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lyranova · 7 months

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Hii Lyra , I hope you're not too burdened by writing for all those requests 😊😅.But can I request Modern university AU for William x Zera ? I really love those two 😁❤️.Thank you in advance!

Hiya anon! Thank you, and honestly I'm not too burdened with them, I've been taking my time and have just been writing my requests little by little while also self-indulging 😌. Of course you can, I was actually inspired by @thoughtfullyrainynightmare for this fic, and because I like it a lot more then what I originally wrote I decided to post this one instead! I apologize it isn't fluffy and is hurt/comfort, but I still hope you enjoy~!

Solara belongs to @/thoughtfullyrainynightmare, Josele belongs to @loosesodamarble and Briar belongs to @koneko-pi !

Word Count: 3,571

Warnings: Hurt/Comfort, Mentions of a car accident

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Zera frowned as she looked around the lecture hall, their class on Wave energy in coastal cities had started 30 minutes ago, but there was one student missing. One who was always early, and never absent.

William Vangeance.

He was the star student in this class, and while he was quiet and kept to himself, everyone seemed to like him, including the professor.

Which was why Zera wasn’t his biggest fan.

She felt that the only reason they were sucking up to him, stroking his ego, and giving him all the praise they were was because of who his family was and how powerful they were. And because he liked the attention they were all giving him, he just…let them continue instead of telling them to stop.

It annoyed her. She didn’t like people like that, and wanted nothing to do with them, even if they were surprisingly handsome!

But at the same time it felt…strange that he wasn’t in class, was he sick? That would make sense. But if he was, wouldn’t he have called the professor beforehand to let him know? Instead of leaving him there, confused when William didn’t answer ‘here’ when his name was called during roll call.

Something was strange, and it only got stranger when class ended, and he still hadn’t shown up.

As Zera walked into the cafeteria, she began to scan the crowd, looking for his white hair and ‘moderately good-looking’ face. But she still didn’t see him, nor did she see Fuegoleon Vermillion, who always had lunch with him. She saw Nacht Faust, Morgen Faust, Nozel Silva, and Yami Sukehiro, but not those two. It was very suspicious.

She suddenly got a whiff of her favorite tea under her nose and was pulled out of her thoughts, she turned a bit as she followed the arm that was holding it out towards her.

“ A tea for your thoughts?” Solara asked with a warm smile, and Zera smiled a bit before she muttered a quiet ‘thank you’ as she took her tea.

“ For Zera to be so lost in thought that she didn’t hear us coming means she was thinking about something very important.” Josele said with an amused grin as she came up beside the other two with a coffee in her hand.

“ I wonder, were you thinking about our upcoming exams? Or were you thinking about something more…personal?” Briar asked as she came up to the others as well.

This was the Sister’s daily routine. Even though they weren’t related by blood, people would often mistake them for being blood related due to how close they all were. They had been friends since their time in high school, and even though they were all in college now and were in different majors, they were still just as close as they’ve always been. They typically got lunch together, spent weekends together, and even hung out when their breaks between classes matched up.

“ So, now that you’ve accepted the tea, you must tell us your thoughts.” Solara said, and Josele nodded beside her.

“ Tea for tea, so to speak.” Josele agreed, making the others laugh, and Zera sighed.

“ It isn’t anything too serious…it’s just that Vangeance wasn’t in class today.” She muttered as she brought her tea to her lips to take a sip.

“ And so, now you’re worried about him?” Briar asked curiously, her voice slightly hesitant. Zera suddenly choked on her tea and quickly shook her head as her cheeks became red.

“ I-I’m not worried about that arrogant jerk!” Zera said quickly as Solara handed her a napkin, so she could wipe the tea from her face. Josele hummed and raised a curious brow.

“ Your reaction to Briar’s question tells us otherwise,” Josele said with a knowing look, making the blonde haired woman’s face become even redder. “ And from what I’ve been told by Yami and Morgen, William isn’t really arrogant. He’s just serious and is a perfectionist, although I don’t think he’s quite as serious as Nozel and Fuegoleon are.”

“ Speaking of Fuegoleon, I don’t see him here either.” Solara muttered with a frown as she crossed her arms and narrowed her gaze. Zera nodded.

“ I noticed that too, maybe they’re both sick?” Zera muttered as her gaze narrowed too, and she heard Briar hum beside them.

“ If they’re both serious and are somewhat of a perfectionist, they wouldn’t just ‘skip school’ for no reason. Maybe they had an emergency?” Briar suggested hesitantly as she placed a hand under her chin, and Josele nodded in agreement.

“ I’ll go ask Yami and Morgen since I’m pretty sure they’ll know what’s going on.” Josele said as she began to walk towards their table, but she didn’t need to, as suddenly Zera’s cell phone began to ring.

She pulled it out of her pocket and frowned when it was William’s number, she scoffed and showed the others the caller I.D. before she quickly answered the phone.

“ Hey Golden Boy, where the heck are you? You missed class!” Zera began to scold him, but as soon as she heard his voice on the other end, she frowned again.

“ Sorry… I um… I need to ask you for a favor.” William muttered, his voice sounding soft and quiet, which only made her frown deepen.

“ A favor? What kind of favor?” She asked, her tone somewhere between curious and concerned, and she heard him sigh quietly under his breath.

“ I… I need you to come pick me up and take me back to my dorm room…please.” He asked, his voice hesitant, as though he didn’t want to ask her for help but had no choice. As though he felt he were being an inconvenience to her. She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose, when he asked like that, there was no way she could say ‘no’.

“ Fine, I guess I can come get you before our next class, although I don’t know why you can’t drive yourself,” Zera muttered the last part under her breath. “ Where are you?”

“ … The hospital.”

“ Alright…wait, THE HOSPITAL?!” She suddenly shouted, making those around her pause or jump in surprise. Her Sisters all stared at her with confused and slightly worried looks on their faces. Zera listened as he gave her the address and she quickly said ‘okay, I’ll be right there’ before she hung up the phone.

“ I’ll see you guys later, I gotta go!” Zera said quickly as she took off running towards the parking lot where her car was.

Just how sick was he that he was in the hospital?!

—----

Zera half walked, half ran down the hospital halls in the direction towards where William had said he was. She rounded the corner and saw him sitting on the edge of the bed, his face covered in bandages, his arm in a sling. From what she could see on his arm and parts of his chest were also covered in bruises and cuts, this…hadn’t been what she expected.

Just what on earth happened?

“ Ah, you’re here, sorry for asking you to do this.” William muttered, a small smile on his face as he stood up, she rushed towards him as he winced a bit.

“ It’s fine! But, what happened to you? I thought you were sick!” Zera exclaimed as she looked him up and down, he shook his head.

“ I… I got into a car accident…” He muttered, his head hanging down in shame, and Zera’s eyes widened. He was in a car accident? As she looked over him again, his injuries did seem consistent with that. At least from what Solara had told her.

“ That’s why you needed someone to come pick you up,” Zera said with a shake of her head as it all began to make sense. “ But why didn’t you call any of your other friends? Why did you call me?” She asked in confusion, but he only smiled sadly at her.

“ Let’s go, I have a stop to make before we leave,” William said as he slowly began to walk past her, she turned a bit before slowly following behind him.

They walked down the hall, towards a private area where a different patient slept. She watched as stood there quietly, his purple eyes full of sadness, regret, and apology. He opened his mouth multiple times, but then closed them again, it was as though he couldn’t get the words to go past his lips. William suddenly turned around and began to walked towards the exit, leaving Zera standing there in complete confusion. She slowly walked towards the curtain, peeked inside, and her eyes widened, and a soft gasp escaped her.

Laying on the bed, unconscious and injured, was Fuegoleon Vermillion.

His right arm was in a sling, he had cuts and bruises just like William, and a bandage wrapped around his head. He looked just as bad, if not worse, than William did. So, did that mean, he was also in the car crash?

Zera quickly turned around and walked out of the hospital to see William standing beside her car, his eyes distant and sad, his hand shoved into his pocket as though he were trying to hide it from view. She quietly walked over to him, and was about to place a hand on his shoulder, but stopped herself.

“ Ready?” William asked softly as he turned to face her, she quickly brought her hand to her chest and nodded.

“ Y-Yeah, let’s go.” She quickly muttered before she unlocked the car and they both climbed inside before driving away.

The drive back to the dorm was silent. Neither one saying a word, the only sound was the soft music that floated through the radio, their quiet breaths, and Zera’s fingers quietly tapping against the steering wheel.

How did you ask someone about this? Did you just…ask them directly? Or was it better to be more tactful? Or should she just let it go, and wait until he was ready to talk about it?

Zera quickly shook her head, why would he talk to her about this?! It wasn’t like they were dating or even friends! They were only classmates, occasionally group partners, and that was all. So there was certainly no need to discuss personal and private things with one another. But as she glanced at him out of the corner of her eye, and saw that regretful look in his eyes, she couldn’t stop herself from worrying about him.

She found herself wanting him to tell her what was going on, to share whatever burden he was carrying, for him to just…let it all out instead of keeping it all inside.

Because right now, he was far from being in a good place.

They finally arrived at William’s dorm, and she quickly got out and opened the door for him. He chuckled softly before muttering a quiet ‘thank you’ as he got out and began to walk towards the building, with Zera following close behind him.

They quietly walked into his dorm room, and he instantly threw his keys onto his kitchen counter before walking inside. She heard William mutter for her to have a seat and make herself comfortable, but Zera felt everything but comfortable in his room.

It was a minimalist design, which was what she expected, but it also seemed void of life. Sure, there were a few plants here and there in the room, but they looked rather…neglected if you asked her. She wanted to scoop them all up and whisk them away to her and Briar’s dorm room, where she knew they would be taken care of properly, but decided against it.

“ Would you like some tea?” William asked as he began to reach into the cabinets, Zera gasped and rushed over to him.

“ Let me do that! Jeez, are you trying to injure yourself even more?!” Zera exclaimed, her tone serious and scolding, she quickly shooed him away and began to reach for his tea.

William’s eyes widened a bit as he watched her begin to climb onto his kitchen counter, so she could reach his tea box and the cups. He began to look around for a foot stool but quickly realized he didn’t have any, so he made a mental note to himself to buy a few, just in case she ever came over again.

Although hearing her grumble about tall people, and quietly cursing her short stature, did make him very amused.

She quickly began to make them both a cup of tea, and once they were done, she walked over to the coffee table and set them down.

“ Coming?” She asked as she sat on the couch, and he quickly nodded before walking into the living area and sitting down beside her.

His heart began to beat nervously in his chest, he had never had a woman over to his dorm before, and could only imagine what the people were saying when they saw the two of them walk past. Could people think they were dating? Or that they were in a ‘friends with benefits’ type of relationship? Well, it would be more like an ‘enemies with benefits’ type relationship, since everyone knew Zera didn’t like him.

“ Hey Will,” Zera began softly, her voice pulling him out of his thoughts. He turned to look at her and saw a hesitant look in her eyes, which took him by surprise, he had never seen that look on her face before. “ What… What happened?”

William sighed, his mind beginning to race, and his heart beginning to beat more anxiously against his chest. How…where did he begin? What he did, what he accidentally did…how did he say it out loud? How did he say that he nearly killed one of his friends?

He looked back at her and saw she had a patient look in her ice blue eyes, one that told him he could take his time, that she would wait, and that she wasn’t going to push him. William felt grateful that she was letting him take his time, that she was willing to listen to him, that maybe…maybe she cared about him.

“ Fuegoleon had called me, and told me that his car broke down and that he couldn’t get to school, so I decided to go and pick him up, so he wouldn’t be late. But I mismanaged the time, and it took us longer to get back than I thought. So… I started speeding, not much, but I was still speeding, and…suddenly a rabbit appeared in the road. I dodged it but turned the wheel too much, and I lost control of the car, so we hit the wall, and the car flipped over…honestly we’re lucky we only made it out with broken arms and minor injuries.” William explained, his voice soft, and his purple eyes looked away. He didn’t want to see the disappointed look on her face.

Zera nodded slowly, and a sigh escaped her as she suddenly set her tea cup down.

“ I screwed up…really badly.” William suddenly muttered as he ran a hand over his tired face.

“ You did.” Zera agreed calmly, and William frowned, that wasn’t quite what he was expecting to hear from her.

“ I nearly killed us.”

“ You did.”

“ Wow, you really know how to comfort someone and make them feel better.” William muttered sarcastically as he suddenly leaned back against the couch, a humorless laugh escaping his throat.

“ And you know how to get angry, which is something I thought was foreign to you,” Zera said with a grin before she rested her head on the back of the couch as well. “ And besides, why should I lie to you and tell you that what you did was fine and that it wasn’t your fault, when we both clearly know that it was.”

William sighed and closed his eyes, while he was taken aback by her honesty, he was also strangely comforted by it. It was…different. If it had been anyone else, they would have told him that it wasn’t his fault, and that accidents happen, and that he shouldn’t blame himself. But she wasn’t doing that, rather, she was doing the opposite of that.

Which was very refreshing.

“ I shouldn’t have been speeding, I should’ve managed our time better,” William muttered softly, his eyes staring at the white ceiling above him.

“ You should have.” Zera agreed softly, her eyes staring at his face.

“ I should have listened when Fuegoleon told me to slow down, that it would be okay if we were a few minutes late,”

“ You should have.”

“ He’s going to hate me once he wakes up, and he’ll probably never forgive me.” William muttered, tears stinging his purple eyes as he thought about how angry Fuegoleon would be once he woke up, and how their friendship was probably ruined forever now.

“ Hate is a strong word, but I do think he’ll be angry at you, at least for a while.” Zera half agreed as she watched the tears pool in his eyes and slowly slip down his cheeks, she wanted to reach out and comfort him…but stopped herself.

“ I destroyed our friendship…” Zera quickly shook her head and moved closer to him.

“ I don’t think you destroyed it. Sure, you damaged it, but I don’t think it’s beyond repair.” Zera told him softly, and when the words left her lips, he suddenly turned his head to face her. His purple eyes shining with sadness, and a pleading hope in them.

“ How do I repair it?” He asked, his voice soft but full of hope, he didn’t want this accident, his stupid mistake, to ruin a friendship he had since he was in high school. He watched as her blue eyes scanned his for a moment, as though she were trying to find the words to say.

“ Well, firstly, I would suggest not doing anything drastic like paying his hospital bills or buying expensive gifts to express your apology-.” Zera began, and he frowned a bit.

“ But, I already paid his hospital bills.” He told her, his head tilting a bit. “ Was that wrong?”

“ N-No! Well, maybe…it was a very sweet gesture and the least you could do but… Fuegoleon might misunderstand and think you’re trying to buy his forgiveness or something, so if it gets brought up, I would clearly explain my intentions if I were you.” Zera said, after thinking for a moment, she watched him nod slowly.

“ I also suggest apologizing, it isn’t much, but it’s a start. While he may not forgive you right away, or at all, I still think he would at least appreciate it.” Zera said, and he nodded again. She could tell just how important this friendship was to William, and how he was desperate not to lose it.

“ And after apologizing, I recommend giving him some space and letting him come to you when, and if, he’s ready. Because while it was an accident, you still did something reckless that could have killed you both, and he needs time to process that. As do you.” Zera told him softly, and she watched William nod.

The two then just sat there, silently staring at each other. William with sad and regretful eyes, and Zera with sympathetic and caring ones. She felt bad for him, he had made a mistake, and because of it he could lose a very important friendship. The look on his face was similar to that of a sad puppy, or maybe a sad bird, yeah, a sad bird seemed to fit him better.

She suddenly watched as a hand reached out towards him slowly, for some reason she just felt compelled to reach out and touch him. To place a hand on his cheek and wipe his tears away with her thumbs, to wrap her arms around him and pull him into her embrace, while telling him that it would all work out. That Fuegoleon would forgive him, and that they would repair their friendship, even though she wasn’t certain that would actually happen.

She watched his eyes widen, and his cheeks grow red as her hand moved closer and closer to his face, but then suddenly she stopped, and she yanked her hand back. Her blue eyes wide in surprise and her cheeks grew red, she instantly glanced up at the clock above his head.

“ Oh my look at the time! I need to get to our next class, I-I’ll see you later!” Zera stammered as she quickly jumped up and began to gather her things. “ Oh, and don’t forget to take your pain medicine every twelve hours, and I’ll come by later with your homework and notes!” She added as she quickly ran out of the room, slamming the door behind her loudly.

William sat on the couch in complete confusion, she normally couldn’t stand him and made it very well known, but just now…she looked like she wanted to hug him, or maybe…kiss him? She looked so understanding and warm, but now she was cold again. As though she were conflicted on how she felt about him, or maybe, maybe, she was beginning to warm up to him?

He chuckled and shook his head. She was a very confusing woman, but that was one of the many things he liked about her, she always kept him on his toes and would end up surprising him when he least expected it.

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Thank you all for reading and I hope you all have a good day!

#asks #anon🌟#black clover #black clover fanfiction #black clover oc fanfiction #black clover oc #zerilliam #zera x william #william x zera #oc; zera #william vangeance

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thespacelizard · 6 months

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for the ask game, shen 26 and 41, rizeth 30 & 55 (because i cant resist my Feelings over him), zeth'rinn 42 and viz 48!

fox you love giving me questions that make me have to dig into character lore for these boys. making me do work smh :p

26 - Guilty Pleasure

Ooh. hm. i don't know that Shen feels super guilty about any of the things he enjoys, but probably his upcoming addiction to serial romance novels would qualify. yes they're not that good, yes most of the plots are the same, yes a lot of them are just thin excuses for erotica but dammit if they're not compelling.

my self-indulgent headcanon is that if Obedience the Series existed inside of Obedience-verse, Ashenivir would be its number one fan

41 - What’s their morning routine like?

