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1kook · 3 years

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viki & hickeys

the 8th installment to netflix & chill :~)

SUMMARY Just like in those Viki dramas Jungkook likes, the world around you is enveloped in shades of pink and red, kisses and hearts, so many goddamn roses it makes you sneeze. It’s absolutely perfect— nothing could possibly go wrong when there’s so much love in the air. WARNINGS a little hurt + a lot of comfort, mentions of cheating!villain!jin, insecure!kook, emotional breakdowns, mentions of jk’s lonely past, jk cries :( smut in the forms of making out, eating out, fingering, clit play, hickeys, jk likes cum, double orgasm, squirting, tiny praise kink, blindfolding, rough + unprotected sex, doggy style, choking!!!, breeding/impreg kink, JEALOUS KOOK, mini hand kink, a lil bit of spanking, degradation, he gets progressively meaner lol oc cries MISC there’s a lot of fuckin plot omfg -_-, it’s Valentine’s Eve!, doyeon makes Some Points, mentions of park seojoon juicy ass, they go on a d8 😳, oc like rlly wants to marry him, oc commits double phone homicide RATING m (18+) WC 16.3k !!!! ik its fckin LOOOONG

NOTES (!) in true Viki fashion, here’s an nc fic where there’s like 3 different plot lines n a hot male antagonist <3 this series started off as just me wanting to write smut n it still is! now i just like to infuse different levels of angst into it as well </3 as always, lemme know what u think!! i proofread it twice but one of those times had been at 4 am so if u see a typo no u didn't. also here’s a gif of jungkook crying during a dolly parton performances and here’s another gif of jungkook crying bc it’s scary how pretty he looks

Being evil and hot does not come for free. As you’ve long since learned in the past twenty-three years of your life, you truly can’t have it all.

There is always some deliberating character flaw the universe must bestow upon you in order to level you out, make you fall onto the same plane as all the other mortals. Everyone has one, no matter how small or insignificant. Doyeon’s is that she doesn’t know how to work a straightening iron. Namjoon's is that he can’t tell the difference between water and liquor. Jungkook, despite all his tech-y nerdiness, doesn’t know how to do his own taxes. And yours? You don’t know shit about romcoms.

Your knowledge on the romantic genre is what leads to this predicament now, the ring on your finger heavy as Doyeon regards you with what is perhaps the most unimpressed look known to mankind. “This is a promise ring,” she says bluntly, the bustling sounds of the coffee shop around you the soundtrack to your sudden realization.

“No,” you deny, even though you know she’s right. “It’s an engagement ring.”

Doyeon rolls her eyes. “Babe,” she starts slowly, talks to you like you’re a dorky high schooler with her first boyfriend, “did he ask you to marry him?”

The truth is, the timing had been weird. It had been a few days after you’d rocked Jungkook’s world so you understand if he felt the sudden need to pop the question. But you were also sick as fuck that day, had only vaguely remembered the events because you were too busy with the snot up your nose and the raging fever you were battling. Had Jungkook asked you to marry him?

You’re not so sure.

It’s been a little over a month since then, and sure his lack of proactive wedding planning was a little weird, but you had always assumed Jungkook was one of those people who liked long engagements. Liked to drag out the last few months as a bachelor. Maybe he was waiting until you were both financially stable or something, who knows.

Doyeon had been on some soul-searching journey around the country, so she hadn't been home for a while, had only heard of the ring through a two-second snapchat. This is the first time she’s seeing you and it in person; you can tell by the expression on her face that she’s rightfully disappointed.

“Have you no shame, woman?” she tuts, arms crossed over her chest. “You have me parading around the world bragging about your engagement— just for this?”

You knock your forehead against the table, know it’s dirty and icky, but you deserve it. “Listen,” you huff. “I’ve only seen The Notebook, like, once.”

She scoffs. “I can tell. This is so embarrassing, don’t tell me you’ve brought it up to him?”

At her words you startle, nearly send the drinks flying across the floor. “No!” you shout, mindlessly reaching to twist the ring around your finger. It’s become a habit these past few weeks, a comfort to feel it around you. Granted, the feeling is a little muted now. “Of course he’d get me a promise ring,” you grumble, gaze flickering down to the silver band on your ring finger. “Jungkook loves all that cheesy corny stuff.” He really did.

You’ve had enough of Doyeon’s disappointment, decide this coffee date has brought you enough three am anxiety material for the next year and a half. You conclude your date by taking a walk around town, arms locked together as you laugh at people who pass by because you’re both a little mean.

“Maybe it’s for the best,” she says, and you agree. Well, a promise ring certainly meant something. It was, essentially, a pre-engagement ring. And the engagement ring that followed was a pre-wedding ring. And a wedding ring was, well, a wedding ring. Your heartbeat thunders at the thought. “You’re busy right now anyway,” she points out, snapping you out of your bumbling thoughts. “Aren’t you getting promoted at work soon?”

Oh, you certainly were getting promoted at work. After many grueling months of hard work and dedication, the fruits of your labor were finally being recognized. Gone were the days of useless desk work, intern-like errands that barely required the use of any higher-order brain functions. You had worked hard these past few months, proved your worth over and over again, until you were here. Getting promoted into a new branch at your company— one where your talents were actually needed. And truth be told, there was one man to thank for that.

Your friend and superior, Kim Seokjin.

Seokjin is a great boss. In fact, you could argue he’s the best in the entire world and that, if it wasn’t for him, you would have quit this job that first month you started. But you had him to push you along, friendly smiles and encouragements that kept you going until this point, where you’re being promoted up into a branch where your degree finally matters. And it was all thanks to him! What Kim Namjoon was to Jungkook, Kim Seokjin was to you.

So what if he cheated on his wife and flirted with the secretaries— Seokjin was practically a god in your eyes.

And what Seokjin did in his free time was frankly none of your business anyway. You were colleagues at work, got along fairly well, but outside of work you were practically strangers. He was your beloved work colleague, someone Jungkook teased you about endlessly despite never having met him, and you were immensely thankful for him. “Should I be scared he’ll steal you from me?” Jungkook had joked one night, standing behind you as you scrolled through your company profile page. “He is a little handsome.”

You had pinched his side, smiling at his feigned concern when he pressed his lips to your temple. “You’re right,” you had joked back, “he is sooo cool.” And Jungkook had bitten you on the shoulder, laughed that pretty laugh when you yelped in surprise.

Anyway, Kim Seokjin was a god, Jungkook was on his way to maybe, hopefully, one day, being your husband, and all was well.

To honor this moment in time, you decide to swing by Jungkook’s place after your date with Doyeon, finding him lazily sprawled across his living room couch while What’s Wrong with Secretary Kim? plays on the Jumbotron. He’s in between projects right now, so he’s spent most of his time relaxing and catching up on all his favorite shows.

Which brings you back to that deliberating character flaw of yours: no knowledge of the romantic genre to utilize in your everyday life. Your love language has always been blunt words, teasing jabs, the raw and unfiltered type of love. Emotions? Impossible to figure out. You’ve gotten pretty far in life reading verbal and physical cues; with Jungkook, you always know he’s upset when he does the little tongue-against-cheek thing, and it has saved you from many potential arguments.

On the other hand, it is so obvious what Jungkook’s love language is when he spends fifty percent of his time on Viki, home to some of the most cheesy kdramas in existence. Most guys spend their weekends watching sports or dramatic action movies, but here was Jungkook. Watching some guy try to court his secretary.

(Okay, he does watch sports and action movies too, but that’s not the point!)

“Hello, sweet boy,” you greet, plopping down beside him. Jungkook smiles back softly. He’s serving absolute pre-pre-husband deliciousness right now, cute glasses, fluffy curls, plaid bottoms that make him look so comfy. God, you were going to suck his dick tonight.

Jungkook slots his mouth against yours, tastes like the chocolate cake you specifically told him not to eat without you. He blindsides you before you can scold him, pulls you onto his lap where the swell of his cock nudges against your thigh. Oh, you were definitely going to suck his dick and ride him well into the sunrise.

“What’s my pretty girl doing here tonight?” he asks, cutely looping his fingers through yours. “Thought you were with the Wicked Witch of the West today?”

You roll your eyes, reposition yourself in a laughable attempt at pretending like you’re actually interested in the show. “We just went out for lunch,” you explain, watching the hot lead saunter across the screen. Juicy ass, but nothing compared to Jungkook’s.

There’s a question lingering on the tip of your tongue, Doyeon’s explanations mixed with your worries, and you hold it for exactly ten seconds before you’re turning to face him head on, eyes going a little crossed from how close he is. “Hey,” you say bluntly. “Is this a promise ring?” you ask, wiggle your finger in his face.

Jungkook blinks, once, twice, and then his face shoots up in flames. “Maybe,” he mumbles, lips pursed as he tries to avoid your gaze. He was adorable. You laugh, endeared by the red flush that crawls over his cute little cheeks and up his ears. Unable to stop yourself, you squeeze said cheeks between your hands, cooing at the annoyed expression that consumes him soon afterwards.

“Aw, you want to marry me,” you tease, but it’s secretly a leading question for him to confess that yes, he does want to marry you. For as hot and confident as you are, you too are plagued with doubts. Doubts that can only be smoothed over by hearing it straight from Jungkook’s mouth.

He rolls his eyes, trying to break free from your hold. “We’ve talked about this,” he murmurs, all embarrassed. But like always, Jungkook knows exactly what you want so he doesn’t deny it, and that’s good enough for you. He’s too flustered to look you in the eye now, childishly craning his head away from you when you try to force him into a staring contest. “Can I finish my show?” he whines, slightly not as hard now that you’ve reduced him into a shy, bumbling mess. It was a nice change of pace from his usual, composed self.

But you relent, sliding off his lap to sit against his side, classic octopus hug around his waist. The episode is in full swing, not that you know anything about it. Like you said, romantic shows and movies were the least of your concerns. Jungkook, however, eats this type of shit up. “He still trying to fuck her?” you ask, not the least bit interested, but if you’re planning on sucking his dick tonight you have to listen to a few minutes of him rambling first.

Jungkook sighs. “Yeah,” he says, “I don’t get it.” You hum, trail your hand over his abdomen teasingly. He feels so warm and lean beneath your palm, you were getting hot just thinking about it. “Why would anyone agree to dating their boss?”

You know that Jungkook’s boss is some old Facebook fart, pioneer of something on the site that neither of you two care about. So it makes sense that such a notion disturbs him. You shrug anyway. “Everyone wants to sleep with their hot boss,” you offer. “It’s like, the power dynamic, I guess.”

His frown deepens. “Would you?” Your boss isn’t exactly an old fart; the reason Kim Seokjin was such a renowned playboy is because, well, he had the looks to pull it off. Still, he had become a sort of respectable figure to you and the idea of sleeping with him doesn’t really sound appealing as much as it would to any other random bachelorette, which you admittedly were not. You glance at the screen, where Park Seojoon swaggers around in those tight slacks and fitted button-ups.

“Hm,” you ponder, “maybe.”

Jungkook laughs. “You’re supposed to say no, you idiot,” he says, knocks his forehead against yours softly. You can’t help but chuckle too, enamored with the happy glint in his eyes and the way his smile eats up his features.

Oh, you loved this man.

Because he was so sweet and good on Christmas, you let Jungkook make the plans for Valentine’s Day. After all, it’s his favorite holiday (“Why? Well, because it’s a day all about you, and me, and us,” he had sighed dreamily in the bathtub one night, hair adorably pushed back to showcase that handsome face of his. Bubbles clung to his chest, had made you dizzy with every breath he took.), so it’s only right that he gets to make the itinerary for the day, fill it with all his favorite things. After all, cheesy romantic stuff like this was right up his lane.

He reserves a spot at the fanciest restaurant in the city, the one that has a months long waiting list. It sounds perfect, and the closer it gets to February 13th, the more excited you become. You say 13th because the 14th is a Sunday, and as much as you would love to get on your knees and praise Jungkook’s body until the wee hours of the next day, you have work. So Sunday is off the table. And it’s better this way, you tell yourself. Everywhere would have been packed that day anyway.

It seems like everywhere you go, the entire world is gearing up for the holiday; from the fast food drive-thru to your favorite lingerie shop, there’s Valentine’s Day specials everywhere you look. Just like in those Viki dramas Jungkook likes, the world around you is enveloped in shades of pink and red, kisses and hearts, so many goddamn roses it makes you sneeze. It’s absolutely perfect— nothing could possibly go wrong when there’s so much love in the air.

But what good is a lovey-dovey holiday without your own lovey dove himself?

One glance out your window and your knees feel weak, because there he is. Dressed in a loose satin button up, shoulders broad, chest defined. He’s got on these fitted dress pants that accentuate his tiny waist too, thick thighs bulging beneath the fabric. There’s a coat hugging his frame, something to shield him from the cold while he waits out on the curb, does this cute little shivering dance in an attempt to warm up his muscles. Your heart feels like it’ll explode at the sight, and you can practically hear the corny, overused romantic song playing in the background of your thoughts, so you hurriedly distract yourself by slipping tonight’s dress on.

It’s cold outside, but the sight of Jungkook makes you feel warm and fuzzy everywhere. He’s so hot it makes you dizzy, and the sap knows it when he meets you on the sidewalk. Instinctively, his hand reaches out to tangle with yours, the other slipping around your waist. “Hi, gorgeous,” he greets playfully, kissing your knuckles. His hair has grown out a little, curls up cutely when he lets it air dry and tickles your skin when he gets too close. “Lookin’ like Secretary Kim.”

“Oh? So does that make you my hot boss?” you tease as you make your way to the car.

As always, he opens the door for you first, flashes you this dorky little wink as he rounds the front of the car. “If it means you’ll sleep with me tonight, then sure,” he says, buckling himself in. You roll your eyes at his claim. You don’t get to see the proud little smile on his face; by the time you’ve composed yourself, he’s already pulling off in the direction of the restaurant.

It’s a classy thing, a restaurant and bar in some insanely tall skyscraper. Of course your seats are right beside one of the huge floor to ceiling windows, overlooking the beautiful, glittering cityscape. “Fancy,” you murmur as you sit down, catching a glimpse of the eye roll Jungkook gives you.

“You say that about any place that serves wine,” he chuckles, reaching for the bottle on the table to pour you a glass.

The wine tastes like perfection, aged for the perfect amount of time. Whatever that was. You don’t really know, but it tastes amazing! Still, amazement aside, you manage a scoff. “I didn’t say that about your house on our first date,” you huff anyway, throwing him a playful glare over the rim of your glass.

Jungkook laughs, full and real this time. It’s a little too loud for the classy establishment you find yourselves in, drowns out the jazz music for a second. “That’s because it was a house,” he says, wearing that big, shiny smile you adore, “and we were watching Transformers.” An amazing date, the mere memory of it makes your toes curl. He had been so dreamy— nearly two years ago now! —and had retained that aura up to the present day. You don’t think you’ve ever been so in love with anyone or anything in this world before, as cheesy as it was to admit.

As if sensing your sudden wandering thoughts, Jungkook nudges your ankle under the table. “Hey,” he says so softly you could melt; his voice was so silky and sweet. “Everything okay?” he asks.

A sigh, chin in your palm. You had to have been abducted by aliens or something— there was no way this was your life, this disgustingly romantic date with this disgustingly handsome man. An episode of Black Mirror maybe? One where you get forced to live in a romantic Viki drama with the man you love, every single day for the rest of your life? Maybe.

Dramatics aside, you could practically feel that sticky sweet, sentimental monster begging to crawl to the surface, unleash the entire Shakespearean collection of lovesick sonnets on your unsuspecting boyfriend in the middle of this restaurant. But the weird ones, were you accidentally dedicate an entire six lines to the bulge of Jungkook’s thighs in his workout pants or the heart-shaped mole on his shoulder. Those kind. Before that can happen, you settle on an equally as gentle, “I love you,” murmured for only him to hear.

Across the table, Jungkook smiles. One of those thin ones when he’s trying to keep his composure but is actually quite flustered, his subtle bunny teeth nibbling at his lower lip. “Thanks,” he responds, still trying to play it cool, but then he almost knocks his glass down and you’re reminded just how perfect he was, flaws and all. “Me too.”

