trying to find his breath, and looks up to see Cas hovering above him, palm outstretched, face wreathed in fury. There’s a slight pressure on Sam’s shoulders; he’s not being pinned to the wall, but it’s enough to tells him that he absolutely will be if he tries to move.

“C-Cas?” Sam breathes. Maybe he's possessed, maybe Chuck is controlling him. He has to get through to him before it's too late. "It's just me."

“Don’t talk about Jack that way,” Cas says, voice low and lethal. “I know what you did. He told me everything.”

“What are you talking about?”

The shadows darken around Cas’ face. “You prayed to him. He was locked in that box because he answered your prayer.”

Oh. This isn't someone else manipulating Cas, this is really him. Sam feels the tug of shame sloshing in his gut but he brushes it aside and instead makes a faint attempt to rise, only to feel the firm nudge of being pushed back. “Look, I know it wasn’t the best thing to do, Cas, but there was no other way, Jack was dangerous, and he--”

“Did you even try to find another way?” Cas snaps. “You fought fiercely to keep Dean from his fate in that box. Yet you were ready to condemn Jack to an eternity of that same fate without a second thought.”

Sam swallows hard. He tries to remember all the mental gymnastics he did to convince himself why Jack had to go in there, but Cas is still talking. “Do you know why other angels don’t usually answer prayers? Because it makes us vulnerable. It’s not considered a wise strategic move because it calls an angel, by name, to a specific place. There’s no time to scope out the destination for danger or to evaluate the potential risks.” He moves in closer, towering above him. “Or if it’s going to be an ambush.”

“I’m sorry, Cas.” He really is. “We didn’t handle it right, and I wish to Go-” he catches himself. “I wish Jack was still here so he could know how sorry I am. But Cas…what you’re doing isn’t right either. You must know that.”

The eerie glow of Cas’ eyes pierce through the night. “You know, when the Bunker’s alarms went off, it wasn’t just because Jack was trying to break out of the box. I could hear him. He was screaming. The same way he was screaming when….” the light in his eyes suddenly dims and Cas’ hand drops back to his side.

The pressure on Sam yields abruptly and he immediately leans forward, gulping for air. He knows what Cas didn’t say; the sight of Jack collapsing in that graveyard, crying out as searing light ruptured from him, still frequents Sam’s own nightmares. “I’m sorry,” he repeats, useless as the words are. “It wasn’t--”

“I loved him.” Cas isn’t looking at him now; he’s focused on some distant point above his head, blinking hard. “You have no idea how much Jack meant to me, how much I--” his voice catches and he turns away. In between the shafts of light Sam can see his jaw working, the bob of his throat and clench of his fist as Cas struggles to compose himself. A cold, sickly way of guilt washes over Sam and he feels almost nauseous. Every excuse and reasoning dries up on his tongue.

After a minute Cas glances back at him, his expression once more glacial. “You and Dean have each other. Don’t come looking for me again.”

#my spn fic #whumptober 2021 #userjeb #slipper007 #plantdadcas #seraphcastiel #rambleoncas #thisisapaige #dadstiel #angst fic #spn s15 #castiel #sam winchester

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liighty · 3 years

Text

Guzma babysitting Reader’s Niece

(A/N): BACK ON MY BULLSHIT AGAIN! BUT THIS TIME IT’S NOT ALL THAT SELF-INDULGENT AND MIGHT POSSIBLY BE TURNED INTO A SUPER FIC IF I FEEL LIKE IT

In all honesty i’ve thought about making another largeass super self-indulgent Guzma x Reader mega fic, but I’m not sure if I want to? I don’t know if anybody would read it, so that’s what this post is for!!! If you like this and want to see actual Guzma x Reader with plot and not just fluff drabbles lmk!! I have a bunch of asks to address so maybe i’ll get to that too soon

Anyways, back to the fic.

Mini Summary: (Y/N)’s niece needs to be babysat while (Y/N) is interviewed, so they turn to Guzma and crew to help out for a bit. Chaos ensues.

Rating/Triggers: UH drugs are mentioned but not really? THE KID DOES NOT DO DRUGS!!!! but yeah if that makes you uncomfy i’d be careful with it??\

Pairing: Guzma/Gender Neutral!Reader (I used the honorific ‘Titi’ which is gender neutral for ‘Tia’ or ‘Tio’ [extra thanks to Ocha_Bocha for helping me with that one <3] and tried to make it as gender neutral as possible. Originally this was written with a male reader, and then I went female, and ultimately attempted to eliminate gender completely. [Following the footsteps of Splatoon teehee])

Fic under cut!!!!!

"Are you sure this is a good idea, honey?" You clutch your niece's hand as you approach the large walls that separate Po Town from the rest of Ula'Ula Island. It's not that you don't trust the man who you're leaving her with- in fact, those two have been acquainted previously and seem to get along fairly well- It's his friends who you're concerned about.

"..." Her silence is expected, as the kid isn't all that talkative. Recognizing the young girl's silence, you frown.

"You can stay in the office lounge if you really want to. I know you aren't the biggest fan of crowds, and um- Guz has some pretty loud friends-" Your explanation of what to be expected is quickly interrupted by a blue haired young man decked in black and white clothing. "Yo yo, what's with the kid?!"

You arch a brow. You knew that Guzma worked with kids, but this guy couldn't be any older than 15! "I could say the same for you. I'm here to talk to Guzma-"

"Ya mean the boss? Why would some random chick want anything ta do with the leader of the Team Skull, huh?!"

A pink haired girl dressed in the same outfit walks up to the boy, crossing her arms. "Shut it, ya clod. Don't you remember the conversation we had with Boss yesterday?"

Hearing this, the blue haired boy's eyes light up in an epiphany. "Ohhhhh shit- Right-"

"Watch yer fuckin' language around the kiddo." She lightly smacks the back of Dansei's head. "She's in good hands, ma'am."

Another pink haired woman, this one being someone you finally recognize, walks in and smacks both of the delinquents in the head once more. "You say that after cussing, Reese?"

Thank God. Plumeria. "Hey Plumes-" You smile weakly, waving politely with your free hand. Your niece does the same. Another young man, this one much shorter than the first and with green curly hair scrambles after Plumeria, jumping up and down to be seen. "Sorry about these numskulls. I'll lead y'all to the big boss man, yo. No worries at all, so you can chillax!"

I'm regretting this more and more by the second.

The crew starts whistling some hip hop tune as they make their way to the Shady House, the smaller boy beatboxing. You've taken this time to offer a piggyback ride to your niece, who's politely declined. Are all kids like this? Or is it just her?

Once they approach the boss, Guzma immediately jumps out of his chair, his signature shit-eating grin plastered on his face. "Eyyyyyy! (Y/N)!!! Kiddo!! What's up, homeslice?!" He hops down the stairs and crouches so he can get at eye-level with the young girl, offering his fist for a pound-it.

She bumps her fist against his, smiling just a bit. It's more of a reaction than you expected, at least. "S-sup, Uncle Guzma-"

Looks like his slang is rubbing off on her. That's cute.

"Thanks for droppin' by, Doll. No need to worry about Little Miss Troublemaker over here, I got it all under control." He picks up your niece and walks over to you, pressing a looooooooongass smooch on your cheek. The other Team Skull members all make mini comments, like "Ewwww-", "Grosss-", and "Cooties-", causing Plumeria to once again smack their heads together.

You roll your eyes, unable to stop the smirk on your face from growing any further. "Not in front of the kids, Guz." "Ah, right, right- My bad." His shades slide onto his face, hiding the bright red blush that had crept onto his cheeks. "Well, you should probably get goin', ey? The Aether Foundation's one lucky company to have you interviewin' for a position."

"Dork." You boop his nose, then your niece's. "Call me if you need me, okay honey? I'll be back as soon as I can."

"Okay, Titi (Y/N)-" You smile at the nickname while the others snicker. 'Titi' sounds an awful lot like 'Tittie', and considering three of the 7 people in the room are immature teenagers, there's definitely some laughing going on in the background. Plumeria looks very tired. How does she deal with these kids all the time?

"Alright, I'll be back. Don't light anything on fire, okay?" You yell as you walk off, feeling a slight hint of unease at the idea of leaving your young niece with so many delinquents, even if it's just for a few hours. It'll be fine, though. Guzma's there to keep them from doing anything stupid.

You laugh at the thought. Who am I kidding? He's probably gonna be the one who explodes something first.

-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The interview itself wasn't all that bad. You're fairly certain that you either aced it or put yourself up for consideration, which in itself helped your confidence just a bit. With the absence of Lusamine and the arrest of several of her chairmen, the foundation was very antsy and in need of someone who could handle the Pokemon Observation department. With your background in medicine and PR, you were rationally on the list of potential replacements, and despite your initial resistance, learning that the company would be run by somebody that WASN'T the manipulative little bitch Lusamine gave you enough comfort to accept the offer for the interview. Was it just an offer or an invitation? You weren't quite sure, but Wick was very insistent on you showing up.

Either way, you're pretty certain you got the job. Good on you.

You can't help but wonder how your niece is doing, surrounded by so many troublemakers. As you make your way to the entrance of the Shady House, you can hear loud music, causing you to feel a small tint of anxiety. She'll be fine.

You walk up to the door and creak it open, the smell of burnt… whatever the fuck that is flooding your nostrils. Of course. They lit something on fire.

"Guz??" You call out to the empty room. "Plumes? Anybody home?" As expected, there's no response. You start to feel more and more anxious the more ground you start to cover. Where are they? Peeking your head around the corridor, your anxiety comes to its peak when-

"And that's why you should never do drugs, aight?"

H-Huh?

Your niece sits on Guzma's knee as he bounces it up and down, his signature shit-eating grin plastered on his face like usual. Awfully burnt cookies sit on the table, explaining the smell from earlier, and Plumeria seems to be asleep with the other team skull grunts. Are they… napping? Seems like it.

She nods enthusiastically, taking a bite of a charred cookie and grimacing shortly after, causing the two to both laugh in unison.

"Doesn't matter if it's just for recreational purposes, you could still get hooked, and that's the last thing we want!" Grinning once again, Guzma pokes her forehead.

Hypocrite. You're reminded of the first time you two had kissed, which happened to be shortly after you both had blazed a couple of joints. It's enough to get you laughing, though.

"Huh?! What're you doing here so early? Don't tell me ya flunked THAT bad!" Guzma's eyes widen, a genuine look of bewilderment painted on his face.

"I did not flunk! I think I did great!" You huff, crossing your arms defiantly. "It's suuuuuuuper comforting that you thought I failed, Guz."

"Nononono I was joking!! Right, kiddo??" Your niece quickly nods. "See???? No harm, no foul!"

Arching a brow, you walk up to the two and pick up the young girl. "Mhmmm. Did you have fun, honey?"

She nods again, unable to contain the grin on her face. "Uncle Guzma told me about his Pokemon training! And I got to ride on Golisopod's back!"

The large bug type pokemon bops up and down upon hearing its name, prompting a smirk from Guzma. "Yeah, I told ya I'd take care of her. She's welcome back anytime, okay?"

"Thanks, Guz." You peck his cheek, and your niece sticks her tongue out, closing her eyes.

"Icky cooties!!" Where the hell did she hear that? The only people you can think of who'd say such a thing are in the other room snoozing, so- Yeah, actually, you know exactly who taught her that word.

"Well, I'm gonna getchu with my cooties! And my tickles!" You raise a hand menacingly, wiggling your fingers with one eye closed. She immediately curls up, not out of fear, but out of excitement. It's nice to see her so happy again.

After a very long tickle session, you quickly glance at the large grandfather clock, noting the short hand of the clock slowly approaching the number 8. Shit. "We gotta go, kiddo. Your dad isn't gonna be all that happy if we get home any later than 8:30. Besides, it's past your bedtime."

"I bet Uncle Guzma stays up past his bedtime-" She yawns. "Can we stay for a little longer?"

How can I say no to that face? You find yourself incredibly conflicted. Do you tell her you have to leave anyways? Or do you stay and risk getting in trouble by your brother-in-law?