He's had different ones over the years. When he was at the Shrine, he had morning meditations/meditation dances, and yes the Shrine sucked but he does miss having those. (we're gonna work through those issues in arc 4 don't you worry).

At the Arcanum he's usually up early, works on some studies for a bit before breakfast-call, then tries to get to the dining hall early enough that it's not too crowded so he can enjoy peace and quiet and food.

Despite this, he's not necessarily a morning person: he's bad at Going To Bed At A Reasonable Hour ft Just One More Chapter. The fact that drow only technically need 4 hours of reverie to function saves his ass.

…can i also interest you in Married To Rizeth Morning Routine, which very often features sleepy kisses, making tea, and kneeling to drink it whilst Rizeth strokes his hair at the kitchen table, or on the couch? Because. That is. everything to me.

30 - What was their adolescence like?

Bad. If we're talking literal teen years, Rizeth was a terrified kid not yet taken to House Velkon'yss. His original House were very minor, and he was acutely aware of how easy it would be for someone to just murder all of them for their assets. Like they were nobility enough to have to adhere very publicly and strictly to Lolthite tenets, but low-ranked enough that they had very little in the way of protection. It wasn't a very stable environment to grow up in.

If we're talking 'loose drow/elven definition of teens' - also bad. He got sent as a consort to House Velkon'yss in his early 20s, which was technically a trade-up, but he was basically just there to be a fun treat for the Matron and the elder daughters to play with. He spent as much time as possible hiding with books, and learning to shove all his feelings deep, deep down. I think he had some 'friends' at Sorcere, as much as he was willing to risk being friendly with anyone. I haven't fleshed all of it out, but I think he did fall for another boy there, and it ended with him being cast aside for the other boys benefit. Or death. I haven't decided.

There are in fact more reasons than just Elian'la being a bad ex that he's got so many hangups around intimate relationships.

i will also say that I do imagine that when he was sent to House Velkon'yss, it was more of a 'the Matron saw him and went "i want him, give him to me"' and there wasn't really a choice. I kinda picture that his mother was much more of a performative Lolthite than a religious one, and really did just want to keep him safe and alive.

55 - What’s your character’s core trait? What’s their best trait? What’s their worst trait? When happens when these all interact with each other?

Ooh, this is good. I'd say Rizeth's core trait is probably selfishness. Now hear me out: not in a bad way. He's just very protective of himself, wants and tries to be as self-sufficient as possible, and has a hard time trusting things relating to him to other people - that includes work things as well as emotions.

His best trait is his protectiveness. People don't often see that because of how cold he comes across, but he's very protective of all his students, and obviously of Ashenivir. He might be strict on classwork, but he also has zero tolerance for bullying in his classroom, and for parents who try and start shit with him, other teachers, or other students. If you fall under Rizeth's protective umbrella, he will defend you with all his heart - even if he sounds like a bastard doing it.

Worst trait is the same as the core trait, but flipped. He closes himself off because he doesn't trust anyone but himself to care for him. He doesn't leave space to let anyone in, even when he needs help. He brute-forces his way through difficult health, emotions, and work because he's convinced he's the only one who needs/can do it.

All of these interact to make the Rizeth you know and love - a protective idiot who needs someone like Ashenivir to grab him by the heartstrings and say 'hey, dumbass, it's okay to let people care about you, alright?'

42 - What’s the dumbest thing your character’s done?

the thing he did in OSHA game that pissed Jarlaxle off, which was:

find out that there's Something Up in Mythen Thaelas

find out that Jarlaxle/BD have lost all contact with the city

get expressly forbidden from going to find out what's going on there

lie to a group of BD agents that he had permission to take a group there

use the knowledge Valas gave him of the local area to sneak said group into the city, which was overrun by Elvrae and her mind-control staff + several hundred Lolthite cultists

get stuck in said city until OSHA showed up to save his ass

48 - What was their lowest point? What was their highest point?

Vizaeth's entire life is a low point :p

Probably the period of time when he was Xunhrae was the worst, before he figure his gender out. He was a wreck, not only self-destructive but completely willing to take everyone down with him. I mean…he still kind of is, but he's more self aware about it now.

His other low-low points are things that have been in fics, namely, all the times where Pharaun wasn't giving him attention, or otherwise wasn't prioritising him. So after Pharaun slept with Rai, and after what happened with Nalfein in like lovers do, those were all devastatingly low points.

I still think his highest point was Pharaun vivisecting him. The person you see as basically divinity walking putting their hands all over your guts? God, the only thing better would have been if Lolth was there to watch.

(send me character questions for this game!)

#c: vizaeth thaezyr #c: rizeth velkon'yss #c: ashenivir zauvym #c: zeth'rinn baenre #obedience fic blogging #obsession fic blogging #enjoy your rizeth feels

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chancecity · 20 days

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Rocky

“Life isn’t a tragedy; it’s a comedy! And you know as well as I do, Fi, that the two aren’t all that different.”

THE BASICS:

Gender: Trans Man

Orientation: Bisexual

Pronouns: He/Him

Age Aprox.: Early-Thirties (Younger than Fiona)

Skills: Chemistry, Guitar, Dance, Pyrotechnics

Reviews from People in Their Life:

“Annoying at first, but grows on you. Kind of like a fungus, but if fungus just wouldn’t stop singing and giving you unwarranted advice.” -Fiona, best friend/former nemesis

“Can he please stop smiling at me? It’s freaking me out. Why won’t he stop dancing? There’s not even any music playing?” -Vince, vaguely-terrified hero coworker

“Oh, he’s a genius for sure. If he could reign in his attention a little more, he would be unstoppable. Unfortunately, he is also a Dog.” -Sunny, mad scientist buddy/Right-Hand Henchman

Known Locations: The FeelGood Compound (home/lair, an abandoned mall), The Grey Area (local underground bar, frequented by local villains/criminals), various Banks and Large Corporate Headquarters

Basic About:

In a flash of fireworks and a boom of upbeat classic pop and glam rock, a normal outing to work or the bank becomes an involuntary flash mob. Joy is all that fills your head as your muscles respond only to The Beat. Distantly, you can feel and hear people trying to get through, trying to stop this feeling, but all you can do is close your eyes and move to the rhythm. As the dopamine crashes, the music gone and the authorities in a panic to find out what happened, you can only sit and wonder the same thing.

The government isn’t sure what Rocky is or how he manages to create a flash mob wherever he goes as a cover for his escape, but the answer is much more simple than their theories of “a trickster god made mortal” or “the result of yet another vat-related incident”.

Rocky is a chemist, a sort of Musical Mad Scientist who specializes in a homemade concoction he calls “The Beat”. An overwhelming flood of dopamine and endorphins that makes your body respond to rhythm, before ending in harsh lows after it passes (which takes about a half hour).

But recently, he has taken on a slightly different routine: Using his vast connections to the criminal underground network to help the Hero Corps catch a villain that has evaded the knowledge of even their most elite members. It’s something fun, something new, and the idea of seeing the inner workings of a bureaucracy he doesn’t respect just can’t be passed up.

THE PHYSICAL:

Eyes: Grey, Bright yet Slightly Manic

Hair: Sandy Blonde, Long and Full of Product

Height: 6’3” (6’5” in his heels)

Style Favorites: Glam Rock/Metal, though he would wear just about anything from the 70’s-80’s eras of fashion (masc or femme, doesn’t matter to him)

THE VIBES:

Top Song: “Magic Dance”, David Bowie

Voice Headcanon: Alex Brightman (School of Rock musical)

Themes and Inspiration: Anti-Authoritarianism, Fire, Stars, Escapism, Club Culture, Drugs/Addiction, Rebirth, Signal Highjacking (The Max Headroom Incident)

PERSONALITY: Bombastic, Dramatic, Anti-Authority, Affectionate, Friendly, Energetic, Outgoing, Obsessive, Confident (often Overly), Scientifically Intelligent, Zero sense of boundaries (or occasionally just an active disregard for them), Reckless

Rocky, Normal Human Guy

Despite the government being fairly uncertain of Rocky’s inherent nature he is biologically an average human, just one with a PhD in Chemistry and Pharmaceutical Sciences.

He was raised in the North-Midwestern US by two loving and very sweet parents along with his two older brothers and his younger sister. He had a fairly comfortable middle-class upbringing, but struggled amongst his peers who all didn’t seem to see in him what he saw in himself. They all saw some nerdy loser freak; he saw spotlights, sequins, fireworks, and a screaming crowd.

He got that, in his own way.

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rhodesportfolio · 3 months

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KYLE for Man About Town.

Photographed by Blake Rhode. Shot in Milan, Italy.

Formula 1 driver Kyle Vitalio talks about his beginnings, his myths - including Ayrton Senna and how he prepares for his races. And his new perspective on life after being a father and husband.

Have you wanted to be an racing driver your whole life, or was that a sudden desire?

I’ve always wanted to be a racing driver, especially because I’ve always looked up to Senna. I’ve watched everything related to him when I was a child, at this point I honestly think we have a soul tie. We have a lot of similarities. [Laughs]

Were you a dramatic child?

Yeah, still am. I still am a dramatic child, for sure.

Who was your first cinematic crush growing up?

Emma Watson as Hermione Granger. I loved all Harry Potter movies.

I’m about to ask you a series of questions about your first time doing some things… okay. First thing you do when waking up?

I try to wake my wife up messing around with her hair. I don’t know why, but it’s like routine, even though she hates me for it.

First thing you wanted to be as a child?

Basketball player. I’ve always been a huge NBA fan, been present to a few games through the seasons, and being the tallest in the family gave me some confidence about it. I still play around in the house, we have a basketball field in our backyard and I’m always throwing some balls around with my boy.

Name three of your favorite things.

Racing, spending time with my wife and our children, and having Morana reading books out loud for me. I love listening to her voice.

Where was you favorite place to live throughout your life?

Italy, for sure. It’s my birthplace and I finally have a real home to call my own. It also makes me really closer to my siblings, Andreas, Blake, Mason, Nalim, Lily.. reminds me of family, which is good to me.

When you're not running, what do you do?

I’m usually caught up reading some book, or playing around with Jordan and Atlanta. Me and my wife are both travelers, so that’s also what I’m usually doing.

Your favorite moment before a race?

The adrenaline. The feeling you get before entering the car is the best part for me, it’s insane to ride a vehicle that goes up to 190 miles per hour. It certainly makes you feel some type of way.

Moving to more personal questions. What’s the best thing about being a father so far?

Teaching them the smallest things, carry them around, notice the similarities between them and their mother… There’s a lot of them, and I could name every single one. I love being a dad.

Have you always wanted to be a father or did this just fall onto your lap?

It’s always been a dream of mine to have kids. I used to tell my family and friends about it, and how much I wanted it. I’m the luckiest man alive to have a wife who managed to make my biggest dream to become reality, she’s the best mom my children could’ve ever had.

Talking about Morana, how’s the married life going?

Honestly, it was not the biggest change ever. At the end of the day, we just signed a paper, because we’ve been living like a married couple since the beginning, if I’m being honest. What makes the married life better it’s finally being able to call Morana my wife, things have been great for us.

If you didn’t do F1, what would you probably be doing as a job?

I’d probably be a mechanic engineer. I really enjoy dealing with cars, and as a racer, I’ve learned quite a lot about them. I also like doing math, so…

People’s first impressions on you are usually that you’re a very closed off person. Is this a fact? What do you think about it?

It is, in fact, reality. I’ve kept my inner circle pretty much the same for years, I struggle with creating deeper connections with people I don’t know, but depending on circumstances, I might get along really well with anyone.

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fiflowers · 3 years

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Chase Davenport Fluff Alphabet

A: activities (what do you do together?)

Chase absolutely LOVES to do just about anything with you. He’s so mesmerized and captivated by you, anything that makes you happy, he’ll do. It makes him really happy if you do the things he’s interested in, too. (I.E. watching his favorite tv shows, letting him ramble on about science, read with him, etc.)

B: Beauty (what does he find the most beautiful about you?)

Again, he thinks you’re so beautiful, everywhere. If he had to choose, he would probably say your hair. He loves running his fingers through it and playing with it when he’s bored. He loves when you let him try to braid it after you taught him.

C: comfort (how would he help you after a panic attack?)

Chase is most definitely an expert when it comes to panic attacks. He would make sure you can breathe and would stay by your side the entire time. He would know when to give you space but he would whisper supportive mantras to try and help. Afterwards, he would watch your favorite movie with you to calm you down while eating your favorite dessert.

D: Dreams (how does he picture your future together?)

Chase isn’t big on the future. He likes to stay in the moment, making sure everything’s okay. He doesn’t know where the future will take him, but he knows he wants you apart of it. He pictures eventually marrying you and possibly having a kid or two.

E: Equal (is he dominant, possessive? Or rather passive?)

Chase is very passive aggressive with you when he’s mad. He feels bad to flat out yell at you, so he’ll throw slight digs until you ask him what’s wrong. (Slightly nsfw, in the bedroom, he’s very dominant and likes to have control. He is mission leader, after all.)

F: fight (how would you fight with them? Would he easily forgive you?)

Chase hates fighting with you. It does happen, and it’ll usually build up over time. You guys will end up blowing up at one another, and then need a day or two to cool off. After Bree talks some sense into him, he apologizes after a day or two.

G: gratitude (how grateful is he? Is he grateful for the things you’ve done for him?)

Chase is very grateful for every experience he’s had. He is grateful for his bionics, his family, and his students. He knows how much you’ve done and sacrificed for him, and he’ll do anything to show it to you.

H: hugs (how does he hug you?)

Chase is big on hugs. He likes you wrap his arms around your waist and kiss your neck, or he just simply likes to hold you close after a mission if it startled him.

I: inspiration (how have you inspired chase? How has he inspired you?)

When Chase is with you, he tends to be more laid back. He’s more open to rebellious tendencies and it makes him feel like a total badass. When you’re with Chase, he encourages you to try harder in school, and it eventually really pays off.

J: jealousy (does he get jealous easily? How does he deal with it?)

Chase is a very jealous person. He tries to hide it, but every so often he’ll kiss you a little harder to remind you that you’re his. Sometimes if he can’t control himself, spike may come out to play.

K: kisses (what was your first kiss? Is he a good kisser?)

You and Chase’s first kiss felt out of a fairytale. You got caught in the rain after Leo abandoned the two of you during study hall. After a deep conversation on the walk home, he knew he couldn’t let this opportunity slip past him. He looked deep into your eyes and pulled you in for a long, passionate kiss. To answer if he’s a good kisser, he very much is. He knows what you like and he’s good at giving it to you.

L: love confession (how did he confess his love for you?)

After your first kiss, there was so much tension between the two of you. It was left untouched for so long, until Chase couldn’t hold back. He eventually confessed his love while yelling at you in the lab, leaving both of you shocked. It luckily all worked out, as you told him you loved him, too.

M: marriage (does he want to get married? How would he propose and how would the wedding be?)

You are the only person Chase sees a future with. You’re it for him, so he wants everything to be special. He’s propose on an isolated part of the bionic island during sunset. At the wedding, he’d rather have it small with your immediate families and closest friends.

N: nicknames (what does he call you?)

Babe, baby, love, darling, (your regular nickname,) your actual name

O: on cloud nine (how does chase act when he’s in love?)

Chase is the biggest dork when he’s in love, which means that’s the main side of him you’ve seen. He’s very giggly and blushes a lot. His siblings pretend it’s extremely annoying and tease him, but they’re secretly really happy for him.

P: PDA

Chase is very shy about your relationship. He often gets teased by his siblings that he actually managed to find a girlfriend, and it makes him slightly insecure so he’s rather show his love and affection in private. He does enjoy to sneak small kisses or hug you in public.

Q: quirk (what’s a random trait about him that’s beneficial for your relationship?)

Chase is very smart, obviously. He always knows the right thing to say and when to say it.

R: Romance (is he the romantic type? Is he cliché or creative?)

A perfect mix of both. He’s very creative while still staying traditional. He’s very romantic and enjoys small frequent gestures over random big ones.

S: spike (how does spike treat you?)

Spike is surprisingly very kind to you. He claims to respect women- especially you. You’re also one of the only people that can calm him back down to chase. Afterwards, he feels terrible and asks if you’re okay.

T: thrill (does he try new things in your relationship, or rather stick to a routine?)

Chase enjoys having a routine, although sometimes life just throws curveballs. He tries to keep things the same with you, because it’s one of the thing stable and secure things he has.

U: understanding? (Is he empathetic? Does he understand you well?)

Chase is very empathetic. He likes to make sure you’re always okay. He can read you like a book and usually can figure out pretty quickly when something is wrong.

V: value (how much does he value your relationship?)

Your relation is one of Chase’s top priorities. Although he wouldn’t admit it, he would give up everything if it meant he could have you.

W: wildcard (random thing in your relationship)

You’re the apple of Chase’s eye. His family loves you, and he loves you even more. He’s grateful that you’ve stuck around and never given up on him, even with his crazy life and secret.

X: xoxo (is he affectionate? Does he enjoy kisses/cuddles?)

Very much. He’s often shy and doesn’t like to directly ask for them, so he’ll send you discreet signals and hope you get the memo. You always do, and it puts a smile on his face.

Y: yearning (how does he cope when he misses you?)

Chase misses you a lot. Sometimes he’s on a mission and randomly thinks about you. One day he got up and went to the store, and bought one of those couple touch bracelets that vibrate whenever one thinks of the other. (Spoiler alert- he uses it A LOT.)

Z: zeal (is he willing to go great lengths for your relationship?)