You jab the pointed tip of your stiletto against his shin. “Say it back,” you warn and he laughs.

“I love you,” Jungkook says like it’s the easiest thing in the world. Straight out of a romantic drama, like the ones on Viki that require a minimum of four different story arcs just to get to this point. But with Jungkook, it takes a few shy smiles and maybe a kiss. It has a scorching heat rising on your cheeks, one you ward away with a hurried sip of your drink while Jungkook reaches for your hand, thumb rubbing over your promise ring as if for good luck.

That singular phrase makes your world pause, its axis stalling while you deal with the overwhelmingly soft and gooey feelings in your chest. Oh jeez, you had to rock his world tonight. It was only right. He deserved it for making you feel like this— this silly and ditzy, like a middle schooler with her crush.

Anyway the food gets to your table after a millennia. Jungkook orders some fancy lobster dish, one that you're pretty sure costs more than the purse you brought along tonight (to be fair, you’re a cheap buyer), and still has the audacity to poke around at your plate too. He eats enough to feed a schoolhouse full of children who’ve just come off recess, practically devouring the table cloth before you stop him. And then he doesn’t let you see the bill; “baby, don’t worry about that when you’re with me,” he purrs, warm breath fanning against the skin on your neck, drunk off pure love and strawberry lemonade because he was driving tonight. The hostess is a blushing mess, fumbling for his change as Jungkook practically gropes your ass in plain sight.

You swear he’s spending too much time on that Viki streaming service, because then, as if the romantic dinner date wasn’t enough, he whisks you off to an even more romantic walk along the river.

If there was ever a world record for “Number of Times you can Make your Girlfriend Swoon,” you’re positive Jungkook had broken it in the span of a few hours. You feel so light-headed and in love by the time you reach the river.

“You know,” you tell him as you walk, the serene sounds of the flowing water beside you the soundtrack to your date. Jungkook swings your joined hands between the two of you. It’s chilly but you’re so full and happy that you don’t let it bother you. “I was gonna throw wine at you when we first met.”

He cackles, that loud, airy sound again that he only lets you hear, with his head thrown back. “What?” he gasps, smiley and pretty, your pretty boy. “And why were you going to do that?”

You huff, feeling slightly embarrassed now to admit such a thing. But aside from Doyeon, no one else has ever heard this classified tale. And well, you’re feeling extra emotional tonight. An abundance of emotions in one night usually ended with you crying like a little bitch at some point or another, so you’re trying to push that off for later. “Because,” you sigh, squeezing his fingers, your lone promise ring versus his assortment of fashionable rings. “You sounded like an absolute fuck boy when you first texted me!”

Jungkook scoffs, playfully scandalized. “Me?” he squawks, pausing to stand in front of you with wide eyes and a ridiculously huge smile, the kind that has his brows raised high, lips going thin, practically displaying every tooth in his mouth from how wide it is.

“Jungkook,” you say calmly, shoving one finger against his chest. “You asked me to Netflix & chill for our first date.”

He groans, using your entwined hands to pull you into his arms for a suffocating hug. “I already told you,” he laughs, patting the back of your head while you get in a few lighthearted punches against his sides. “I didn’t know what it meant.”

“Whatever, you sleaze,” you say anyway, eventually melting into his hands. “Bet you tell all the girls that.” Jungkook makes another scandalized noise, but settles when you wrap your hands around him. He smells so good and familiar, comforting even. Like home and safety, a refuge for your heart. When you’re this close, you can hear the light beating of it beneath your ear, a steady rhythm that has you closing your eyes when he begins humming your favorite song.

He gets about two verses in when your phone suddenly goes off.

Everything in your body says to ignore it, to continue basking in the comfort of your boyfriend’s embrace and this absolutely perfect moment. But it’s the stupid ringtone you set for all your work peers when you first loaded the entire company contact list onto your phone, so the sound alone lets you know it’s a work-related call. And for work to be calling you on a weekend was definitely not a good sign.

“Give me a sec,” you tell Jungkook, pulling away from his arms. He frowns but lets you go, staying close as you dig through your purse for the offending device.

It’s Kim Seokjin calling at this peculiar hour, a fact that confuses the hell out of you. Jungkook’s bouncing on his heels in an attempt to fight off the chill, giving you his beautiful side profile as he glances down the winding sidewalk that follows the river, and then at his watch. His nose is a cute red color that you want to kiss so bad. But work calls, so you tighten up and let that dream go for now. You swipe your thumb across the screen.

“Hello, Mr. Kim,” you greet, trying to keep the confusion out of your voice. “How can I help—“

“__, my love,” he beams through the phone, so fucking loud it has Jungkook glancing over curiously. You give him a tight-lipped smile, one he returns as he shuffles closer, trying to steal your warmth like a penguin. You let him snuggle close before turning back to the droning voice of your superior on the line.

“Hello,” you repeat again, slowly. Jungkook takes your free hand in his; when he squeezes, the band of your promise ring digs into your skin just the slightest. “Was something the matter?”

Seokjin laughs, loud and clear. There’s a lot of other noises filtering in through his line. Briefly, you remember that there had been some work-related party for the higher ups tonight so you write it off as that. “Does there need to be a problem for me to call you, love?”

You falter. Beside you, Jungkook’s brows furrow together, his devilishly handsome features even more pronounced. He’s obviously heard the other man on the line. “Um,” you flounder for a second, “well, usually yes.”

Without missing a beat, Seokjin carries on with a playful tut that you’re almost certain has him lifting the receiver up to his mouth, because it’s so goddamn loud it has you flinching away from your own device. “My __,” he says, sweet and… slurred?

He’s never used this tone of voice on you, only on other women at the office. Something about his broken marriage and needing to heal a wound, you don’t fucking know. You can’t even begin to truly understand that logic, which is why you’ve always just ignored it. Still, in the last few months of knowing Seokjin, he has never made a pass at you. Until now, that is. And until now, you had kind of convinced yourself he saw you in a sisterly way. Which sure, was worse than being friendzoned. But this was your boss you were talking about. Whether you got sister-zoned or not by him was the least of your concerns. So what was going on? What had changed over the span of a few days that had him suddenly reaching out to you on a weekend?

Beside you, Jungkook doesn’t look the slightest bit impressed, tongue prodding against his cheek as Seokjin rambles on the line. You wish you had lowered the volume before answering, but doing so now would appear suspicious, even you could admit that. “You’re amazing, you know that?” Seokjin praises. You nod, remember he can’t see you, and settle on a blunt thanks instead. Jin laughs. “You’re different from the rest,” he hums, voice soft and weirdly intimate.

Jungkook’s frown deepens. “What does he want?” he murmurs, somehow managing to keep his voice calm as always. The deep furrow of his brows and the tongue-against-cheek motion he had done just a few seconds ago all indicate he’s annoyed, that much you can tell.

You shrug, eyes wide as you hurry to get to the reason for the phone call. You’re almost certain it’s just Seokjin being drunk— many people drunkenly dial their friends and family to tell them how much they’re appreciated, this wasn’t anything weird!

Is what you try to convince yourself, but then Seokjin’s voice is dropping an octave by your ear. “Did you get my gift?” he murmurs, voice nearly drowned out by the sounds of the event he’s at.

“Huh?” you stammer, quite stupidly if you do say so yourself. Jungkook shifts closer, obviously trying to hear. A breeze ruffles his hair, his cologne wafting over you. “What?”

A sigh over the line. “My gift, love,” Kim Seokjin says, loud and proud. Jungkook exhales, hard. “I had it sent to your house this evening. Something pretty for a pretty girl— don’t tell me the postman fucked that up,” he jokes and Jungkook huffs, practically breathing fire through his nose when he hears the words.

You fidget. There had been no gift when Jungkook picked you up around sunset, not like you had expected anything to begin with. And aside from Jungkook and maybe your parents, there was no one else on this planet you wanted to receive a Valentine’s Day gift from anyway, especially not from your boss of all people. “Um,” you mumble, acutely aware of the way Jungkook’s face is nearly pressed to yours now in his effort to listen in on your phone call. “I— um, haven’t been home, Seokjin.”

Jungkook scoffs, spits out a particularly unimpressed, “Seokjin?”

Said man doesn’t hear. “Oh, of course,” he says, almost sullenly. “I forgot you had that little boyfriend to entertain tonight.”

It’s the breaking point for Jungkook, who leans back to glare at the phone with the heat of a thousand suns. You press it against your chest before he can hear anything else. “I’m sorry,” you rush out in a hurried whisper, eyes flickering over his face, trying to gauge the intensity of his emotions. “I think he’s drunk— he’s never said things to me like this before,” you stammer, feeling like you have to defend yourself for some reason. “I’ll- I’ll take care of it, okay?” No answer, just an aggravated shake of his head, like he’s trying to calm himself down. “Jungkook?” you say, can feel the panic begin to lace your voice when his eyes flutter shut.

He calms your worries with a gentle head butt that has you gasping in surprise, one hard exhale fanning over you. “Okay,” he says, teeth clenched. “I’m gonna go sit.” And then he stiffly walks over to one of the many benches lining the pathway. He sits, just like he had said he would, and glares down at his hands instead.

The sight makes you anxious, unsure of how to diffuse the situation because, like you’ve said many times before, dealing with emotions— especially someone else’s emotions —was hard. Your eyes refuse to leave his figure as you draw the phone back up to your ear again. “Hello?” you call, voice trembling when Jungkook finally looks your way. The soft look he had given you all night is nowhere to be found, replaced with this rather unreadable expression. Something between annoyance and confusion if you had to guess. You don’t know, and the fact you don’t know makes you panic. Your chest feels tight when Seokjin begins speaking again.

“You know,” he says, “you’re quite something, __. Strong, confident. Beautiful.” Had you been anyone else, you might have been flattered by Kim Seokjin’s remarks, maybe would have swooned. He was, objectively speaking, a handsome man with a hefty bank account.

But if that was the criteria for a man to make you swoon, then the man on the bench in front of you checked all the same boxes three times over. The man who’s brows draw closer and closer together the longer you linger on the phone. Jungkook’s foot does one agonizing tap against the concrete and you find yourself stammering into the phone. “I think you’re drunk, Jin.”

A scoff. “I am,” he agrees, and doesn't even bother to hide it. “But you remind me of her, you know that? I like that.”

It’s like he knows something is going on on the line, because Jungkook visibly bristles when you sidestep in surprise. What was going on, your brain screams. Having your superior compare you to his infidel wife was definitely not something you saw coming tonight. “Uh, okay?” you say, “listen, Seokjin— Mr. Kim, I’m... I have a boyfriend. And I really lov—“

He cuts you off. Jungkook bristles at the sudden stop of your sentence. “Yeah, yeah,” Seokjin drawls, and you can feel the sheer terror of accidentally jeopardizing your relationship with Jungkook step aside for the briefest moment to allow some annoyance to seep through. Annoyed with Seokjin and his audacity, his tone, his voice. “Mrs. Kim used to say that about me,” he chuckles humorlessly, “I love you, I love you, I love you.” A long pause. You’re unsure of how to respond. “It’s not real,” Seokjin says, like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world. “Love, that is.”

You clench your jaw, gathering your thoughts to respond when Seokjin beats you to it. “But you know what, love?” You don’t respond. Seokjin pushes on anyway. “Someone’s gonna cheat sooner or later— why not beat him to it?”

Your body reacts first, a startled gasp inhaled through your lips at his disrespectful preposition. Your phone slips out of your grasp. It bounces twice, lands on the ledge that gives way to the river, and you almost kick it in when Jungkook comes up behind you. “Hey, hey,” he says sternly, tugging you away from the phone you almost killed. “What’s wrong— what did he say?”

You exhale, face warm from the discomfort sitting heavy in your chest. “Nothing,” you huff, mind slightly foggy as you try to process that awkward conversation. “It’s— it was stupid,” you spit, pressing the heels of your palms against your temples, the raging anger and confusion making your head pound now.

You had always known Kim Seokjin wasn’t the most faithful man, that the infidelity ran both ways in his relationship. But you had never imagined he would ever compare you to her, his cheating wife, in an attempt to win you over. Furthermore, you’re downright disturbed by the fact he would even try to hit on you after all the mentoring he’d given you, all the polite smiles he’d flashed you, all the praise you had bestowed upon him to Jungkook.

Jungkook, whose jaw twitches as his hands graze your forearms. When you look at him again, you feel an immense wave of remorse wash over you at the way his own irritation is clouded by his worry for you. He had been wronged as well— disrespected just like you —but here he was, pushing his own emotions aside for your sake. He doesn’t want to see you upset. He was so good at dealing with your emotions, knew just what to do when things became too much.

“I’m sorry,” you mumble, lips pursed together. “I don’t know why— he’s never— I wouldn’t do that,” you settle on, voice wobbling when Jungkook’s jaw clenches. “Jungkook,” you frown, reaching for his hands, “I wouldn’t—“

He shushes you with another one of those gentle forehead bumps. “Calm down,” he says, voice deeper than usual. “I know you wouldn’t.”

Weirdly, it feels like you’ve committed a grave sin against your boyfriend. A crime. “I’m sorry,” you blubber anyway, heart thundering in your chest. “That was horrible,” you huff, desperately blinking away the stinging sensation behind your eyes. “You didn’t deserve to hear that.”

“Don’t cry,” Jungkook says, so soft and comforting; stable. You want his composure, his ability to process and understand things so quickly— his maturity. Sure he had been put off by Seokjin, but he had processed it all so quickly; adapted to the situation and stepped in to save you. Meanwhile, you nearly committed cellular murder because you couldn’t handle yourself. “He’s a weirdo,” he says, for both your sakes. “You didn’t do anything wrong, sweetheart.”

Still, you sniffle. “I’m sorry,” you say again, the heavy feeling in your chest lightening just a little bit when he pulls you into his arms.

“Crybaby,” he teases softly, a kiss on the crown of your head. You pinch his side. “Second phone you broke in a year.”

The mood for the riverwalk is off after that, and you only walk a few more meters before Jungkook decides it’s enough. “We can still enjoy ourselves at home,” he reassures you, and the way he tries to salvage that soft, fuzzy feeling from before is admirable. So Jungkook takes you home, holds your hand the whole drive back to your place, like he knows you’re still fragile from that extremely uncomfortable interaction, need him to hold you together. Jungkook’s emotional stability guards you like a shield, covers you in a wave of comfort as you calm down. You tell him about Seokjin’s preposition and he bristles. “Prick,” he murmurs beneath his breath, grip tightening just the tiniest bit. Your ring pinches against your skin a little painfully, but you say nothing.

There’s a box of flowers on your doorstep when you arrive, one that makes Jungkook pause at the sight. “Wonderful,” he drones, picking it up for you as you unlock the front door. It gets left on the coffee table, practically mocking the two of you as you remove your shoes and coats. “That’s your favorite flower,” Jungkook notes.

You glance at the expensive bouquet. “It is.”

Jungkook drops down onto your couch, eyes flickering to the meticulous arrangement in front of him. “You told him?” Not really. But back when you had thought Jungkook and you were engaged (read: last week), you had spent days looking at different floral shops that specialized in this flower, frequently leaving the tab open on your work computer. Seokjin must have seen it then. At your extended silence, Jungkook says, “nice.”

You frown, setting your heels on the shoe rack. “Baby, I didn’t,” you tell him softly, reaching for the zip on the back of your dress. It comes down, and after clearing your hips, it falls to the floor in a dark heap you pick up quickly. It leaves you scantily clad in a black lingerie set. Meanwhile, Jungkook drops his head back, glaring at your ceiling. Tentatively, you step over to him, toying with the fabric of your dress in your hands. “You said it was okay.”

“I know,” he sighs, an unexpected confession from him that makes you pause. Despite all you’ve been through, he still rarely highlighted situations that upset him. “It’s just,” he says, turning his head to look at your form again, eyes not drinking you in like you hoped he would. “It’s scary.”

The couch cushion dips beneath your weight when you settle beside him. “What is?”

Jungkook shrugs, avoiding your question by reaching for the TV remote on the coffee table, right beside the box of flowers Seokjin had sent. He opens up the Viki app in a flash— the one linked to his account —and has even loaded up the next episode of Secretary Kim when you question him again. “What’s scary, Jungkook?” you repeat.