"Eh, as much as I'd love to have you over for longer, kiddo- Look at your Titi (Y/N). They look exhausted."

You smile gratefully at the comment, glad that it doesn't have to be you to tell your niece to go home. "Yeah, I'm beat. We can hang out some other time, okay? I promise." You pat her head and get ready to leave.

"Aww… okay. Bye, Uncle Guzma!! Bye Golisopod!" She holds your hand, and the two of you eventually walk your way back to the car. As you drive away, one thing lingers in your head. You can't think of anything else, in all honesty.

Guzma's great with kids. I should've expected as much, but… I'm glad he gets along with my family.

Your stomach rumbles at the intersection. I'd kill for some malasadas right about now-

Okay, maybe you CAN think of something else.

#Skull Boss Guzma #team skull guzma #guzma #guzma x reader #pokemon guzma #team skull #pokemon #pokemon x reader #My writing #i return #hyperfixation #simp hours

186 notes · View notes

hansolmates · 3 years

Text

cherry contact |🍒

summary: jihoon has access to all versions of you - your credit score, shopping habits, work emails, even your terrible tinder history. pairing; fbi agent!jihoon x civilian!reader (f) genre/warnings; fluff, crack, it’s really just that “your fbi agent” meme that caused everyone 8 years ago to put tape over their webcams, questionable viewing habits for an fbi agent, language, dick talk, mentions of sex, jihoon has feelings and is confused, he is a PINER, tw—sexual harassment w/c; 3.3k a/n; i can’t believe i finished this😭😭 part of meraki’s job collaboration and i’ve been dying to do a svt collab since the dawn of time and finally today’s the day! it’s been a hot moment since i’ve written for jihoon, glad i managed to get those svt writing muscles going! a huge thank you to @merakiiverse and @woozisnoots for putting this together. readers pls definitely check back on the masterlist linked above to see more of the other talented cwc writers and their rendition of the job prompt!

if you like this fic please consider giving it a like n’share!🤓🖥🤓🖥

“Kevin, 32, works at Kodak,” you scroll further to the description, “I love being tied up and need a dominatrix, have swing at home—no.” Swipe right.

“Lisa, 24, works at Infinity Dance Studio,” you definitely are weak for athletic ladies, “My hobbies include cuticle care and online shopping! Looking for a sugar daddy or mommy that can spoil me rotten—definitely can’t afford that kind of relationship.” Swipe right.

“Hansol, 26, works in an art museum,” sounds promising, you love art, “wait, why are all his pictures of him holding fish? Is he inside a fish? Who the heck finds that attractive?” Swipe right.

“Billiam, 31, works in finance. Needs a bratty baby girl who can triangle,” you grimace, “what is with these guys and stating their kinks from the get-go? Gotta take a girl out to dinner first, and the fuck is a triangle?”

You swore off Tinder since the dark ages, also known as senior year of college. However you’re in a particular slump, thirst-trapped between needing some serious dick and a committed relationship. You’d prefer the latter, but after a stressful day at work and the fact that it’s the ass crack o’dawn, you’ll take what you can get.

“Bye Billiam,” you sing-song into your phone, moving to swipe right.

Except you accidentally drop your phone between your sheets, and when you pick it up you accidentally swipe left.

“Fuck fuck fuck me with a fuckin’ fuck nugget!” you cry out into oblivion. You’re so glad you live alone at the very least, it stops you from looking like a crazy person when you talk your potential sexipades out.

Billiam has Super-liked you!

“No. Nononono—” you bludgeon your head against your pillow, frowning when your phone opens up a chat for you and Billiam.

Billiam: hi can u check if my dick is too small

You: please, don’t send me a picture of your dick.

Billiam is typing…

You: for fuck’s sake—

“—that’s disgusting,” Jihoon curses, and immediately sends out the screenshot for sexual harassment.

“What’s disgusting?” Mingyu chimes, swiveling in his spinny chair from his side of the room.

“Don’t look,” Jihoon gags, reaching for a bottle of Coca-Cola from the mini-fridge. “You’ll throw up your fried chicken.”

“My person is a twenty-one year old nympho who also happens to be a incel,” Mingyu chastises to his screen, closing up the eighth tab of BBC porn he’s seen this week, “he doesn’t know how well he’s avoiding the FBI’s eyes,” Mingyu shakes his head, “so I’ve seen some pretty bad shit, but I’ll take your word for it.”

“No,” he echoes your name like you’ve done the most heinous thing in the world, “no, no! Why would you swipe left on Jackson? You’re way out of his league! He literally looks like he has a pea-sized brain!”

“He does look like he has half a brain cell,” your voice reverberates through his noise-cancelling headphones, unknowingly agreeing to Jihoon’s passionate throw of anger, “but I’m deprived and desperate, so!”

It’s like you can hear his sentiments exactly.

“Literally, you could have any person you want,” Jihoon chastises through his desktop, glaring heavily at your bedroom camera, “you’re wasting your time with these losers!”

Oblivious, you let yourself dangle across the bed. The camera isn’t the best quality, but Jihoon watches intently at the rise and fall of your chest as you attempt to fall into a fitful sleep.

“Some yell at screens for soccer,” Minghao says to the air from his cubicle, “some yell for Starcraft, but Jihoon yells for Tinder like it’s an Olympic sport.”

“Jihoonie,” Mingyu rolls around his chair, resting a long arm over the backrest, “do you have a crush on your civilian?”

Jihoon immediately swivels around his hair, meeting the amused eyes of Mingyu. “No,” he says sharply, whipping around to glare at his screen.

He glares harder the longer Mingyu’s simple question sinks in. He doesn’t have a crush on you, he likes you. Jihoon swallows his sigh, wondering why you would want to go as low as Tinder to look for a potential tryst. From your profile, you’re absolutely beautiful and intelligent. You have simple pleasures that match his—a hot cup of tea right after dark, snuggling under a weighted blanket while watching anime, and sleeping in on Sundays.

Unlike him, you don’t see the world through half a dozen lenses and a plethora of information right at your fingertips. No, you’re lucky.

“Hey can you grab me my water bottle?” Mingyu asks over his shoulder.

Jihoon thinks nothing of it, leaving his post for the thirty seconds it takes to get to the mini-fridge and grab Mingyu’s Hydroflask.

“You got a call,” Mingyu says when he plops the bottle on his desk, indicating to the red blinker on Jihoon’s computer.

It isn’t until he puts on his headphones does he take care to see why his blinker is going off.

He’s getting an incoming call. From you.

You’ve been waiting on the line for about two minutes. He lets two additional minutes breeze by because Jihoon is internally screaming. You’re calling again. There’s a fire blazing in his brain, his fingers hot as he twitches against the spacebar of his keyboard.

From the monitor he can see that you’ve given up on sleep, hands pawing through your drawer so you can take a final swipe at your magenta-tinted lip balm before nesting yourself in the sheets. You’re kicking around as if you don’t have work at 9AM, smacking your lips to apply the shiny salve while you wait for your call to be picked up.

“Why is my civilian calling me,” it isn’t a question, it’s a thinly veiled indication that Jihoon is ready to fight whoever compromised him like this.

Mingyu and Minghao fail to answer. That’s okay, he isn’t opposed to killing both if neither fess up.

It would be so easy for him to ignore the call, or redirect it to another part of the office. Yet he aches to talk to you, for real talk to you. As if you’re just two regular plain-old human beings with normal lives, and as if he didn’t know every nook and cranny about your daily routine and your favorite breakfast foods.

Call it pride, call it confidence, but Jihoon’s been pretty good at games and he hopes prior experience helps him get over this hurdle. Slipping on his headset, he accepts the call and answers in a controlled voice, “This is the local hotline for sexual harassment reports, are you here to report a case?”

Okay, so this is the closest thing he can get to having a full-fledged conversation with you, so he’ll take it.

“Hi,” you mumble your name into the phone, and he nearly disintegrates right then and there. It’s different when he can hear your voice directly in his ears, definitively reaching out to him as opposed to being a fly on the wall, “I received an email that a report was sent out for my previous chat as sexual harassment, but I didn’t send out a report.”

“Yes,” Jihoon replies smoothly, tapping his nails against his thighs, “it’s a new update.”

“Oh, well thank you,” you reply, and Jihoon sees from the camera that you’re staring at your phone in curiosity.

“It’s my job,” he says, and the words hold more weight than you think, “are you okay?”

“Is it also your job to ask how I’m doing?”

He smiles wryly, and he looks up at the monitor to see how you’ve considerably relaxed on your bed. Your legs dangle in the air, and you’re hugging a mango plushie with all the love in the world. “Not really, but I figured I’d ask. I don’t think I’d be able to recover from a dick that looks like an unhinged toenail.”

Your laugh flutters in his ears, and his stomach is flip-flopping with more than just his shitty ramen lunch. Your face curls and wrinkles into happiness at the lewd joke, and you rest your chin on your stuffed fruit.

“I’m okay,” you finally answer, “it’s not the first time I’ve seen subpar dick. But thank you… what’s your name?”

“Uji,” he says, a codename that he considers as precious as his actual name, “feel free to call or text this number if you’re ever feeling uncomfortable and in distress.”

“I’ll keep that in mind, good night Uji.”

“Good night.”

That wasn’t so bad, Jihoon thinks as he hangs up the phone. He dims the monitors to let you freshen up and get ready for bed, as per your schedule. After tonight, he hopes he can be sated with his curiosity of you. Maybe he needs to follow your plans and open up a dating account or something, he feels that he’s starting to get a little too engrossed in your presence.

The waning starts today.

You: help, i’m feeling uncomfortable and in distress

Uji: what is it this time?

You: i can’t decide which weighted blanket i should get. Will more weight make me feel more comforted or will i accidentally suffocate myself in my sleep?

The waning of you did not start that night, in fact it never began. Jihoon’s been on edge for weeks, simultaneously teetering between what he calls the high-school equivalent of the talking stage and an absolute catastrophe.

It started as an accident, you meant to call your friend’s number for cooking help but since the last call before your friends was his, you called Jihoon instead. To your surprise, he knew how to roll out homemade pasta without a pasta machine. You kept him on the call for the entirety of dinner preparation, and he couldn’t help but feel a twinge of pride when your pasta turned out perfect and you were happy and full for the entire night.

Weeks later, and you’ve been texting each other for shits and giggles. At first you chalk up your insistence that he’s basically Human Google and has the answers to seemingly anything and everything, but over time it seems that you enjoy your daily interactions with him. Whether it be a simple phone call asking how to unclog your drain or a screenshot comparing two different KitchenAids, he’s at your disposal.

The burner phone he’s been holding as of late is on silent, but he’s able to pick it up immediately. It’s almost intuition, coupled with the way he notices whenever you seem in a pickle and you need to contact him. However he does not have a chance to formulate a reply, as you’re now calling him.

“Couldn’t wait?” he speaks as if you’re familiar with each other, as if you’re friends. Jihoon longs for that so much, he would love to be upgraded to someone other than the IT guy you text for funsies.

“Yes,” you say, voice laced with determination, “I’m deciding on whether to just like or Super-Like this guy on Light a Flame.”

Jihoon deflates a little, but steels himself. You’d never want to go on a date with the IT guy, it seems that you enjoy the anonymity of your recent communications. Your conversations are definitely meme-worthy.

“Who is it?”

“His name’s Lee Jihoon, 25, works in the FBI.”

He chokes on his coffee, precious beans from Argentina, and the liquid is flying across his keyboard.

Pulling up your phone view, it confirms the worst. In a moment of Weakness with a capital W, Jihoon had caved and made a Light a Flame profile the other night. It’s an app reserved for more serious relationships, which means you’ve finally graduated from Tinder.

“Are you okay?” he wants to cry when he hears you on the other line, genuinely panicked. “Do you need me to send you his profile?”

“N-no,” he sputters, rubbing a rough napkin from McDonalds over his dripping chin. He thought he privated his profile last week after he realized there was nothing he could do to let loose of you. Turns out that isn’t the case, because you’re currently pursuing his profile and actually kinda-sorta considering him for a potentially serious relationship.