Duh! Chase trusts you with his life. After you’ve supported him through so much, it’s only fair if he does the same. If you ever need him, he’ll drop just about anything to be there. He doesn’t ever want to loose you and the thought sends chills down his spine.

A/N: I hope this was good! I haven’t written anything like this before, so if you have any suggestions please lmk. Look forward to more lab rats content in the future, along with many more. I accept requests for just about anything! (Well, for the fandoms I am apart of.) <3

#chase davenport #lab rats #lab rats x reader #davenport x reader #chasedavenportxreader #reader insert #disney #fluff alphabet

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after-witch · 3 years

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Act of Contrition [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Title: Act of Contrition [Yandere Chrollo x Reader]

Synopsis: A shimmering blue evening gown was not the last thing you expected to see draped over the sitting chair that was tucked into the corner. What you didn’t expect, however, was his suggestion for you to try it on

Word Count: 3646

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader

A shimmering blue evening gown was not the last thing you expected to see draped over the sitting chair that was tucked into the corner. It would certainly not be the first time that Chrollo had brought back something ostentatious, something glittering and expensive; something that you (if you were to psychoanalyze him, which you did, out of anxiety first and boredom second) would guess he wanted you to admire before it disappeared into the ether like so many other things he’d pilfered over the past few months.

What you didn’t expect, however, was his suggestion for you to try it on.

At first you thought you’d misheard, your brain still pulling itself out of a dull, listless sleep. You had argued with him the night before, and the space between you on the bed was thick and heavy with tension until you had finally slid headlong into sleep. Surely he wouldn’t try to give you a gift after you spend most of the evening reminding him that you’ll never love him, or even like him, much less feel one iota of happiness in his presence.

But then he repeated the suggestion.

“Why?” Your tone is borderline acidic, and you don’t feel the need to hide your suspicion of his intentions.

Your captor had no doubt become well-acquainted with your nastiness over the months, though he rarely reacted to it with more than a tight expression, if he even gave you that. Sometimes he simply ignored you, as if you were a child having a tantrum, not his kidnapped victim.

In some ways, it was a surprising relief. In some ways, you could consider yourself lucky. Considering his abilities, considering his past, considering what he did when he left you alone in the condo or hotel or wherever he had you situated--he might well be the type to slap the attitude off your face, gentlemanly facade be damned. He could do worse than a slap, too; far worse.

But the months had gone on with only pointed sighs and looks; and despite his rationally stated insistence that you would give in to his attentions in time, you held onto your bitterness as tightly as you could. You prized yourself on it, the way you figure that he prizes his most precious steals.

He sometimes comes back with glittering jewels worth calculable fortunes, laying them out to see the way they look when the moonlight filters in through the open curtains. He doesn’t keep them for long, doesn’t display them, just memorizes their magnificence and then whisks them off.

You can relate to the gloating. But you don’t give your greatest treasures away. You, on the other hand, wear your bitterness 24/7 like an old woman clinging to her last precious mink coat, a remnant of an era gone-by. Draped over your shoulder, haughty and visible, daring him to say something when you give him a sarcastic jab in response to perfectly-polite-inquiries about this and that. The worst (but best, you think, to you) is when you feign interest in a conversation, feign some sort of acceptance of your situation, willing your hands to get closer to his as you sit on the sofa and read; only to snap back at the last moment, baring your teeth.

You hope it hurts him, to think he’s getting an inch forward with you only to have it pulled away. He deserves it for keeping you here.

Sometimes, you almost hope he would say something, do something, only because it might be a sort of reprieve. If he gets mad or slaps you, even, maybe the solid, sticky bitterness surrounding your heart might abate just a bit.

Then again, you know this saying very well: be careful what you wish for.

“I need to see if it fits.” His expression and tone haven’t changed. Polite, cordial, matter-of-fact. You hate it.

You force yourself out of bed and give the gown a glance before heading into the bathroom. He follows, picking up his own morning routine as you wash and brush side-by-side. You think he does it to seem domestic, in his own fucked-up way. You pointed this out, once, and he’d merely given you a small smile and asked: “Do you want to this to be domestic?”

Chrollo had a habit of turning your impulsive snark around on you, so you tried to plan your barbs out more carefully in the future.

“Why do you need to see if it fits?” You finally ask, words a bit muffled by the toothbrush hanging out of your mouth. You force yourself to glance at him in the mirror. He’s finished, already drying off his face, pinning a wrap around his forehead.

He catches your gaze in the mirror, and you feel too caught to look away.

“For tonight. We’re going to the theater.”

The toothbrush drops from your mouth and lands next to the sink, splattering lathered toothpaste on the counter. You wipe your mouth with a washcloth, missing a bit and not caring, and physically turn away from the mirror so you’re face-to-face.

“Are you serious?”

For the moment, your bitterness slides off, forgotten on the floor. He’s never offered to do something like this before. Sure, he’s mentioned that you might go out--”it depends on your behavior”--but the thought of “being good” for Chrollo made you sick to your stomach every time you were tempted. So you hadn’t been outside for months, not really--the brief gaps when he’d whisk you into a car, always by his side, then pull you into a new hotel or luxury condo didn’t really count.

He nods.

“Yes. Please do hurry and try it on, I’ll need time to find another if it isn’t suitable.”

You glance out of the bathroom door and back into the bedroom, where the gown sits, draped, shimmering softly in the morning light. It’s something you never would have been able to afford before--and the thought of wearing it now makes your skin tingle. What is his plan? Why is he doing this?

“But I haven’t been good,” you say, almost spitting out the last word. Last night, in fact, you’d been almost beastly--you recall the words “go fuck yourself” and “I hate you” being thrown out before you twisted in the knife by bringing up an ex-fling.

He laughs, quick and harsh. It seems like a real laugh, for once, and something in your chest twists. It’s been a long time since you’ve heard anything truly authentic from him. Or yourself.

“Maybe it’s a reward for me, to have you by my side. You want to go, don’t you?”

The thought makes your stomach clench. But… you did want to go. Really. To get out of here, even for a night? To get sucked into some type of show, whatever it was? You didn’t entertain the idea of trying to escape or draw attention to yourself for help--you knew Chrollo would never suggest taking you if it was a viable option. He was just as likely to slaughter the entire theater if you whispered to an usher that you were being held captive.

No, no escape in the cards… at least not physically.

You shrug your shoulders and try to seem nonchalant about it, though you’re sure he can feel the way your skin is buzzing.

“Sure, whatever. Don’t expect me to hold your hand or anything.”

He laughs, again. It’s blatantly false this time.

***

It has been… a while since you’ve done your makeup. The pile of messy makeup wipes on the counter can attest to that--this is now your third try at a full face without messing something up. Thankfully, the third time has been the charm, and you’re satisfied with the reflection in the mirror. Chrollo had turned up your old makeup bag, and sliding on the eyeliner you used to wear to work, out with friends, in your old life felt surreal and comforting at the same time.

You’ve even done your hair, though it could be nicer. You haven’t bothered with anything but hasty brushing in the past few months, and sometimes you’re too lethargic and frustrated to even bother with that. But it’s styled, a bit elegant--if you do say so yourself.

You glance down at the trio of lipsticks he set on the counter earlier. They’re not a brand you ever wore--they’re expensive, something out of reach for anyone used to pulling cheap store lipsticks out of a bin. The center lipstick is a bold red, and your hand reaches for it. Brief memories of your mother gushing about red lipstick come to mind; she always associated red lipstick with elegance, the fanciest of events, and you’re inclined to agree. It feels smooth, impossibly so; praise be to expensive formulas.

After blotting it with toilet paper--old habits--you step back to stare at yourself in the mirror. The dress fits you beautifully. The fabric is soft, refined, showing you off in all the right places. You’ve taken your time with your hair, your makeup, and you really do look nice. You bring your wrist up to your nose and sniff--the perfume Chrollo had picked out for you was elegant, subtle. Rose petals and apples and white musk.

You feel a wave of nostalgia come over you that you push down. It’s too bad you’re going to the theater with your captor and not with your friends. Or your mom.

“Are you finished?” His voice calls from the bedroom.

The thought of Chrollo seeing you like this makes you feel uncomfortably anxious for reasons you can’t quite pinpoint. The gown is not exactly risque, but it’s designed to highlight your features--and while he has never crossed the hardest line in regards to your personal autonomy, he wasn’t beyond stealing kisses from your unwilling lips when the mood struck him. He said it was to help you adjust to the relationship, as if kissing you against your will would make you love him.

You don’t answer him and instead give your hair a final touch up before heading out the open bathroom door.

Chrollo is standing next to the vanity, wearing an elegant suit, primped and polished--and handsome. You can’t help but freeze in place when he gives you a once-over, slow and deliberate.

“You look beautiful,” he says, finally, a slight breathiness to his voice. There’s an authentic tone to his voice again, and it makes you feel queasy.

You try to ignore the way your skin feels heated and shrug, crossing your arms over your chest as you approach him.

“Are we going now?”

He gives a soft smile. “Almost. One more thing.”

You watch curiously as he pulls out a jewelry box from his pocket, then opens it to reveal two glittering sapphire earrings. You can’t hold back a little gasp, but when you reach for them, Chrollo holds the box out of reach.

“I’ll do the honors.”

You want to say no. But you’re so close to leaving, so you simply stare to the side as he steps behind you. He touches your ear--and you flinch. He chuckles quietly and you ignore the blossoming heat across your cheeks, both from his closeness and your reaction, while he fixes the earrings into your ears.

When he’s finished, you look up. The visage in the mirror seems like a familiar stranger. The feeling you get at seeing yourself so dressed up is familiar in some way. You think back to going to shows with your friends, or going to the ballet with your mom; your little ring-clad hand gripping hers as she hurried you past alleys on the way to the theater, your sparkling white party dress shedding glitter onto the streets. You can practically feel the way the theater always hums with anticipation, the unusual heaviness of feeling alone in a crowded room as your friends left you with the tickets while they grabbed a drink or two.

The sight of Chrollo behind you in the mirror, watching you with clear intent, breaks you away.

“We’re leaving now.”

***

“I… actually really like The Sleeping Beauty ballet.”

You feel awkward. It’s certainly not the first time you’ve been in a car with Chrollo, whether your forcibly pressed against him in the back seat or in the front, blasting the radio in an attempt to prevent him from striking up a conversation as he drives you to some new destination.

But it’s the first time you’ve been in the car for reasons other than transporting you to a new ‘home.’ The first time that you’ve both been dressed up; Chrollo’s cologne wafts gently over to you, and you can’t deny that he knows how to pick a good scent.

It’s also the first time you’ve felt conversation to be a necessity, if only to find out where you were going (the opera house) and what you were seeing (a ballet).

In fact, the news of the performance makes you sit up straighter in your seat. You feel a ping of excitement, and without thinking you share it out loud.

“That’s actually the first ballet I ever saw with my mom. Do you know what company it is?”

He tells you, and you bite your lip anxiously, squaring your shoulders against the back of the seat as you start to imagine the night ahead. Then you remember the smooth red lipstick and force your mouth to relax.

You talk, instead, to keep yourself from ruining your lipstick with your nervous habit. “I’ve heard about this company’s version. Well,” you continue, “I wanted to see them perform this a few years ago, but tickets sold out so fast. I couldn’t afford the scalper prices.”

“How nice that I have tickets for this performance, then.”

“Right!” Your pitch is higher and you internally cringe. You shouldn’t sound so excited. You glance at him from the corner of your eye, but he seems focused on the road.

As the drive continues, you keep talking. Without realizing it, your voice becomes lighter, easier, and even you don’t know why you’re speaking so freely. You talk more to him on this stretch of road than you have within months, sarcastic replies and bitter responses notwithstanding.

You talk about ballet. You talk about the history of the show. You talk about this company’s costumes--you saw them displayed in a store window and wow, were they gorgeous--and as the words come out, you feel lighter. Less bogged down by your protective anger, less heavy and hateful.

Happiness.

It’s something that you haven’t felt in a long time. It’s a feeling that your stomach rebels against, not welcoming the sudden intrusion of lightness and lift while you’re sitting in a car next to your captor. But you push your stomach’s rebellious nature down and force yourself to remember that tonight, you get to escape onto the stage; for a little while, you can be somewhere else.

Even being in the car tonight is doing wonders for you, you think. You must be getting close--the lights of the city are brighter and there’s throngs of nicely dressed people walking down the street towards what you realize is the theater. You see a little girl holding a woman’s hand and your stomach clenches in bitter nostalgia, but the thought is pushed aside quickly enough when Chrollo pulls into a valet circle.

You don’t have time to open the door before he opens it for you, extending his arm like a gentlemen.

“Ready?”

You’re buzzing on the way home. Not just from the champagne--three glasses, Chrollo having subtly waved away the usher approaching your opera box with your requested fourth. Not just from the show, which was magical and lush and everything you hoped it would be. Not just from the fact that you had a night out, away from the stuffiness of whatever luxury suite you were trapped in.

But from the thrill of feeling something, anything, other than your own deep despair and bitterness. You laughed in delight at the sillier moments, the bright-yellow Canary fairy and her trills; you cried at Aurora’s pleading vision to be set free, the first time you’ve cried at something other than your own situation in ages; you clapped and even, in the end, let yourself shout out a cheery “Brava!”

Even Chrollo seemed different during the evening. No forcible hand-holding or other niceties that had given you anxiety earlier in the evening. No unbearable condescension, only the hint of a smirk during the intermission when you--instinctively, you insisted to yourself, not because you liked his company--began an excited conversation about the events of the first Act. Did he like this part? What about the orchestra? And oh, this variation, didn’t he think it was a bit too overdone on the part of the dancer, but she more than recovered by the end?

When Chrollo helps you out of the car into the private parking garage, the air is cool and crackling; everything still feels electric, the way it always does when you come home from an event. Though as the doorman opens the private elevator leading to the condominium above, you dimly remind yourself you’re not coming home, exactly.

The swift ride up the elevator leaves you feeling dizzy. Your mind feels like it’s crashing, suddenly. From the champagne, maybe--but something else, too.

The elevator doors open into the condo suite you share with Chrollo and it hits you as you take the first step inside: you’re back to where you started the night. Trapped. The transporting, glittering events of the evening fall off your shoulders like a worn coat; you’re left once again only with yourself, with your present situation--and with Chrollo.

Your cheeks feel hot and you know the tears are coming before you feel them prickle at your eyes. The urge to wipe them away is masked only by the remembrance that you’re wearing makeup, but that doesn’t stop it from running as they begin to flow down your cheeks.

It burns, and you start for the bathroom, intent on scrubbing your face and ripping off the dress--but your entire body jerks back as Chrollo grabs your arm and prevents you from taking another step.

“Let go,” you say, voice empty of anything but the desperate need to be in the bathroom, to clean your face, to be alone with your returning misery.

He doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you back, forcing you to stand up straight as you fruitlessly fight against his grip.

“You’re crying.”

“I don’t need you to tell me that,” you murmur, voice edged not with bitterness this time, but sorrow. You don’t want to look at him. He’s seen you cry countless times, but you hate the way he looks at you when you do.

“Tell me why.”

You finally force yourself to look up at him, eyes blinking away the stinging tears, and you’re not surprised by his intensive gaze. He’s studying you. Analyzing. Like you’re some sort of book he can read and discover.

Maybe the champagne has loosened your tongue; maybe the night itself has loosened the tight-lipped hold your bitterness has on you. Whatever it is, you confess.

“I was happy,” you say, voice wobbling with tears. “I was--happy on the way there. I was happy at the theater. I was happy on the way home. I--I haven’t…” you rub at your eyes, smearing eyeshadow onto your fingertips. “I haven’t felt that way in months. And now we’re back and I don’t feel it anymore.” Your voice finally cracks with your last words, and you cover your eyes with one hand as crushing feelings of sadness sweep over you.

He pulls you closer to him, and you can’t fight away from his physical strength.

“Let go,” you plead. “I just want to be alone.”

You jerk your face away when he strokes your cheek with his free hand.

“Alone? Whatever for? My hypothesis for tonight was correct.”

His words make you stop pulling. Hypothesis? You sniffle and try to get your bearings, try to brace yourself. But you’re tired, and sad, and your head is swimming.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

He places his free hand on the back of your head and leans in closer. The heat of his skin and the pressure of his grip makes a flushed warmth bloom across your skin.

“You see,” he whispers, his lips ghosting against the side of your ear. “You can be happy with me, after all.”

#yandere chrollo #yandere hunter x hunter #chrollo x reader #chrollo lucilfer #yandere #afterwitch writes

1K notes · View notes

arty-shadow-morningstar · 3 years

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A Failed Betrothal /Betrothal AU: Take Two

So here is the second part of the betrothal AU that I decided to name "A Failed Betrothal. This takes place before Part 1 which in hindsight should have been done first. Part 2 got too long so I cut it and started Part 3. I have no idea and nothing planned on how long this will go. Hope you enjoy ❤.

[Masterlist]

(Part 1)

PART 2

Marinette also wasn't having a good day or a good week.

Lila Rossi had been up to her usual tricks. You know, spewing lies from her mouth. How she met these awesome celebrities during this trip and they worship the ground she walks on for her amazing and humbling help. There were stories of these charities, trips and galas that she had been to or was invited to. She has problems with her wrists and can't do simple stuff like carry her own bag or do her homework. She has tinnitus in her ears so she needs to sit in the front where the only seat available would be next to Adrien.

And for the finale.

The desert after feeding the class a banquet of lies.

"Mari...nette..has been bullying me, she...told..me not to tell anyone..*sobs*..that she would kill me if I did.."