On screen, there’s a beautiful scene on a bridge, the two leads happily conversing. It’s serene, something neither you nor Jungkook feel at the moment.

Eventually, he says, “you could leave.”

You pause. “What do you mean?” Leave? Where on earth would you leave to when this was your home? He doesn’t meet your gaze.

Another scene passes by on screen, some cheesy line and an even cheesier promise. Jungkook’s foot taps against the floor, the sound dull against the plush rug beneath you. It’s a nervous tick you’ve only seen him do at the height of truly stressful situations. Weird because just half an hour before you had dubbed him as the epitome of calm and collected at the river.

“I thought he was cool before.”

He did. But the word ‘cool’ didn’t always have the same meaning for Jungkook as it did for you.

In the past, Jungkook had frequently joked about having to meet Kim Seokjin and thank him for all the help he’s given you at work. After all, up until now, you had only ever had good things to say about the man, raving about his cool demeanor and respectable work ethics. Now, the memories paired with the conversation from earlier leave a bad taste in your mouth.

You’re a little confused with Jungkook right now; part of you had convinced yourself that whatever happened on the phone earlier with Seokjin was put behind you, marked off as an anomaly in the evening. After all, Jungkook himself had said it was okay. Park Seojoon appears on screen, and you can’t help but glare at the character, residue emotions from the river pushed off onto this innocent actor.

Still, Jungkook surprises you. “It’s just that—“ he sighs. And then, “what if you leave?”

You blink, eyes trained on his side profile and the way he’s nervously chewing through his bottom lip until it tints a red shade, gives way to sensitive skin when he bites too hard. “Why would I leave?”

He says nothing. On screen, Park Seojoon says something so cheesy and romantic that it would have otherwise made you cringe, made Jungkook soft. But he’s stiff as a board beside you instead. You almost think he’s going to disregard the entire conversation when he finally speaks again. “Well.” You perk up at the sound of his voice, overly aware of the way he’s started picking at the skin around his thumb again, another nasty habit you’ve been trying to help him get over. “He’s cool. Rich.”

“And so are you,” you offer, covering his hand with your own.

Jungkook ignores you, releasing a long, shaky exhale. Somehow, he’s exuding a similar energy as before; discontentment mixed with understanding. Like he’s greatly conflicted but forcing himself to remain calm. Another trembling inhale, and then Jungkook quietly recites, “everyone wants to sleep with their hot boss.”

You recoil just the slightest, brows pinched together at the absurd conclusion he’s drawn. “Baby, that was just a silly conversation,” you say slowly, slipping your hand into his. He squeezes so tight you’re afraid he’ll break your bones. “And we were joking—“

“I know!” he exclaims, enveloping your significantly smaller hand in both of his before bringing them up to his face, lips pressed against your knuckles. It’s not a kiss, more so a desperate need to feel you against him. Eyes wide, you can’t do anything but watch as that collected exterior slips away, revealing a whirlwind mess of emotions. It’s a rather unexpected show from Jungkook. “It was a joke. We were joking. But I’m—“ his jaw clenches. His voice is so tiny when he speaks again. “I get scared sometimes, __.”

His emotional outburst renders you speechless, watching as he squeezes his eyes shut, jaw clenching, hands trembling.

It’s a stark image change from the cool Jungkook that had comforted you at the river, had patted the back of your head when you had been so distraught. His chest heaves for air and you don’t know what to do; it’s always the other way around, him comforting you, that when it comes down to this you find yourself at a loss. It makes you feel like you don’t know enough about yourself or him or your relationship in general to help him, always so lost when things like this happen.

Jungkook has never been good at expressing negative emotions, always preferring to bottle them up and only show you his very best side. Granted, he’s been getting better at letting go lately, has whispered his doubts to you in the dead of night after a particularly grueling project, an uncomfortable social meeting. But he always waits until you’re half asleep and in the dark to tell you how he feels, hushed worries that you barely remember the next morning. And by then, Jungkook’s moved on from them anyway, flashes you a pretty smile and purposefully guides you away from that conversation. You know he’s started keeping a journal recently, but aside from seeing the blanks pages when he’d first gotten, you don’t have a clue what happened afterwards. It’s probably hidden away somewhere, his feelings locked up in a cupboard or a box, the secrets it holds never to be spoken of aloud.

He doesn’t like talking about his more personal problems, hoards them until you’re forced to intervene. Find him slumped over at his dining table with bags under his eyes, the skin on his lower lip bitten beyond belief.

Rarely does he sit down and express himself like this, lays his heart out carefully for you to see. Had he not said so right now, you would have never known Jungkook struggled with such doubts about you and your relationship.

(It makes your heart ache at the realization.)

Jungkook always acts like everything is okay, always forces himself to hold it together for the sake of you and, quite frankly, everyone else. He’s there when Taehyung breaks up with his girlfriends, pats him on the back and lets him run through every video game he has on his PS5. He’s there for Namjoon when his thesis becomes too much, proofreads it even though he doesn’t understand a word just for the sake of giving his best friend another perspective. Hell, he had even been there for Doyeon when her new landlord had tried to overcharge her, had carried the bulk of your argument when you ran off to try and fight with the old man.

(“He’s too nice sometimes,” she had murmured the next morning at her place. After the shouting match the night before, you had crashed with Doyeon on her new bed, your sweet boyfriend taking up her couch. Somehow, you and Jungkook had managed to knock a clean seventy-five bucks off her monthly bill. It wasn’t much, but for an apartment in the city it sure felt like a lot.

You had hummed, patting the top of his head on the way to the kitchen. “He’s a good boy,” you had said, heart thrumming when he instinctively pushed closer to your hand, nuzzling into you even in his sleep. “He cares about everyone a lot. Worries to death about his friends.”

The state of their relationship was weird; they were always fighting about one thing or another, ‘eternal enemies’ as Doyeon liked to claim.

But for the first time, she hadn’t denied they were, in fact, friends. Instead, she had quietly stood at the breakfast nook overlooking the living room with a somber look on her face that was completely unlike the Doyeon you knew. She didn’t respond with her usual backhanded compliments, didn’t even call him a gremlin either.

“He even worries about you, Miss Wicked Witch of the West,” you had teased, reaching over to pull Jungkook’s shirt down where it had ridden up, exposing his cute belly button to the cold apartment. She had sipped at her mug of coffee, eyes foggy and distant. “It just takes him a while.”

“He’s always cared about you though,” she had murmured then, and you had marked it off as her being half asleep. But Doyeon had given you this look, a look so profoundly wise, as if she was saying, “more than you’ll ever know.”)

Most importantly, Jungkook is always there for you. He holds you in his arms, strokes your back comfortingly whenever something goes wrong. Listens to your concerns and offers you advice, learns new things for the sole purpose of helping you out. Lets you make stupid decisions and always saves you at the last minute. And you want to repay him for all that, want to look after Jungkook like he does for everyone else. But it’s hard, it’s so fucking hard, when he doesn’t let you in, when he holds his emotions at bay for the sake of protecting yours. When you don’t even know where to start sometimes.

The beating of your heart is accompanied by a dramatic orchestral ensemble on screen, violins and flutes as the two lovers reconcile some issue with a kiss. Beside you, your own lover is one second away from falling apart. “Hey,” you say quietly, slipping your hand out of his to hesitantly place on his back instead. With your release, Jungkook uses his empty hands to drag over his face, hide himself from you. “I’m not going to leave you, Jungkook,” you try and comfort, “I love you.”

He shakes his head, dark locks bouncing around. “I know, I know,” he sighs, but it doesn’t sound like he believes you. It sounds like he’s forcing himself into composure again, jaw flexing as he shakes his head. “But— what if—” another aggravated huff, his thighs jumping anxiously. “You’ll get bored.” Not a question, but a statement.

“Of you?” you ask anyway. He nods. “I won’t.”

He sits up so suddenly you have to move away to avoid bumping into him. “You will,” he urges, finally looking at you, distress painted over every inch of his face. “That guy, that Seokjin, he sounds more interesting than me. He sounds cool and put together, like the world is his oyster and,” he rubs the heels of his hands against his eyes. “You talk about him sometimes and... and you call him a god, __,” he stresses, doesn’t leave room for you to object. “And I know you’re joking, but—“ a sharp inhale, and then, quietly, “everyone gets bored of me, __.”

Your frown deepens. “But I won’t,” you argue, confident in your claim, shifting onto your knees beside him. Your dress is thrown over the armrest of the couch, and the draft in your apartment makes goosebumps rise on your bare flesh. “You’re not boring, Jungkook,” you tell him, voice softening when his features pinch up, nose wrinkling as he wards off the stinging behind his eyes.

It’s teenage trauma. Jungkook had told you at least that much before, this crippling sense of loneliness and an inferiority complex that hindered him during an influential growth period of his life. It’s why he’s so quiet when he has so much to say, why he brings you along to every party he gets invited to; he’s never felt like he was enough by himself.

Sometimes, it leaks into his confessions. “I don’t deserve you,” he says frequently, but some days you want to hot glue him to a chair and force him to listen to every reason why he does and always will deserve you or anyone for that matter. “You make me better,” he claims, but he does that all on his own, lights up the world with his smile alone.

He’s gotten better, that much you’ve learned from Namjoon and Taehyung. And even you’ve noticed it on your own, watched as he animatedly talked with his friends and his coworkers, drew people naturally to him with his warm aura.

Even still, there’s moments where he relapses. Moments like this.

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs beside you, “I know I’m a handful—“

“You’re not,” you interrupt, cupping his soft cheek in your hand, turning him to face you. Jungkook leans into the touch, and your heart breaks in half when a tear escapes over his waterline, pretty eyes brimming with tears. “You’re not a handful, Jungkook,” you tell him, shuffling closer until you can press your forehead against his. The truth is, you don’t know how to comfort him, but this is how he’s always comforted you; it feels nice when he does it for you. “You’re just enough,” you say, voice soft because it feels like your precious boy is about to fall apart in your arms, his shallow breaths rivaling the volume of the television. “You’ve always been enough.”

He sniffles, and another tear tickles the side of your thumb, catching the light. “I’m sorry,” he repeats anyway, a disbelieving chuckle tacked on at the end.

“Don’t be,” you shush, pushing away a strand of hair when he leans closer. His frown is still prominent, pink lips red and soft under your thumb when you tap your finger against them. “You can tell me when things worry you, you know,” you inform him, heart swelling when his eyes fall shut and he leans into your touch. He’s so handsome, the cute little mole beneath his lip begging to be kissed. “I’ll always listen.”

Jungkook hums, breathing evening out. “I know you will,” he says. “But I like listening to your voice more, and I can’t do that when I’m talking.”

You snort and Jungkook finally lets a tiny smile slip. “Don’t flirt with me so soon after your meltdown,” you mumble, kissing his cheek softly.

Jungkook chuckles, real this time, and sniffles right afterwards. “I’ll flirt with you whenever I want.” And, because he’s just so full of surprises tonight, he sniffles once more before he’s unceremoniously tackling you back onto the couch. You squeal, the TV remote digging into your back painfully. It has the volume accidentally skyrocketing, startling the both of you with an ear-shattering orchestral piece at the height of some emotional scene. Jungkook scrambles to free the device and lower the volume before your eardrums burst. “I didn’t even know your TV could go that loud,” he says, and he’s speaking normally but the deafening violins are still reverberating in your head, making him sound quieter than he really is.

“Come here,” you say instead, and he obeys, crawling into your arms, mouth hovering just over yours. “You feeling better?”

Jungkook nods, dark hair bouncing. “You make me better,” he tries, but after tonight’s realization, you respond to his corny words with a pinch against his doughy cheek instead.

“Don’t say that,” you frown, toying with one of the earrings decorating his ear. The tip of his nose is flushed red, the exertion from crying catching up to him. His lashes are dark, probably feel so heavy with the residual tears that cling to them.

Jungkook repositions himself, guides your legs around his waist. “Why not? It’s true.” He glances at your mouth. “You make my life better.”

“Wrong,” you say bluntly, brushing his hair back with your hands. “Your own perception and understanding of your experiences makes your life better. I just happen to be in it.” Jungkook looks the tiniest bit surprised at your suddenly logical argument. “Trust me, I saw it in a documentary the other day.”

At that he laughs, full and loud, pecking your lips once with a sweet smile on his face. “Now I know you’re lying,” he grins, gently nudging his nose against yours. The drama on the TV is but a quiet hum compared to the pounding of your heart in your chest when he looks at you like that. “Because you don’t even like documentaries.”

You kiss him softly, holding his hair back for him. He tastes a little bit like the chocolate cake he had at the restaurant and the lemonade he drank (he didn’t indulge in the sweet wine with you because he needed to drive). His lips mold perfectly against yours, and he sighs softly when he finally draws back. “But I like you,” you purr.

Jungkook’s eyes darken, one heavy exhale fanning across the lower half of your face. You readjust the leg around his waist, pull him closer just the slightest bit. “Don’t flirt with me so soon after my meltdown,” he repeats, lips brushing against yours. You chuckle. “You don’t know what that means to me.” You can roughly guess, but that opportunity is taken away when Jungkook slots his mouth against yours, soft lips molding to yours. His tongue swipes across your bottom lip, wastes no time slipping in when you open for him, hot and wet.

Jungkook’s fingers are just as warm when he trails them up the back of your thigh, pulls you impossibly closer until the buckle on his belt is pressed flush against your mound. A tiny whimper escapes your lips, chest jumping just the slightest from the pressure. It makes Jungkook pull away with an easygoing grin, chocolate eyes half-lidded. “You okay?” he murmurs, breath a little shaky from the kiss. You nod, tangling your fingers behind his head and pulling him in close again.

He evades your puckered lips, ducking down to press his own against your throat, right beneath your jaw. “Ugh,” you groan, digging your nails into his back through his satin shirt. “I wanted a kiss.”

Jungkook nips at your skin, this tiny gesture that couldn’t hurt even if he tried. “You always want a kiss,” he retorts softly, the quiet smack of his lips filling your ears as he bestows a series of smooches against your skin. And it’s so devastatingly tender how he handles you, like you’re made of glass and will break at a moment’s notice, like he wants to treasure your body for the rest of his—

Jungkook chomps down, hard, and you hiss. “Sit still,” he orders, soothing over the bite with one broad lick of his tongue.

You whimper. “That hurt.”

“And it’ll hurt even more if you keep moving,” he warns you, and before you can ask what that even means, he’s leaving another stinging bite just further down. It’s at the midway point of your neck, right in front, and you can feel your heartbeat in your throat when he sucks a painful mark over it. “There,” he says, mostly to himself. “All mine.”

Your legs tighten around him, and you fight down the wave of heat that threatens to consume you when he places one final kiss over the second mark— the hickey.

Jungkook doesn’t usually leave them. In fact, you can rarely recall a time where he had purposefully gone out of his way to mark you up like this. It was always accidental, always unplanned, because he knew how troublesome it was for you to cover them up for work the next morning. Work, where your coworkers and your bosses and Seokjin could see.

Brows pinched together, your brain begins to draw a connection, one that Jungkook is soon confirming himself. “Everyone will see that now,” he hums, kissing a trail down your neck.

Of course.

You pat the back of his head in amusement, hiding a smile against his soft locks. Before you can say anything more, maybe tease him for being so cute, there’s a hand on your hip that snaps you out of your scheming. Jungkook lifts his head, does that endearing little head shake that pushes his hair out of his eyes, before leaning in for another languid kiss.

It’s even slower than the first, mostly because he’s a little too preoccupied with running his hands over your body now. It starts at your shoulder, teasingly snaps the strap of your bra as you push your tongue down his throat. Jungkook whimpers, that pretty sound that makes you desperate to hear more. It’s the same sound that he always makes when he wants to be pampered, wants you to kiss his entire body while he lays there and takes it.

And you’re all too ready to act on it.

Duty calls and you’re there to answer, tilting his head for him with your hands against his cheeks. He sighs against you, breath trembling as it tickles across your skin. That soft and tender way that makes you melt because he’s just so precious, so dreamy.