“C’mon, Uji,” you tease lightly, “you always seem to know what to do. This is your area of expertise after all, since you work for that kind of department.”

What should he do, scratch that, what can he do? It’s a complete violation of policy to be fraternizing with his civilian life. Sure, there has been episodes of civilians and agents meeting each other, but only minor violations that both parties forgot about shortly after. He’s so far deep at this point, he can risk being relocated or losing his civilian—losing you.

“Do you think he really works in the FBI?” you say when he doesn’t reply immediately, “he’s really cute, though. Totally looks like my style, and he likes My Hero as well! C’mon, I just need for you to check as to whether he’s a homicidal maniac or a compulsive liar.”

Liar. He’s a liar.

That self-accusation prompts him to slump in defeat, and he mumbles in the phone, “I don’t think he’s worth it. I’d say pass.”

“Hey, Coups has seniority,” Soonyoung pats Jihoon thoughtfully on the back with one hand, and grilling meat with the other. Barbeque always lifted up Jihoon’s spirits. “Why don’t you give it a chance and meet her for real? And then he can give me your super cute civilian and then he can give my shitty civilian to some newbie.”

“And if it doesn’t work out, I just lose her,” Jihoon’s eyes are watering, most likely from the excess smoke around their grill, but it does align with his current state of sadness. It was the right thing to do, he thinks over and over as he replays that phonecall from last night. “Hoshi, if you were in my situation, would you have done the same?”

“Like I said–” Soonyoung—codename Hoshi, waves his tongs around like a magic wand, “your civilian is super cute, so I would be making a beeline to her house and—”

“Okay, don’t finish that sentence,” you’re his civilian, not Soonyoung’s.

“Cheer up, c’mon,” Soonyoung’s filling his bowl with all sorts of delicious things, charred vegetables, mixed rice, and pork belly. Jihoon’s favorite is pork belly, so eventually he relents with a timid smile, taking out his chopsticks to appease his friend, “there it is, Uji. Food always makes things better—”

“Uji?”

Both off-duty agents freeze, hearing the familiar ting of your voice as it glares holes into Jihoon’s back. It’s you. Since they’re off the clock, he would have no idea you’d be here. Usually that’s fine, it’s early morning and it’s pretty unlikely that you’d run into your civilian considering you’re supposed to know every second of their schedule. It seems that tonight you’ve varied from the norm.

“Uh, hey?”

His back is still facing you, and he’s side eying Soonyoung in a panic. He’s wearing a cap and a nondescript hoodie, feeling like a shlub as your familiar voice pings back at him with excitement.

“I knew I recognized your voice!” you’re unfazed, definitely not realizing the distress the two men are currently going through. “What a small world, I didn’t think we’d ever actually run into each other!”

“Talk to her, you ass!” Soonyoung hisses, and immediately swivels his chair so he has no choice but to face you.

You’re so, so pretty. Prettier in person, prettier than any crappy 480p screen can give him. You’re definitely not dressed for barbeque, in fact you look like you’re just passing by to pick up a to-go order after a night out. You’re dressed in a silky looking velvet off-the-shoulder top, the cherry red color practically melting onto your skin. The black skirt paired with it has Jihoon salivating for more than just barbeque, and he has no idea how to look away.

The smile is wiped clean off your face however, and you recognize him almost immediately. “Jihoon?”

This should be a moment of joy for him, after all it’s far too late to go back at this point. You look a little hurt, your face twisted in confusion as you put two and two together.

Soonyoung excuses himself to go to the bathroom, although neither party seems to care. The lame, over-distended EDM music that plays over the cacophony of the barbeque place seems to melt in the atmosphere, much like how the smoke hits the fan, and it’s just you two in the room. Jihoon gestures a pale hand to Soonyoung’s seat, and you take a beat to reluctantly sit yourself down.

You clutch your skirt with both hands, thumbs ringing against the pleats and ironing them out. “So, you’re also Jihoon?” your voice is tiny, small and sad. Jihoon feels liquid guilt inject in his veins, and he wishes he could reach out and pat your shoulder, hold your hand, something. However no matter how much he knows you, he’s a stranger to you. “Why did you lie to me?”

“It’s… complicated,” you shake your head at his pathetic reply, and Jihoon hates this. He feels like he’s drowning in smoke and mirrors and the cloying scent of pork belly is now sticking to all his senses, immobilizing him.

With a cross of your arms, you scoff, “It’s always complicated.”

“Please don’t think I said those things the other night because I don’t want to date you,” Jihoon tumbles the words out like a hamster wheel, wanting to speed up to your pace as fast as he can, “I want to, I really do, but it’s—”

“Complicated.”

“Yeah.”

The two of you sit in silence, letting the noise back into your little bubble. Jihoon feels his stare on you, akin to how a teacher looks over your shoulder during an exam. He robotically eats rice, grain after grain as he lets you have your look.

The slope of his nose, the cotton smooth skin, the lean yet strong stature. You can’t believe he matches the Light a Flame profile perfectly. Other than the frumpy clothes, he matches the man on your phone, a simple picture in a black suit that reminds you strangely of the movie Kingsman. You mentally roll through what you remember from his profile, his hobbies, his likes and dislikes, his occupation—

“Wait,” you pause, your brows knitting together, “so the FBI thing on your profile… is not a joke?”

Jihoon forgets to chew his last bite, and he swallows a whole two centimeters of meat down his throat. Ouch.

“It’s—”

“Complicated.”

The adjective has a whole new meaning now. It’s crazy how in so little words, so much is exchanged between you two. You might not be realizing it, but Jihoon’s so attuned to you he feels like the pick to your guitar, strumming and humming along your chords like it’s second nature. It really isn’t fair, but anticipating your reactions helps greatly.

“There’s things you’re not telling me.”

“Right.”

“And things you can’t tell me,” you add.

“Yes.”

“Then what are some things you can tell me?”

“I’d… rather not here,” Jihoon’s eyes dart around the room, looking for all the pinholes and micro cams attached to the restaurant. By the bonsai, under the table, in the koi tank, “I need to work out some paperwork before anything.”

“Paperwork?”

Jihoon nods mutely, but he looks at you with a litany of emotions in his eyes you’re reeling back in your stool. Why do you feel like this man knows you from a simple five-minute interaction? And why do you feel like you can trust this man with your life?

“Okay,” you finally say.

“Really? Okay?” you think he’s cute, the way his eyes perk up and his back straightens.

“Really.”

Silence fills the space once more. This time however, it feels more at ease.

“The only reason why I’m saying yes,” you pretend to nonchalantly play with your fingertips, a manicure reserved for a date you’ve long abandoned for this evening in favor of a new flame, “is because I think FBI agents are kinda hot.”

A flush blooms on Jihoon’s cheeks, and you can’t help but giggle.

#jihoon x reader #woozi x reader #caratwritersclub #kwritersworldnet #svtcreations #jihoon fic #woozi fic #seventeen fic #seventeen fanfic #seventeen scenarios #jihoon scenarios #woozi scenarios

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lueurnotes · 3 years

Text

Kissing Din

based on this ask

Din Djarin/Reader

Words: 2k

Warnings: blood mention, canon-typical violence, sexual situations, nudity

a/n: been a minute since I posted!! hope everyone is doing well <3

In Hyperspace.

You were sleepily rocking Grogu against your chest in the co-pilot seat. The little one was already fast asleep, a small snore coming from the bundle of cloth. The cabin was dimmed, with the small blinking control lights glittering through your sleepy haze. Hyperspace washed over you in blue-white streaks of light that kept you from falling asleep. Despite the rest that pulled at you, there wasn’t anywhere else in the Maker-forsaken galaxy that you’d rather be. Safe next to your partner with his son fast asleep on your lap.

It’s been an incredible journey together. Only a few short months yet so much has happened. Fixing up the Crest when you were all stranded on an icy, krykna-infested planet. Patching up Din whenever he returned, staggering into the hull. Giggling with the kid in your lap as he pushed your tools around. The memories you shared with this clan were few but your heart ached like it was forever.

A rustling sound coming from the pilot’s chair got your attention. Hm?

“Close your eyes,” Din hushed.

You obliged, more than happy to shut your sleepy eyes. Frequent hyperspace travel never did get easier for you.

The sound of his helmet hitting the metal floor of the cockpit nearly caused them to snap back open.

“Din what are you—”

A bare hand traced your face and you tried to fight the shudder that wracked your body. The warmest hands cradled your face upwards, a thumb brushing across your parted lips. The mere thought that Din was bare-faced inches from you... Your mind kicked into hyperdrive.

“Please,” the hushed whisper fell from his mouth, stilted breath ghosting right over your panting lips. The voice you seldom heard unmodulated was steeped with longing. One word spilled into a sentence.

“I want to kiss you.”

Your face broke into the sweetest grin he had ever seen. Really seen.

“Like you even have to ask,” you shifted your body upwards, heart racing as your lips finally met.

On Tatooine.

The blaring wind outside rocked the Razor Crest in it’s docked spot. Some dusty backwater place you could absolutely care less about. You spat out some lingering dust into the sink.

The little one was dropped off at Peli’s, which meant whoever this bounty was they were high-risk for Din.

Not a lot of people made that list.

Also meant that maybe you shouldn’t be blasting music throughout the ship, but kriff you were bored. It’s been a couple days at this point and you were told to “lay low”. Din didn’t say anything about music though. Plus, the Razor Crest was a well-fortified gal. Sure, a couple of bits flew off here and there and the hyperdrive could use some work, but whatever was in the armory could ward off any sane being in the galaxy.

The muffled sound of your playlist could be heard through the refresher door, jumping to full clarity as you exited. You broke into a grin, hips swaying as you sang the words loud. I wonder if Tin Can ever sings? You burst out laughing at the thought of the sound of scratchy-modulated humming. The man hardly talks as it is. I’d bet the Maker that he has a worse voice than me.

“Something funny?”

Crap.

You yelped, in a certainly dignified manner, you hope, “Mando! Glad to see you back home.”

Home?! Oh my stars, I’m done for.

The slightest tilt of his helmet let you know that he definitely heard you. He continued, “If you’re done using the comms, can you let Karga know we’re on our way?”

“Or we could just, you know, not do that,” a voice strained.

You finally focused on the bounty that Mando dragged back, a young twi’lek man with deep, blue skin. He wore a similarly draped sand-colored cloth you saw the locals wore. Arm wrappings covered to his wrist where there was no dirt under his fingernails. Your eyes wandered to his shoes, a type of thicker sandal with cording to attach… Yep, definitely not from here.

You smiled back at Mando, “Gotcha, Captain!”

“Wait!” The twi’lek croaked out, “Please, you can’t let him take me!”

You fought the urge to roll your eyes, chancing a look at Mando’s visor as if to say can you believe this dude?

“Fine, I’ll bite.” You leaned on one hip, “Why should my partner and I not take in a bounty that we have been searching for I don’t know … ” you counted your fingers, “six days? Explain.”

And here come the waterworks.

He wailed, still on his knees next to Mando as he groveled, “It’s a false bounty! I was framed and I didn’t know what to do but run,” he looked at the carbonite cases, eyes growing larger when he saw their blank gazes frozen wide, “I swear to the Maker you’ve got it wrong!”

You bent down to his level, hushing him as you gently rested your hand on his cheek, “Are you implying that my partner is wrong? That he is being dishonest with me?”

Your wide eyes fell on Mando who stood unmoving. You turned back to the bounty before you could notice his hand clenching into a fist as you touched the other man.

The twi’lek silently nodded, tears slipping over his hairless face.

“Well you’ll be sure to know that I loathe liars,” you nodded solemnly, “Especially if it’s to my face.”

He opened his mouth to say something, sharply gasping as a blue ring of light exited your blaster. He slumped over, mouth still gaping open.