Lila dramatically gasped and slapped her hands over her mouth. Turning on the waterworks for a more dramatic effect. They all ate it up, jumping on the ‘let’s hate Marinette, a bad person’ train.

"She is going to kill me now and I am so scared." That snake managed to snuck an evil smirk past her glaring, oblivious classmates.

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

Marinette, at this point of her life, had frankly given up caring for them due to the class's lack of brain cells and Agreste's spineless 'High Road' Approach.

For Kwami's sake, she went through a brutal torture that was training in some jungle temple in Asia before Sabine Cheng, former mercenary/assassin, kidnapped her (Little Marinette took a risk. She ran away and followed her around until Sabine begrudgingly accepted that she was now the 6- year-old girl's mother because screw it, Tom said he wanted children.) to raise/train as her own while she settled down with a baker whose mother may or may not have ties with the Mafia and other illegal activities.

(Mother-daughter bonding days became much more fun once she had Guardianship of the Miraculous. Sabine was ,at first, furious at Master Fu for dumping everything on the girl and losing his memories before swearing to help protect the jewels. Adopted or not, Marinette is her daughter and no one should let a child, even one with training, fight a war. A good thing to come out of her reveal was that her mother was a great tiger to have as back-up. But now, her training regime had become harder and challenging.)

The point was that Lila Rossi would be dead and body missing since that first time she threatened Marinette in the bathroom. The Italian was in perfect health despite what she claims otherwise, because Marinette didn’t want to be the person she was raised to be and also she didn’t want to disappoint Tikki, she was fond of the little red kwami. But sometimes, she just wanted to give into the urge to kill.

She had met and dealt with unsavory characters of all types and she can safely say that Lila Rossi was a manipulator that thrives on attention and like a parasite, latches herself onto the fame of others. None of the unsavory people she had met get under her skin like Rossi had.

Marinette had enough self-preservation to drop the nice girl act and sometimes let the dragon underneath to surface. She stopped doing last-minute favors and giving away free stuff which Lila uses to her full advantage to further destroy her relationships with her ‘friends’. It was better than sticking her neck out for classmates that were no longer worth her time. Attempts to expose Lila had backfired due to the denial they are in, believing the liar to be a sweet, nice girl living the high life.

Adrien with his rose-tinted glasses firmly stuck to his eyes was not happy at all with her decision. That may also have to do where she suggested he shove his advice after he tried to reason her to take the high road for defending herself for the umpteenth time. She felt like the biggest idiot to ever have a crush on him. Every time, Rossi blames Marinette for a problem, he would shoot disappointed looks in her direction.

Alya being Lila's biggest guard dog tore into Marinette for her newfound 'bad' behaviour. The rest of Lila's supporters backed her up with "How could you do that to Lila","I can't believe you changed." Nearly all her so-call friends had turned their backs and lost all common sense to the Italian's manipulations.

(Alya was supposed to be her best friend, aren’t you supposed to listen to your ‘bestie’ over a complete stranger)

The designer took it all with a bored expression on her face, used to the lecturing which was a waste of time because her behavior isn't going to change, no matter what, Lie-la will keep up the act of being the bully's (*cough*Marinette*cough*) victim.

Her heart that cracks the tiniest bit at the accusations. A small part of her, she admits, is hurt that they think so low of her.Was she really that worthless to them? All those times and efforts helping them out on last-minute favors and giving them free treats. Were they not enough to earn their friendship? Their trust or at the very least, a benefit of doubt?

The only ones who didn’t join the berating to 'correct' the raven-haired girl’s attitude were Chloe (who had proven herself to have changed after the miracle queen incident and Lila stole the spotlight and Sabrina. There were a lot of apologizes, gifts and ‘making up to do’) Alix (she came to her senses when the supposed bullying started) and Nathaniel (Lila blatantly claimed to be the artist for the Ladybug comic to his face).

“Girl, Marinette, are you even listening to me?”Alya demanded.

“Maybe. Did you say anything that doesn’t have to do with Lila or how I did her wrong or how I am no longer the person you knew?”

Marinette knew that being sarcastic would backfire but nothing she does or says will change what they think of her. One word from Lila and they will turn back on her. As much as she hates to admit it, Lila’s threat has fallen through and she was alone. Mostly.

She still had Chloe, Nathaniel, Alix, Luka and Kagami as friends. The trust-worthy and loyal kind.

“Girl,” Alya says in a disappointed tone, shaking her head,“when I look at you, I don’t see that girl who stood up to Chloe the bully-”, Chloe snorted, she had changed but they were too blind and prejudiced against her to notice her efforts, “-Picking on Lila, threatening and harassing her. This isn’t you and you know it. Just get over your jealousy on Lila being close to Adrien and apologize to her.”

If Alya had talked to her in the past 12 months other than demanding things that took away her time or anything relating to Lila, she would know that her infatuation had turned into annoyance.

Marinette sighed, too tired of this routine, tired of trying to knock heads so the brain cells can work again. Apologizing would mean that Lila had won. She was petty and stubborn enough to allow that to happen. Lila said she will take the class and Adrien. Fine, she can have them but Marinette Dupain-Cheng will not admit defeat. Bigger men had fallen to the ravenette for lesser offences. A year has passed since the expulsion and the class still hasn't regained common senses, so they can deal with the consequences after the inevitable downfall of Lila and Marinette will be there to see them lay in the grave they dug.

Steeling herself for the pain that will come with the execution of her plan,

“What if I don’t. I won’t apologize to her because I have not done anything to her or even interacted with her. If I apologize, it would be insincere and a lie. And I hate liars.” The former assassin said evenly.

“Lila is not a liar. I don’t know why you are like this.” Alya said, frustrated.

Marinette knew there would be a small chance of an akuma with Gabriel Agreste having an important meeting to attend on this day that would last for the next hour. This was the small window of opportunity to start the plan and also further confirm the identity of Hawkmoth. Killing two birds with one stone.

“Alya, this has always been me, you just never took the time to get to really know the real me.”, she replied, the last part with an icy tone.

“Well-... I- ..You-, fine, then if you can’t say those simple three words, we can’t be friends. I clearly don’t know what a selfish bitch you are. God, I can’t believe I wanted to be best friends with you. You are now replaced by Lila because unlike you, she is genuinely nice and selfless.” Alya declared. The rest of Lila’s supporters murmured in agreement.

Phase 1, complete. Lure the Lie-la into a false sense of security by making her think she won.

Marinette tried not to show how hurt she was, to be replaced by the scheming bitch. But at the same time she felt relieved, she no longer had to walk on eggshells in fear of losing the friendships of people she used to care about. It felt final as she maintained her stoic expression, hoping they didn't notice the glassy sheen her eyes had.

“Then, it is official. We are no longer friends.”

They haven’t been friends for a long time.

Mme. Bustier finally walked into the classroom to start the afternoon classes, signalling the end of the conversation. After class, Marinette resolves to inform them that she was resigning as class president which she was sure the class will be glad for. She was right.

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Ladybug was, as the Americans say, pissed at Hawkmoth which was nothing new. He had sent out another akuma just as Marinette was back home and trying to relax after the stressful day. The akuma was not any of her ex-friends which she wasn’t sure to be thankful for or not.

Louise Martin was a boy about Luka’s age and mad at his friends who had blamed their fifth loss-in-a-row on him despite the fact that it was his skills that were getting them any progress. They were playing one of those recently released 5V5 skills and strategy battle games. (League of Legends or Mobile Legends. Take your pick, I am going with the latter)

He was akumatized into Hayakuma as proof of Hawkmoth’s lack of creativity. Hayakuma was a bleached out version of Louise’s chosen hero avatar, Hayabusa whose outfit was basically what the media portrays ninjas to look like with some samurai aspects.

Unfortunately, he also had the hero’s ultimate special powers which were making four shadow copies of himself and being able to switch positions with them. Thanks to Rattlesnake’s Second Chance, they know that he can only make a switch once every two minute. Hayakuma also wields a sword, showing off his skills.

Just lovely.

Hydra and Ladybug were the only ones able to counter his attacks with Hydra’s sword and Ladybug’s summoned one. (Let’s go with that headcanon(?)/trope that she can summon weapons for plot convenience and the others can too but just don’t have enough practise yet.)

The others managed to dodge and shield themselves from Hayakuma’s really sharp sword.

The shadows themselves were annoying as they would distract or hinder the miraculous users by grabbing them by their shadows and making them unable to move. Until Bunnix had the brilliant idea of shadow boxing which gave the heroes gain more even ground.

With how strong and handful the akuma was, it was code ‘all hands on deck’. Ladybug, Stinger, Rattlesnake, Hydra, Bunnix, Trickster. Well, nearly every hand. Lady Mǔ lǎohǔ was busy with the bakery. Chat Noir was nowhere to be seen or very late which had been the norm for the last year ever since Ladybug wanted to form a new miraculous team consisting of permanent heroes.

(He didn’t show up for the first few months because the first permanent member was Ladybug’s mother who did not like his attitude towards her daughter. He ran away with his tail between his legs once he found out how she was related to Ladybug. His face when he realized it, was something Marinette will cherish forever)

At least when Lady Mǔ lǎohǔ was around, he would not dare act out of line. When she is gone however, he is back to his old ways.

After saving one of Louise’s teammates from Hayakuma’s sword, they gathered the rest of the team and hid them someplace safe. Using Trickster’s illusions to trick all the shadows and the original to one place, the heroes were going to surround and ambush them and get the akumatized item. The plan would have been a success if it weren’t for Chat Noir hugging Ladybug from behind, making her miss her cue.

“Hey~ Bugaboo~ Did you miss me~? Your Chaton~?”

Thwack! Smack!

Chat Noir was on the rooftop, groaning pitifully in pain. Especially his crotch area. Ladybug glared at him and looked to the ambush point to see the illusions had disappeared and everyone else gone from their hiding place.

She sighed and turned on the comms, (Thank you, kwamis)

“Sting, did you venomed the akuma?”

“No, he escaped before I could. What happened, LB?”

“A certain cat got me delayed. What’s the status update?”

“Hydra is holding him off and Bunnix found that an umbrella is a good substitute for a sword. The rest of us are keeping track of the shadows. They split up but none of them are getting near where we hid the targets.”

“Where are you? I will meet you later with back-up.”

“Near Notre Dame and tell Mama Tigress I said hi.”

“Tell her yourself.”

She looked down at Chat No-, no he is not worthy of being a hero anymore with the amount of times he had derailed and hijacked the plans to defeat the akumas just so he can ‘earn’ Ladybug’s heart.

She looked down at Adrien Agreste, who was sitting and sulking like a child that was unfairly punished. (Once she got over her crush and started looking at the right things that she managed to piece together her ‘partner’s’ identity by accident. Tikki’s confirmation sealed the deal.)

“Chat Noir, this partnership of ours,” she said, gesturing to the two of them, “ is going to change tonight. Meet me at the ‘spot’ at 11 sharp. Now, go home.”

He left with a small glimmer of hope in his eyes at her words. She felt a little bad about the subtle manipulation but with the way things were now, it can’t go on. He was hindering more than helping and the people of Paris that weren’t shipping ‘Ladynoir’ saw that.

As she jumped towards Notre Dame, she called the bakery with her yoyo.

“Mama, are you free now? I need a little help with the akuma and can you bring the horse miraculous.”

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

Chat Noir waited excitedly at what they both dubbed at their ‘spot’, in the good old days when it was just the two of them. Maybe Ladybug was finally open to the idea of dating. Or maybe she must have seen what a great hero he is and was going to get rid of the team. Or realized that having her mother on her team was a bad idea. Parents are the worst and they both can be two rebellious teenagers in love. Like Romeo and Juliet. So romantic~.

He was so deep in his daydream that he didn’t hear his lady land.

“Chat Noir.” Startled, he nearly fell off the roof. No, don’t make a fool of yourself in front of Ladybug.

“Yes, Bugaboo.” Hoping she didn’t know that he was very distracted. His attention will always be hers 100%.

“Don’t call me Bugaboo. Tikki wants to talk to Plagg about Kwami stuff. So you go over and hide behind that chimney. Then, we can talk about why I told you to be here.” Adrien frowned and then smiled. His lady must be very embarrassed about her mistake that must be why she is taking her time. He tried listening to what they were saying but the kwamis were talking in their special Guardian Language. Was it him or did Tikki’s voice sound more like his lady’s voice?

Whizz!

Adrien was tied up with Ladybug’s yoyo. “M’Lady? Bugaboo!? LADYBUG! WHAT IS GOING ON?!! PLAGG-”

Ladybug cut in, “Adrien Agreste, you have been slack in your hero duty and choosing your own feelings over supporting your partner, me, the holder of the Ladybug Miraculous and current Grand Guardian, in the efforts to defeat the enemy of Paris, Hawkmoth. Due to those reasons, you are no longer worthy to be the Holder of the Black Cat Miraculous” in one swift motion, she took the ring off his finger, “As such you are hereby revoked of Plagg’s Ring.”

“NO, YOU CAN’T. YOU CAN’T DO THIS TO ME! I LOVE YOU AND I KNOW YOU LOVE ME BACK. WE ARE SOULMATES, WE ARE MEANT TO BE-”

Adrien went slack at Lady Tigress’s pinch on his pressure point.

“I don’t what you ever saw in the boy.”

“I don’t know either. I think I dodged a bullet here. Can you carry him back to his home? I think I have dealt with enough of him tonight.” Ladybug muttered, as she erased Adrien’s memories of being Chat Noir.

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Tag list: @alysrose-starchild, @buginetye, @lookatthestars1, @blackroserelina, @macncheesemonster, @mochinek0, @myazael, @tonicxworld, @thewitchwhowaited, @t1dwarrior-of-earth, @kissa-chan, @iwantasecretidentity, @theymakeupfairies, @user00000003, @woe-is-me0, @kashlyn, @mochegato,@moonlightstar64 , @greatcatblaze, @moongoddesskiana, @tazanna-blythe.

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(Part 3)

#maridami #maribat #damian x marinette #mlb x dc #Betrothal AU: Take 2 #A Failed Betrothal #sorry. No Damian this chapter #there is salt #Alya salt #Adrien Salt #Lila salt #class salt #I don't know if it is mild or not #Marinette is an assassin

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chazukekani · 3 years

Text

SPOILER ALERT

Here is the quick summary of the first 60 pages of Stormbringer that just revealed today.

Special thanks to Nika, Amir, and my discord server members for proof-reading!

— That is, the 169th possibility

— ‘You are late, my brother.’

Content

Prologue

Code:01 A programme with 2383 lines, just an idea from a group of researchers

Code 02: Dead people do not possess any form of emotion

Code 03: I want to observe Chuuya’s suffer as a human

Code 04: Grantors of disgrace, you need not wake me again

Epilogue

Afterthought

Harukawa Sango ‘Stormbringer’ Character Setting Gallery

Pre-prologue

Fate whispers to warriors,

‘You cannot go against the storm.’

Warriors whisper back

‘I am the storm.’

— Cao Zhi ‘Luo Shen Fu’

Prologue

It began in a forest at midnight. It was supposed to be a peaceful night, but suddenly a beam appeared in the forest. It’s a huge fire. The forest was on fire. People who lived in the village nearby ran to the forest to see what happened. It was a wrecked airplane that just fell from the sky. People used hammers to dig the airplane to see whether there are any survivors.

Suddenly, a man walked out from the airplane. He seemed fine, but the crowd was shocked.

‘Apologies for my courtesy. In accordance with civil society, I should introduce myself,’ said the man. He pulled out a badge on his chest. The badge was black and words on it were engraved with silver. One of the teenagers from the village read off the words on it

‘I am a detective from Europole (Europe Detective and Police Organisation), which I am an office equipment. Category number 98F78195, made by ability technician Dr. Wollstonecraft. The first ever humanoid computer that serves for worldwide police facilities. Code name is Adam, Adam Frankenstein. It is my pleasure to meet you. I should carry out my mission now, see you.’

Before Adam left, he asked ‘Do you know a person called Nakahara Chuuya?’

Code:01 A programme with 2383 lines, just an idea from a group of researchers

Chuuya couldn't see his dream. Everytime he woke up, he felt like he was in a swamp of mud. Today, Chuuya woke up in his apartment. Just like other’s morning routine, Chuuya took a shower, cleaned himself and left his home.

Chuuya was 16 years old. Since a year he had joined the mafia, Chuuya excelled in his job with the most outstanding performance, and was well recognised in the organisation.

However with all the money and status he got, Chuuya was not satisfied. The thing that he wanted the most was to know his past. Chuuya knew nothing about it. The earliest memory he had was being kidnapped to a military facility 8 years ago.

There was already a branded black car waiting for Chuuya outside his apartment with a group of men in suits and sunglasses. ‘Please go to the regular store,’ said Chuuya.

Chuuya was in charge of supervising the jewel/gemstone transaction within the Mafia and black market, which had been an important source of income for the mafia.

He arrived at the store. Before entering it, a gun was pointed on Chuuya’s head, while there was another gun pointed onto his chest. Bang! What a big sound. Yet there was no blood, but a bunch of colourful ribbons came off.

‘Congratulations to your 1st year since joining the mafia!’, said those men.

Today was the first anniversary for Chuuya joining the mafia, and his friends held a party for him. People who joined the party all belonged to the ‘young club’ of the mafia, which were all 25 years old or younger.

The party-planner was called ‘Piano Man’. He was called Piano Man not because of his black and white outfit, but his way of killing. He liked using the strings of piano keyboards and strangled people to death. Piano Man was very tall, his fingers were long and thin, and always put a smile on his face. He was by far the man who was closest to the position of the Port Mafia executive.