But you’re too caught up in your plotting to remember the hand he’s got on your hip, the one that teases the waistband of your panties with one lone finger. It’s only when Jungkook pulls away from your inviting mouth, his other hand holding you down by your shoulder, that you’re snapped back into reality. His lips are swollen and red, slick from your tongue, and so tantalizingly kissable. He huffs out a breath, eyes flickering over your face. “Can I touch you,” he husks, and gives into the temptation to press a kiss against your jaw.

“Yes, please,” you shiver, hypnotized by his hungry stare.

Jungkook wastes no time, pressing another kiss against the bruising mark over your throat that dissolves into a series of lighter smooches he trails down between your breasts. His hands come up to cup your boobs over your bra, giving them one harsh squeeze that has you releasing a long exhale as he moves between the valley and down your tummy, over your belly button. “Open,” he says at your pubic bone, carefully guiding your legs apart until you’re spread wide for him.

The dark panties you’re wearing tonight— the super expensive ones you had spent an hour measuring your body for the exact sizing —receive one light kiss over the front. “Always so pretty for me,” Jungkook murmurs, tracing one lone finger down the middle. Your stomach contracts when he nudges it against you, the soft material of your panties just barely pushed between your folds.

As his hand occupies itself with some relatively light foreplay, Jungkook tasks himself with leaving another tingling mark against your skin. This time, it’s on the inside of your thigh. He starts it off slowly, a few littered kisses against the skin until he deems one spot worthy enough and abruptly sinks his teeth into you. “Not so hard,” you whimper, reaching down to bury your hands in his hair.

Jungkook lets it go, sloppily licking over the area. “You like it hard,” he husks, meeting your gaze as he licks one, long stripe over the tender skin. “Don’t you?” You nod demurely, pressing your knuckles against your lips to hold back a tiny moan from slipping past your lips.

With that new mark blooming over your skin, Jungkook transfers his attention to your pussy, hidden beneath the soft material of your panties. One finger hooks under the hem, tucking them aside until he can see you in your entirety. “Fuck,” he groans, pressing one light kiss over your clit that makes you inhale sharply, fingers digging into his scalp. Jungkook throws one final glance your way before letting his tongue slip past his lips, the very tip flicking against your clit.

Your breathing becomes shallow, anticipation building in the pits of your stomach as he slowly but surely begins playing with you. His tongue is so warm and wet, nudges your throbbing clit, nose pressed against your mound. “Mmm,” he moans, eyes fluttering shut as his mouth works wonders.

“Ah,” you gasp, whiny and high-pitched, when he dips one finger past your wet folds. The entry is seamless, his pointer finger sinking into the velvet walls of your cunt as his tongue swirls against your hardened bud. “Jungkook,” you mewl, knocking your heel against his shoulder. Jungkook huffs, suctions his lips around your clit. The cold metal of the rings he always wears— the duo set from that Chrome Hearts brand he likes so much —presses against the trembling lips of your pussy, makes your back arch when he twists his finger inside of you.

He’s so precise with his tongue, knows just how long and how hard to lick against your pulsing clit until you’re trembling, thighs quivering. Briefly, he pulls away, flicks his hair to the side in one suave motion that lets you see his dark eyes when he glances back up at you again, covered in a thick sheen of lust that makes them appear almost black as opposed to his usual warm brown. His hands reach for the waistband of your panties, tug them off with one fluid pull.

“So pretty for me,” he murmurs, the end of his words laced with a slight rasp that makes your hips jump. “All for me,” he says, roughly pushing his finger into you again. The harshness makes your entire body tighten up in surprise, eyes fluttering shut when he slips his middle finger alongside his pointer this time around.

“Baby, wait,” you whimper, walls fluttering around the two digits. Jungkook leans back in, presses a chaste kiss against your clit that makes your breathing stall as he thrusts his fingers into you.

He ignores your cries, locks his lips at the juncture where your thigh meets your body, sensitive skin that bruises all too easily when he sucks against it too hard. “Only for me,” he sighs, all pretenses discarded as he begins rapidly and roughly fucking his fingers into you. It’s intense, has your thighs quaking as he speeds them up.

The coil in your stomach tightens, and you have to bite down on your knuckles to stop the litany of whimpers from slipping past your lips when Jungkook ducks down again. He bypasses your quivering clit, warm tongue licking at the warm, wet folds around his fingers instead. The proximity makes the tip of his round nose brush along the length of your cunt, a sight and sensation that makes you moan, his bangs harshly tugged away from his forehead to give you the perfect view.

It’s with a particularly hard shove and twist combination of his fingers into your clenching walls that you cum, a gasp caught in your throat as your hips push toward him, chasing the feeling Jungkook bestows upon you. Your breathing is a mess, inhales too short, your exhales inconsistent, as Jungkook slows the speed of his fingers inside of you, lets your cum ooze out around them, coat his fingers and his rings.

“No,” you cry, watching that look come over his face when he withdraws his hand, the look that usually follows him sucking your cum into his mouth. “Jungkook, you don’t have to do that—” you whine, reaching for his wrist and yanking it towards you.

Jungkook follows, crawls back up beside you as he chases his own sticky fingers. “It’s mine,” he urges, has this weird look in his eyes you don’t think you’ve ever seen before. And just as quickly as it crosses his features, he’s lurching forward to catch his own fingers in his mouth. It’s lewd, the way his tongue wraps around them, leaves them sleek under the TV glow, tattoos and rings glistening. He has the audacity to moan, eyes fluttering shut as his devious tongue slips down between his fingers, so long and precise. There’s a tiny noise that tears itself from your throat, one that has him flickering his clouded gaze up to you as his fingers are released from between his own lips. “You like that,” he murmurs, wet fingers trailing down your cheek, capturing your chin to turn your face his way completely.

His tongue is sinful as it slips past your lips again, the tangy taste of yourself clinging to him. His breathing feels hot, suffocating. But his kisses are so good, make your mind go blank. So blank, that the fingers that rub at your clit surprise you completely. “Kook,” you gasp, breaking away from him in surprise.

Jungkook doesn’t let you get far, capturing your mouth with his again. The two fingers you had felt on your chin are gone, firmly pressed against your swollen clit, experimentally rubbing against it. Never mind the fact you were still sensitive from your first orgasm, thighs quivering when he drags them against the wet, soft skin. It makes you shudder, breaking away from him a second time for a desperately needed inhale of fresh air. Jungkook follows behind closely, pressing kisses over your jawline, your chin, as his fingers continue moving against your clit.

He has them pressed together, rubbing at the front of your slit where that bundle of nerves is hidden. It makes your stomach contract, hips jerking forward into the touch in an effort to match him, to speed up the process. “You were made for me, pretty girl,” Jungkook huffs against your cheek, nose pressed against your skin because he’s just so close, practically molded into your side as his fingers send rhythmic shocks of ecstasy up your spine.

Your mouth drops open, stuttered gasps filtering through your lips as Jungkook takes advantage of your sensitive body to draw out another orgasm. But there’s a weird sensation that builds in your stomach this time, one that brings with it a sense of panic. “Wait—“ you gasp, fisting the silky material of his shirt beneath one clenched fist. “Jungkook,” you warn, toes curling.

He responds with a harsh nip against your lower lip that makes you whimper. “Go ahead,” he purrs, rubbing his fingers over you at an insane speed, one that has your juices sloppily spread over your pussy, makes you buck into him and moan against his mouth.

The feeling grows, an intense, unfamiliar thing that you rarely recall ever feeling before, gasping for air as Jungkook’s fingers caress your clit, pressing down hard. “Fffuck, fuck,” you sob, mouth opening in a silent scream, eyes rolling backwards as you feel your pussy lips contract harder than ever before, thighs quivering as your juices squirt out of you, lower body reduced to jello as Jungkook quickens his movements, wrists jerking back and forth as your pleasure sprays out of you. “Ju— Jungkook,” you wail, forcefully slamming your thighs shut when he doesn’t stop, the pleasure seemingly never-ending under such a torturous touch. “Stop—stop,” you beg, eyes filling with tears that spill over when his trapped hand manages one final rough rub against your clit accompanied by a final gush of wetness.

Only then does he stop, leaning back on his knees to drink you in with dark eyes that make you quiver. There’s no trace of his usual post-orgasm cockiness, the smile he’ll flash you, the teasing jabs. Nothing, just a frankly terrifying gaze that has you self-consciously pressing your hands over your chest.

Jungkook doesn’t take kindly to it, roughly snatching one of your wrists up until you’re sitting up, the traces of your own orgasm present in the damp couch cushions beneath you, inner thighs coated in a thin sheen of your own pleasure. Jungkook leans in close, nose bumping against yours. “You came like that for me,” he says quietly, chest rising and falling with shallow breaths. You nod, eyes wide and teary when he reaches for the front of his shirt, giving it the same treatment he usually gives yours; two hands at the front, yanking it apart until the buttons are torn from their stitches and bouncing across your floor.

He throws it off to the side, his tan skin highlighted by the cool tones of the television, the dark sleeve of his tattoo especially prominent. The black ink almost looks blue under this light. You’re so distracted by the perfect swirls and doodles on Jungkook’s skin that you don’t realize that same hand is reaching for you until it’s too late, long fingers wrapping around your throat to jerk you forward, head tipping back to look up at him. “Say it, sweet girl,” he murmurs, eyes half-lidded. “Tell me you’re mine.”

The fingers around your throat squeeze once and then slowly begin tightening. You gasp, meeting his hooded gaze with yours, lips quivering for a response that’s stuck in your throat, trapped by your own surprise and tightening airways. Frantically, you reach for his wrists with both hands, not to pull Jungkook’s hand away, but to ground yourself from the hazy cloud of lust the moment evokes.

Still, your body isn’t as strong as you thought, and once Jungkook reaches a certain tightness around your throat you find yourself coughing. Instantly, he loosens his grip. But not too much. “I- I’m yours,” you rasp out, gasping for air.

For now, it satisfies Jungkook enough for him to release you. And while you’re grateful for the rush of fresh air that fills your lungs, the phantom ghost of his grip around your throat sends a new gush of wetness between your thighs. One that grows tenfold when Jungkook reaches for his belt, undoes it easily. It comes off with one fluid motion, carelessly shucked off to the side as his attention moves to the front of his pants instead.

He doesn’t let you sit around uselessly. “On your knees,” he says, so quietly you almost don’t hear it. “Sit on your knees facing the table.”

You blink slowly, the dry tears on your cheeks leaving stiff trails against your makeup. It takes a moment for your brain to process his request, one long second that has Jungkook pausing in his movements, leveling you with one solemn glare that eventually has you springing into action. You hastily slip off the couch, shuffling toward the coffee table between it and the television. The rug is soft beneath your knees, a luxury you can’t enjoy to the fullest because there’s a ball of excitement and fear stuck in your throat. (Right beneath your bruised skin and recuperating windpipes.) Sitting back on your calves, it feels like every nerve is standing stiff as you await his instructions.

“Bra off,” Jungkook says from behind you, and you’re startled by the sudden ripping of stitches behind you, almost turning to look at him. He stops you with one hand around the back of your neck, drawing a surprised gasp from you. “Sit still,” he commands, your back stiff straight, eyes focused on the screen. After a beat, Jungkook lets you go, pats the back of your head gingerly. “Good girl.”

A whimper catches in your throat at the praise, and you barely manage to bite down on it in time, hurriedly reaching behind you. Your hands fidget over the clasps on your bra, and you nearly jump out of your skin when one lone finger traces down your spine, undoing your bra for you. You don’t know why, but you say, “thank you.”

The television changes scenes in front of you, the bright colors a stark contrast to the darkness of Jungkook’s eyes. Your hands tremble in front of you, fingers anxiously tangling with each other. A few inches beside you, there’s a dark red box filled with the flowers from—

Suddenly, your vision goes dark, hands instinctively reaching up to your eyes. The pads of your fingers come in contact with a soft material, smooth and silky. Just like— “Is this… ?” you murmur, hands sliding across the makeshift blindfold Jungkook’s made for you, the same texture as his shirt had been.

He doesn’t grace you with an answer, just a hand against your hip as he, presumably, settles behind you. “Does it matter?” Jungkook says instead, voice all too close to your ear. Your entire body locks up, hands quickly returning to their spot against the coffee table.

Just as you’d suspected, Jungkook is all too close now, hands crawling over your body. They start at your waist, massage the skin tenderly, lovingly, before gliding up to cup your breasts. You shiver, a quiet exhale escaping you as Jungkook rubs his palms over your boobs, trapping your stiff nipples between his fingers. A sound threatens to escape you, and you trap it behind a bitten lip, fists clenched against the table before you. “You know,” Jungkook says conversationally, like he’s not pinching your nipples enough to make you squirm. “Who else do you think can make you come like this?”

You brain lags. “W- What?” you stutter, thighs pressing together to ward away the arousal. Not like they’re already sticky from before, from when Jungkook had made you squirt.

Jungkook doesn’t miss a beat, pressing a kiss against your shoulder that he trails up to your ear, nibbling at your earlobe. “Who else,” he says slowly, “can make you come like this?”

It’s not a trick question— no one could. You tell Jungkook as much. “I— no one,” you answer, rolling your lips in when he kisses the tender spot beneath your ear again.

His kisses feel loud, but not as loud as his voice when he says, “exactly.” You swallow, gripping at the edge of the coffee table when he releases your boobs, trails one hand between your thighs, the other around your throat to pull you backwards against his chest. It makes your hands flail, landing against the tops of his thick thighs.

Jungkook holds you close, fingers tightening around your throat teasingly. “No one else can please you like you want,” he exhales, letting his fingers trail over your skin. “Not the guy on tv, not your exes, not the fucking loser at your job,” he hisses, lips against your ear. “No one,” he reiterates, voice softer now as he presses a kiss against you. “No one but me.”

And it’s true.

You can’t even muster your usual mouthy, bratty attitude when Jungkook serves you cold hard facts like this. Not when you can feel his aching member press against the small of your back, rest perfectly in the slight dip between your ass cheeks. “Isn’t that right, sweet girl?” he murmurs, voice low.

You nod, tummy tightening when he uses the hand between your thighs to spread them apart. “Only you,” you agree, voice feathery.

Jungkook hides a grin against your skin, a mean chuckle escaping him when he rests his forehead against your shoulder. “Fuck,” he says, releasing your throat. “Such a good girl,” he praises, hands on your hips again. He uses them to encourage you up onto your knees, hips bumping into the edge of the table as he shuffles you forward. “Bend,” he says quietly, palm flat on the center of your back, pushing you down until your belly button is pressed against the cold wood, boobs swinging forward just the slightest. “Perfect.”

Jungkook shuffles up behind you, soothes a hand over your hip when you flinch at the first press of his cock against your folds. “You’re okay,” he comforts, voice like honey as he lines himself up. Your folds are slippery and wet, loose from your arousal and the two orgasms he’s already given you.

Despite all that, the first push of his engorged cock past the tight muscles makes you gasp. “Baby, that’s,” you moan, nails scratching against the coffee table to make a sound that you would otherwise find uncomfortable. “I—“

Jungkook pants behind you, cock sinking further and further in. “I’ve got you,” he husks. His voice is like the light at the end of the tunnel, your dark vision forcing you to rely on him entirely as he guides you through the motions. “Made for me,” he repeats, voice airy.

You nod jerkily, arms trembling as his cock plunges deeper inside of you. “Made for you,” you gasp, head falling forward, forehead pressed against the cold surface in front of you.

He moans, and there’s one deafening moment of silence when he finally reaches the hilt, soft pubic hairs at the base of his cock brushing against your folds. It’s a familiar sensation, having him buried inside of you, but it’s always different when he’s doing it from behind. He always feels fuller, bigger, mushroom tip practically kissing your cervix.

“Kook,” you whimper, walls unintentionally contracting around him when he lingers a second too long. “Move.”

“Fuck, fuck,” he curses behind you. “I know, it’s just—“ he pauses, squeezes your hip so hard, you’re certain it’ll bruise. “I wanna… y’know,” he groans, dropping his head against your back, warm breath fanning across your slightly sweaty skin.

It makes something in your stomach click into place, shifting back just the slightest. The small drag around your lips makes you brave. “Then do it,” you urge, desperate for any sort of friction.