You looked back up at Din, catching him as he adjusted his pants. Smirking, you stepped over the bounty until you were standing right in front of Din, feeling the heat of his body past the beskar. Extending your arms up, you rested your hands on his pauldrons, hand tracing the Mudhorn signet. Gingerly, you placed your palms up just under Din’s ice-cold helmet, eyes questioning. He gave a simple nod, bringing his gloved hands to wrap around yours.

“I missed you,” you tilted the beskar upwards just the slightest amount, exposing a sliver of skin that was roughened with stubble. You tiptoed upwards and placed a short peck on him.

“It’s good to be home,” he gruffed out.

Keldabe

The overpowering scent of blood filled your mouth and nostrils. Tears tracked down your face as you let out a groan, spitting to the left of the man you just knocked out. You rolled over to lie back on the gritty pavement of the alleyway, uncaring of the unconscious man next to you. Somewhere down the dim alley, you could hear the distinct clang of metal against metal as Din fought the other bounty. The sound of a single blaster shot followed by a muffled yelp was the end of that.

Never bring a vibroblade to a blaster fight.

Your head pounded as you fought the urge to laugh out loud. You were lying next to a man that was set on killing you. You were pretty sure Din just shot the other one in the leg. And on top of that you were probably one wrong head turn from unconsciousness.

Din’s shadow suddenly looming over you snapped the cord and you burst in giggles.

“Are you okay?” he asked, immediately bending down to run his hands over any area that got impacted.

“You should have seen the other guy,” you winced as he grazed over your ribs.

“Looking at him right now,” he deadpanned, “Good work. But I’d prefer if my partner would ask for help if they need it.”

He pulled you up, half resting in his lap as your legs splayed out in front of you. Instantly, you curled towards the cold beskar, seeking the warmth past it.

“Hey Mando?”

“Yes?” He said lowly.

“M’head hurts,” you slurred, “Kiss me better.”

You couldn’t see it, but he smiled under his helmet. Even with the absolute shit knocked out of you, you still wanted his attention. Kriffing adorable.

He obliged, head tilting down so he could rest his helmet against your forehead. His eyes closed underneath, savoring the moment.

“Ah,” you sighed, “Much better.”

“Are you using me as an ice pack?”

“Maybe,” you whispered.

He let out a breathy chuckle before drawing away, “Come on, let’s get back to the ship so we can take a nap.”

A kiss on the thigh

Several months ago when you first started co-piloting for Din, you never would have thought that the Razor Crest could be anything but damn near freezing.

This heat was something else. Panting breaths exhaling hot air. The blazing touch that seared across your thighs as Din hovered over you. Even your skin was starting to dampen in the cramped cot.

“Cyar’ika,” he groaned, “Look at you.”

You opened your eyes, glancing down at yourself pressed so deliciously against Din. He was right there. Biting your lip, you tried to grind against him, only for Din to pinch at your thighs in warning. He continued his teasing, rubbing tenderly at your heated skin.

Your back arched under his ministrations. Din was taking his time during the reprieve of a lengthy hyperspace pass, massaging enticingly at your thighs, touching everywhere but where you needed him most.

Twelve hours.

You moaned, “Kriff, stop teasing, Din.” You writhed under his hold, your thighs pinned down by just his hands. How does he feel so good without doing anything?

“No, I don’t think I’m going to stop.”

You gasped as he replaced his hands with his mouth, bending down to suck harshly at the inside of your thigh. Din licked at the sensitive spot, satisfied as he looked up at your panting face.

“You look fucking pretty like this.”

A kiss on the hand

"Glove,” you commanded, “now.”

Din put a hand on his hip. “You don’t need good luck right now,” He jutted his head toward the distant tree trunk that was today’s target, “Just hit it.”

You rolled your eyes, making sure he saw. Like, really saw. You swore up and down that he lacked actual peripheral vision because it was always you that caught the little one getting into places he absolutely should not be. The armory being one of them. You shuddered, finger flicking the safety on as you remembered that very eventful day.

“Focus,” he intoned, “You’re in your head.”

You cursed to yourself, flicking the safety back off. Raising your arm smoothly, your eyes followed the barrel of your blaster.

Tree, damn it. Let me hit you.

Your eyes shut for a split second as you squeezed the trigger. A slight burst of energy shifted your hand half an inch. No sound of impact.

You looked at the tree in dismay.

The stump was definitely still there, not like it could dodge blaster bolts. Even if it could move, it wouldn’t have to avoid anything. The patch of brush next to it though? Thoroughly burnt.

“And this is why I train close combat,” you patted at your vibroblade strapped to your thigh.

“This is why you need practice,” Din moved next to you as you holstered your blaster, “Here.” He held his bare hand out to you, glove clutched in his left.

“Thank you,” you mumbled. Gingerly, you grasped onto his hand with both of yours, thumbs tracing across his bruised knuckles. Din gave the slightest tilt in acknowledgement. You brought his warm hand right to your face, breaking out into a smile.

“I’m gonna get it for sure this time,” you said before placing a small kiss on his hand, “Now put that glove back on and watch me hit this damn target.”

Din chuckled as he backpedaled a few steps, looking on as you drew your blaster, aiming perfectly at the tree.

Breathe. You got this. It’s a completely immobile target. You thought to yourself.

You squeezed the trigger and with a loud crack, the stump had a glaring split right down the middle where your bolt hit true.

“Stars, yes!” You shouted in glee. Deftly turning the safety back on, you holstered the blaster and ran to Din, his arms already opening to wrap around you.

“Knew you could do it,” he said, pulling you in lightly so the beskar wouldn’t bite into your skin.

“Does this mean I can try out the rest of your armory?”

“No.”

#hi it's been a while lol #lueur writes #din djarin x reader #the mandalorian #the mandalorian x reader #the mandalorian fanfiction #din djarin #Pedro Pascal #din djarin fanfiction #also this is out of order bc I'm fun like that

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lucycola · 3 years

Text

The Lone Survivor: Part 5

TOS!Spock x Fem!Reader

Spock saves the reader from an icy starship crash, only to accidentally form a bond with them in the process. They are called to investigate a happening in the morgue, seemingly to face the unseen enemy that caused the crash in the first place.

PART(S) ONE TWO THREE FOUR

WARNINGS: Blood, violence, death, corpses, language, and sexual implications. The body eating gets vivid so if you can’t ride, please don’t.

I’m so so so so sorry this took so long to come out. I’m not good at actions scenes so I did my best! Part 6 will be out soon. If I missed you on the tagged list I’m so sorry!

Part 5: Isn’t is lovely? All alone. My heart made of glass, my mind of stone.

Captain Kirk and Doctor McCoy tried to shield you from the carnage, but you broke through their human shield to see Commander Craft surveying the morgue with a grim expression.

Only a portion of the crew were brought aboard-the rest were still being recovered by multiple teams below. Along with Craft came other starships to help with the recovery. The tundra below was harsh and made recovery an even more difficult process. Bodies that were still intact were brought aboard the Enterprise to be identified. The others well were left in makeshift morgues below waiting to be put together with their other pieces.

What you hadn’t known before yesterday was that some of your crew had been devoured.

More had been devoured now. Bodies were littered about the morgue, torn from their bags. Some were only half eaten at the limbs and thighs. Heads and torsos were still left in contact where it was less meat and more viscera and soupy organs. The poor morgue workers were left alone.

“Blunt force trauma,” McCoy noted into his recorder. “Why didn’t it eat them?”

“It appears...it only ate the Calvary crew. The ones that had been on ice,” Kirk murmured, fist pressing into his teeth.

“It likes its food served cold,” you said, absent mindedly.

“Fascinating,” Spock said.

You glanced over the logs last input by the crewman, “He listed finding my father. Right here! Doctor L/N. My father’s dead. It must have kept his form.”

“Which must be why the creature could not be detected on our scanners. It perfectly mimicked the dead,” Spock said, bouncing ideas off of you, “It may be possible to feign the absence of a pulse or temperature-or perhaps it can alter its physical state enough to where it appears to be a lack of both.”

“Why did it take so long to recognize Doctor L/N, then? The man’s been dead for years.”

“The bodies were beamed up in droves, Jim,” Bones answered, “Then picked through. After were found the Calvary’s lone survivor we stopped bringing up one by one.”

“How...” Commander Craft said slowly, through ground teeth, “Could you be the only one?”

“I don’t know,” you answered.

“Four hundred men dead and you...still alive having wrecked in an escape pod,” the commander snarled, seemingly refusing to even look at you. He still surveyed the frozen dead.

“What?” you asked in disbelief, “I was in an escape pod?”

“Don’t play cute with me,” he jerked to look at you finally, eyes blazing, “You launched the pod right before the ship went down. My crew scouted out the area you were recovered from. Only a single pod launched with only you in it. Or did your husband not tell you that’s where he found you?”

“Spock, is this true?” Kirk asked.

“It seems I may have accidentally omitted such a finding...as I was not aware of it.”

“You’re a Vulcan-you don’t miss things,” Craft spat.

“One forgets my human half-although I have never found myself so personal with you, Commander, to share such a fact.”

Craft looked to you and back to Spock and then back to you again.

“You were both with one another the whole evening?” Commander Craft asked.

“I had two guards posted out side their quarters,” Kirk said, his temper flaring, “I doubt she’s in cahoots with the damn thing. Spock looked into her mind and it seems she’s nothing but a scapegoat for a monster to get its next meal! Now you can stop targeting my officers and start cooperating.”

You reached for Kirk’s arm desperately, “Captain, I didn’t put myself in that pod. Captain, I didn’t do this-you’ve got to believe me still.”

“It doesn’t matter what I believe. What see is your crew in bits and pieces down here and that thing is going to do the same to my men,” Kirk said, patience wheedling thin. “Bridge, this is the captain. Issue a red alert. Lockdown all decks.”

“But captain,” a woman’s voice replied, “You just issued a command stating that the ship take a landing and to disregard any other orders.”

“Lieutenant, where was I when I gave such orders?”

“On deck three.”

The red alert beacon seemed like it would never fade into the background but it was eventually drowned out by the sound of blood rushing in your ears. Kirk had ordered you all to stay together after a trip to the armory and that you were all going to the third deck, whether the commander liked it or not.

The assent to the third deck was painful as the commander and Kirk had it out with one another. The lift felt extremely cramped, but the tension in the air made it worse.

Splitting up the party had perhaps been briefly suggested by your husband to cover more ground, to which the commander argued, “Don’t let Spock take her anywhere. I don’t trust those two!”

“No ones going anywhere unless it’s with me,” Kirk retorted, “Set your phasers to stun. We don’t know who the real crewmen will be apart from this thing. We don’t want to kill anyone else.”

“Then how to do we know you’re not the imposter then? How do we know the real you isn’t already on the third deck or even the bridge by now?” the commander asked, nearly spitting.

“I wouldn’t have asked to land. I’m getting really tired of you,” Kirk said.

The doors to the lift finally opened, showing and eerily empty third deck washed in the red light.

“Daddy?”

A small voice, a woman’s voice in fact so far away you could barely hear it.

The doctor stepped passed you eyes bugging out of his skull, “Didja hear that?” He whirled back around to you, “Did ya’ll hear that?”

“Indeed, doctor,” Spock replied, “It seemed to be coming from that corridor.”

“Daddy!” came the woman’s voice again, now sobbing and strangled.

“Joanna?” the doctor asked, immediately breaking away with full stride.

You seized him around the waist, trying to prevent him from going, “Wait-doctor-!”

“Simon!” came a wavering moan from the adjacent hall.

Commander Craft was less vocal than Bones and bolted immediately with a tailing Kirk who was then seized up by Spock, “Captain, don’t-”

“Daddy!” Joanna’s wail was blood curdling and McCoy broke free from your hold like a frenzied horse. You bolted after him immediately.

“T’hy’la!” Spock began to which in the confusion Kirk said, “Go after them-I’ll get Craft!”

Could it possible the creature could multiply? You hadn’t seen it for yourself, but fear blazoned in your body and drove your legs to pump themselves as far as they could go. You were younger than Bones, but your weak leg gave out. Spock was faster than you anticipated and with thundering footfalls you felt him upon you.