The second man who came to congratulate Chuuya was called Albatross, a man with golden hair. He was a teen that loved smiling and was very talkative. Albatross was in charge of the transportation aspect of the mafia, and was complimented as very efficient and speedy in completing the missions, and was currently living in the same neighbourhood as Chuuya in a high-ended area. He previously belonged to an organisation called ‘Wheelman’.

Albatross proposed a toasting, but Chuuya was not in a good mood. “Did you have a nightmare?” Albatross joked, but Chuuya turned furious after hearing the word ‘nightmare’. Everyone was horrified. ‘No I wasn’t!’ Chuuya shouted. When Chuuya was about to leave the shop, yet another man came in. He was holding a champagne glass, and on his other hand, he was holding a medical drip stand that had a drip injected into his arm. His name was Doc.

Different from other doctors in the gangster industry, Doc graduated in a Northern American university and was awarded with a Doctorate formally. Doctors were highly demanded within the mafia because members could not simply walk into regular hospitals with injuries that were caused by gunshots. Doctors in the PM were treated nicely and respected, thanks to the boss, Mori-san, who was also a former doctor. The reason why Doc became a doctor was because he wanted to get closer to God. ‘The more lives you save, the closer you get to God’ is the motto of Doc. The Bible once wrote that God saved two million lives, so Doc’s goal was to save a similar number of people, which was why he joined the Mafia.

Chuuya still wanted to leave.

“The first year was the toughest, so we need to celebrate that you got through it,’ a gentle voice said. It was a man who had an extraordinarily beautiful appearance. The first year of joining the Mafia was the so-called ‘Deadman Curve’, so a celebration is needed,” said Lippmann, the guy with a pretty face. The work of Lippmann was probably the most unique one out of all of them. He was in charge of the public relations of the Mafia, such as negotiating deals with enterprises, or having meetings with the government. It is more difficult to kill him than killing the Boss of the Mafia because Lippmann was also a famous actor, thus every single action he made would be reported by the media. Hence it was really difficult to get him.

Another man came in, and his name was Ice Man. Unlike Chuuya’s other friends, he was quiet, and wore a simple outfit. Ice Man did not show much emotion, and was low profile. His job was simple, to kill. He did not use an ability, guns or knives to kill. Instead, he used objects that were nearby to kill. Anything, regardless if it’s a pen, wine bottle or the wire of light bulbs could become a murdering tool, hence Ice Man could kill anywhere.

The gathering continued. Chuuya was gradually having a better mood, until Ice Man asked Chuuya ‘where were you born?’ Chuuya immediately grabbed Ice Man’s shirt, and there was such a tension among the guys. Piano Man then revealed that he knew why Chuuya was mad, because Mori told him about Chuuya’s past that he was just an artificial ability experiment that was created by the military. Hence Mori asked Piano Man to invite Chuuya into the younger’s club, in order to have a surveillance on Chuuya. Piano Man pointed out the reason why Chuuya was mad today because he was actually not able to dream. Suddenly, the tension was back. Everyone had their weapons already, but Piano Man took out a present for the 1st anniversary from his coat, and gave it to Chuuya.

It was a photograph, a picture of two people, and one of them was five year old Chuuya.

The picture was taken in an old village in the Western region, Piano Man said. The area was abandoned afterwards but Doc found this picture inside the medical record of the village. Lippmann then added that he had asked a woman to check all the military-related databases, in which she found out that the military once held a recruitment experiment in the Western region. Still, Chuuya’s friends were able to find the family tree of Chuuya, his school, his report card and his birth record. However, such an investigation must not be known to Mori because Mori thought that if Chuuya’s background remained a secret, Chuuya would not betray the Mafia.

Chuuya did not understand why his friends did this for him. Lippmann said because they were companions. He then proposed why not they name the younger’s club as ‘Flags’.

The Flags then went to a billiards bar. All of a sudden, apart from the six people playing the billiards, there was the seventh person who joined the game. He had long arms and legs, and of course very tall. Black hair with brown eyes, and was standing by the table seriously.

All of a sudden, Albatross used his Kulric knife and sliced on the seventh person's head, which produced an uncomfortable noise. Yet, that person escaped from the attack. A fight then broke out because the Flags thought this seventh person was an ability user, and suspected his intention for coming to the Mafia’s facility. However, Ice Man pointed out that this person was not an ability user, but the fight continued.

During the fight, Adam grabbed the legs of the table, and something grew from his hand. It was a small-scale dinosaur, that grew from Adam’s hands as if it were a plant. The battle was intense. Someone shouted Chuuya’s name out of nowhere, and Adam noticed something.

‘Chuuya-san’, Adam greeted Chuuya politely.

‘I am here to protect you,’ Adam replied. Adam introduced himself, and explained his mission. Adam was sent here to arrest an assassin called Paul Verlaine.

When Chuuya heard the name Verlaine, his facial expression changed.

‘Why do you know this name?’ asked Chuuya

‘Chuuya-san, you cannot defeat Verlaine on your own. That’s why I am here. Verlaine was not only an assassin. He is the king of assassins. He is your brother.’ said Adam.

The misconception was relieved, and the Flags, together with Adam, played billiards happily afterwards.

The story continues on 27th Feb

#bungo stray dogs #bungou stray dogs #bsd #bungo stray dogs storm bringer #bungou stray dogs storm bringer #bsd storm bringer #bsd nakahara chuuya #nakahara chuuya

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olivia-anderson-fanfic · 3 years

Text

Routines

Tim and Marinette lived busy lives.

It was by choice, of course.

They were both prominent figures in their fields that could pick and choose the assignments they wished to take, had more money than they could ever dream of using thanks to the hefty trust fund that being even tangentially related to Bruce Wayne provided, and no one would blame them if they were to lessen or give up their vigilantism. If they wished, there was nothing stopping them from taking a smaller workload, from using up all of their sick days, from taking vacations, from quitting their jobs entirely...

That being said, they likely never would.

And the tabloids loved to speculate on their relationship because of it. How could they spend much time together if Tim was always at work, developing new technology for Wayne Enterprises? Marinette was cheating, how could she not when so much of her job as a designer involved getting up close and personal with models? Not to mention all of the business trips. Surely, the relationship had some kind of monetary motivation, or maybe it was just to more seamlessly merge their companies, or it had only happened for PR reasons.

They let them speculate. They simply didn’t know better.

The tabloids didn’t get to see how they acted behind closed doors, after all.

There would be days where neither of them went in to work. It wasn’t due to some sort of sickness that Tim had caught thanks to his lack of spleen, nor would it be because Marinette had hit some kind of artist’s block. No, it was simply because they wanted to spend time together.

They took breaks. Technically. If you squint.

There would be days where neither of them went into work. It wasn’t due to some sort of sickness that Tim had caught thanks to his lack of spleen, nor would it be because Marinette had hit some kind of artist’s block. No, it was simply because they wanted to spend time together.

They would turn on the coffee machine and then make their way over to the sofa. Marinette would nestle herself into his side and smile as he wrapped his arm around her. He would pull her as close as he possibly could so he could still use both arms to type.

He usually took video calls like this. It was always so much easier to maintain a pleasant smile, even when people often looked down on him for his age, because whenever he felt it start to waver he could simply look down at his girlfriend and suddenly he would find that it would be back in full force.

She would prop her sketchbook on her legs and start on some new designs. The designs she did like this were always, inexplicably, more lively than the other ones -- full of vibrant colors and swooping curves in a way that some of her other works lacked. If asked, Marinette would joke that the secret ingredient was love.

And, sure, this wasn’t technically taking a break from work. They were still productive, still did tasks...

But they counted it. They always came back to work the next day with the same euphoric feelings in their chests, the same springs in their steps. How could they not? They’d spent the entire day doing what they loved with the person that they loved. Who could ever want a break from that?

Every time one of them came back from a business trip, they made sure to spend the night together.

Tim would lay back in bed, Marinette on top of him. Her head would come to rest on his chest, clutching the back of his shirt tightly. His fingers would find their way to her hair and she would huff a little, knowing that her hair was about to get hopelessly tangled as he fidgeted with the silky strands, but she would nuzzle into his chest all the same.

They would watch a TV show. It didn’t matter whether it was good or bad. As long as there were people and some semblance of a plot, they would gladly stay wrapped up in each other’s arms to watch it.

Tim would rattle off whatever theories he had developed as they came to mind. Some of them were absolutely insane, he knew, and would never happen… but it was worth making a fool of himself if it got Marinette’s face to light up or if he earned one of those little giggles that escaped her when he was instantly proven wrong.

Marinette would, at least, pause the show whenever she wanted to talk, though it wasn’t out of an understanding of how time works. No, it was so she could sit up a little in his lap and point at whichever character had offended her this time. She would go on long rants about how makeup was just as important as outfits in costuming, but it was often overlooked in favor of making the actors look pretty. And, maybe she had already said all of this before, but it’s important, Tim! And he would just nod his agreement. Because it was important -- a TV night certainly wouldn’t feel like a TV night without at least one rant.

And then the screen would go black, the most recent episode done.

Tim would draw back a little and then pretend to be shocked when his hands were stuck in her hair.

“Oh noooooo,” he’d say. “I guess I can’t let go yet.”

“How unfortunate,” she would deadpan.

He’d smile cheekily at her.

“Shut up.”

“But I didn’t even say anything!” He’d argue with overexaggerated offense.

She would smile, shaking her head as much as she could with the fingers in her hair. “You didn’t have to. You have a presence about you.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” he’d say.

And, sometimes, she’d bring her hands up to cup his face. “Not sure if it was a compliment, but I definitely wouldn’t have it any other way,” she’d whisper before pulling him closer for a kiss.

… but, most of the time she would just laugh and say: “It wasn’t one.”

Once a month, Marinette tried to teach Tim to cook. Of course, they both knew it was a hopeless endeavor. He’d failed to make mac n’ cheese once, and Marinette -- who had lived the first eighteen years of her life in a Parisian bakery -- wasn’t good at discerning which meals were ‘easy to do’.

But that didn’t stop her from trying.

She would come up with a new recipe, would claim that this one was truly dummy proof…

And then Tim, dummy that he was, would manage to mess it up. Without fail, he would find some way to do something wrong. He would leave the milk on the stove and then be surprised when said milk on the stove decided to revolt against the system. He would raise the temperature on the thing they were baking so it would go faster and then be shocked when the cake didn’t rise at all. He would put too much in the mixer and then not understand why the contents had exploded over the two of them.

Worst thing was, she was pretty sure he was actually trying. He just… couldn’t seem to do it.

So, she would just kiss the disappointed frown off of his face and promise that they would do better next time.

And, every time without fail, he would light up.

“There will be a next time?” He would ask.

“Yeah. You’re lucky you’re cute, I can’t say I love being covered in ingredients.”

Tim would kiss her cheek, and then draw back and lick his lips. “I don’t know, I kind of like it. Something about my girlfriend being covered in tasty food really does something for me.”

“Like I said: you’re lucky you’re cute.”

And, even though she would say that, there was no mistaking the amusement dancing in her eyes.

They weren’t particularly religious, it was hard to be when Marinette had a god living in her earrings that obeyed her every command…

Which meant celebrations for the two of them were few and far between.

But, at least, they celebrated their anniversary.

They would sit on the rooftop, the blankets doing nothing to keep the hard tiles of the roof from digging into them and they did even less against the chilly Gotham air.

She’d stare up at the sky with him.

And, since it was Gotham, there were very few stars to be seen through the dark red and black haze of clouds that hung over the city.

But they didn’t mind.

Marinette smiled. “It’s our colors.”

He didn’t look over, watching the colors swirl above them. “Even the sky thinks we’re a good couple.”

“I wouldn’t be surprised. The sky god really does have a thing for love.”

He gave a short puff of laughter and finally tore his eyes away from the sky. “Really?”

She shrugged, grinning at him. “No clue. There might not even be a sky god.”

He scoffed and untangled his hand from its blanket prison to give her a tiny shove. She could have dodged the attempt with ease, but she allowed the hand to make contact.

To her surprise, he grabbed ahold of her shoulder and pulled her into him. She gave an undignified little squeak and, if it weren’t for the fact that he was right there, she would have probably faceplanted onto the tile.

But, instead, her face came crashing into his soft, pillowy shoulder.

She looked up at the crooked grin that she had come to love over the years and huffed, pulling her own arms free so she could shove him. For real.

He flopped back, the hand he’d managed to get out coming to rest over his chest as if he were hurt.

“How could you? Roofs hurt, you know.”

“Well, yeah, if you throw yourself down on tiles it’s not going to feel too great.”

He cracked a grin, though he quickly tamped it down to keep up the act: “Victim blaming at its finest.”

She rolled her eyes and leaned over him. One of her hands cradled his cheek, her thumb tracing the tiny scar on his cheekbone.

He looked up at her. And she thought, somewhere, that maybe the reason the pollution in the city was just some kind of coverup so no one would know that they all resided in Tim’s eyes.

And then she cursed herself mentally for thinking something so cheesy.

She had to make up for it somehow:

“You’re the worst, I hope you know that.”

“I am. But you love me anyway.”

Dang it. How was she supposed to feign being annoyed when he looked at her like that? With that soft smile and thick lashes and hair that framed his face just so.

She decided it wasn’t worth trying to pretend.

Marinette let herself match his smile.

“I do.”

“Save those words for our wedding,” he joked softly.

She rolled her eyes. “You haven’t even proposed yet.”

“I could be doing that right now. Who knows, this could all be my plan.”

“It’d be a good plan,” she said. “I’d probably say yes.”

He narrowed his eyes just slightly. “Isn’t that essentially you proposing to me?”

She tipped her head to the side, considering, then she laughed a little. “I guess it kind of is. So, Tim, will you marry me?”

His eyes widened to an almost comical degree.

And then his face lit up with a smile that made her heart flutter.

“I hope you know I want a ring.”

She giggled. “Just say yes, you idiot. We can always get the ring tomorrow.”

His smile only stretched further. “Yes. I’d love to marry you.”

“I love you,” she whispered, leaning closer until her lips brushed against his.

“I love you, too,” he breathed.

Marinette didn’t hesitate any longer, tilting her head to give him a proper kiss. He freed himself of the blanket and she gasped a little against his lips as he wrapped her up in it as well, drawing her close.

She pulled away just a little, her forehead coming to rest against his. She couldn’t seem to get the dopey smile off of her face, but she wasn't completely sure she even wanted it gone.

“I proposed first, so I won,” she said, sticking her tongue out at him playfully.

He smiled. “No, I did.”

#i did the impossible and got 100 subs on ao3 #so i figured id attempt the impossible again #its all fluff #not a single swear #AND its a oneshot #i did it i did the impossible we can all go home now #(please dont leave lol)#maribat #routines #shutterbug #timari #timmari #timinette #red robin #tim drake #marinette dupain cheng #ladybug

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drspencerweed · 2 years

Text

Dear Spence - Night 3

spencer reid x fem!reader

series masterlist

masterlist

fic summary: Going undercover as serial killer bait was simple. Going undercover as serial killer bait three months after being kidnapped was not so simple. Going undercover with the love of my life and having to pretend to be in love with him while also pretending I was pretending was….well it was about as complicated as it sounds.

chapter summary: The routine of loving each other started to take its tole on me. And I couldn't ignore my trauma forever.

Chapter Word Count: 2.6k

Content: Rated M (16+) fem!reader, mentions of past kidnapping, trauma responses, nightmares, descriptions of past kidnapping, canon-typical violence, fake relationship, friends to lovers, hurt/comfort, angst, fluff, only one bed trope

tw for this chapter: descriptions of ptsd, nightmares, panic attacks, discussion of canon typical violence/sex crimes (in relation to the case)

read on ao3

[Prologue] [Night 1] [Night 2]

Getting ready for bed after our second full day felt very domestic. It felt like we had fallen into a good routine, and pretending to be in love came easier than ever. I brushed my teeth with a small smile on my face. Last night had been hard, but after I asked Spencer to hold me I slept soundly. We woke up still wrapped in each other, and shockingly didn’t jump apart as soon as we noticed. He stroked my hair for a few minutes, asking how I slept and if I was feeling better.

It truly felt like we moved through the day as a unit, and I thought I could actually get comfortable with this situation. I spat into the sink and rinsed my mouth, not lingering in the bathroom longer than I had to. As usual, the letter was slipped in between my bundle of dirty clothes. My fingertips found it and rubbed at it lightly.

Spencer was already in bed, turning pages of the case file I had brought with me. While I put away my letter and my clothes I asked, “See anything new?”

“Hotch called while you were in the bathroom. We thought he was raping the wives in front of the husbands, but they think he might be forcing the husbands to do it.” Spencer explained. “I’m just looking over the reports to see if anything would contradict that.”

“But there was no indication the men had sex before they died...” I questioned, climbing into bed and looking at the files over Spencer’s shoulder.

“The coroner didn’t notice it before, but the men’s penises were meticulously clean.” Spencer said with a grimace.

I nodded. “Forensic countermeasure. So how does that change the profile? Do we think he’s impotent?” I asked. Spencer bounced his head around.

“Or an extreme voyeur.” He offered as an alternate explanation. “Which would also explain why he likes listening so much.”

“The stabbing of the wife would point to impotence. Maybe it’s a bit of both? He thinks the voyeurism will get him off, but when it doesn’t work he snaps.” I thought. “Maybe he only recently became impotent.”

“That’s an interesting angle, the team should do more research. Call Hotch,” Spencer commented. I nodded and reached for my phone, calling Hotch and putting him on speaker. We talked through our ideas, and he agreed with our conclusions. He hung up after saying they’d have Garcia look into it. Once Hotch was off the phone, Spencer packed up the case file and handed it back to me.