Jungkook practically growls, bucking into you once. “No,” he says, like he’s battling with himself, faced with a mental hurdle he can only cross alone. “You don’t understand,” he sneers, suddenly snapping back into position behind you, pulling you flush against his pelvis once more. It makes you whimper.

“I kinda do—“

“You don’t,” Jungkook hisses, forcefully thrusting his hips into you enough to make your hips knock painfully against the edge of the coffee table, a startled moan falling from between your lips. And from there, it’s like you’ve unleashed a beast, because Jungkook shows you no mercy as he begins fucking you, his fat cock slipping in and out of you, his angry head flirting with your entrance. “I wanna fucking breed you,” he sneers, fingers digging into the skin around your waist to hold you still as he bucks his hips forward.

His vulgarity makes your skin heat up, the warmth probably tangible over your sloppily made blindfold, eyes wide despite the fabric that covers them. “That—” you gasp, thighs trembling with each powerful thrust.

“It’s too much, I fucking know,” he huffs dryly, releasing one hip to press against your shoulders, roughly shoving you forward until your breasts are pressed against the surface, arms bent up beside you to stop yourself from hitting your head. “But— But,” he shudders, suddenly stopping his thrusts to grind his cock against you instead, pussy lips quivering around his girthy member. “I wanna,” he pants, “wanna see you so fucking full of me, because— you’re mine, __,” he seethes, “right?”

You nod blindly, dumbly, brain too flooded with the stimulation he’s bestowing upon you to think properly. “I- I am,” you confirm, gasping for air. “And you’re mine,” you manage to get out, one hand slapping down against the coffee table when he draws his cock out, slams himself back into you quickly.

“I’m yours,” Jungkook slurs behind you, slowly picking up his pace again. The hand on your back lets go, and it’s with trembling arms that you manage to push yourself back onto your forearms, one hand blindly reaching for the hand he’s got gripping at your hips.

“Oh my god,” you whimper, the sounds coming from your connected bodies so lewd and obscene, disgustingly wet when Jungkook slips back inside. He surges forward again, and you try to catch your balance, knees quivering underneath the force of his thrusts. Your hand slides over the tabletop in a feeble effort to hold onto something, anything. You can’t see, and even if you could there’s not much to hold onto on a flat surface.

Except the box your hand knocks into. Your confusion lasts for only about a second because then Jungkook is ramming his cock into you, over and over, until you’re certain your hips are going to bruise and your knees are going to give out. Jungkook’s moans are soft and feathery, sighs that fan over your shoulder and make your back arch, eyes rolling backwards for the briefest second as if you were possessed.

“Mine,” he whimpers, desperate and needy, fingernails digging into your skin as he pushes on. “Gonna be mine forever,” he growls. “Gonna— Gonna be so pretty and big,” he moans, “tits so fucking full.” The image he puts in your mind makes you dizzy.

You nod dumbly, knuckles bumping against the box a second time. “Jungkook,” you choke out, fingers blindly nudging the box aside. But there’s no strength behind it, your entire body feeling weak and useless, all the energy concentrated in the coil in your stomach, the one that grows and tightens with every entrance of Jungkook’s cock into your pulsing walls. “There’s— There’s something,” you gasp, pinky finger tapping against it.

Behind you, Jungkook stills, harsh breaths deafeningly loud. Louder than the television and the corny music that plays, the mindless chatter of the characters you couldn’t name even if you tried. “Why would you...” Jungkook huffs, irritation lacing his words.

You don’t get to question it, because a second later his finger is tucking itself beneath your blindfold, yanking it off carelessly. It makes your head crane backwards, a tiny yelp torn from your lips as the blinding glow of the TV attacks your poor eyes at full force. Jungkook’s long since stopped his rapid thrusts, and it’s only when you glance off to the side that you realize why.

It’s the stupid box of flowers Seokjin had sent you, the one Jungkook had placed on the coffee table when you first got home.

Behind you, Jungkook releases one long exhale, both of you looking at the arrangement with various degrees of discomfort. “Did you like them,” he murmurs, cock throbbing inside of you.

You shake your head, a soft, “no,” falling from your lips. The muscles in your thighs quiver like mad.

Jungkook says nothing, but you watch as one inked arm stretches out from behind you, the movement of his hips pushing his cock deeper into you. A tiny whimper catches in your throat, watching as Jungkook hooks a finger over the lip of the box. One swift tug has it gliding over the tabletop, coming to a stop right beside your forearm. Jungkook leans back, the silence terrifying.

“Did you think they were pretty?” he asks, tracing one finger down your spine. Your lower lip trembles as your eyes scan over the bouquet, at the pretty color selection and lovely scent that joined together to overwhelm your senses.

“No,” you say, but it feels like a lie.

And Jungkook thinks so too, wrapping one hand around your throat and pulling you back forcefully. It’s the same as he did earlier, but with his cock deep inside your pussy, it sends a shock throughout your entire nervous system, a sob tearing itself from within you as he unintentionally pushes himself deeper inside. “Did you,” he says a second time, practically seething, “think Seokjin’s flowers were pretty?”

Your eyes flicker nervously across the screen in front of you, but everything is a blur, Jungkook’s harsh breathing against your ear. “Yes,” you confess, whimpering when his fingers tighten around your throat, press down against your windpipe as he inhales sharply. “But they’re just flow—“ He squeezes your throat so hard, your eyes nearly bulge out of their sockets, mind growing fuzzy. Eventually, he lets go and you dissolve into a fit of coughs, bent over the coffee table again as Jungkook slips his stiff cock out from within you. “I’m sorry,” you sniffle, throwing a teary-eyed look over your shoulder.

What you’re not expecting is for Jungkook to grab that same shoulder and roughly push you onto your side away from the coffee table, falling onto the fluffy rug as he shoves you down. “Something pretty for a pretty girl,” he sneers, biting down a frankly maniacal grin.

“What?” you exhale, probably looking at him with the same maniacal look in your eyes.

(You were made for each other, so crazy and in love.)

Jungkook stretches one toned arm out, and you flinch when he uses that same beautiful arm to send the box of flowers flying over the edge of the coffee table, a hard thwack resounding throughout the room when they land face down on the other side, petals against the floor, water dripping out from inside.

With those out of the way, Jungkook wastes no time flipping you over, face shoved down against the soft rug as he angles your hips up. “Thinking about someone else when I’m right here,” he growls, ramming his cock back into you with no warning. You sob, clawing at nothing as he bucks forward. “What a mean girl,” Jungkook scolds.

“I- I wasn’t,” you defend weakly, shivering as he snaps his hips against you, the rug irritating your cheek when the motion sends you forward. Jungkook uses the hands on your hips to pull you back, your skin clapping together loudly.

“You think Seokjin would— would fuck you like this?” he spits, using you like a toy as he fucks basically for himself, cock sliding in and out of your squelching walls. “You think he’d push you down and—and call you a stupid girl?”

You shake your head, eyes squeezed shut to fight the wave of tears threatening your waterline. Truthfully, it doesn’t make much of a difference, especially not when Jungkook yanks your hips back again, your entrance sensitive from all the friction. “No, no,” you sob. ”He wouldn't.”

Jungkook scoffs, not bothering to slow his pace down. “Of course he wouldn’t,” he spits, and then, strikes your ass. Two hard cracks of his palm, rings and all, against the globes of your ass. You wail, unconsciously jerking away only for Jungkook to drag you back. “Stupid girl,” Jungkook sighs, cock twitching inside of you. You can feel the beads of precum oozing out from the tip of his cock inside you, their warmth making you shudder.

Your other ass cheek receives the same treatment, two harsh smacks that leave the skin tingling, blood rising to the surface. “Stupid, stupid girl,” he repeats, palms rubbing over your cheeks for a brief second, only to strike down again. “Aren’t you?” You nod, fat tears dripping out of the corner of your eyes and down onto the fluffy rug beneath you. Your behind stings, pain blossoming over your skin. But it’s the good kind, the one that has drool escaping from the corner of your lips from how overwhelmed it leaves you.

“I- I’m a stupid girl,” you agree, your words punctuated by a series of tiny sobs and sniffles. Your walls feel sensitive, raw, from his thrusts. You’re ready to come, trembling hands slithering down to reach for your clit.

“Don’t,” Jungkook warns, snatching your arm up and twisting it behind you.

You cry, tears and drool against the rug. “I wanna come,” you whimper, trying your other hand only for it to meet a similar demise. “Please,” you sniffle, turning your face the other way as if the angle will somehow be different.

“You don’t come until I say so,” Jungkook hisses, using his grip on your wrists to tug you onto his cock. You moan, choke on your own saliva from the force, the tip of his cock kissing your cervix for real this time. It renders you stupid, just like Jungkook had called you, chin trembling as your eyes roll backwards. Behind you, Jungkook grunts something deep and raspy. “Fffuck,” he spits, pistoning his hips into your inviting heat. “You were doing so good tonight—“ a particular brutal buck of his hips, a loud moan torn from your lips “—but first those fucking flowers and now this?”

The rhythm of his deep thrusts cut your moans into stuttered little cries, your words broken with every ram of his cock inside of you. Your walls feel worn, every brush sending a tingling shock up your spine. “I- I’m sorry,” you weep, shoulders shaking from your own tears and the rumbling orgasm that’s just about ready to snap.

Jungkook says nothing, too busy shoving his cock inside of you to grace you with a response. Instead, you’re subjected to his relentless thrusts, sharp gasps from his pretty mouth. “Fuck,” he pants, releasing your wrists after one particular thrusts, your walls clenching around him painfully when he draws his cock out.

“I can’t,” you sniffle, knees giving out before he can catch you, sadly sinking down onto the plush rug. “Kook, I—”

Jungkook makes a sound, something between a growl and a roar in the back of his throat as he follows behind you, planting two firm hands on the sides of your head to use as leverage to fuck himself in. With your thighs pressed flat together, the squeeze is tighter than ever before, and your eyes roll backwards as he gets to work, walls fluttering from the overstimulation.

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he pants, all games thrown aside as he begins pounding his cock past your folds, deep into your contracting walls, until that tight spring in your stomach gives out and you’re clenching up beneath him, entire body going stiff for one long beat.

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you weep, thighs quivering as you cream his cock, make his movements so slippery and wet, almost dangerous when he’s going this fast. His name falls from your trembling lips, every nickname and pet name you’ve ever given him mindlessly blubbered through your orgasm. Jungkook pays you no mind, thighs tensing up as he chases his high, short breaths and moans filling the space as he fucks himself into you. Until, finally, a few deep strokes later, he’s coming with a shuddered cry of your name on his tongue, collapsing over you, forehead pressed to your back as he catches his breath.

“Fuck,” he groans one last time, body going slack very quickly. He slumps down beside you, softening cock slipping out of your tender folds.

The floor between the coffee table and the couch is dark, the television glow not reaching down here. Even still, the sweat clinging to Jungkook makes him look like a sparkly Twilight vampire, the dip between his pecs collecting the smallest pool of sweat. You can’t stop yourself from running your pointer finger along the skin, over his nipple. His pec jumps deliciously under the attention. “Stop,” Jungkook sighs, catching your wrist in his, pressing his lips to your knuckles in an attempt to distract you. “Or I’ll really get you pregnant next time.”

You push yourself onto your elbows, pinching his doughy cheek. “You won’t,” you tease. Jungkook flicks his hair away from his eyes to level you with a look you’ve never seen before, not a trace of his usual post-sex playfulness to be found. It has you retracting your hand, eyes wide when he doesn’t stand down. Still, you can’t lose. “...No you won’t,” you repeat, quieter, almost unsure. Almost a question.

Jungkook rolls his eyes, tugging you into his arms. He’s all sweaty and sticky, just like you. He’s lucky he doesn’t have four separate loads of cum— three from you, one from him —sticking between his thighs. “Keep telling yourself that,” he pants, so smoothly. Too smoothly. It makes you clench your thighs, something Jungkook doesn’t miss. “Stop it,” he warns a second time.

“You’re just so dreamy,” you whine, sitting back up to play with his hand. “Like, when you made me squirt?” He chuckles softly, eyes fluttering shut. “Not gonna lie, I thought I saw the answer to the universe for a second.”

He’s worn out today, more than usual, that he doesn’t bother gracing you with a response. But it had been a long day for Jungkook; from planning an entire date, to the Seokjin debacle, to the crazy hot sex he’d gifted you. It was only reasonable. You reward his efforts with a soft peck against his cheek that makes him smile, a light blush painting his cheeks. “You did good today,” you hum, patting chest comfortingly.

“Felt like I was in a Viki drama,” he confesses after a moment, has that tiny smile on his face that makes the apples of his cheeks especially round, especially cute. “The kind that have twelve plot lines going on.”

You laugh, snuggling beside him. The rug feels dirty, but so do you so the feeling is cancelled out or whatever. “You’d be the Park Seojoon of any Viki drama,” you tell him, and Jungkook laughs.

That loud and airy one he reserves only for you.

epilogue

Namjoon calls Jungkook’s phone a little after eleven, talking your ear off about some date he’d gone on while Jungkook is in the shower. You tell him about what happened with Seokjin and like all respectable college mentors, he just about flips. “You can sue him,” Namjoon hisses, furious for you. Not that you aren’t anymore, but in a weird act of impulsiveness, Jungkook had gone outside and ran the stupid box of flowers over with his car as you watched from the open window of your apartment. It was weirdly cathartic.

He’s in the shower now, humming the lyrics to one of the songs from Secretary Kim, a song called It’s You by Jeong Sewoon (thank you, Shazam), that makes every inch of your body overflow with adoration when he hits that long note. Anyway, you’re perusing the rest of the streaming service for a movie to watch. Jungkook said you couldn’t watch Train to Busan tonight, something about it ruining the mood. So now you’re debating between a historical romcom or a modern romcom.

Over the line, Namjoon is doing all the raging for you. “Men are trash,” he huffs one last time, before eventually letting it go. (For now.) “Hey, do you know how to cover up hickeys?” he asks suddenly, just as Jungkook reappears in the living room. His skin is glowing, looking like the hottest man alive. The window is still open, a feeble attempt to air out the smell of sex in the room, and the draft makes Jungkook shiver because his hair is still a little wet.

“Hickeys?” you repeat, stretching a hand out for him as he rounds the couch. Jungkook takes it, places a soft smooch against your knuckles, close to your promise ring. Your heartbeat stutters just as Namjoon hums.

“Yeah, this girl,” he says, cutting himself off with a laugh. One you recognize all too well because it’s the same one you let out when you talk about Jungkook to other people. Said boy settles close beside you, leans his cheek against your head when you snuggle into his neck. As soon as he’s there, you lose all rights to the remote, watching as Jungkook completely disregards all your searching just to click back onto Secretary Kim. He had missed a whole episode. “We went a little crazy tonight—“ you gag at the image Namjoon places in your head “—and Doyeon bites kinda hard—“

“Doyeon?” you interrupt, all mental processes coming to an abrupt halt as the name bounces around your mind. Jungkook, having mastered the art of listening in on your phone calls by now, freezes beside you. “You know a Doyeon?”

“Yeah!” Namjoon says excitedly as you sit up. Jungkook meets your gaze, big Bambi eyes giving the performance of a lifetime, and gives your this overly innocent shrug of his shoulders that tells you more about what he does know than what he doesn’t. “Kim Doyeon. She went to your school— actually, she graduated with you and Kook.”

The world comes to a complete stop as you glare at Jungkook, his panicked features cueing you in to the fact he was aware of this, as you’d suspected. “Namjoon,” you say slowly, fist tightening around Jungkook’s phone. “Are you aware you’re fucking my best friend?”

There’s a long silence on the other end, Namjoon presumably processing the information while Jungkook tries to calm the boiling anger within you. “He didn’t know,” Jungkook whispers, big pretty eyes on you as he tries to save Namjoon from you.

All his efforts are in vain when Namjoon clears his throat and so eloquently says, “and you’re fucking my best friend?”

epi-epilogue

The Best Buy employee doesn’t ask questions when you and Jungkook go in to get your cracked phone screens repaired. He does, however, give Jungkook an over-exuberant sales pitch on a brand new line of computer monitors that are almost as big as the television at your house.