He swept you up quickly, “That was foolish.”

“It’ll kill him, Spock!”

“I do not think it can be many places at once or it would have acted upon the crew sooner.”

“It’s just throwing its voice?”

“Possibly.”

He was moving at a light sprint, cradling you up like a baby.

“If it likes its food cold it will go for the bridge. It’ll wreck the ship to the snow below,” you breathed, clutching onto Spock’s uniform.

“I suspect the same thing-” his running faltered a bit, “-it will pursue the captain in attempt to control the ship.”

“Fuck.”

“Jim!”

“Sam?”

Long ago had Kirk lost sight of Craft, now lurking beyond every corner. It seemed the third deck was empty and he found out quickly why it was so quiet, save the bells. He came upon the mangled bodies of his crew, not eaten, but twisted like rag dolls in their heaps.

Now it was mimicking his brother. The bastard of a thing-whatever it was.

“Jim, help!”

“I’m coming, Sam!” Kirk called, moving carefully down the hall, phaser in hand. It was leading to him to his own cabin. He knew his brother was dead, but it was almost like he couldn’t stop himself. It was a painful desperation and it burned like fire in his chest.

He opened the door and stepped inside. His room was the same as it had always been. Bed in one area, dress and mirror in the other. His antique weapon collection of old era muskets, sabers, and spears freckled his walls but were hard to be seen as the lights were oddly set dim.

“Captain!” a distressed voice cried from the corner. A female voice.

“Y/N?” Kirk asked, moving closer, “Kitty, is that you?”

The person moved from the corner and into the light and indeed to the captain it appeared to be you. But how? Kirk questioned.

Your face was beaten and your body was bloodied. Your dress which once was white was almost completely dyed scarlet and it was ripped all the way down, revealing your right shoulder and breasts.

Kirk snatched the blanket off the bed and brought it to cover you. “How did you get here so fast? Did it do this to you?”

“It ran as soon as it heard you. It was a man. He looked just like you. I thought it was you,” you cried.

He skimmed the tears off your face with his thumb, “There, there. I’m here now.”

“You’ve got to help me. Spock tricked me, Jim,” you said, moving closer. “I need you.”

The third deck was so confusing you (the real you) thought you and Spock would get lost but you honed in on the doctor’s desperate cries of “Joanna!” like breadcrumbs.

You both came to a dead end to see the doctor there, bumbling at the wall, clearly confused.

“Doctor!” you cried in relief.

“I heard Jo one second and the next-I’m at a loss!” he attempted to explain, scratching the back of his head.

The doctor stared at the bare wall as if his daughter was apart of its making. She was there in his ears and the next she wasn’t.

“She was never there,” you sighed, still cradled in Spock’s clutch.

“It was a trick, Doctor,” Spock concurred.

“Lemme down,” you reached for Bones almost desperately.

You felt like you had to touch him to truly know he was alright. His face looked alright as well as the rest of his body, but his eyes were still large with bewilderment and grief. Joanna had not been there, but she had sounded so real and seemed to be in so much pain as the ghost of your own father had been.

“Doctor, are you well enough to care for my wife? It seems she has reinjured her leg to some extent,” Spock inquired, allowing you to bear weight on your good limb.

Bones reached for you immediately and then asked Spock, “Where the hell are you going?”

“I must relocate the captain and Commander Craft for their safety,” Spock explained, already having turned promptly to leave.

He broke out into another sprint, which looked faster than it had while you were being carried. Vulcans were faster, stronger than humans naturally, it seemed.

Bones fussed over you and you shushed him, “It’s just a limp-I’m fine-no, we are not going to sickbay!”

“Where do you suggest we go then? We might as well be sitting ducks.”

“We’re going to catch up with, Spock,” you said in a definite tone.

“In your condition and mine? it’ll take this old man two weeks to get you there,” he said, shaking his head.

“Hey,” you grinned, “It’s not the first time you’ve walked a pretty girl down the aisle.”

Bones face heated up with a large grin.

The door shifted open and Spock was greeted with the sight of his nude wife fondling his captain. Except you were had been left in Bones’ care behind him. Something white hot and broiling ignited in his very being.

You could feel it from down the hall.

He’s mad-why is he so mad? you questioned internally, limping as fast as you could.

Kirk fired his phaser immediately into the creature’s belly, after letting it draw itself close. The mirror version of you somehow enclosed its hand around the firing phaser, crushing it completely.

Kirk shook his hand free, screaming. The creature seized Kirk by the shoulders and flung him effortlessly into the wall. He hit part of his antique weapon collection, spears and swords clattering to the ground with him.

“Captain-!”

“I’m alright.”

The imposter whirled around and grinned like a Cheshire, “Well the infamous Mister Spock! I can read the crew’s thoughts y’know. Plenty of gals seem to like you. But you only like this one, don’t you?”

The imposter ran her hand down her naked form, taunting him.

“Too bad your captain got the upper hand on your wife first. Didn’t even stop himself when given the opportunity.”

“That’s a lie, Spock,” Kirk choked.

Spock shot at the creature, phaser still set the stun. The creature was knocked back only a little, seemingly unfazed. Spock shot multiple times only with the same result.

“I like it rough,” the creature laughed, “Keep on.”

“Why did you place Lieutenant Y/L/N in the escape pod when you could have devoured her?” Spock inquired.

“I seek the weakest link of all that visit my land. I seek their fears, their sorrows and hers was most adequate for my use,” it said, “The other ships that follow after every crash always tend to stay longer when there’s someone to blame. Everyone likes someone to blame.”

“How many other starships have you sabotaged?” Kirk asked, moving slowly about the weapons on the floor.

“Enough to feed me my due.”

Kirk launched one of the old spears at the imposter and it grazed its belly, spurting purple blood.

“Run, Captain!” Spock ordered.

The creature seized the spear and thrust it a Kirk as he ran to the door. Spock was faster and quickly moved in front of Kirk, catching the spear deafly with one hand. The blade was merely inches from his nose. The phaser clattered to the ground.

“Fascinating,” the creature said mockingly and changed it form from you to Spock himself.

Eventually you and Bones were able follow the trail of downed crewman to the captain’s cabin. Upon opening the door you were gifted with the sight of two of your husbands wrestling with one other over some ancient spear.

Where the hell did that thing come from?

Long forgone on the floor was Spock’s phaser and you knelt to grab it.

“Jim!” Bones exclaimed.

Kirk was once again a heap on the floor, already having been assaulted twice by the imposter and saved by Spock. He was bleeding from his right flank.

Bones quickly moved to him, dragging you long with him.

“We’ve got--got to kill it--” Kirk stuttered, staggering upward. You caught him under the arm, supporting him. “The phaser doesn’t seem to work on stun. You have to set it to kill.”

Bones caught the other, “But how can we? Which one is it?”

You shakenly pointed the phaser even though it seemed it had no effect.

“Alright you two!” Kirk yelled, ‘Stop or we’ll be forced to shoot the both of you!”

The wrestling came to a still and the spear was tossed aside, rolling to your feet.

They were identical, completely. Fuck.

“T’hy’la, it is I,” said the one on the left.

“No, that is incorrect,” said the one on the left.

Down to the nose, the hair, the faint hue of green in their cheeks and lips. The familiar warmth pulled you at the back of your mind.

“Kitty, what are you doing?” Kirk began.

You moved forward, with two fingers extended, “Husband, attend.”

The one of the left immediately came forward and you felt the warmth surge closer at is it, enveloping your mind as your fingers touched.

“Fools!”

The one of the right’s entire mouth opened up as if it was a venous fly trap, launching itself at you and Spock. You fired the phaser, blasting a hole on its left side but it still came.

Kirk was faster on the draw, and launched the spear into the creature’s mouth, splattering purple liquid everywhere. Its lifeless body hit the ground with a wet thud.

The spear had ripped through its body and pierced itself into the wall behind it.

“Good shot, captain,” Spock said. “And you as well, wife.”

“Second time’s the charm,” Kirk said, holding his injured side.

You let out a dry sob, mixed in with a laugh. Bones patted your shoulder, letting out a large sigh.

PART SIX

tagged: @groovyfluxie @dontgivedeath @lumar014 @pringtella @moonchildlonan @superninjapervert420 @love-wanderlust15 @ischysiaclark@imyourspacegirlfriend @hiddlestonme @fandoms4ever97 @mywellspringoflife @rebelchild93 @nilalunis16

#tos #startrek #star trek #spock x fem!reader #the lone survivor #spock x reader #schn tgai spock #s'chn t'gai spock #mr spock #tos spock #jim kirk #doctor mccoy #bones #captain kirk

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ohmygodtheywereparabatai · 3 years

Text

CONTINUED FROM!!

Nose is back to the Zhaang grindstone! @theboyfrommakapu let me borrow their tough little nut Mizuki, and as 2021 can and should be the year of Dad!Zhao (and Flame was instrumental in the effort ✨)...

—

Aang bent the cord around his finger, waiting, in much moroseness, for the line to answer.

“Chief Beifong speaking.” A soft chuckle peppered the other end. “Did you know I’ve started tapping into the wires? Copper, silver - they run all over the place, tingle a little when someone flips a switch. I can almost tell you’re nervous, Twinkle Toes. Quit fiddling with the cord.”

How did she...?

Nevermind. Toph’s abnormally dense interconnection with the world would prove useful another time.

“I...” Aang cut to brass tacks. “I lost him.”

“What?” -a creaking desk, then a stern officer folding over the cheeky old- “When? His bending’s diddly-squat in the surface world. Isn’t that what you told me?”

“I know, I know. It was-”

“Don’t expect my men to find your prized fossil and return it to the Zei Museum. You’re the one who begged me to keep this under wraps.”

He squeezed in a smile, hoping to feign confidence. “I wouldn’t pain you with the paperwork, Toph. Besides, it’s out of our hands. Bumi’s handling it. Well, he worded it differently, but... he promised the search would be short. In the meantime, just - keep an eye out, will you?”

“Aang.” The voice turned from scratchy to uncomfortably firm, clear as if she were right behind him. “You said he wasn’t dangerous. Now you’ve got top-notch eel hounds on his scent.”

You had better expect a visit, were her last regards. The line snapped shut, leaving him with a limp cord and heavier phone than when he’d dailed.

Aang shifted, lips tightly pursed before the air was sucked out of him in a groan. “Monkey feathers...”

—

Trees.

For a handful of miles offshore where he’d dragged his weight off a humble boat, lower half caked, gritty, and buried to the soles in sand - trees.

It was a relief.

The city was a noose. Like he could sense its tailspin out of trajectory as the safe haven of the world risen from the four nations… now a reeking, hot swamp.

Not of smell - of lost souls. The indebted, distressed, heartbroken, restless. Even a switch sent ripples. He heard enough from his own mind.

Climbing over a rock as the wind rustled and sun warmed his hands (oh, how the sun felt on his skin) Zhao found his urgency suddenly depleted. He was well inland, well surrounded to muffle the thick of civilization.

The sun’s touch grew cooler by the time he sorted out the dissonance; someone had been weeping - the lights were too bright - traffic had blared and their shrieking carried over. It was a noise he expected to see printed in the… called the… newspaper, if Zhao could be so bothered.

He finally stirred when a faint ringing sharpened to a painful, yet balanced point - smoothed to exude an artful control. In the whirlwind settled one thought:

Fire.

He fumbled out of the way (apparently so inert that a mistaken frog squirrel scampered off his chest) just as an arrow planted in his sleeve.

Zhao yanked it out on the third tug. Before his senses were aligned he was sprinting for cover, because if nothing kicked in, training did - the fletching provided the revered accuracy and spin of the fire swan… to the extent of his years, found nowhere else.

If only training brokered with his physical state and found some hidden reservoir of adrenaline. Compared to feet gracing the treetops and sailing within range in seconds, he was a leaf trying to escape a stone. His shoes dunked in creek water, turned nonsense corners to bewilder the immovable upon him. Arrows plunged in Zhao’s trail - the first one hadn’t pierced him.

It could have, easily.