“I just grabbed it because it was on the nightstand.” He explained.

“Oh, it doesn’t matter. You don’t have cooties.” I joked, taking the file and putting it back on my nightstand. I clicked off my lamp and turned around, ready to go to bed. Spencer was apparently on the same page, as he also turned off his lamp and shifted down in bed.

When he shifted down, he lifted his arm up, opening his chest to me. I looked at him with a question in my eyes. We had cuddled all last night, but I had assumed he only did that because I asked him to.

“What? I don’t have cooties,” He shot back at me. I rolled my eyes with a smile. I took a deep breath, reminding myself internally that this was platonic. This was because he thought I needed it.

“I’m okay, I feel much better today,” I admitted, not wanting to take advantage of his kindness. His face fell slightly, furrowing his eyebrows.

“I’m glad you feel better,” he said, and opened his mouth to continue but closed it. I went to lay down facing away from him, but he spoke up before I could. “We can still cuddle. We don’t-we don’t have to. But I didn’t mind it. I actually slept really well last night.” He admitted. He had pulled his arm back, clearly nervous. I narrowed my eyes at him.

“Are you sure?” I asked, still not certain this wasn’t a prank, or some selfless thing Spencer was trying to do for me.

“Yes.” He nodded, looking at me seriously.

Then I turned shy, brushing my hair behind my ear. Without another word, I lifted his arm and tucked myself underneath it, resting my head on his chest. His other arm wrapped around my waist. This doesn’t mean anything. I repeated it like a mantra.

My eyes slipped shut, his rhythmic heartbeat lulling me to sleep.

Flashes of red light.

A man. Just his silhouette.

Squeaks of mice.

Water dripping.

Drip, drip.

I was running out of time, the water was dripping like a clock ticking and my pen was out of ink and I just needed more time and

Drip, drip.

Cold metal on my neck.

Cruel laughter.

The pressure from the barrel of a gun.

Drip, drip.

Begging, I think I’m begging. The paper is collecting teardrops that I don’t remember shedding.

Time. I just need more time, because if I have time then the team will save me and if I don’t then

Drip, drip.

Singing, horrible singing, off tune and mocking and skin crawling singing.

He’s never gonna find you.

Cold metal.

No ink.

Drip, drip.

Time I just need time I just need

A ski mask and a man and a rancid smile and a gun in front of my face and my eyes closed and I’m screaming but no one is coming and please just give me a little more time just a little more time please all I need is

I jolted awake from the horrific nightmare. My breath was heaving and my skin was damp with sweat. I was still tangled in Spencer’s arms, and his eyes blinked awake slowly at my movements. Quickly, I pulled away, sitting up and putting my head in my hands.

Spencer groaned behind me, slowly beginning to wake up. I was still shaking slightly, and my mind was still filled with images from the nightmare. The dripping sound was ringing in my ears, the dull rhythmic sound haunting me. My eyes were still adjusting to the dark and it felt like the red haze of that basement was everywhere. His face inescapable.

While I pushed my palms into my eyes to try and erase the images, a hand came up and began rubbing up and down my back. I jumped at the unexpected touch, turning around to see Spencer, half awake, holding his hand away from me.

“Sorry, sorry. Didn’t know if-“ he cut himself off as he rubbed the sleep from his eyes and sat up. “I should’ve said something before I touched you. Are you okay?” I couldn’t really answer, opting to nod slightly and turn back away from him.

“Nightmare,” I finally whispered, wringing my fingers together as I stared resolutely at the duvet cover. He was sitting up next to me now, and slowly moved his arm so it was wrapped around my shoulders. It gave me ample time to say no, but when the contact finally came I sank into it with a heavy sigh. I rested my head on his shoulder and his arm gripped me tighter. “When do they stop?” I asked quietly. Spencer sighed underneath me.

“I don’t know.” He admitted. I leaned back to look at him, shocked.

“There’s no statistics up there about how long dreams last as a trauma response?” I raised my hand and tapped his temple, smiling with my disbelief. He smiled back, but it was tinged with sadness. I let my hand rest on his cheek.

“There are. But personal experience has led to inconclusive results. They certainly get fewer and farther apart, but I don’t know when they stop.” He admitted. I let my cheek rest against his shoulder while still looking at him.

“I didn’t realize.”

He shook his head at my words. “It’s hard to talk about.” He got quiet and looked away from me, my hand falling from his face to his chest. “Sometimes I think it’s embarrassing, because of how long it’s been.”

“It’s not embarrassing. I think we all get them, just from the job itself. Let alone some of the things we’ve gone through.” I reassured him. My hand came back up to his cheek to turn his face back to mine. “If you ever need help, please tell me. You know I’m here for you.”

Our eye contact held for a moment too long, and for a second I thought I saw his eyes drift to my lips. I blinked and looked away after that, pushing away thoughts of kissing him. They had plagued me before, when we had moments on my couch, or after a hard case. But never before had I known how it felt, had I spent hours kissing him as if it was normal. It hurt to swallow down the urge to press my lips to his. I looked down at my hands and played with my fingers.

“I’m gonna go get a glass of water.” I said, crawling out of the bed and leaving the room without looking back at him. It felt almost frantic, the way I fumbled to get a cup filled with water and chugged down half of it in one gulp. I took deep breaths, bracing myself against the kitchen sink. The nightmare had rattled me greatly, the flashes still passing through my head, now intertwined with thoughts of Spencer. I had never loved someone so much that it physically hurt, but right now it felt like my chest was caving in.

The drain of the sink looked endless, and I stared into the abyss like it might have answers. I knew now that I couldn’t go back to being his best friend after this. Not without a long break where I could get a hold of myself. Every time I looked in his eyes for the next however long, I would remember what it felt like to be in his arms. To have his lips pressed against mine. To hear him whisper ‘I love you’. I took a heaving breath and let my head fall back, closing my eyes. I would have to tell him how I felt, to explain why I needed space.

After this was over, I would tell him. I couldn’t risk making him uncomfortable for the rest of the mission. Maybe he wouldn’t hate me, maybe he would understand. I hoped he would understand and give me time so that, eventually, I could have him in my life. The thought of losing him for good scared me more than the thought of him breaking my heart.

I looked back down at the drain, decided. The day this case was over, I would come clean.

The bedroom door opened and closed, and I realized I had probably been standing in the kitchen for long enough that it was suspicious. I didn’t even turn to look, staring resolutely at the sink. His soft footsteps approached slowly, and I expected them to stop in the doorway, but they continued until he was standing directly behind me. Despite his proximity, I still jumped slightly as his arms wrapped around my waist.

I stiffened momentarily before relaxing into his arms, knowing not to blow our cover. His touch was simultaneously comforting and torturous, his hands soothing my skin and twisting my heart all in one glide over my stomach. My hands gripped his wrists and I leaned my head back against his shoulder. He dropped his face into my neck, first just breathing there and then pressing light kisses up and down the length of it. I closed my eyes and let out a sigh, relaxing back into him further.

If I was going to give this up forever at the end of the week, I might as well relish in the short time I had. It wasn’t like I had a choice.

Spencer’s lips found his way to my ear, nipping lightly at my ear lobe which made me giggle. “I’m sorry you had such a bad night.” He whispered in my ear.

“I’m sorry you had to witness that,” I answered honestly. He frowned against my neck, pressing a light kiss there before pulling away and spinning me around. His hands gripped the counter on either side of me, and he towered over me. I put my hands on his shoulders, and looked into his eyes.

“I can’t promise you that they’ll ever stop, but I can promise you never have to go through them alone. I’ll always be here for you.” Spencer said, and I felt myself tearing up because I knew he couldn’t keep that promise. But I smiled at the sentiment, because I knew he meant to. I would be the one stopping him, refusing his comfort, because at some point it would be too painful to bear.

“Thank you. That means a lot.” I admitted, letting my arms wrap around his shoulders and pulling him down for a hug. His arms wrapped tightly around my waist and he buried his face into my neck. I did the same, inhaling deeply, his scent calming me more than it should have. It almost made me feel like I was using him, using the situation, getting more out of it than he knew, it felt deceptive. But I couldn’t help but accept the comfort.

He pulled back just enough to catch my lips in his, and my heart lurched in my chest. There was no tongue or heavy petting, but it wasn’t a short peck either. It was a long kiss full of love and passion, his hands roaming my back and my arms still wrapped tightly around his neck. We held each other like that, lips pressed together and moving in gentle caresses. My mind was lost in the feeling of kissing him, and I felt far away from the shaky girl who just had a nightmare.

When he pulled away, our eyes blinked open at the same time, and our eye contact held. I felt laid bare, so vulnerable and open that I thought my love must be written across my face in bold letters. If it was, it felt like it was in a language he couldn’t read.

“I love you,” He said plainly. At this point I had heard him say those words to me a hundred different times, from the totally platonic versions I heard before this case, to the confusing ones I had heard during. But this time it felt the most like an admission. Something about his tone wiggled into my head and whispered he meant it. I shook the thought away quickly, knowing it was a fantasy and I was seeing things that weren’t there.

To distract myself from his piercing gaze, I pulled him in for another kiss. This one was shorter, slightly more desperate as my fingers dug into his cheeks. “I love you too.” I whispered against his lips, without even opening my eyes.

He pulled away from me, pressing one more kiss to my lips before he said, “I think we should try to sleep again.”

I nodded, sighing as I turned around to grab my water. He grabbed my hand and led me back to the bedroom. When he got in the room, he didn’t let go immediately like he usually did. He held onto me until we split to go on either side of the bed, and I put down my glass of water quickly before crawling under the covers.

Spencer immediately pulled me towards him, gently guiding me back into his arms. I nuzzled into his chest and took deep breaths, one of his hands stroking up and down my back. Drifting off to sleep came easier than expected.

[Night 4]

<<<<>>>>

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#spencer reid x reader #spencer reid fan fiction #spencer reid blurb #criminal minds fan fiction #criminal minds #spencer reid fanfic #dear spence #my writing #my post #hope you all enjoy!!!#this is maybe my fave chapter #other than the end

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1kook · 4 years

Text

youtube & use lube

part 7 of my netflix and chill collection!

summary: You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube. warnings: smut in the forms of nipple play, handjobs, spit kink, face riding, unprotected, flavored warming lube, riding, praise kink, soft femdom, missionary bc his eyes are pretty, tit sucking, more jk has an impreg kink, oh and this is all subby kook rating: mature (18+) miscellaneous: domesticity baby!! fluff, soft scenes /.\, jk is sick:((, doyeon is A Doctor, yn sees an opportunity and she grabs it, surprise ending <3 word count: 8.7k

notes: finally…. 7 parts later and we get ~✨💓sub kook💓✨~ this was honestly my fave to write I think because I was obSESSEDDD with his softness and yn leading hehe /.\ also yeah we time jumped 6 months bc uhmmm 😎 story progression also here’s [ THE KOOK U SHOULD IMAGINE FOR THIS 😡 ] also if see a typo ummm no u didn't .

let me know what u think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

Despite what past experiences may dictate, Jungkook’s body is actually quite resilient. It’s due in part to his obnoxiously healthy lifestyle; avocado breakfasts, gym rat tendencies, and a normal person’s circadian rhythm (you could never relate). He lives the life health professionals can only dream of writing down in their notes, so careful of his well-being that it’s almost annoying. Of all the habits you help him break, the rituals he sometimes forgets, his health is never one and it’s actually one he ropes you into quite often. The ladder accident last summer had truly been an odd occurrence, and for a while after, you doubt anything else will ever happen to him.

And then winter comes.

Now, Jungkook, with all his superior bodily systems and strict lifestyle, is still not immune to the common cold. So when he comes down with a stuffy nose, a saggy frame, you’re not too surprised. It’s right after New Year’s, which you had spent it at one of Taehyung’s classic overcrowded parties this year, shivering on a rooftop as he kissed you silly under the fireworks, so one of you was bound to get sick. And you were sick for Halloween, so it’s only the universe’s way of leveling the playing field when he gets sick after New Years.

What does surprise you is when he doesn’t bounce back right away. Usually, Jungkook’s high caliber immune system has him in tip top shape about two days later. But this time around, it takes a while. In fact, it takes longer than usual, and you don’t realize until you’re coming over on a Friday night, met with an unusual silence at the Jeon household.

As you slowly grew accustomed to your life out of school, you and Jungkook accepted that you didn’t really have time to be glued to each other’s hips at all hours of the day. It was only natural that sometimes you had too much work, were too tired, or were just not in the mood to visit each other. That was fine, and you’ve come to quite appreciate this new routine, because it only made your heart flutter faster than before when you did see him next. You don’t have to see each other everyday, and that was fine; it was part of growing up together (and growing old together, your sappy heart says).

But today, this separation ends up being your downfall. Jungkook first showed signs of a cold on Monday, and now it was Friday and you hadn’t heard from him in two days. You’re beginning to suspect he’s come down with something severe— maybe that strain of the flu that he forgot to get vaccinated for this year —or even worse, dead.

Luckily, Jungkook isn’t dead, just sadly slumped across the end of his bed, nose a bright red and hair a tangled mess. “Oh no,” you frown, but there’s not an ounce of distress in your voice, because boy, was he cute.

He groans at the sight of you. “Don’t look at me,” he whimpers, hands fisting the sheets. “I’m ugly.”

You bite down on a smile, hang your bag on the hook behind his bedroom door. He’s barely making an effort to stay on the bed, clinging to the side with such powerless hands. “Absolutely hideous,” you play along, arms wrapping around his middle. Registering your touch, your support, he immediately releases what little grip he had and almost sends the two of you tumbling to the ground. “My poor baby,” you croon, manhandling him back into the comfort of his sheets.

Perhaps the reason you believed Jungkook was so immune was because, well, he never let you see him sick.

He was picky about his presentation to the world, always wanting to show his best side. And well, you were in that world. Hell, you were probably the main person he wanted to show off for (not to toot your own horn), so he avidly avoided showing you his unpleasant sides. Even in college, when you had been practically stuck to his side, he had always made a big deal of pushing you away when he was sick, calling off dates and hiding away at his house.

You sort of knew why. Namjoon had told you once that Jungkook when drunk was the equivalent of a needy, whiny baby. You could attest to that because wine drunk Jungkook and vodka drunk Jungkook were quite the experiences to haul home. And apparently Jungkook when sick was more or less the same. He was all doe eyes and pouty lips, magnified by his weakened appearance. He was adorable.

He’s wearing a lot of layers, but it’s still winter so you don’t think too much of it. Dark long sleeve sweatshirt, the front tucked into some cute brown and black checkered pants. You see it as just some casual at home attire until you reach for his covers, hand brushing his hair from his face, only to find it ice cold.

“Oh, you’re freezing, honey,” you frown, for real this time. Jungkook whimpers, snuggles into the sheets you pull up to his chin. He dozes off soon after, pouty lips chapped to hell and back. You reach for your chapstick, deciding to get one good use of it on your own lips before contaminating it with Jungkook’s sick germs. Even in his sleep he’s a good boy, rolling his lips together after you’ve applied it on him.

With Jungkook knocked out, you pad back downstairs and into his kitchen. You can more or less infer that he’s come down with something a little more intense than a cold. His skin was cold, and his nose was runny, but, oddly enough, he wasn’t sweating. You decide to consult a professional.

“The little gremlin is sick?” Doyeon repeats, a comforting buzz in your ear as you get to work making Jungkook your famous Get Better Soon Soup, idly waiting for the water to boil over. You confirm. Doyeon, legend that she was, accidentally sat an entire physiology class one semester (and passed), so this is the closest you’ll get to a doctor friend. “Hm,” she says, “what’re his symptoms?”

You press your phone between your ear and shoulder, clattering around Jungkook’s kitchen for ingredients. “Runny nose and colder than your ass that one time you passed out in the snow,” you supply. “Oh, but not sweating.”

Doyeon hums over the line, tells you to give her a second, and disappears. “WebMD is saying fever, but you said he’s not sweating?” You confirm again. “Throw him in front of the heater and make him sweat then. He has to burn it out somehow.”

“I can’t do that,” you sigh, pausing when you hear some vague sound from around the house. It’s not Jungkook, so you return to your call. Anyway, Jungkook’s house is, like, perfect. Always warm when need be and always cold as well. You don’t even think he knows what a space heater is. “He’s sick sick. Like, can barely hold himself up sick.”

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

Anyway, Jungkook probably has a fever, except it’s weird because he’s not sweating it out. He wakes up about an hour later, but this time he’s more self aware. He eats his soup and takes the medicine you offer him. Afterwards, he can’t go back to sleep so he huffily asks for his iPad and begins watching some weirdly specific YouTube videos you don’t think you’ve ever seen him watch before.

You have absolutely no idea what he’s watching, some niche videos of guys in Singapore turning random forest areas into underwater pools? You don’t know. Jungkook seems interested, though, for all of ten minutes until he falls asleep again.

He’s still cold, poor baby, nose like an ice cube that just won’t melt. You find a heating pad you left over in his closet and place it on his chest. Your thought process is that if his heart, the source of all energy, was warm, then certainly the rest of him will warm up soon enough. Yeah, you missed the last three seasons of Grey’s Anatomy; you were a little rusty.

So with Jungkook fast asleep and nothing else to do, you assume the age-old, patriarchal task of cleaning around the house.

His house was usually neat and tidy, mostly as a result of Jungkook’s virgo manifestations, but even those varied. His living room tended to be spotless, but his personal office was a different story. But with him having been out of it this past week, the entire house is littered in tiny garbage that would make Normal Jungkook burst a blood vessel.