You try to save him from the dangerous hands of capitalism, but the Hello Kitty bandaids decorating your neck are itchy, the skin still so tender, so sometimes it’s wiser to let him waste his money than argue otherwise.

“Good girl,” Jungkook says as he swings your arms back and forth on your walk to the car, impressed by the fact you didn’t argue with him in a Best Buy today. “My perceptions and understanding of you in my life make me happy,” he beams, too smiley as he unlocks the doors.

“Shut up,” you glare, painfully tearing the stupid bandaids off your neck as soon as you get in, brandishing the blossoming hickeys Jungkook had so graciously given you last night. At the sight, he bites down a smile. “You’re about to perceive and understand these fists.”

And Jungkook smiles— he always smiles —as he leans over the center console to press his mouth against the darkened skin at the front of your neck, mindlessly rubbing his thumb over your promise ring. “Perceive this love,” he says, so cheesy it makes you gag.

“Goddd,” you groan, pushing him away before he can see the smile on your face. “Someone get this man a Viki deal.”

#networkbangtan #bangtanhq #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeon jungkook x reader #jungkook fic #jjk smut #jeon jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader smut #bts jungkook #bts fic #bts smut #mine

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sesamestreep · 3 years

Text

if dreams were thunder, and lightning was desire

(read on AO3)

(read the whole series here)

SUMMARY: It's one thing to agree to get married for symbolic reasons in the name of political unity. It's another thing entirely to actually be married. [AKA - further adventures in that arranged marriage medieval fantasy AU of Rogue One]

A/N: Here I am, arriving three years late with proverbial Starbucks, to post my now once-yearly attempt at fic! I'm actually posting this as a birthday gift to my forever girl @firstelevens who is also responsible for helping me flesh out this idea in the first place.... [checks notes] uh, four years ago. Happy happy birthday and thank you for being the most supportive and wonderful friend in the multiverse, even though I’ve recently become terrible at replying to texts. Further notes are there if you want them if you follow the AO3 link above!

Cassian Andor wakes up to an empty bed, which is not, in and of itself, a startling thing. In fact, there was a time, only a few months ago, when it would have been a much greater surprise to find the other side of his bed occupied. Even now that he is married, waking to find his wife already up and gone is not an uncommon occurrence. The first few times he woke to find her gone, he had been confused, certainly, but he has adjusted to her habits and the sight of her side of the bed empty no longer inspires panic or concern as it had in the beginning.

However, this morning is different. Cassian’s wife is an early riser almost without exception, but she is not normally so far ahead of him that her side of the bed is as cold as it is now when Cassian runs his palm over the linens. Even more startling is the darkness that still lingers outside the window. It’s not yet dawn, then, and she is already awake and about the castle. That is highly unusual.

Perhaps, if Cassian had slept well, he might let these confusing details go. But he never sleeps well the night before he travels and tomorrow—or today, actually, given the hour—he leaves on a scouting mission to the southern provinces. He has slept fitfully most of the night and apparently only got enough actual sleep to let his wife slip out of their chambers unnoticed. He sighs and throws off the bedding, knowing he won’t get any more rest until he knows where Jyn has gone.

In little more than three months of marriage, Cassian cannot say he’s gotten to know his wife well. She is secretive and aloof, as a rule, and he has done all he can to give her the space she seems to yearn for, because he knows that, while she has accepted him as a husband, she did not choose him. Their union is a symbolic one, designed to mollify two disparate factions of the Rebellion as they struggle to rule together. He and Jyn are not royalty or even particularly important people, aside from that. No one is waiting on them for heirs or anything of that sort, and they can spend the rest of their lives as indifferent to each other as they please.

Still, Cassian cannot help that he has learned things about his wife, in spite of the careful distance that exists between them. He is a spy, after all. His job is to discover new information, even—or perhaps, especially—when the other party does not wish to give it to him. Jyn is adept at hiding things from others, but even she is not a complete mystery to him. No one is, for one thing, but she has the distinct disadvantage of sharing a bed with him.

What he knows does not amount to much, truly. Except that he had heard his wife complain more than once, in an undertone to her brother, of how restless and bored she feels cooped up in the stone walls of the castle. That, and the early hour where almost everyone else will still be in bed, suggests to Cassian that he would do well to get dressed and try to find his wife outside.

His instincts are correct in this case, as he finds her on the southern lawn outside the castle, standing alone and, he imagines, waiting for the sunrise that is beginning to tinge the sky with an orange glow just above the horizon. He takes the opportunity, before she hears him approach, to pause and take in the image of her, alone in the pretty half-light of the early morning.

She wears no overcoat, which irks him for reasons he does not fully understand. By midday, there is a good chance it will be a balmy spring day, but now, it is still chilly and damp without the sun to warm them. Jyn could catch a cold in this weather and Cassian has never known someone who can be so cautious and so careless at the same time.

On the other hand, she did go through the trouble of getting fully dressed before heading out, so perhaps Cassian should be thankful. He apparently also got more sleep than he realized, because he hadn’t heard any sound at all while she got her clothes on in the dark of their bedchamber. He half-expected her to still be in her dressing gown, given her lack of concern with convention.

He wishes he could say she looked tranquil as she surveys the forested land that borders the castle, but, for all he can only just make out her features in the minimal lighting, he can tell she is frowning. He thinks, absently, that she is beautiful nonetheless and then regrets it. He should not be distracted by her looks when he knows she is unhappy.

The distant call of a bird draws her attention in his direction and he sees the way her eyes widen in alarm when they land upon him before she thinks to hide her reaction. His opportunity to observe her unnoticed is gone, and he has no choice but to cross the distance between them, though he does try to appear unhurried.

“Good morning, Captain,” she greets him as he comes nearer and he almost stops short.

It always trips him up when she refers to him by his rank. It’s fine when others do so—that is protocol—but hearing it from his wife always strikes him as odd. He has told her as much, but there are moments when she defers to it still. He believes, though he has no proof of this, that she does it on purpose, that she only uses it when she is in a certain mood. Cassian has yet to ascertain what that mood is—if she is being sarcastic, if she is angry, if it might be her way of showing affection, even—but he knows there is some motive behind it that he does not understand. If he knew, he might be able to respond in some clever way, but as it is, he is at a loss for words.

“Good morning, my lady,” he says, and perhaps he is cleverer than he gives himself credit for, because Jyn’s frown deepens momentarily before she can stop herself. “You are up early today.”

“As are you,” she says, her tone suggesting that she heard the question hidden in his statement and she won’t be responding to it.

Cassian laughs, without meaning to. “I couldn’t find my wife this morning. It was an alarming way to wake up.”

He expects a terse response from her, saying that she is always awake before him. Instead, Jyn’s eyebrows raise in surprise and her frown eases, just a bit. “You were worried?” She asks, disbelieving.

“I—of course I was,” he replies. He is always worried, he doesn’t know how she hasn’t noticed yet.

“About me?”

“Yes,” he says, puzzled by her need for clarification. “We’re married. It is my duty to worry about you.”

Jyn tsks at that, whether in understanding or disappointment, he’s not sure. “And you are always dutiful,” she says, her tone unreadable still.

“I try to be,” Cassian says, feeling like he is stuck in a game of wits for which he is unprepared. He is capable and coherent around others, but his wife always has the upper hand on him. It never feels like he has the right answer for her. Even now, she nods before looking away, back at the horizon as it becomes rosier by the moment.

“Are you well?” He asks, when the silence starts to stretch out too long.

She blinks in confusion when she looks back at him, as if she had forgotten he was there. “I—yes, of course,” she says, and he realizes it was the question that confused her. “Do I not look well?”

Another question to which there is no right answer, he thinks. “It’s very early to be out of bed,” he says, instead of answering her question.

“I am always up early.”

“Not this early.”

“Have I done something wrong, Captain?”

“Jyn, I’m not chastising you,” he says, laughing. He’s not amused, not precisely, but if he doesn’t laugh, he’ll probably shout from frustration. This feels safer. “I’m asking if something is troubling you. I want to know that you are alright.”

His obvious frustration must outweigh her annoyance, because everything about her—her expression, her posture—immediately softens, the fight going out of her instantly. “I’m sorry. I don’t mean to be defensive. I just couldn’t sleep and I didn’t want to wake you, not when you’re leaving this morning, but I see that I did anyway.”

“You didn’t. I...never sleep well before a journey.”

“Oh?”

He hesitates to say more, lest he seem like he sought her out just to drop his problems at her feet, but she is watching him with interest and, if he’s not mistaken, concern, so perhaps she would not mind. “All of the details, the logistics of the trip, I go over them, in my head, all night long. I’m practically frantic by morning, most of the time.”

“I—” Jyn cuts herself off, shaking her head, like she had something to say and thought the better of it. “I have a hard time imagining you in a frantic state,” she says, instead.

“Well, then,” he says, feeling some strange twinge of pride, “I suppose I am doing my job well.”

“As a spy, perhaps,” she replies, her tone unreadable.

“What other job do I have?” He asks, ignoring the fact that he’s not, officially speaking, a spy anymore. His actual title has something to do with “intelligence,” a distinction he’s meant to care about a lot more than he actually does. He’s not spying in the same way that he was during the war, but he’s not delusional enough to tell himself that those aren’t the skills the Republic has kept him around for.

Jyn gives him a long, searching look. “It hardly matters,” she says, finally, waving a hand and looking off at the horizon again. She’s quiet for a moment before she speaks again. “I’m a miserable excuse for a wife, though, not noticing that you couldn’t sleep.”

“I wouldn’t say that.”

“Of course not,” she says, smiling, though the light of it doesn’t reach her eyes. “You are far too polite.”

“‘Polite’ is not the first word most people would use to describe me, my lady.”

“‘Careful,’ then,” she says, pointedly.

Cassian nods, feeling as if he has lost this round. “That is far more likely.” He pauses before he says anything more, weighing the risk of it, but ultimately decides it might be worth saying. “I did not want to trouble you. I didn’t realize you were awake.”

“I often am, at odd hours,” she says, and there’s something light and teasing about it now. “And you could stand to trouble me more, Captain. I’ve never heard of such an undemanding husband before.”

Unable to parse what she means when she suggests he “trouble” her when he cannot sleep—and unwilling to use his imagination, knowing where it will lead him—he decides to address a less mystifying part of her comment. “I’ve told you that you needn’t call me that,” he says.

“‘Husband?’” She asks, innocently, though he sees a bit of performance in it.

“No. ‘Captain.’”

“Well, you still call me ‘my lady.’ Only one of those honorifics is still worth anything, and it surely isn’t mine.”

“I only call you ‘my lady’ when…”

“Yes?” Jyn’s features take on the expression of an animal that has backed its prey into a corner, leaving it no options of retreat.

Cassian thinks it unwise to point this out, though. He also thinks it unwise to finish what he was about to say, which is that he only calls her ‘my lady’ when he wants to call her ‘my dear’ or something equally sentimental that he’s sure she would not approve of. It feels disingenuous to him, as well. He simply finds his vocabulary for expressing the intimacy of living so closely with another person without encroaching upon the territory of affection rather wanting. He cares for her, of course—why else would he be out of bed and out of doors on a freezing morning if he didn’t?—but there is hardly a chance of love or even affection in a marriage as young and unfamiliar as theirs.

“When I do not know what else to call you,” he says, instead of the truth. It’s barely even a lie, but it nags at him like one regardless. He has been trying to lie less around his wife, but it’s a difficult habit to break.

“My name would work well enough,” Jyn replies, her tone caught somewhere between amused and suspicious.

“So would mine.”

She hesitates before responding, looking shy, although it is a rare thing from her. “I thought you might like it, being called by your rank.”

“Not from you,” he says, immediately. “I am called that by enough people. When I’m home, when I’m with you, I am just your husband.”

He doesn’t realize the way this sounds—sentimental, the very thing he was avoiding—until the words are out of his mouth and Jyn’s face goes blank with astonishment. She recovers quickly, though, looking down at her feet.

“As you wish, husband,” she says, quietly.

“Well, you know now why I could not sleep. What has kept you awake?”

“Bad dreams,” she says, matter-of-factly. “As always.”

“Always?” Cassian repeats, concerned. He didn’t know she had nightmares. She shifts in her sleep often, he has noticed, always twisting herself into shapes that cannot possibly be comfortable, but he’s never known her to cry or panic enough to wake herself, the way he associates with nightmares.

“Most nights,” she confirms, looking away to avoid his gaze.

She crosses her arms over her chest, although he cannot tell if it’s a defensive gesture or simply because she is cold. He decides to proceed as though it is the latter and begins to slip his arms out of his coat’s sleeves. The rustling of the fabric draws her gaze back to him and her eyes widen with alarm when she realizes what he means to do.

“Oh, no,” she says, waving a hand to ward him off. “Don’t bother. You will freeze without it.”

“Is that so?” Cassian asks, ignoring her protests and pulling his jacket off completely.

“I know how cold you get,” she says, archly. There are things she has learned from sharing a bed with him, too, it appears.

He doesn’t take the bait to argue with her and instead steps forward until he’s only a single pace away from her and sweeps the jacket over her shoulders. She stands stiffly as he does so, as if she cannot figure out her part in this scene. Or perhaps she worries the slightest gesture will upset the moment they are sharing, though this idea might be romantic nonsense on Cassian’s part.

He draws the coat tighter around her body by the lapels and he fidgets with the collar so it will stand up and block the cold wind, since she has no scarf. He wants nothing more in the world than to take her hair that has gotten trapped in the collar and draw it out for her, if only for the excuse it would give him to run his hands through it without the risk of giving himself away. All the while, Jyn watches him with her chin tipped up, her eyes narrowed in obvious but neutral interest. Perhaps he has already given himself away.

“Do not worry on my account,” he says, trying to sound nonchalant. He has finished arranging the coat around her shoulders, but his hands still linger on the lapels, holding it together, not wanting to let go and give up his excuse to be close to her. “If I am any good at my job, I will convince you to come inside before I even feel the cold.”

“Your job?” Jyn asks, warily. “As a spy?”

“Yes, and as a husband.”

“It is your duty as my husband to ensure I do not freeze to death?”

“Amongst other things.” He means it plainly enough, but in this close proximity, he sees the way Jyn bites her lip and look away at the implication of his words and he feels himself flush with embarrassment. He tries to steer the conversation elsewhere, no matter how artlessly. “I have nightmares too.”

Jyn’s head snaps up. “You do?”

“Yes.”

“About the war?”

Cassian swallows and words feel more difficult than he anticipated, so he simply nods. It’s probably important that his wife knows these things about him, especially if he wants her to tell him things too.

She watches him carefully, as if she’s waiting for a trap but Cassian just gazes steadily back at her, to see if she’ll trust him. After a moment, she sighs and says, more to his chest than to his face, “most of mine are from when I was young.”

“I have a few of those too.”

Jyn nods, closing her eyes. Cassian transfers the lapels of the coat into one hand, so that his other one is free to rub her shoulder. He wants her to say more, but he doesn’t want to pressure her. Without warning, she steps further into his embrace, close enough that she’s able to perch her chin on his shoulder. Though her face is turned away from him, the sweetness of the gesture nearly overwhelms him. He places his hand on her back, between her shoulder blades, just so she doesn’t think to pull away.

“I think the trouble is not having much to occupy my time here,” she says, after a moment, and Cassian could collapse with relief at hearing her speak. “I’m not accustomed to idleness. And when I try to sleep, my mind is still awake and it gives me these vivid dreams.”

He can’t help himself any longer. He smooths a hand over the back of her head, brushing back some strands of hair that have come loose from where she’s tried to tie it at the nape of her neck. He thinks he feels her pull closer. “And what do you dream of?”

“My brother and I, when we were young, we were always out of doors. We’d have breakfast with my mother and then she’d send us away and we’d spend all day together, collecting rocks and shells from the beaches or scrambling over rocks. We never came home until dinner.”

“That doesn’t sound like a nightmare to me.”

“It was lovely,” she says, sounding pained, and he tightens his hold on her. “I had a very idyllic childhood, in most regards. Mostly because my parents didn’t tell me anything that was going on.”

Cassian laughs, lightly, at that. “That’s what parents are supposed to do.”