So, at least one person in the world preferred him alive-

The denounced admiral lost his head start; his ears pricked at the ripping of a seam before his back lodged to a tree. “No—!” He was their pin cushion before he could recognize the grate of bark.

A group of less than dozen descended from the canopy, their focus as deathly still as Zhao was forced to hold - nocked like the bow, even now. Then the leader swung down in front of him, ten steps short of her squad.

Lithe. Tightly bound hair. Unsettlingly familiar eyes.

“Pathetic. No wonder you were the last candidate for the Natural Leadership Award.” The what? “It went to Admiral Tung - he couldn’t start a fire without his hands.”

He must have stared in a way that made their distance transparent. Her frown aged her, too much.

“What’s the blue smear on your forehead?”

No answer. The archer struck him over the temple, hard; the resulting darkness wasn’t as merciful as to be dreamless.

—

… Two hours before the commander made landfall, he served (against his will) as a conduit for the last ten decades, lobes picked clean.

The encampment was secluded, scattered in the trees with stuffed straw rooted in rows. Arrows that had pierced already split targets, embers in the dark where game was strung over pits. Somewhere over the treetops was the crash of indolent waves.

Zhao would have made his peace with the circumstances if it weren’t for the rope affixing him to a tent’s post and the incessant girl.

An ambush squad; the leader seemed to be convinced Zhao was so ancient that he hailed from Szeto’s time. Or she was mocking him. At this point, he had a sinking feeling he wasn’t as well-preserved as the Avatar led him to believe. The Spirit World reject’s head pounded. How was he tracked this far?

“Were you eligible for the land grants after Minister Szeto’s relief fund was exceeded by thousands of ban? Did you move to the islands? Do you have family there still?”

“I’ve never-”

Her brows settled knowingly. “Ah, so you were one of the needy who joined the warring clans to survive. Did Szeto show you mercy? Did he use Firelord Yosor’s stamp and feed your hungry for months?”

“No! I was-”

“You’ve never stood in his presence?”

“I haven’t, I don’t plan to, and unless you have some sort of incentive I’ll resist throwing myself at the Avatar’s feet and begging him to contact his however-many-past-lives so you’ll shut your mouth.”

“Ai,” her lip twitched, “Grandfather Zuko did that already. Szeto was busy tallying entries in the spirit world on his famous abacus. Did you know? It was carved from-”

“I did not!” He snapped, and until his thoughts caught up with him, Zhao was just short of fuming. He heard it then - and balked.

“G… Grandfather?” His eyes flickered, the weight of the crown steeping the room like a tea prepared with lead. The archer blinked innocently, folded forward on her stoop. “Who are you?” Zhao demanded.

“I think you know.” She stood up, stretching idly. He was no threat - not to the Yuyan, not to a princess. “You talk in your sleep. Almost confessed to putting thorns in Uncle Aang’s shoes. Other than that, dragons, Firelords… my father. How do you know so much?” The archer muttered to the side, “and so little…”

Maybe he should run from the island more often. Next time he could shake hands with the president. “I didn’t- wasn’t aware… you were…”

But he did see things, didn’t he? For the same reason he’d fled the city, and the Avatar’s tour of the park backfired before he could point out his favorite birds in the trees.

Zhao, at least, could figure where he’d seen those eyes.

The same boy who reached out when he could have let him fall - the same old man who’d tried to guide him from a spiraling path. Wise in ways the all-powerful Firelord was not. Strangely, his lips moved on their own.

“He does care.” Zhao’s arms were chafed and mosquitos had taken to vintage blood like a honeypot - what did he care, for one? “You don’t have to believe me. I’m not the Knowledge Spirit - now that one was a pain in the ass - but you heard it from me, and I know what I know. He… is fond. Of you.”

Finally… a moment of quiet. Though it pressed like a blunt tip to his pulse.

Her resemblance wasn’t striking, not in the sense of royalty Zhao had known. The girl’s hair was lighter, her features sharp to a gentler fault - and no one capable of the royals’ level of skill would choose a bow over raw fists.

“Who?” The princess’s voice turned severe.

The bygone soldier blinked. “I think you know.”

She looked affronted, or twice as curious - stormed from the tent with the blazing corona of esteem and shaken pride dimming like her steps. The Yuyan were rumored to be silent as the spirits… Suppose some things made you mortal, made inescapably of flesh and burden.

Ages had passed since Zhao was in such a presence. He’d forgotten the family of condensed sunlight - forgotten his mission and how low he bowed at their feet.

He almost unconsciously straightened when she re-entered later with ease, a mask pinned tightly over the face that beamed in recitation of Szeto’s legacy. What’s wrong? Zhao wanted to mouth (before recoiling at his own instinct).

A tall, middle-aged man bolstered by boots and a shining coat ducked in suit. Instead of lowering a distasteful greeting on a lowly captive, he cracked a wide smile. “Got your steps in?”

“I haven’t seen Dad in such knots to find someone since Kya lost her lop-eared bunny. Hell-raisers,” he chuckled, “what can you do but keep an eye on them?”

The princess’s eyes narrowed, twin points tensed on a bowstring by themselves. Zhao swallowed.

“Uh… your daughter - was good company.”

Commander, Firelord - he acted like neither! - slid his hands in his pockets as men brushed past, hauling Zhao off his legs as blood rushed to receive him. A sideways wink was his answer, and while it baffled the Yuyan’s catch of the day, it bounced right off his child. How couldn’t she know she was adored? The commander gave off delight in overwhelming, sunny waves.

The Avatar’s son?

… Made sense.

Zhao’s hand slipped from under the soldiers’ hold, motioning with his fingers; a short goodbye, if anything. The young archer didn’t so much as glance over.

To think he’d set out to find quiet… He wanted to seek out the loudest voice he’d met since.

#HAI FINALLY I HOPE YOU LIKE!!!! (apologies in advance if i quash her character in all its riches)#(mizuki my beloved)#your local clown writes!#zhaang #mizuki #flamehotman of my heart ❤️‍🔥

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passionatefanfictionbka · 3 years

Text

Chrianna Short: Selling Dreams

A/N: An old short that was sitting in my drafts. Figured I finish it and post it. Enjoy!

Rihanna looked around her house and huffed before she just started grabbing photos and items that were spread out and mixed in with her decor. She had spent enough time playing this role and she wanted her life back, as much back of it that she could get. She grabbed a huge duffel bag and started throwing things into it. Just as she went to clear off the table behind her couch, she bumped into Melissa.

“Damn Girl, where you rushing off too?” Mel asked as she gingerly rubbed her shoulder.

“Nowhere. I didn’t see you there. When’d you get here?”

“Just a few minutes ago. You obviously didn’t hear me come in either.”

“Yea, I was cleaning up and wasn’t paying attention.”

“Cleaning up what?” Mel looked around the room, “where’s all the pictures? Don’t you think he’s gonna be a little suspicious?”

“I don’t care what he is especially since he’s not my problem.”

“How is your man not your problem?”

“He’s not my man. Never was. Don’t know how many times I have to say that.”

“Well according to media and your PR, he was your man so outside of this house he was your man. What happened?”

“Nothing. I’m finished.”

“Finished what?”

“I’m finished lying. I’m finished pretending. I’m tired, Mel.”

“Does he know that?”

“I don’t give a fuck what he does or doesn’t know.”

“Whoa there, what is going on?”

“I just told you. I’m finished.”

“Robs, that’s not it. Something happened.”

“Nothing happened, honest. I’m really just over all of this. The trips and shit, it gets really boring after a while, especially if it's not with who you want to be with.”

“Chris know you done?”

“This has nothing to do with him either.”

“That’s not what I asked you. Does Chris know you are done?”

“He knows I was thinking about it.”

“Before me?”

“I didn’t want the judgment, Mel.”

“When have I ever judged you?”

“Not out loud but I could feel the way you’ve been looking at me since this started.”

“That wasn’t judgment, that was disappointment. I told you from the beginning that this wasn’t a good idea. You’ve been letting PR run your life for the last few years and just when I thought you were settled into your own, you let them pull you right back in.”

“Mel, I made the decision to go along with it.”

“For what purpose other than media bullshit?”

“It wasn’t media bullshit to me.”

“And what was it to Chris then?”

“I don’t want to talk about him.”

“You might want to.”

“Why is that?”

“Because I’m right behind you.”

Rihanna jerked around at the sound of Chris’s voice. She smiled before she could catch herself and Chris chuckled, “you look more shocked than I thought you would be. What’s up?”

“Nothing. Why? How are you here?”

“I drove here, what do you mean?”

“How’d you even know I was in town? I didn’t call you.”

“You normally don't and somehow I still have perfect timing,” Chris walked towards her and plopped down in an armchair, “besides I could always sense when something was wrong and considering this room, I was right.”

“Nothing is wrong.”

“You don’t pull a Bernadine in Waiting to Exhale for nothing. What’s going on?”

“I really don’t have to answer you.”

“You don't but you will. Eventually.”

Melissa laughed causing Rihanna to remember she was in the room, “there is nothing funny about this.”

“Oh there’s a lot funny but I’m gonna go to my room and laugh. It’s tense in here.”

Melissa patted Chris’s shoulder as she walked past him to leave the living room. Rihanna turned her attention back to him, “why are you here, Chris?’

“I told you that I sensed something was wrong and...I miss you.”

“I just saw you in New York.”

“That was well over two months ago. Still not used to these long gaps.”

“We’ve dealt with longer.”

“That’s when we really didn’t have any options.”

“Who says now that we do have options?”

“We did especially once we started this up again.”

“This what?”

“What? Does your nigga have the room wired for sound or you just acting dense on purpose?”

“Excuse me?”

“You’re excused.”

“You don’t get to barge in my house in the middle of my recharging session, demanding answers to shit that isn’t your business.”

“All of this is my business.”

“Really? How?”

“Because you’re my business and have been over the last decade. I told you this from Matt to Drake to this Arab nigga, I don’t give a fuck about no PR stunts and relationships, we’ve been in this from the beginning and it hasn’t changed. When I feel like something is wrong, I’m gonna come whether you ask me to or not, guns blazing if I have to. We’ve been good for this long so clearly something has changed if you giving me attitude like this and I haven’t seen you in so long.”

Rihanna sighed and ran her fingers through her hair before settling her hands on her waist. Chris was right; he didn’t do anything he wouldn’t normally do when she came in town and she was overreacting.

“Look, I’m sorry. I’m just- I don’t know.”

“What is it? Is the pressure getting to you? Are you changing your mind? We’ve been communicating so well up until now, just let me know what’s up.”

“It's not you. I just don’t have my head on too straight.”

“Then let me help you, all you gotta do is talk to me, you know that.”

“I know Babe, it’s just- I’m still trying to figure it out. I feel out of control.”

“So stop trying to figure it out and just relax. You’re not gonna gain more control by acting out of control. Forcing things has never been helpful for you.”

“You’re right.”

“So sit down. Stop trying so hard to make things happen and just let them happen.”

Rihanna frowned and Chris chuckled, “what’s the matter, Baby Girl?”

“When the hell you’d get so wise?”

“I’ve had a lot of practice. Now can I get a proper greeting or you still taking your anger out on me?”

Rihanna rolled her eyes and she moved to sit on Chris’s lap. He kissed her and she laid her head on his shoulder, “I wasn’t taking my anger out on you. I was just frustrated.”

“Same difference.”

Chris made circles on her exposed thigh with his fingertip, “I missed you. Why didn’t you call me when you got in town?”

“Because I’m not staying long. I’m actually out of here tomorrow.”

“Even more reason why you should’ve called me.”

“I also didn’t come here by myself.”

“Ah, now that makes sense. Where’s your Arab money?”

“Fuck you.”

Chris laughed, “I’m serious. Where he at?”

“He left already.”

“Argument?”

“Gotta actually talk to have an argument. I’m just over everything and told him to go. Services no longer needed.”

“Should’ve never enlisted them in the first place.”

“I am not having this discussion with you again, Chris.”

“We’re not, I’m just saying.”