There’s a pile of Reese’s wrappers in the downstairs bathroom, on the sink next to his toothbrush. The sight makes you sad, because your poor boy must have been struggling if he was eating candy in the bathroom, where he… uses the bathroom. And then that thought makes you even sadder, thinking back to all the times he was sick and alone, fending for himself out of his weird embarrassment of showing normal body functions.

You had thought he was cute when you first arrived— he still was —but he was also so weak and frail, bulky muscles rendered useless by whatever bacteria was attacking his body, making him sleepy and in pain for god knows how long. With a resolute nod, you sweep all the wrappers into the trash and decide to do your very best at helping Jungkook get through this sickness and bounce back better than ever.

Before leaving his bathroom, you ransack his cabinets, deciding he probably keeps most of his antibiotics here. It’s a spot you never really snoop around, because Jungkook always keeps a fully stocked basket in his closet filled with your typical necessities— from conditioner to pads to nail polish remover, he kept it all. And furthermore, you always tended to use his upstairs bathroom anyway, so that’s where your toothbrush and the like were kept. There was really no need for you to ever look through the downstairs bathroom’s cabinet. So the downstairs bathroom cabinet is practically the other side of the world to you, a culture shock so strong it has you plopping down in front of it to thoroughly sift through.

He’s got a disgusting amount of hair products, none of which you actually think you’ve ever seen him use, and a maniacal amount of tooth stuff. Now, you were quite possibly the biggest proponent for dental care, but this was ridiculous. Four packs of floss on reserve, and about three cases of those dental picks. A whole family pack of toothbrushes and one of those cute little cases for his retainer you’ve seen a few times.

So overwhelmed with his ungodly stash of dental hygiene utilities, you almost miss the pretty pink tube hidden in the very back corner.

You’re thinking it’s some makeup primer you left before that he mistook for moisturizer, probably dumped it with all his other things, only to find out you are very, very wrong.

Sensation Warming Lubricant: NOW! in strawberry flavor

You blink.

Lubricant? Jungkook was using lubricant? Strawberry, sensation warming lubricant?!

Somewhere in your mind you had convinced yourself that Jungkook was a simple man, a lotion at his bedside drawer type of man. He had you for the last one and half year, and you two fucked like rabbits, so you hardly doubt he was jacking it alone these days. And even if he was, why on earth was he so specific about the type of lube he uses?

You turn the bottle around, eyes scanning for an expiration date or something of the like, only to find that the copyright symbol was under this current year. The year that had just started, like, two weeks ago.

Oh, so this was new.

You turn it over, eyes scanning over the warnings like it’ll tell you something about your boyfriend you don’t know yet, some other hidden secret that he’s maybe held from you. Granted, owning lube isn’t really a big deal, but the fact he’s got it so hidden away (not really, it was casually sitting beside his sunscreen) was definitely something to zero in on.

Strawberry flavored, you read again, warming, stimulating, edible? Forget his weirdly extensive floss collection, you had stumbled upon something amazing in here, the goddamn Hope Diamond among snooping girlfriend finds. You’ll confront him about this later, you decide, when he’s back to normal and not whiningly calling your name from upstairs. You pocket it for now, tucking it into your cardigan pockets for said later interrogation, and bound up the stairs to him again.

He’s sitting up in bed like a very angry and confused toddler, brows furrowed sharply like he’s mad. Actually, he just can’t see, the light from the hallway blinding him, so you shut the door and flick on his bedside lamp for him instead. “Hi, honey,” you coo, sitting down on the edge beside him. He’s still waking up, leaning a little too heavily into your palm when you cup his face. “How’re you feeling?”

“Terrible,” he rasps out, but he’s definitely looking better than before. You don’t know if you imagine it, but there’s this slowly accumulating sweat that forms along the base of his neck. “Please don’t leave again,” he says softly, droopy eyes glassy.

Something shoots straight to your heart— an arrow from Cupid himself! —that makes you stroke his cheek tenderly until his eyelids are fluttering shut again. “I won’t,” you promise, feeling around for his iPad. He doesn’t seem like he’ll fall back asleep, sitting up with more strength than he had that morning.

You end up climbing behind him, let him be the little spoon you know he secretly craves to be, as he watches his weird YouTube videos again. His body is so warm against yours, but his skin is still so cold. If what Doyeon had said was true, it’s no wonder he’s kept the same sickness all week. The rhythmic sound of machetes hacking at the earth and water trickling through bamboo pipes grows on you, makes you fall into a sense of comfort behind him, arms tracing circles over his chest.

It’s a mindless habit, one you actually do a lot. Most of the time, it’s when he’s at his desk and stressed out, your masseuse hands making an appearance to soothe the muscles in his neck and chest from being hunched over for so long. Even now, your fingers unconsciously press into the fabric over his pecks, tickle up his sternum until he’s melting against you.

It takes one quiet whimper from him to let you know exactly how he’s feeling. “Everything alright?” you inquire, halting your movements over his chest. Jungkook nods shakily, head lolling forward. The nape of his neck calls to you, whispers for a kiss that you tenderly bestow upon it. It makes Jungkook jolt, another pretty sound leaving his lips at the press of your warm lips against his sensitive neck.

“No more,” he mumbles, rolls his head around until it’s resting against your shoulder, giving you a clear view down his chest. You slide your hands back up from where they’d gone stiff just around his ribs, let them palm over his pecs. Jungkook’s hips buck, a minuscule movement you almost miss.

His heart thunders like the inside of a horse race track beneath your palm, breath picking up just from the simple motion of your hands on his chest. It’s on the fourth circle around his pecs that you feel your pinky briefly catch on something. “Poor thing,” you sigh, running the pad of your pointer finger over the hardened nipple that peaks beneath his sweatshirt. “Is this what was bothering you?”

A shaky exhale in response, hands tightly clutching at his iPad and beloved YouTube video genre. “N-No,” he denies, but you chance a peak at his face, where his lips are bitten a rosy pink color, its slightly muted sister rushing down his cheeks, over his neck.

You press the lightest of kisses to the side of his neck, and he shivers. “Need me to take care of you?” you purr, trail your hands down his chest towards where the hem of his sweater sits. You run your finger over it twice, before moving to slip your hand beneath. Your fingers brush along his abs, contracted tightly at your touch, and slowly make their way back up his chest.

Fingers find his pebbled nipples, a gasp escaping his lips. “Does this feel good?” you ask softly, pinching the swollen nubs between your fingers. Jungkook groans, body arching just the slightest as you rub his nipples, tug and twist them until he’s a whining mess. “Need you to tell me, honey,” you encourage, lips ghosting over his neck.

The second kiss has him flinching as well, head rapidly turning the other way as you slowly kiss over his neck. “___, please,” he pants, knuckles pale on the sides of the iPad. You're afraid it’ll snap, if not from his grip then from the way he pushes at it, like he’s breaking a wooden board over his knee. It’s still on YouTube, playing another video from the same collection, volume competing with Jungkook’s tiny sounds.

Pressing your lips to his neck, you kiss along it slowly, reveling in the lovely noises that Jungkook produces the more you rub his nipples, lower body squirming animatedly before you. Your kisses grow wet for a short period, suck purple blossoms across his skin until Jungkook is quivering like a leaf. “E-Enough,” he begs, voice a wobbly mess that is so light and airy.

You grin, giving his rockhard nipples one last flick before sliding your hands down his chest, over his stomach to toy with the elastic of his pants. He inhales sharply, iPad nearly snapped in half mid video. Ready to play with him some more (and slightly afraid for the future of his tablet), you reach out a hand to move it away, set it off to the side.

But Jungkook doesn’t release it. In fact, he clings to the damn piece of tech tighter than before. “Hmm?” you murmur, bottom lip brushing against his neck once more. “Not letting go, sweetheart?”

He shakes his head, soft crown of curls bouncing from the movement. “Can’t, can’t,” he shivers. His knees shift back and forth, move between being casually spread and flush together. Like he’s hiding something, using the iPad and the videos on screen as cover. You tug at his wrist and Jungkook shakes his head again.

You change tactics, hand sliding around his wrist instead. The other travels up, up, up, comes curling around the base of his neck. Jungkook whimpers, tilts his head back for you cutely at the first brush of your fingers against his Adam’s apple. “Thought you were my good boy?” you ask, eyes zeroed in on the tremble of his lower lip.

Jungkook exhales shakily, a rather torn expression crossing his features. “I am,” he insists, fingers still tight “I am your good boy.”

You smile, stroking the front of his neck softly as you lean down to press a kiss against his cheek. “You are, aren’t you?” He whimpers. “Then let go, honey,” you murmur, hand on his wrist giving another experimental tug. Still, his grip remains solid. “Jungkook,” you snap, “let go.”

“Y-You’ll laugh,” he cries, yet his grip slowly weakens. It’s with a swift tug that the iPad tumbles to his side, presses against his hip, and shows you the raging hard-on that stirs beneath the front of his cotton pants. Pressed nearly beside your ear, Jungkook shivers.

Ever so slowly, your hands return to their place around his waist. “Why would I laugh, sweetheart?” you mumble, marveling at the way his cock twitches and jumps beneath his pants before you can even touch it. His shirt is hiked up just above his abs, your hands tenderly stroking over the skin beneath his navel, but it’s got Jungkook writhing. “Hips up for me,” you instruct.

He shakes even when he pushes himself up, knees wobbling as you slip your hands beneath his waistband and tug them down his thighs. Afterwards, his legs flop forward flatly, spread out with his beautiful swollen cock on display against his hip.

You trap it at the base and Jungkook mewls, hands fisting the sheets now that his beloved iPad has been snatched away. It’s still playing his videos, interrupting his saccharine moans with corny ads every few minutes. A hand snaps up to join, opposite of yours, until your fingers are entwined around his dick. How romantic, you think, discreetly rolling your hips back against the mattress. “Gonna help me make you cum?” you ask instead, give him a light squeeze that makes him jolt.

“Uh huh,” he responds, feathery.

You reward him with a kiss to his cheek, reaching up to brush away the hair that’s begun sticking to his forehead. In the very back of your head you recognize this as being good for his fever, but the rest of you is more concerned with the pretty pout on his lips. “Hold tight for me,” you smile, releasing his cock to press your finger against the very tip of his cock where a pearly drop of precum has begun forming. “So pretty, Jungkookie,” you praise, teasing the length of your finger over the slit on his head. It has that juicy droplet coating your finger, gliding seamlessly over and over again.

The simple touch makes him buck, has him blindly wrapping an arm around your bent knee that was pressed to his side this whole time. He squeezes around you rather weakly, the majority of his strength going to holding his cock tightly like you’d instructed. He’s such a good boy for you, trying his absolute best, even when you’re very obviously overwhelming him.

You roll the flat side of your finger over him, his mushroom tip slowly growing more and more slick as he produces more precum. It’s shiny, fits perfectly between your clasped fingers when you squeeze around his head. Jungkook’s breath turns labored.

He’s always so well kept down there, skin so smooth and free of hairs, and you know he does it because he wants to impress you. “So pretty, baby,” you hum, acknowledging his efforts. Your praise makes Jungkook moan, suddenly fucking up into his hand. It’s accidental, because he hisses at the drag of his dry palm around his relatively dry dick immediately.

“Hurts, hurts,” he whimpers prettily, lower lip caught between his teeth.

You frown, slide your wet fingers down the base of his cock until they’re wrapping around his and Jungkook’s little gasps even out. “I’m sorry, baby, you gotta be patie—“

Something presses against your hip, something distinctly hard that you had hastily picked up from his bathroom cabinet earlier, and a whole new door opens before your eyes. “Hold still for me,” you tell him quickly as you release your grip around his cock. Jungkook wails at the separation, but you’re more concerned with wrestling the tube out of your pocket with one hand. It’s heavy in your palm, turning over until that big fat label on front comes into view again.

Jungkook explodes at the sight. “Wh— Where did you find that?” he stammers, cheeks ablaze. “I-I don’t know where that came fro—“

You ignore him, hold the bottle of lubricant over his stomach as you uncap it, a gooey pink substance spilling over into your hands the moment the lid pops off. Jungkook is still rambling away about the origins of the bottle, as if you care. You set the bottle on his tummy, the cold plastic makes him shiver. But you know what’s not cold? The warming lube in your hands that only takes three rubs of your palms to activate.

You latch down like a crazed animal around his cock. With both your hands fighting to grip at his cock, you’re pressed closer against Jungkook, lips against the shell of his ear.

The initial touch makes him sob, back arching and legs kicking at the sheets piled at the foot of the bed as your slick hands track the lube over his dick. “No!” he cries, hands wildly reaching out to grab whatever he can as you slowly get to work pulling him off. “I-I can’t, __, I can’t.”

“You can,” you coo, watching the translucent pink substance coat his cock, join his sticky precum.

Maybe you get overexcited in your efforts, forget Jungkook is the way he is right now because he was still a little weak from his fever, but you go crazy on stroking his cock. One hand lingers around the base, squeezing and rolling over his balls, palm pressing against the hardened sac and squeezing there too. The other focuses at the tip, does most of the actual stroking over his cock. His head is leaking precum now, every stroke and squeeze making him shudder and push out another drop, until it’s mixing with the lube to form a sticky sweet substance that you wanna lick at so bad.

So you do.

You release one hand to curiously bring it up to your face, turning it over and around as you examine the stickiness on your fingers, the fat drop that unintentionally drips onto the front of Jungkook’s sweatshirt. He sobs at the sight of your lips around your fingers, squirms and bucks into the hand still on his cock until he’s embarrassingly coming. “I’m sorry,” he wails, hands fisting the sheets, fucking into your hand like a virgin. “I didn’t— I didn’t mean to.”

You draw your hand away, watching in slow motion the cum that just spurted from his cock come dribbling down the slowly softening length now. “Oh, sweetheart,” you croon, hands on his tummy. The bottle of lube slips to the side, meets the still playing iPad at his hip. It’s sticky and gross to touch him like this, especially when you know Jungkook hates being unnecessarily dirty, but you can’t stop yourself from softly caressing him, soothe him after such a hard-hitting orgasm.

Honestly you had thought he would hold up a little more, let you get in a few more strokes, but he must’ve been more sensitive than you thought. “I’m sorry,” he cries again, head lolling to the side to meet your gaze with watery eyes.

You tilt his head to the side, angle him just right for you to bestow your first kiss of the night against his little pout. Jungkook hiccups, melts against you as you slowly guide him through the kiss. He’s sloppy and shy, moves nothing like your normal Jungkook, and that fact alone has you slipping your tongue past his lips. He doesn’t fight back, just lets you play with him and sighs all delicately against your mouth.

There’s something about this, his soft and submissive attitude, that has you pulling away to look at him. Big brown eyes, glassed over with unshed tears, and plush lips that call your name. And yet.

“Open,” you murmur, hypnotized by the way that tiny mouth moves.

“Huh?” Jungkook flushes, but he’s so good, he’s your good boy, and does so anyway. Lower lip quivers as he parts his lips, stuttering exhales creeping through as you purse your lips, let the saliva collect on your mouth, before rudely spitting into his. He flinches, whimpers softly, and swallows. He looks at you with these expectant eyes, like he wants to hear how much of a good boy he is, so you do exactly that.

You brush his bangs away lovingly. “Aren’t you just so good for me,” you purr, revel in the way his eyes flutter shut at your touch, like you could never hurt him, and you won’t.

As sweet as the moment is, there’s a raging fire in your core begging to be stroked, and your hyperfixation on Jungkook’s mouth lets you know there’s only one way to chase the feeling. “Up,” you tell Jungkook, who whimpers sadly when you finally escape from behind him.

But you don’t get too far, settling beside him on the bed until you’re looking at the damage you’ve caused from the front. His skin is sticky in some places, pink sheen of the lube decorating him from your incessant touching. Pants around his thighs, shirt against his chest. His face is flushed, all the way down to his chest and up to his ears, so rosy and pink all for you. He shies away under your gaze, drops his head to his chin bashfully.

You grin, shuffle forward to turn those pretty eyes back towards you. “Messy little thing,” you tease, slotting your mouths together again. Jungkook moans this time, lazily kissing you back. His lips move in slow motion, trembling hands reaching for your face to cup, your name falling from his lips when you pull away slightly. “Need you to help me out now,” you murmur, hand on his jaw. “Can you do that, honey?” Jungkook nods hurriedly, eyes foggy and on your mouth. “Lay back.”

He does so, rushes to lay against the pillows until he’s flat on his back. You get to work on your clothes, shed your cardigan and languidly tug your top over your head in the way you know makes your breasts bounce. Beneath you, Jungkook whines at the sight. “You too,” you remind him, wiggling out of your jeans. At your instruction, he begins fumbling with his clothes, pants and underwear haphazardly thrown over the edge of the bed.

By the time you’re naked, you’re met with a rather amusing sight.

In his haste to take his clothing off, Jungkook seems to have gotten himself tangled in his long sleeves, shirt awkwardly bunched up around his wrists and twisted over some. You chuckle. “Help please,” he asks so politely, shaking his arms back and forth above his head. But you’re genuinely confused as to what he did, because one of the sleeves wraps around the other, pins the bulk of the fabric to his skin, and then the other wraps around that. A mess you don’t bother dissecting, simply climbing over him. He complains, of course, soft huffs you wave off.

“Don’t need them anyway,” you shrug, can’t help the lovesick look you send him when you brush his hair away for the umpteenth time. Jungkook leans into the touch sweetly, rosy cheek pressed against your palm. “Lemme see your pretty little tongue,” you order, pussy clenching when he does as told and rolls his tongue out for you, tip pressed against his bottom lip. “Good boy.”