Jyn buries her face in his shoulder, hiding from his gaze. “A lot of good it did me,” she says, and even her tone sounds closed-off.

“What happens in your dreams?” He asks, quietly. He knows she probably wants to end this conversation and pretend it never happened, but he needs her to know that he’s here, that he’s willing to listen.

She takes a deep, shuddering breath, as if to prepare herself. “It’s just me and Bodhi as children, running around wild like always. At first, it feels like a memory, but then it starts to feel…sinister. I don’t really know how to describe it, it’s just this inexplicable dread that washes over me. Sometimes, we can hear people coming, a great mass of them, and we get scared. Other times, there’s some terrible storm moving in, faster than we can run. But we try to get home, anyway. We’re always running to find my mother, to warn her. It always feels so important that we get to her. And the ground falls away beneath our feet. Sometimes, I lose Bodhi; he falls or gets hurt and he’s crying out for my help but I can’t stop, or sometimes, he just disappears and I can’t remember how to get home. And I’m completely alone.”

After a moment’s silence, Jyn pulls back in his embrace. He doesn’t let her go, but he does give her some space. “Foolish, isn’t it?” She asks, with a false smile. He can hear the unshed tears in her voice and knows she’s trying to make light of it so he doesn’t think her weak.

“No,” he says, firmly, reaching a hand up to cup her cheek. “Not at all. But you and your brother survived the war, Jyn. And you’re together. It must be some comfort to you.”

“Yes, it is. Of course it is. But our parents didn’t survive. And that version of us, the children who used to play on the beach together, they didn’t survive the war, either. Our lives are so different now. I think that’s what the dream is about.”

“You wish to go home?”

“I wish to go back,” she says, bearing his personal question with grace. She thinks on it a moment, before sighing in frustration and shaking her head. “If only it was as simple as returning to Lah’mu. But I know that the place will not be the same now as it was then. And I am different too.”

“Perhaps that’s why something is always wrong in your dream,” Cassian muses. “You long to go back to that time in your life, but you know you don’t belong there anymore. Maybe that’s the source of the tension you feel in the dream.”

Jyn looks at him, appraisingly, and he worries that he overstepped somehow. However, when she finally speaks, she doesn’t seem offended. “What do you dream of, Captain?”

“Me?”

“Yes. You said you have nightmares too.”

“Oh, yes,” he replies, with considerable effort. He’d forgotten about that admission. “It’s difficult to explain.”

“Of course,” Jyn says, and her expression shutters immediately. “You’re under no obligation to tell me.”

Cassian reaches for a stray piece of hair that’s brushing against her collarbone, twisting the errant strand around his finger loosely. “Don’t misunderstand me,” he says, quietly and more plaintively than he meant to. He doesn’t know why he’s so worried about offending her by accident. “I’m not equivocating. I really do not know how to describe them.”

“Do you even wish to?” She asks, with a sharpness he deserves but is still unprepared for.

“No,” he answers honestly, which makes her blink in surprise. “I do not wish to tell you anything that will make you think less of me.”

“You should not worry about that.”

“Is your opinion of me already so low?” He asks, with every intention of making light of it but the question comes out unfortunately earnest.

Jyn, for her part, looks bewildered. “No,” she says, immediately. “Quite the opposite. I have a hard time imagining anything you could say that would make me think less of you.”

He takes a deep breath, looking away from her face and focusing instead on the strand of hair he’s still toying with. “I always dream of people I’ve…lost. People I’ve hurt or abandoned,” he says, choosing his words carefully. “It’s much like what you’ve described, I think. They feel like memories but I know they’re not quite right. And I know there’s nothing I can do to change what happens. So I just have to live through it again. And again. Until I wake up.”

As he’s speaking, Jyn reaches for him, closing her hand around his wrist where it’s resting against her shoulder. When he feels the weight of her thumb pressing into the space between the bones of his forearm, he releases the lock of her hair, letting it unspool from around his finger. He’d pull his hand back completely, but her grip on him tightens like she’s read his mind. She brings his hand close enough that she can press her lips to the spot where his pulse is now racing wildly.

“You ought to have told me sooner,” she says, and she must be able to feel his heartbeat against her lips. The thought makes him warm with both embarrassment and anticipation.

He swallows with considerable effort. “To what end?”

“There are things,” she says, against the soft skin of his inner wrist, “that a wife can do. To help her husband sleep. To take his mind off his worries. I could do those things for you, if you wanted. You need only ask.”

She makes it sound so simple, as if they had the sort of marriage where they stated their desires plainly to each other, where they asked for what they wanted and then got it. But the asking is the most difficult part, in Cassian’s experience, or maybe the wanting is. They’ve been intimate together in the way Jyn is implying only once, on their wedding night, and, while enjoyable, it hardly left him with a strong sense of what his wife wants or expects from him.

Now, though, Jyn is offering that to him again. There was no mistaking it. His own need startles him, thrumming in his veins so loudly that he can hardly think. He has weeks of travel ahead of him, weeks of sleeping on the hard ground with only young, raucous soldiers for company. It will be cold and lonely and it will not even occur to him to complain, to dislike it, since it’s all he knows. Or, rather, it was all he knew before he was married. Before Jyn. He would be wise to avail himself of his wife’s offer while he can, enjoy the softness of her before he leaves and knows no softness of any kind for weeks.

He takes too long considering it, though, for Jyn’s face falls and she pulls back from him, only a little but it feels like a great distance, when they are this close. “Of course, you should feel no obligation to—”

“I don’t,” he replies, hastily. “I don’t feel any obligation.”

“I merely thought I should offer,” she says, and her eyes lower to avoid his gaze.

“No, that’s not what I meant,” Cassian says, closing his eyes in embarrassment. “What I meant to say is…what I feel for you is not obligation.”

He can feel her looking at him now, the scrutiny in her gaze obvious even with his eyes still closed. “And what do you feel for me, Captain?” She asks, carefully.

An overwhelming and terrible want , he thinks. A desire so deep he has yet to discover the bottom of it. A dangerous kind of possessiveness, like they belong to one another, even though they’re not the sort of people who belong to anyone, or the sort to hold onto anything they’re given too tightly, because they know the pain of having it taken away.

He doesn’t say any of that, though. Instead, he makes the mistake of opening his eyes and looking at her and the only logical conclusion to that action is to step forward and kiss her. His hand, the one she’s not still holding captive, curves around her cheek as his mouth covers hers. Her lips part for him without hesitation and their kiss deepens. It’s as good as their wedding night, but this time he’s sharp and clear headed, not hazy and tired from long hours of drinking and celebrating, and he intends to memorize every single detail. The way she wraps her arm around him and her fingers dig into his shoulder blade, desperate for purchase. The sound of surprise she made when their lips first met and how it mellows into a quiet hum of satisfaction, as if she’s been waiting for this.

When she pulls away from him after a few moments, it takes everything in his power not to whine in complaint. But they’re both breathing heavily and Jyn’s hair is even more disheveled than before, which might be his fault but could also be from the wind that’s doing its best to push them back to their warm bed. He’s beginning to think they should listen, and he’s about to say as much, when Jyn speaks first.

“You’re cold,” she says, and he’s about to take it the wrong way when she pulls his hand from her face and wraps it up in both of her own to warm it.

He laughs, more overwhelmed than anything else. “I don’t feel it,” he says, because he was too busy feeling everything else.

She levels an arch look at him, either because she’s not impressed with his effort to flatter her or because she’s actually worried he’s going to catch his death like this, kissing her on a hillside in the early morning. He’s going to die somehow, it might as well be like this, he thinks, but he doesn’t try to kiss her again. He has the sense that she has more to say.

“You can kiss me in our bedroom, you know,” she says, making it worth the wait.

His heartbeat races, caught somewhere in the vicinity of his throat. “I can?” He asks, stupidly.

Jyn searches his face, looking for something. Reassurance, perhaps, or sincerity. Whatever she’s looking for, she must find it, because she nods, slowly, and a smile overtakes her face. “You can kiss me anywhere you like,” she says, and it does his heart rate no favors.

Cassian steps back, grabbing her hand so he can pull her with him in the direction of the castle. She follows him and, as they walk, he pulls her into his side, burying his face in her neck and planting a kiss there. When she squirms slightly and elbows him in the ribs, he laughs against her skin.

“You said anywhere ,” he says, and she laughs too.

***

The next morning, the castle bustles with activity as Cassian leaves his briefing with Draven. Using the former seat of the emperor’s power as the headquarters of the government of the New Republic has always struck him as a smart choice on the part of the rebels, from a symbolic standpoint and in a practical sense of needing the actual work of governing the country to happen somewhere. By its very nature, a castle is almost comically oversized for one person’s needs, even a ruler’s, and so the former rebels had made a much better use of the space than the emperor ever had.

However, on this particular morning, with his mind already running through logistics of the mission ahead and planning what to say to the soldiers he’s bringing along, Cassian finds the crowded halls and corridors more grating than he normally does. It hadn’t seemed possible to feel this way during the war, when the emperor’s excesses had seemed so absurd and villainous, but Cassian is beginning to wonder if maybe the castle is too small for their purposes. The new government will loathe the idea of expanding, will object to spending money on something so frivolous, but it may be necessary, he thinks, as he bumps into yet another person in the crush of people moving about as he makes his way to the courtyard. The small party of soldiers accompanying him on this mission are gathering there now and they’re meant to depart in less than an hour. It will not set a good tone for the next few weeks if their captain keeps them waiting.

Much like in the old days—and it is staggering to think of the rebellion as something of the past, he realizes with a lurch—these missions are to gather information on activity across the Republic. However, unlike in the old days, he’s not trying to find the one piece of intelligence he’s certain will win the war for the rebels, which is a welcome change. He’s also, generally speaking, not in constant mortal danger anymore, though there are some areas of the country that the war ravaged worse than others, leaving desperation and crime in its wake. That’s why Draven still sends Cassian on these scouting missions, to see what corners of the nation still need aid or resources. Peacetime has been far from perfect for everyone, but even with the things he’s seen, Cassian can’t deny most people, himself included, are better off.

He’s so lost in his thoughts of the mission as he makes his way to the rendezvous point he arranged with the party that Bodhi must have had to call his name a half a dozen times before Cassian finally heard him. By the time he turns around, Bodhi is practically at his elbow, which is both impressive and guilt-inducing, from the way Cassian can see him leaning heavily on his cane. He does his best not to wince, because Bodhi doesn’t enjoy being fretted over, and slows down so his brother-in-law can more easily keep pace with him instead.

“Captain,” Bodhi exclaims, managing to only sound slightly out of breath, “I’m glad I caught you!”

“Coming to see me off, Captain Rook?” Cassian asks, pointedly.

Bodhi looks properly chastened. “Sorry, Cassian. I’m still not used to it.”

“Calling me by my first name or being a captain yourself?”

“Either,” he says, and Cassian understands. Bodhi was only promoted to Captain after his heroics in the Battle of Eadu and it was only a few months later that the treaty was signed. He’s only ever been a captain in peacetime. “I just don’t fully think of you as my sister’s husband yet.”

That does make Cassian wince and he isn’t quick enough to hide it from Bodhi, whose eyes immediately widen in alarm. “Not like that!” he practically shouts. “I mean, it’s nothing to do with you! I just can’t believe Jyn has a husband at all. In my head, she’s still six years old and telling me what to do all the time.”

“To be fair, she does still tell you what to do,” Cassian replies. “No change in your rank will ever change that.”

Bodhi laughs. “You’re certainly right about that.” After a brief pause, he adds, “Where is my sister, anyway? Isn’t she coming to see you off?”

“Oh, well, she’s—no.” He clears his throat. “We’ve already said our goodbyes.”

Bodhi nods absently, seemingly satisfied with this answer and mercifully doesn’t ask for any further details. Cassian is not sure his nonchalant facade would hold up under questioning and the exact nature of the goodbye he and his wife shared this morning would soon be extremely obvious to her brother. It’s better for everyone if they somehow avoid that outcome altogether.

His relief is short-lived, however, when Bodhi suddenly asks, “And did she…uh…did she get a chance to, well…?”

They arrive at the training yard before Bodhi arrives at his actual question. Cassian pauses in the archway that leads into the yard and turns to face him. “What is it?” He asks, dreading the answer.

“Well, I was just wondering if my sister got a chance to speak with you?”

“Bodhi, your sister and I are married. We speak with one another quite often as a result. You will need to be more specific.”

Bodhi makes a face that suggests he would much rather do anything else. “I thought she might have mentioned the incident with Senator Jebel?” he says, voice stuck between a statement and a question.

Cassian blinks, searching his memory for anything relevant. “Incident?” He finally asks, when nothing comes to mind. He doesn’t like the sound of that.

“‘Incident’ might be too strong a word,” Bodhi admits apologetically.

“Here’s an idea: why don’t you tell me what happened and I’ll decide what the correct word for it is?”

“It’s just—if Jyn didn’t tell you about it, then it clearly didn’t bother her very much. I certainly don’t want to insert myself into the middle of your marriage!”

Cassian doesn’t point out that it’s a little late for that sentiment and instead asks, as calmly as he can manage, “What happened, Bodhi?”

“Well, it was just—” He pauses as a few people pass between them to exit into the yard, shifting his weight uncomfortably while trying to maintain his grip on his cane. When they’re gone, he continues, “Jyn and I were walking together the other day when we came across Lieutenant Tuesso walking with Senator Jebel. And, well, Kay was saying something to her about passing along some information for your upcoming scouting mission and—actually, Jyn told him to tell it to you himself because she’s not your secretary—”

Cassian smiles at that, able to picture it so clearly. Kay is perhaps his oldest friend and the person he trusts most in the field, but he and Jyn get along like oil and water. Still, if Kay had truly objected to Cassian’s marriage, he would have done everything in his power to stop it, but he’d only asked if Cassian was sure before giving his blessing. Well, it was more like his resignation, but coming from Kay, they’re basically the same thing. Cassian likes to imagine that Jyn’s fiery temper and sharp wit secretly amuse Kay but he’s simply too stubborn to admit it.

“But that’s not the point,” Bodhi says, shaking his head as if to clear his thoughts. “The point is: Kay was talking about your trip and Senator Jebel asked why you were being sent off on a mission so close to your wedding, to which Jyn replied that it had been three months and that it wasn't terribly close. And then the Senator said she must have been very confident in…well, winning you over, if she was comfortable sending you off on your own so soon.”

“‘Winning me over’? What does that even mean?”

Bodhi looks uncomfortable. “You know, as a wife?” He says, sounding pained. When Cassian just stares at him blankly, he sighs and adds, begrudgingly, “Senator Jebel may have implied that a man of your rank might use a mission like this to…avail themselves of the sexual talents of women other than their wives, you know, during their travels. Unless, of course, the wife in question had already proved herself irreplaceable in that regard.”

Cassian knows that Bodhi has expressed himself clearly and put all of his words in the right order, and yet he still cannot comprehend a single thing he’s just heard. They stare at each other in silence—his baffled, Bodhi’s embarrassed—for a long time before anything clicks into place in Cassian’s mind.

“He said this to Jyn?” He asks, finally. It’s hard to speak around all of the dread pooling at the base of this throat.

Bodhi cringes. “Well, he really said it to me and Kay. He was talking over Jyn’s head, which sounds better but, as you can imagine, made it much worse.”

“And what did she have to say to all this?”

“I made sure to drag her away as quickly as possible and Kay distracted the Senator with just as much haste!”

“Bodhi,” Cassian says on an exhale. He’s pinching the bridge of his nose between his fingers, feeling the early signs of a headache coming on. “What did Jyn say?”

His shoulders sag in defeat. “She only said that she had no concerns on that front,” Bodhi says, plainly unsure if he’s helping or hurting at this point. “And then I made our excuses and got her away from him as soon as I could, I promise!”

“I believe you,” Cassian replies, holding up a hand in acknowledgement. “And I appreciate your efforts to take care of your sister.”

“I thought perhaps her feelings had been hurt by Senator Jebel’s comments, but since she has not mentioned the incident to you, perhaps she dismissed them as quickly as they deserved.”