“No more saying. You’ve expressed your dislike with the arrangement enough over the last year or so. You didn’t like him, I get it.”

“So you my girl again or nah?”

“Always been yours.”

“But am I still sharing you or no?”

“No.”

“That’s all I need to hear.”

“But we’re not together, Chris.”

“By whose definition?”

“Anybody’s definition. I need time, Chris.”

“I can give you time. I’ve always given you that.”

“I mean real time. Not you sitting in the corner, staring at your watch and willing me to hurry up time.”

“I do not- nevermind.”

“That’s what I thought.”

“Well what do you expect? We were on a good path, babies, marriage, rings and then you spring him on me. Everytime I agree to give you time, you end up giving your time to somebody else. Regardless if it’s a real relationship or not, you’re giving time you promised to me, to somebody not me so yea, it makes me hesitate with this time shit.”

“It’s not like you’ve been waiting all alone.”

“Actually I have. Commenting on IG and shit doesn’t mean nothing when it doesn't translate to real life. ‘I’ve been chilling, minding my business, and taking care of myself. I’ve done nothing but wait by myself.”

“I never asked you to do that.”

“You’ve never asked me to do a lot of things but you knew I would, did you not?”

“I did.”

“So I rest my case.”

“This isn’t easy, Chris.”

“I never said it was but you aren’t making it any easier either.”

“Clearly.”

“So what exactly is your next step?”

“Haven’t figured it out yet. I really don’t know what I want or what I want to do.”

“Just chill for a minute. Give yourself time to relax and actually sleep for a while, it’ll come to you.”

“You’re always good for a positive thought.”

“I don’t like seeing you stressed out, Baby Girl. Makes me anxious and puts me on offense.”

“Chris, you can't protect me from myself.”

“I can try.”

Rihanna laughed as she leaned up to kiss his lips, “what’s your plans?”

“I came here for you. It’s up to you.”

“I just needed to clear my head, probably should’ve come here alone in that case.”

“That’s very true but you also had an image to upkeep so a certain presence makes sense.”

Rihanna sighed, “can I quit?”

“You can do whatever you want to do. Why are you asking me?”

“Because you’re my conscience right now. Can I quit?”

“Depends on why you want to quit.”

“What do you mean?”

“Are you quitting because you’re done or because you’re running?”

Rihanna went to say something then closed her mouth. Chris gently rubbed her thigh, “I am the last person to be giving advice on anything because I still don’t completely have my shit together but I do know what happens when you make decisions based on fear and not fact. I’ve wasted great opportunities doing it.”

“Like?”

“Our entire relationship. Past and present.”

“We’ve both done it if that’s the case.”

“We have, I just actually acknowledge it.”

“I really have no idea what to do.”

“You could start by stopping selling the public dreams.”

“What?”

“You keep pulling people into your PR antics, and that’s what they are no matter how you try to justify it, for the sake of keeping up an image that the public is comfortable with instead of actually being yourself. You being a savage is a cover. You being this pick ‘em and dump ‘em person is a cover. All a mask. You are selling them a version of you that is not real.”

“How would you know that it’s not real?”

“Because I know you. I know you in ways that the public would never get to know you. That’s why you burn out so quickly. That’s why you can’t commit to whatever you’re doing for so long because you’re not being true to you.”

“You’re only saying that because you’re included in what I want to do.”

“I’m saying it because it’s true. Listen, I’ve been out of the picture for extended periods of time and you still stick to the script. You pick people who you don’t really like because you know that they can’t hurt you. I pick people because they’re easy to get and easy to dismiss. I go for ease. You go for comfort.”

Rihanna sucked her teeth as she folded her arms across her chest, “I don’t agree with that.”

“I can accept that, don't make what I said wrong though.”

“So what about you?”

“What about me? I am a complete and utter fuck up at times, I’m transparent about that. I play games to distract myself and others from reality. I bullshit myself a lot but I know it. I accept it therefore I accept the consequences that come from it. You, on the other hand, not so much.”

“Are you saying that I don’t accept accountability?”

“Yea, pretty much.”

Rihanna pushed off his lap and moved to grab the duffel bag she was holding earlier, “Wow, tell me how you really feel.”

“Baby Girl, if you accept accountability, you wouldn’t be lying and justifying things to anyone, especially not to yourself. You wouldn’t be cleaning out the pictures of a man that you publicly entertained for a year even though you didn’t like him. You wouldn’t be hiding and letting the world turn you into a recluse, just to do what you want to do. You wouldn’t be teasing albums when all you really want to do is make clothes and make up. You’d be upfront and honest regardless of others’ reactions. The fact you haven’t and you can’t even verbally express why without providing justifications for it is exactly why we’re having this conversation. None of this can happen without your participation. You have to be accountable for that.”

“I don’t want to talk about this anymore.”

“That’s fine.”

“And I’d like you to leave.”

“That’s fine too.”

“Are you serious?”

“I didn’t come here to argue with you or make you feel worse but we’ve prided ourselves on being honest with each other thus far so I don’t regret what I’ve said. I’m not judging you because we do what we have to do to survive,” Chris stood up and straightened his pants, “I’ve done worse. I’ve fucked up my life worse so I’m telling you from experience. IF you want to quit, you need to be honest with yourself about why and once you do that, you need to be honest about how you got to this point in the first place. That’s the only way for you to quit in peace because the change of outside circumstances doesn’t get rid of the issues inside you. That much I know for sure even though I’m still figuring out what comes next.”

“And this makes you so much better than me, huh?”

“Absolutely not. I’m still fucking up but I’m honest with myself about why and work on how to not do it again. I backslide every once in a while but I’m human. Maybe if you accepted that part about you, you wouldn’t be working so hard to keep up this image for the world.”

“I went back to you after everything we’ve been through, that wasn’t enough?”

“Wow. I hoped you came back to me because you wanted to, not to make me your redemption story. If loving me was the worst thing you think you’ve done as a human, that’s on you. I think. I’m just your most public mistake. Don’t confuse the two.”

“I never said you were a mistake.”

“Nope but you’re saying it as if our second chance was the only thing you’ve done that others’ didn’t accept. You’re protected but you’re not invincible.”

“Sounds like you want me to fail.”

“I want you to be honest with yourself about who you are so you can stop acting like what you’re pretending to be isn’t a bunch of bullshit. I want you to be successful while being you, the real you.”

“Chris.”

“Rih, Baby Girl, there’s really nothing else to say and I think I’ve pissed you off enough for the night.”

Chris walked over and kissed her cheek before he started walking towards the door, “Tell Mel I said bye. Oh, and you missed a couple pictures on the console.”

He left.

“You know he’s actually right, Robs. He might be a fuck up sometimes but he’s an honest one,” Melissa said as she walked into the room.

“I’m guessing you heard,” Rihanna replied.

“I did. I thought y’all were about to start arguing so I was standing in the hallway.”

“No need. He doesn’t really like to argue with me anymore.”

“That bothers you.”

“It does.”

“Why?”

“It’s uncomfor-” Rihanna stopped mid-sentence, “Am I really that bad? Do I really avoid accountability like that?”

“Nobody can answer that but you. Maybe you really do need time. I’m not saying to shut down into complete isolation but you need to really think about your life and how you want to live it moving forward. Nobody is saying that the world needs to know everything but at least let what you do decide to let them in on, be honest and true to you. If you don’t want to do music or if you only want to do it on your own time, be honest about it. If you want to date, do it but be honest about it. You can be private without treating your personal life as a secret. The best savages are the honest ones.”

Chris had just pulled into his driveway when his phone rang with a FaceTime call. He put the car in park then slid over the answer key, “Hey Baby Girl.”

“I’m sorry.”

“You don’t need to apologize.”

“But I do. I overreacted and it wasn't fair especially since you came all that way to see me.”

“And you had all right to tell me to leave if you no longer wanted me there. There’s nothing to apologize for.”

“Are you home yet?”

“I just pulled into the driveway. What’s up?”

“Can I stop by?”

“Sure. I’ll order something for us.”

“OK. I’ll see you in a little bit.”

“Cool.”

#chrianna shorts

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slashingdisneypasta · 4 years

Text

Horror / Six: The Musical AU (X Reader) || Headcanons

Explanation: So all the songs are being sun by different readers with different Henry’s (The Horror Villains of course) instead of one Henry. I think its pretty straight forward apart from that! I hope to make a second part to this where the readers actually meet up and complain about their times with their respective horror villains. This is fun XD Had the idea a couple months back and I posted it and one blog commented saying Six is their favourite musical, so this is basically for me and them haha XD

Character Included: Michael Myers, Chucky / Charles Lee Ray (And Tiffany Valentine), Bubba Sawyer, Norman Bates, Mayor Buckman (And Harper Alexandre) and Jason Voorhees.

Warnings: Murder of the readers (By respective Horror Villains and a non-explicit difficult birth in Bubba’s), birth / pregnancy, toxic / abusive relationships, sexual harrassment / maybe rape (All You Wanna Do- Buckmans), language, suggested mother / son grossness (Norman and Norma of course).

I laugh in the face of those who would subdue my mad ideas.

‘No Way’ (Reader as Catherine of Aragon): Michael Myers as Henry

My name's Catherine of Aragon Was married 24 years I'm a paragon of royalty, my loyalty is to the Vatican So if you try to dump me You won't try that again

You were in a, of course, very unequal relationship with the shape of Haddonfield. He saw you one day, was completely taken by you, and decided to let you live. He would come by and use you however he liked, kill the people you loved when they got your attention over him, etc. Like any other Michael Myers x Reader.

And, years and years later (Because it’s not like Michael finds someone every day that he gives even a bit of a shit about like he does - did, - you) he comes upon a new person. Someone he, like he was you, is drawn to.

And he tries to drop you like a hot potato.

And this infuriates you. You are not about to let go! He has ruined your life! You have no friends, no family, no life, because of him! All you have, is (regrettably) him and you are going to be his for the rest of your life. That’s what he wanted, that’s what the bastard’s going to get.

(Many, many years with him has caused your courage against him to grow spectacularly. You can say nearly anything to him)

|- ‘You must agree that, baby, in all the time I been by your side

I've never lost control’

‘I've put up with your sh- like every single day’ -|

You give him one more chance- if he can tell you one thing that you have done to him to legitimately hurt him… then you’ll leave willingly.

…

But he has nothing. And he doesn’t care.

|- ‘You got me down on my knees

Please tell me what you think I've done wrong

Been humble, been loyal, I've tried to swallow my pride all along

If you can just explain a single thing

I've done to cause you pain, I'll go

No?’ -|

|- ‘You wanna replace me? Baby, there's

N-n-n-n-n-n-no way

You made me a wife, so I'll be queen 'til the end of my life’ -|

He ends up strangling you to death when you won’t shut up.

‘Don’t Lose Your Head’ (Reader as Anne Boleyn): Chucky / Charles Lee Ray as Henry (And Tiffany as Catherine of Aragon)

I'm that Boleyn girl and I'm up next See I broke England from the church Yeah, I'm that sexy Why did I lose my head? Well, my sleeves may be green but my lipstick's red

Chucky and his filthy ass catches sight of you. Young, French and vivacious and he’s got heart eyes on the spot. He wants you, but he also doesn’t really want to lose Tiffany.

So... yeah, you end up living with them both for a while and its very awkward and a very hostile situation.

|- ‘Here we go

(You sent him kisses)

I didn't know I would move in with his misses

(What?)

Get a life

(You're living with his wife?)

Like, what was I meant to do?’ -|

You don’t like it. No one likes this. Chucky! Make up your mind!

|- ‘Three in the bed and the little one said

If you wanna be wed, make up your mind

Her or me, chum

Don't wanna be some

Girl in a threesome

Are you blind?’ -|

Tiffany is of course Catherine, and the fandom (The people of Britain for the sake of this AU) loves her (As we all know), so when you come along and insult her because Chucky is now your man (Supposedly.) and of course you two aren’t getting along with each other in the first place because of him … you get a bad name.

|- ‘Ooh, why hasn't it hit her?