A soft whimper, and then you’re shuffling over him, pretty doe eyes watching with amazement when you finally hover over his face. “For me?” he asks so softly, so sweetly.

It’s a question you’ve heard him utter countless times before in similar settings, always with a cocky grin and mean eyes, ready to send you to hell and back with his tongue or his cock. But it’s different now, big shiny eyes looking at you like you’re the greatest thing to ever happen in his life, so pliant and demure beneath your touch like he lived to serve you.

“All for you,” you assure him, get comfortable, and slowly lower your pussy over his face. His eyes flutter shut immediately, pink tongue ready for you by the time your dripping cunt nears his face.

You can’t help the moan that tears itself from your throat, a soft cry as he begins lapping against your folds. He’s so tender, so careful. It drives you crazy. Hands above his head squirming as you slowly grind your pussy over his face, more mindful than usual because he was so delicate tonight, like a baby bird that shivers with the simplest touch.

His tongue is smooth, circles around your clit. He nudges your bundle of nerves back and forth a few times, sends an initial wave of tingles down your spine, before taking it between puckered lips. His slurps it into his mouth, where it’s so hot and wet, it makes your grind stutter. “Oh,” you pant, reaching down to tangle your fingers in his hair. “P-Perfect,” you mumble.

The praise makes his features twist up cutely, mouth desperate to get more out of you. “You like that?” you gasp, holding his head still as he runs his tongue along your folds. Jungkook nods, eyes glazed over as he messily begins eating you out. “Like when I tell you you’re a good boy, Jungkookie?”

He lets out a broken whine, the vibrations shooting up your spine and making you shiver. Tongue pressed in at your entrance, prods gently like it’s his first time (it’s not) and he’s gauging your reactions. “Oh baby,” you shudder, fingers tightening in his curls.

He looks like an angel beneath you like this, halo of curls artfully splayed across the sheets, arms knotted above his head. Big pretty eyes that make you want to lay down and be his bitch instead, their power just so strong even when he’s whining and whimpering against your pussy like this. His tongue dips into your cunt, makes you buck against him by accident. “I’m sorry, angel,” you breathe, so caught up in your thoughts that the name just slips. It makes Jungkook’s cheeks flush a pretty pink, arms tug at their makeshift restraints. But his brain is scattered, torn between releasing himself, eating you out, and being shy.

He settles soon enough, ends up just sticking his tongue out flat for you to grind against, using the grip in his curls to drag your pussy over his face. His scalp feels warm, sweat clinging to his hairline. He sighs endearingly against you, and it’s that final puff of warm air against your folds that has you coming, cum dripping over his lips and chin sinfully.

When you finish, you quickly get off of him, lay down beside him. Jungkook is panting softly, tongue peeking out to taste the cum that splattered against the corner of his lips. “You were so good for me,” you praise, idly dragging your finger across his skin, collecting your cum on the tip.

Jungkook looks at you with a heavy gaze, knotted wrists slowly returning to rest over his abdomen. “Can you… Can you call me that again?” he asks hesitantly, so shy and polite.

“Hm?” you ask. “Angel?” His lips part, an awfully aroused look crossing his features. You smile, press your cum loaded finger against his lips and he opens, sucks around your finger and moans. “My pretty little angel,” you purr, slowly thrusting your finger in and out of his mouth. Before you can stop yourself, you’re leaning over to kiss him again, swallowing his cries in your desperate need to taste yourself on his tongue. Jungkook is more active this time around, daringly challenging your tongue with his before ultimately giving up, languidly following the pace you set for the kiss. You pull off with a pop, leave him dazed and trailing after your mouth cutely.

You pat his cheek once, offer him a tender smile, before moving to get up and clean up. Jungkook whines at your departure, and it’s only once you’ve sat up that you realize why.

Half hard cock at his hip, fattening slowly but surely. Instantly, it’s like the post-orgasm fatigue is yanked away, pussy throbbing at the sight of your angel and his cock, swelling from eating you out and kissing. He was too good to be true.

“Oh, you poor thing,” you sigh dramatically, shifting onto your knees at his hip to look at him. Something pokes your leg; it’s the stupid iPad playing his dorky YouTube videos that you click off and chuck to the other side of the bed. You had had enough of that by now.

He’s not at full mast yet, and he’s not getting there quick enough for your liking. So you take matters into your own hands. (Besides, what was stopping you tonight? Certainly not this soft, pliant Jungkook.)

Kneeling between his legs, you reach for the forgotten bottle of lube, squirt a fat glob into your hands, then decide that isn’t enough and squirt it directly onto your chest. Jungkook watches with wide eyes, lower lip caught between his teeth. “What— What’re you doing?” he stammers, can’t even sit up with his hands held together. “__, y-you don’t have—“

Squeezing your breasts together, you slip his cock between the crevice, watch as his angry head comes out on the other side so easily, so slippery. Oh, this was gonna be post-work, shower-time, spank bank material for months.

Jungkook sobs, loud and unfiltered at the sight, expression torn as he watches you slowly work your tightened breasts down his quickly hardening member. “T-Too much, too much,” he cries, squirming and bucking beneath you. “I-I’ll come—”

“Don’t,” you snap, stilling your moments to flick your eyes back to him. His head is rolled back, jaw strained, but when he manages to lift it up and look down at you, there’s tears that streak his cute face, trails that glisten when the lowlight of the lamp hits him just right. “Don’t fucking come yet, Jungkook.”

He sniffles weakly, more tears spilling from his eyes. “But I— it feels,” he blubbers, knotted hands reaching down for the base of his cock. You slap it away. “___, please,” he wails, face flushed from all his conflicting emotions.

Ignoring his cries, you get back to work, moving your upper body to and fro to simulate the thrusting motion he is too weak to do himself. He whimpers pitifully, more tears leaving his eyes when you lean down and spit on the head of his cock when it emerges next, make it join the rest of the ungodly fluids painting your chest. Honestly, you’re certain it’s that damned strawberry flavored, sensation warming, edible lube that makes this experience so enjoyable, so mind-blowing.

Jungkook seems to agree, stuttering out a messy whine. “Feels weird,” he snivels, only to be cut off when you release him from in between your tits. Immediately, he begins lamenting the loss.

Slowly, you ease him back in. You’re beginning to understand the intensity of that damned warming lube, because with each glide of his cock between your breasts, it’s like a tingle of nerves sparks within you, insides folding in on themselves as they channel all their energy to that one area of hastily spread lube. It feels so good and wet and messy, Jungkook’s whiny sniffles only fueling the experience. His cock twitches dangerously, and you flash him a glare. “Jungkook,” you warn.

“I’m sorry,” he weeps, thrashing back and forth as if that makes it any easier. “I just— I want,” he chokes, hips bucking into the suction you’ve created between your boobs. Tentatively, you stick your tongue out, let his tip brush against it on the next thrust. Jungkook curses, a feral groan escaping his lips. “Wanna fuck,” he seethes, “now.”

It’s but a slight peek into his regular personality, his normal mannerisms. But something about it now annoys you. In fact, it pisses you off, seeing him be so complacent and sweet just to try and overthrow you at the last second. And it’s with this same train of thought that you release him, climb over him like a crazed sex demon, and press your hand to his throat.

“You're supposed to be good,” you spit, scowl turned on him and it immediately has Jungkook drawing back with his tail tucked, falling into line as he should. “You’re supposed to be my angel tonight, remember?”

Jungkook nods, big round eyes looking at you like you’re insane, but the cock that presses against your ass tells you that he likes it. “I-I’m sorry,” he stutters, shrinking back into the mattress. Sticky hands around his throat, probably make him warm and tingly, but all you can think about is those pretty eyes. Sensing your wavering emotions, he takes advantage by tilting his chin forward for you cutely, pink lips trembling as he silently asks for a kiss.

You release him.

“Stupid angel,” you huff, mouth against his. “Gonna make me mad if you don’t act right,” you remind him, pushing his sweaty curls away from his face. He whimpers against your mouth, let’s you play with his hair as you calm down. He’s a blushing mess beneath you, every inch of him flushed and warm and sweaty.

You shift back and are met with his still rock hard member against your ass. You touch him appreciatively, reaching back to stroke him with a half-assed grip. It makes him moan nonetheless, pulling away from your lips to mewl against your shoulder. “Wanna fuck?” you hum, curling your hand over the tip like he likes, watching his head roll back against his pillow at the sensation. Jungkook groans, doesn’t seem to hear you now. You try again. “Wanna fuck my pussy, baby?”

“Yes,” he gasps this time, jolts when you press the tip of your finger against the slit on his head, plug his cock from releasing any more precum. “Please, please,” he begs, the hands on his chest straining against the shirt he still hasn’t managed to shake off.

One last kiss is delivered to him, a chaste one against his pout that makes him whine. “Whatever you want,” you purr, line him up.

Your hands are still sticky with the lube and so is his cock. Everything is sticky; his cock, you folds, your tits, his neck. It’s a big sticky, slippery mess, but you can’t even be annoyed because everything feels so good. Your tits tingle from whatever they put in that damn lube, nipples rock hard and extra swollen today, like if you don’t touch them you’ll die. You sink back into Jungkook’s throbbing cock, and the second his cock spreads the lube along your walls, you’re jolting because it just feels so damn good.

You can’t believe this is Jungkook’s preferred sick day treatment; YouTube, cuddles, and an ugly amount of lube.

His cock pushes past your folds, fits snugly inside of you just like it belongs. It still feels like the first time, feels like your first day where he was so perfect and sweet. Part of you wonders what would have become of you two if he had reacted like this that day, soft and whiny, when you first prepositioned him. Maybe the sexual aspect of your relationship would be entirely different today, maybe you’d be one the always leading.

But… you’re not sure if you’d want that. Leading is fun— hell, you’re certain this moment will be what you get engraved on your tombstone —but you were a pillow princess at heart with occasional dominant tendencies. You drool over this moment now, but if he asks for this again tomorrow you might actually bend over and die. It was a lot of work, keeping the energy going, and you find yourself having this newfound sense of respect for Jungkook as his cock slips past your folds.

Anyway, when you sit on his cock, fingers teasingly tightening around his throat, Jungkook’s eyes are weirdly focused on your tits. He’s been doing that a lot lately, losing his mind by just staring at your tits. On some occasions he puts them in his mouth, gets possessed by some titty loving monster and sucks on them until you’re trembling. It’s fine because it’s quite frankly a huge ego boost, but something him now makes you want to pick at him for it.

“They’re yours to taste, angel,” you hum, slowly rolling your hips over his fat cock. Jungkook whimpers, softly ruts up into your heat the next time you press down. “Tell me what you want,” you exhale, a breathy moan.

He doesn’t say anything, just drops his mouth open for you with a trembling lower lip. Tongue peeks out, eyes glazed over in his lust, looking every bit like those hentai ads he hates so much. But you fulfill his wishes, help him sit up until he’s flush against your chest. His awkwardly bound hands get squished in the middle, and he says, “m-my hands...”

“I’ve got you,” you soothe, undo his self-made restraints and toss them to the side. Immediately, he’s wrapping his arms around you, pulling you flush against him to latch his lips around your breasts. “S-Slow down,” you whine, hands on his biceps as he sucks your tit into his mouth, twirls his tongue around your nipple. He’s good with his tongue even when he’s sick.

He pulls off with a pop, ragged breathing only making you more sensitive as it fans over the thin layer of saliva he leaves on your tits. “Tastes like strawberries,” he groans wondrously, head against your chest. You use the lull to get back to fucking yourself on him, but Jungkook’s got other plans. He rolls the two of you over, pins you beneath him with his hot and sweaty body. “I’m sorry,” he moans as he begins jackhammering his thrusts into you.

Your back arches, legs thrown around his waist as the sudden change of events. “Fffuck,” you heave, “harder, angel— gotta fuck like you mean it.”

Jungkook shudders, hands looped around the small of your back. His cock rams into you over and over, each glide of it against the walls of your pussy making you unravel in his arms. His lips latch around your other boob, suck and suck like he’s expecting something to come out.

That’s when it hits you.

“N-Nothing there,” you tell him, arms wrapped around his shoulders. His lashes are wet, eyes pinching tighter at your reminder. He pulls away almost to protest, but then you’re guiding him up to your face, hot breath mingling with yours. “Nothing there because you haven’t given me a baby yet,” you murmur darkly, watch the emotions flood his features as you tap into that taboo kink of his.

He chokes, grinds his cock into you and holds it there. “I-I didn’t,” he sniffs, “we never— you never said,” he whines, “...you wanted one.”

You cup his face in his hands, feel slightly mean for the pride you get from his tear stricken appearance. “I do,” you purr, lazily kissing him. “Want one if it’s from you. Don’t you?” He nods like an antsy puppy, quivering against you as he slowly and shallowly ruts into you. “Don’t you wanna see me like that, angel?” you egg on, hands looping behind his neck, idly playing with stray waves and curls. “Tummy so big and swollen because you did something bad, because you couldn’t pull out.”

Jungkook sobs, pulls you impossibly closer until the head of his cock is missing your cervix repeatedly. One of your legs is pressed nearly to your chest, hip tight from the force in which he holds you. “I-I want,” he agrees, more tears spilling down his cheeks.

You smirk evilly, kissing the corner of his mouth gently as he slowly picks up the pace of his thrusts. “Then fuck me hard, Jungkookie,” you demand, “fuck me full of your cum.”

Jungkook nods with a sniffle against your shoulder, fingers tightening against your skin as he slowly but surely begins nailing you into the mattress. He’s a good boy, always, because he does exactly what you tell him to. Uses those bulky muscles to hold you down, makes it impossible for you to move as he pistons his hips, cock sheathing itself inside your cunt.

Every drag makes you unconsciously clench, the raw feeling consuming your thoughts. His cock is so big and wet today, certainly due to that stupid lube from beneath his cabinet. Your entire pussy feels like it’s on ecstasy, stupidly geeked up by that lube, and you’re sure Jungkook’s cock feels the same. It makes the glide so much better, so much easier, each ram of his cock feeling so easy. “Oh, fuck,” you whimper, nails digging down his spine. Jungkook is a sobbing, sniffling mess against the crook of your neck, absolute gibberish falling from his lips.

But you’re no better, tongue seemingly set on a chaotic rampage to validate every single one of his fantasies. “Gonna fuck me while I’m pregnant?” you pant against his ear, fingers tugging at his hair. He doesn’t offer more than a strained cry, thrusts momentarily falling out of rhythm. “You would like that, huh? Fucking me when you’re not supposed to. You’re so bad, Kook-ah,” you gasp, eyes rolling to the back of your head. “Only pretend to be an angel but really you’re just a dirty, little pervert.”

He wails loudly, slams his hips so hard into you that it makes you sob as well. “N-No,” he blubbers, tears against your skin. “I’m good— I’m a good boy,” he stresses, fingers bruising their prints into your skin.

He presses so close, cock practically making your stomach bulge, but neither of you see. “Dirty angel,” you spit, yank his hair back roughly until he’s forced to look at you with that watery gaze. “So horny you’re willing to get me pregnant.”

Jungkook cries out, snaps his cock into you like he’s trying to break you in half. “No,” he heaves, tears dripping down his cheeks and onto yours. “I-I-I’d do it right,” he defends weakly, hips losing their demonic pace as his orgasm sneaks up on him. “Ma— Marry first… then, b— ba— bab—“

You swallow his words with your lips, kiss him like you’re on the verge of death in a desperate attempt to hide your tears from him. They paint your cheeks in stark strokes, trail down your skin and make everything blurry, but so does your orgasm.

You come first, heart and body trembling at his unexpectedly sweet words, as you become a whimpering, teary mess beneath him. Jungkook follows, cries out your name one last time as he busts inside of you.

Sticky and gross, he falls onto the pillow beside you. Poor baby is so tired, curls covering half of his face, but lips cutely puckered against the pillow. He’s sweaty as hell though, which you now vaguely remember was your original goal with all of this so you count this as a success.

You think he’s fallen asleep, sitting up slowly and reaching for that t-shirt that bound him together earlier to clean up. He shudders when you run it against his skin, obviously still overwhelmed. You shift around the bed in search of today’s MVP. “Where’s the lube?” you mutter to yourself.

Jungkook groans. “YouTube?” he asks, voice dry as all hell.

“No, honey, the lube we used,” you respond, running your hands over the sheets for any signs of the pink bottle.

“Want YouTube,” he mumbles, lets you swaddle him up in the blanket again. You roll your eyes and reach for the forgotten iPad that had long since tumbled to the floor. When it turns on, that same video from before is on pause so you don’t bother changing it as you hand it back to Jungkook. “Nice,” he murmurs, “underground water slide.”

You snort. “Weirdo.” He glares cutely, eyes barely open at this point. “Watch your YouTube.”

“Use your lube,” he sasses back softly, nonsensically, and then rather anticlimactically passes out.

There’s something soft in your chest, something so big and overwhelming, that has you bending over his sleeping figure, mouth brushing against his. “Hurry and get better, angel,” you whisper, wish on it with all your heart.

To no one’s surprise, you get sick two days later. Doyeon laughs and laughs for hours about it, tells you that’s what you get for using sex as medicine. But Jungkook’s back to normal, which means he stays over and coddles you to death.

“Hurry and get better,” he says, spoon feeding you your famous Get Better Soon Soup that you passed on to him. “I have a question to ask you.”

There’s a little black box in his downstairs bathroom cabinet that you swear you’ve never seen, but Jungkook knows you’re lying.

It fits perfectly.

epilogue

She scoffs. “And I care why?” You huff, go to scold her for their weird rivalry, but then she’s moving on. “Babe, just give him some pain relief and call it a day.”

“Fine,” you mumble. “Wait, can you look something else up for me?”

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