He doesn't want to bang you

Somebody hang you

(Wow Anne, way to make the country hate you)

Mate, what was I meant to do?’ -|

When eventually Chucky is able to grow the balls to boot Tiffany out (My heart hurts writing this, trust me), he pulls a ‘Once a cheater, always a cheater’ kind of shit and has no loyalty to you or respect for the sanctity of your relationship, and starts having one night stands here, there and everywhere. He tries vaguely to tell you you’re being silly and that’s not true- but he has lipstick on his shirt collars and perfume smell all over him.

Its not a nice living condition.

So you, still very much being the vivacious bitch that he ‘fell in love with’, go and flirt with some other guys. Just to make him a teensy bit jealous! I mean, its not like he’ll really care, right? You just wanna spark the fire again!

|- ‘Henry's out every night on the town

Just sleeping around, like what the hell?

If that's how it's gonna be

Maybe I'll flirt with a guy or three

Just to make him jell’ -|

But he finds out as planned… and is p i s s e d. He threatens that if you do that again, he’ll fucking kill you.

You, not going to let him talk to you like that, flirt with one more man. Just to be disobedient.

|- ‘Henry finds out and he goes mental

He screams and shouts

Like so judgemental

You damn that witch

Mate, just shut up

I wouldn't be such a b-

If you could get it up’ -|

And you find out that he very much meant it when he said he would kill you.

|- ‘And now he's going 'round like off with her head (No)

(No)

Yeah, I'm pretty sure he means it’ -|

‘Heart of Stone’ (Reader as Jane Seymour): Bubba Sawyer as Henry

Jane Seymour the only one he truly loved (Rude) When my son was newly born, I died But I'm not what I seem or am I? Stick around and you'll suddenly see more

You were an intended victim of the Sawyers, but like with Stretch, Bubba crushes on you instead. The difference here, is that you see the gentleness to him compared to his brothers, and how scared he is when one of them yells at him, and all the other little signs that he’s not as vicious or evil as his first impressions might convey. You have a big, brave heart, and you realise right there that its death and cannibalisation or understanding and caring for this man and you choose to love.

|- ‘You came my way, and I knew a storm could come too.’-|

|- ‘You've got a good heart

But I know it changes

A restless tide, untameable’ -|

So you take his hands in yours, all shaky and meaty as they are, and promise him that you will never leave him. You’ll protect him. You’ll take any mess he and his family can throw at you- you’ll always be with him. Your promise.

|- ‘But I took your hand, promised I'd withstand

Any blaze you blew my way

'Cause something inside, it solidified

And I knew I'd always stay’ -|

And he believes you, of course. Its so nice to be looked at so softly, especially by someone as pretty as you.

I- ‘You can build me up, you can tear me down

You can try but I'm unbreakable

You can do your best, but I'll stand the test

You'll find that I'm unshakeable

When the fire's burnt

When the wind has blown

When the water's dried, you'll still find stone

My heart of stone’ -|

And you prove yourself. You prove over and over again that no matter what he, or the twins, or Drayton, or even Grandpa throws at you- you’ll survive and you’ll stay, and you’ll never stop looking at him in that lovely soft way.

|- ‘You say we're perfect

A perfect family’ -|

You get pregnant of course because everyone in the Sawyers / Hewitts family has a breeding kink and you can’t tell me otherwise, and the birth is of course very difficult because Drayton isn’t about to pay for hospital bills. So you’re in their home, in all the mess and the dirt and with no sort of aesthetic, and…

|- ‘Soon I'll have to go

I'll never see him grow’ -|

You don’t make it. Your babies born fine and healthy, and you bring another strong Sawyer boy to the family, but you’re gone.

‘Get Down’ (Reader as Anne of Cleves): Norman Bates as Henry

Ich bin Anne of Cleves Ja! When he saw my portrait, he was like Ja! But I didn't look as good as good as I did in my pic Funny how we all discuss that but never Henry's little-

So, one day, Norman decides its time to properly settle down (Long after his mother… ah… ‘dies’) and get a partner, and because there isn’t really anyone around where he lives to date or, even, who wouldn’t get creeped out by him and his taxidermy, he turns to online dating.

He meets you there. You own and run your own hotel in the next state over, you don’t mind his taxidermy at all, and your profile picture looks… hauntingly familiar (If you look nothing like Vera Farmiga go by the original movie- she was but a skeleton there so she really could be anyone).

|- ‘Sittin' here all alone

On a throne

In a palace that I happen to own

I'm not fake 'cause I've got acres and acres

Paid for with my own riches’ -|

And you two get along great over messages! You online date for a good year before Norman proposes you elope and come to live with him! You think you’ve known him long enough, and you trust him!

So you fly right over, and he meets you at the airport, and…

He’s disappointed.

Like, ‘sorry, nah, you don’t look enough like mama so this isn’t gonna work’. In a more fidgety, quiet, subdued kind of way though. He’s so awkward with communication that he even suggests that you doctored your profile picture.

I- ‘You, you said that I tricked ya

'Cause I, I didn't look like my profile picture’ -|

And, understandably, you’re p i s s e d, and disgusted! But ya’ll already got married over the internet, so theirs no stopping that! This is your husband. You realise you’ve made a huge mistake and go right back to your home and your hotel to get divorce papers drawn up.

You’re the queen of your own fucking castle, who needs him?

|- ‘I'm the queen of the castle

Get down, you dirty rascal

'Cause I'm the queen of the castle’ -|

You are understandably, very very mad. And you say some things to Norman about he and his mother, that… may be true… but that he certainly doesn’t appreciate.

When you finally get the papers, and you’ve been separated long enough for it to be legal, you go back to the Bates Motel to get Norman to sign them and stay over a night. You’ve calmed down enough that you’re able to have a pleasant conversation with him, and you decide that you’re too tired to take the plane back home right away so you take up Normans offer to stay in one of vacant rooms (*Cough* So you basically have the run of the place. Or they do. *Cough).

Norman is also pretty calm about the whole thing as well, like you! But… Norma, is still seething.

You don’t wake up the next morning.

‘All You Wanna Do’ (Reader as Kathrine Howard): Mayor Buckman as Henry (And Harper as Thomas)

Prick up your ears, I'm the Catherine who lost her head (Beheaded) For my promiscuity outside of wed Lock up your husbands Lock up your sons K. Howard is here and the fun's begun

Right, so, you haven’t had good luck in love throughout your life, so you decide to give up on boys entirely.

|- ‘So I decided to have a break from boys

And you'll never guess who I met’ -|

… And meet a man, not much later. A man in power; A mayor. A man who’s been married before and has a beard (So you know; He’s a man. XD No little boy.). This is of course Buckman. He calls you love, and you get a job in Pleasant Valley that keeps you comfortably busy. You feel like, finally, you’re where you belong. You feel fulfilled- no committed relationships are necessary.

|- ‘Globally revered

Although you wouldn't know it from the look of that beard

Made me a lady in waiting

Hurled me and my family up in the world

Gave me duties in court and he swears it's true

That without me, he doesn't know what he'd do

He cares so much, he calls me love’ -|

But then Buckman tells you that he cares about you. You have a connection. He doesn’t feel just ‘friendly’ feelings towards you- he wants more. And, though you are a little disappointed that your solitude didn’t last, you decide that he’s decent enough (’He is rather kind to me, and he does makes me smile a fair bit’, you try to reason with yourself that this is a good idea) and so you start to go out. Its not long before you’re married.

|- ‘So we got married Woo…’

Woo…’ -|

But being married to him isn’t easy. Not at all. You’re not use to politics; There are so many rules now, and he’s always too busy to help. And the rest for Pleasant Valley are a bit… odd. And you just don’t fit in. And this is wear Harper (Thomas) comes in.

|- ‘With Henry, it isn't easy

His temper's short, and his mates are sleazy

Except for this one courtier

He's a really nice guy, just so sincere

The royal life isn't what I planned

But Thomas is there to lend a helping hand

So sweet, makes sure that I'm okay

And we hang out loads when the King's away’ -|

And he’s so lovely and caring towards you (Never more then when Buckman leaves for business in other towns), helping you through the transition from your old life to this one. He’s a good friend, to you. And that is most definitely all he is, on your side of it. A friend. You don’t feel attractions towards him at all apart from that, and he doesn’t try to make any moves. Its wonderful!

|- ‘This guy, finally

Is what I want, the friend I need

Just mates, no chemistry

I get him and he gets me’ -|

… Until one day when Buckman has been away for a month, he tells you he cares about you. You have a connection. He doesn’t feel just ‘friendly’ feelings towards you- he wants more.

|- ‘He says we have a connection

I thought this time was different

Why did I think he'd be different?

But it's never, ever different’ -|

Lets just say one things leads to another, despite you at first turning him away and saying no. He’s so insistent, and a little scary, and you’re lonely because your husbands’ has been away so long, and… something happens that you regret and feel gross about.

|- ‘Squeeze me, don't care if you don't please me

Bite my lip and pull my hair

As you tell me, I'm the fairest of the fair

Playtime's over.’ -|

You tell Buckman when he gets home, and you watch as every bit of warmth and love in his eye disappears, just like that.

Its not long after that that his jealousy and betrayed rage takes over… and… you die with a rope around your neck and your feet swaying above the ground.

|- ‘Playtime’s over’ -|

(Alternatively, Sheriff Hoyt as Henry and Thomas as Thomas)

‘I Don’t Need Your Love’ (Reader as Catherine Parr): Jason Voorhees as Henry (Your last love was Jason when he was alive)

Five down, I'm the final wife I saw him to the end of his life I'm the survivor Catherine Parr I bet you wanna know how I got this far I said I bet you wanna know how we got this far Do you wanna know how we got this far then?

So, you’re like the leader of the ‘Slashers Ex Squad’ because you, unlike the others, survived your time with Jason. This is because Jason did, truly, love you (To an extent- not enough to let you go and live your life without him or be free). None of the others really did. Not like he did.

|- ‘Became the one who survived’ -|

Your story:

You and Jason had an adorable little 11-year-old puppy love relationship when he was alive. You were his only friend, and he had it bad for you because of it. Pamela loved you, too.

When he died you were of course devastated, and years later when you were 30 (Making him also thirty- not that you know that. You still think he’s dead at this point) you’re taken by the need to go back to Camp Crystal Lake and pay your respects to your childhood love / friend. Its just one of those nostalgic days.

When you go, and you set flowers down by the lake, Jason catches sight of you. He thinks about killing you… but then your features start to make sense to him. He recognises you, and for the first time since his mother was killed, he feels his heartbeat speed up and swell with hope.

Jason of course kidnaps you then, and keeps you hostage for himself. He missed you. He doesn’t want to survive anymore time without you. You’re all he has left!

… After you realise that this is Jason Voorhees, you quickly learn that this Jason is, of course, not the boy that you cared, and care, so deeply about. He’s done horrible things, and he is never going to stop; And frankly, deep inside… he scares you.

But its not like you can leave him! He would never let you, he’s made that clear. You are all he has, and now, he is all that you have.

|- ‘I don't have a choice

If Henry says "it's you", then it's you

No matter how I feel

It's what I have to do’ -|

So you write a letter to the old Jason (And your old life), saying goodbye, in admittance to the fact that you’ll never be able to get away from this new Jason. This is you letting go of your freedom and any preconceptions that anything will every be the same- with Jason, or otherwise.

|- ‘It's true I'll never be over you 'Cause I have built a future in my mind with you And now the hope is gone There's nothing left for me to do’

'Cause I have built a future in my mind with you

And now the hope is gone

There's nothing left for me to do’ -|

You never stop hating him for how he’s changed (How he’s taken your Jason away, and wont even attempt to go back) and how he’s stolen away your freedom.

|- ‘I'd say "Henry, yeah it's true

I'll never belong to you

'Cause I am not your toy, to enjoy till there's something new

As if I'm gonna give up my boy, my work, my dreams

To care for you"

"Ha, darling, get a clue”

But I can't say that

Not to the king’ -|

You eventually die of natural causes at, like, 60.

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