“Perhaps,” Cassian says, for Bodhi’s benefit, but his mind is on his wife’s behavior this morning; all of her talk of the ways a wife could comfort her husband, how solicitous of his troubles she’d been, how vulnerable she’d seemed herself, even the kisses they’d shared and the way she’d allowed him to take her to bed. How different it all looked in this new light. Of course she wouldn’t mention the conversation with the Senator to him—to do so would be, in Jyn’s mind, to admit to a weakness, that she cared at all what others thought of their marriage or, worse, that she cared what Cassian thought of her as a wife—but it wouldn’t stop her from taking it as advice.

So she’d seduced him, and quite adeptly at that. He hadn’t even realized it was happening. He might have known better, under other circumstances, but he’d naively thought that being married to someone meant that you didn’t have to concern yourself with seduction. If his wife wanted to sleep with him, it seemed to him that all she had to do was show interest in such a thing or, heaven forbid, simply say so, and she could have her way. To play such games about it seems counterproductive to him, but given how easily he was manipulated on this occasion, Cassian might not be the person to ask.

“I hope I haven’t spoken out of turn,” Bodhi says, anxiously, at which point Cassian realizes he has been staring off into space for a long moment.

“Of course not,” he says immediately. “I appreciate your telling me.”

“You won’t tell Jyn I mentioned it, will you?”

“No. Like you said, if it had bothered her, she would have told me herself.” It isn’t true, not in the slightest, but Cassian can see that Bodhi needs to hear it. “Besides, now I can use my spare time on this trip to plan my revenge on Senator Jebel.”

“Revenge?” Bodhi asks, wide-eyed with concern. It’s sometimes hard to believe someone as tenderhearted as he is fought in the war, let alone survived it.

Cassian waves a hand dismissively. “I’m not thinking of challenging him to a duel, Bodhi. Relax. But there are a great many ways a man of my position can make his life…uncomfortable and I shall enjoy thinking of as many of them as possible.”

“I am once again reminded how glad I am to be on your good side, Cassian,” Bodhi says, faintly. “And that you’re looking out for my sister.”

Cassian has never felt less capable of doing any such thing, not when Jyn is still keeping secrets from him and treating him as an opponent, but he nods anyway. His wife would likely roll her eyes at the sentiment, but he cannot stand by knowing that someone made her feel small even for a moment. He gets a savage sort of thrill out of the idea that she shall have his protection, whether she wants it or not.

“I am glad to be of service,” he says, vaguely. “But I’m afraid I must give the soldiers their orders now if we’re to be off on time.”

“Of course. Safe travels.” Bodhi offers his hand for Cassian to shake and then claps him on the shoulder as he takes his leave.

Cassian is certain that he relays Draven’s orders to the soldiers assembled in the yard as soon as he’s done speaking with Bodhi but he can’t actually remember a single thing he said by the time he’s securing the saddle on his own horse. His only excuse is that his mind is obviously elsewhere. Even though he knows he should focus on the mission ahead, he can’t stop thinking about Jyn.

As though he’s conjured her, she suddenly appears in the courtyard, with Kay and Senator Mothma in tow. The latter two are deep in conversation about something, while his wife doesn’t seem to be participating at all if the mild, far-off look on her face is any indication. It’s not surprising to see them all together; he’s sure that the Senator is the one who approved their scouting mission for General Draven and that he asked Kay to appraise her of the mission’s status because he’d rather not do it himself. And Jyn and Senator Mothma are often in each other’s company. Jyn often jokes that the Senator has claimed her as an unofficial assistant but Cassian suspects it’s just because she doesn’t want to admit that they are friends.

Before he can think better of it, Cassian calls out to Jyn, despite the fact that she’s on the other side of the courtyard still. It doesn’t occur to him until afterwards that shouting to get someone’s attention in a crowded area is probably bad manners, especially if that person is a lady. She looks startled to hear her name and the soldiers scattered throughout the area look up in shock at hearing him raise his voice at all. When her eyes meet his across the yard, Jyn’s neutral, distant expression shutters, turning into something more wary and focused. Cassian tilts his chin very slightly to beckon her over, not risking a bigger gesture lest the assembled soldiers think they’re about to witness something salacious. He’s determined they won’t, and Jyn catches his meaning anyway, even from a distance, and begins to make her way over.

He means to use the long moment it will take her to reach him to plan what he will say, how he will broach this delicate subject with her without implicating her brother in divulging the information to him, but he’s too distracted by the sight of her. She’s dressed plainly enough, not being one for embellishment, but her dress is a deep burgundy that suits and fits her well and she’s gingerly holding the skirt to keep the hem from dragging along the dirty ground. He only has to think on her clothing for a moment before his mind supplies the image of her this morning, as he was preparing to leave, just in her nightshirt, only deigning to get out of their bed to give him one last kiss goodbye. It was the only time he can remember being tempted to stay in bed rather than get on with his work. By the time she arrives, his face is warm with the sort of embarrassment he thought he’d grow out of once he was married.

“Yes, my lord?” She asks, and he’d tell her again to do away with such pointless formality if he couldn’t see the bright glimmer of amusement in her eyes. She’s trying to be funny.

He still has no idea what to say to her. His mind remains a complete blank, while his pulse is running wild. There is no way to tell her she should have trusted him enough to tell him about the incident with Senator Jebel, or that he knows the intimate moment they shared this morning was more inspired by that than by any genuine passion on her part, without giving away that he’s been listening to gossip. To admit that would only succeed in raising her defenses and causing an argument.

She didn’t trust him. That’s the heart of the matter and what is bothering him the most. Or perhaps it is that, for once in his life, he acted without suspicion or subterfuge and now he looks like a fool. Without realizing it, he’d begun to trust her but apparently the feeling is not mutual. It is only once this thought articulates itself in his mind that he catches himself; he’s embarrassed. She’s injured nothing but his sense of pride—that he always knows when someone is lying to him, that he’s always the man in the room with the most information.

But what, really, is the cost? So what if she outsmarted him? It’s not life or death, this. He wishes she had felt safe enough to be honest with him, but he can hardly blame her that she didn’t. In the grand scheme of things, they hardly know each other and three months is not long enough to change a lifetime of mistrust in others, especially if one is accustomed to it as a means of survival. He still doesn’t know much about her past before they met, but if it was anything like his, he understands why opening up to him might prove difficult.

And maybe some of it was real—the dream she told him about, the reasons she has difficulty sleeping. Maybe she needed the ulterior motive of seducing him to make sure he doesn’t stray as an excuse to tell him the truth. And what does it tell her if he gets angry? How does it look if he holds it against her for being as secretive and wary as he always is himself? How can he ever expect her to trust him with anything if he lets his ego get in the way now? And perhaps more importantly, what does it really cost him to let her be right?

If she did what he thinks she did, it was an act of desperation, to ensure that she had some control over the life she was unceremoniously shoved into three months ago. She was afraid of the idea of him leaving on this trip and forgetting the vows he’d made as soon as she was out of sight. He can see now all the ways that her own ego is tied up in this—not wanting to be seen as an inadequate wife, wanting to prove Jebel wrong after he’d been so crass and unkind to her, and perhaps even worrying that Cassian felt the same way, that he had any complaints of their marriage—but he can also see further, to the core of the matter, where it’s just Jyn being afraid and alone. How can he punish her for that, when all he wants is for her to feel safe with him?

It costs him nothing to let her be right, then; to let her believe that he’s blissfully unaware of any hidden reason for her behavior or any conflict and just play the role of the devoted, smitten husband. It’s not as if he planned to be unfaithful to her while he was away, and giving her some assurance on that matter without revealing what he knows should be easy enough. Let her believe that her machinations paid off and she’s won her husband over with her feminine wiles. There’s no harm in that. When he thinks of it that way, it’s barely even a lie.

“Cassian,” she says now, eyes full of concern at his silently staring at her. “Is everything alright?”

He comes back to the present moment when her hand comes to rest on his arm. “Yes, everything is fine,” he says, weakly. “I apologize. There were probably less dramatic ways to get your attention.”

“No matter. I appreciate the efficiency of your method, I must say.”

“Still, I do not wish to embarrass you.” When he sees she means to shrug at that, he adds, “under any circumstances.”

She blinks at him, surprised, so some of his implied meaning must come through. “You do not embarrass me,” she replies, warily.

“I am glad to hear it.”

“Is that why you called me over?” She asks.

“No, I was—well, I realized I had forgotten to ask you if…well, if there was anything you needed.”

“Me?”

He nods, probably a touch too emphatically. He’s normally better at this, but Jyn has always caught him off guard. “Yes, I’m going to be traveling for the next few weeks and you can get almost anything from the markets in the southern provinces, so if there was anything you needed, I could bring it back for you.”

She stares at him as though he’s spoken in a language she’s never heard before. “I don’t believe I need anything at the present,” she says, finally, after considering her words for a long time.

“It doesn’t have to be something you need,” he says. “Something you want would suffice. Didn’t you lose your gloves recently?”

“No, I found them. I had left them in Senator Mothma’s chambers after she and I returned from a walk.”

“Still, I could get you nicer gloves.”

“It wouldn’t make much difference. I’d still forget them everywhere.”

“I could get you several pairs of gloves.”

“Cassian, what is this about?”

He covers her hand, still lingering on his arm, with his own, chafing her knuckles with his thumb. “Keeping your hands warm,” he says innocently.

She laughs incredulously. “You are not going away for the sole purpose of buying me presents. You will be busy with work. I imagine you will hardly have time to even think of me.”

“No, I’m afraid the real difficulty will be thinking of anything else,” Cassian says, his own pulse thundering behind his ears. It’s not the nerves of telling a lie and fearing getting caught, he realizes, but the panic of finally telling someone the long-guarded truth.

Jyn looks down at her feet, scuffing the toe of her shoe back and forth in the gravel. “You don’t need to say such things. I do not require flattery to sustain me.”

“Well, whether you’re flattered or not is incidental. What matters is that it’s true.”

“Is that why you said it?”

“Yes. I know the truth and I have a complicated relationship, sometimes by necessity, but I try to be honest with you, as much as I can be. And I can only hope that I get a little better at it with each try. It’s not much, I know, but—”

“It’s worth more than you think,” she says carefully.

“I’m glad you feel that way.” He doesn’t say the rest of what he’s thinking— you can be honest with me too or I wish we could know each other better —because it feels like asking too much or risking betraying Bodhi’s confidence, so he leaves it at that.

Behind him, one of the lieutenants whistles for everyone’s attention. “Everyone is here and accounted for, Captain,” he adds, to Cassian. “We’re ready when you are.”

Cassian nods to him before looking back at Jyn just at the moment the wind picks up and loosens several strands of her hair from where it’s pulled back. He attempts to brush them back into place, while she watches him with amusement.

“It seems I must be going,” he says.

“So it does,” she replies. She appears to struggle with something, turning it over in her mind for a moment before she leans in and kisses him. His hand is still buried in her hair, trying to keep it from blowing about in the breeze again, and it helps him to keep her close. He’d normally be reticent to have such a display in front of his fellow soldiers—he doesn’t want to give them inspiration for gossip or a reason to tease him mercilessly if he has to spend the next several weeks in their company—but he’ll have to make an exception this time. It feels like a coded message from Jyn, that she trusts him, that he’s done well as her husband, at least in this moment. She’s not one to say so directly, and that’s fine. He’s willing to learn to speak her language, especially if it means kissing her like this more often.

However, common sense prevails eventually and he’s forced to pull back from her before they embarrass themselves in front of all the gathered soldiers. He runs his thumb over her cheek just once, feeling the chill of the morning there more than in his own body. “Goodbye, Jyn,” he says, quietly so only she can hear, and kisses her knuckles lightly for good measure.

“Take care of yourself,” she says, in a rush. Like she’s tried to keep it to herself but couldn’t manage it. “I expect you home in one piece or there will be hell to pay.”

“Of course, my dear,” he says as he steps up into the saddle.

“Don’t worry, ma’am,” the lieutenant beside Cassian chimes in, looking amused. “We will make sure nothing happens to your husband. You have my word.”

Cassian shakes his head at the young man, who looks even more shamelessly delighted, but Jyn is pleased by this, he can tell.

“Good,” she replies, nodding at him. “You don’t know me very well, sir, but I will tell you this: you would not like to be on my bad side.”

The lieutenant laughs. “No, ma’am, I would not. I’ll lead the party out, if you’d like, sir,” he adds to Cassian.

“Thank you,” Cassian replies. When the group has started to move out from the courtyard, he turns his attention back to Jyn and reaches his hand out to her.

She takes it, and plants a kiss on his knuckles. “My thoughts go with you,” she says.

“And mine stay here with you.”

The answering smile he receives stays with him as he follows the rest of the party out of the courtyard, as he lies on the cold ground of their camp that night, even as the mission turns long and tedious. It lasts until he can replace it in his memory with the smile he gets when he returns home again and sweeps her into his arms once more.

#rogue one #rebelcaptain #jyn erso #cassian andor #bodhi rook #au #vaguely medieval fantasy au #my writing #my fic #one day i will title one of the fics in this series with actual graceland lyrics but today is not that day #i've been staring at this fic for three years basically just take it away from me please #anyway here's wonderwall #otp: built on hope #otp: your mother and i have been together ever since #HBD Zainab you elegant and industrious capybara

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whimstories · 3 years

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Summary: Vague Isekai concept. Marinette is transported into a world she read in a book and comes to fall for the female lead who was drastically misrepresented in the novel.

A/N: I didn’t expect to write some random scenes today. This isn’t a full story, sadly. I just wanted to post some things I wrote because Marigami needs more content, and this pairing is vastly not given the attention and respect it deserves.

Enjoy ~ ✨

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“But I don’t wish to be just a man’s wife, I want…I wish to be…”

“But you are!” Marinette exclaimed.

Kagami’s eyes widened in surprise.

“You don’t need permission or approval, you’re already a politician. A scholar. A warrior. Your sword is more beautiful than anyone I’ve seen. You don’t need to waste your breath wishing.”

“You say that but—“

“Please don’t contradict me. It hurts me to see you doubting yourself so much when you’re already beyond extraordinary.”

Kagami’s cheeks flushed a rosy color and she looked shyly at the ground. “You’re full of praises today.”

“Make it more difficult to find praise then,” Marinette grinned. “I wish I had half your virtues.”

“You’re much more virtuous,” Kagami whispered, sounding almost too sincere. For a moment Marinette’s heart stopped, fluttering with warmth and searing pride. But she covered it with a sip of her tea, knowing better.

Marinette smiled kindly. “So when are we going to interrupt the men’s meeting on that dreadful land acquisition?”

“We shouldn’t.” Kagami sighed.

“All the more reason.”

“Adrien would be embarrassed and mother would be furious. I couldn’t possibly.”

“Adrien is a bit…slow at times. I think he’d be elated to see his wonderful fiancée standing for what she believes in. He’s that much of a good man, at least.”

“Yes…he is good,” Kagami glanced at Marinette as if to add something but looked away again in thought. “But mother will hear of it. There’s no returning from disappointing her.”

Marinette hesitated, knowing the fear of failing one’s family. “Your mother is as accomplished as you are, yet I find it odd she doesn’t support your dreams.”

“My mother is a traditionalist. She accomplished much, but she’s calculated and conservative. She’s never acted outside the bounds of societal law. She expects the same of me.”

“You make her sound villainous.”

“Another conservative term for her.”

Marinette bristled in her seat and when Kagami looked at her she lifted a napkin to her mouth where a small amused noise burst from her lips. “She’s not so horrible. I admire my mother in many ways.”

Marinette wished she’d move the napkin so she could view the rare sight of Kagami’s smiles but her eyes also burst with a fondness that was equally as lovely. “But you believe your situation will grow worse if you disobey her.”

“No...I—“ Kagami sat in silence for a while, then her brows furrowed. “I’ve never disobeyed before,” she finished.

Marinette looked at her sadly but righted herself with a cross of her arms and feigned a huff. “Kagami, fold your napkin.”

Kagami snapped her head upwards, alert. She slowly did as instructed. “Yes? Why, what’s the matter?”

“Stand.”

Still confused, she stood with the good graces bestowed on her education.

“Walk towards me please and grab my hand.”

Kagami walked a step before hesitating. Her face seemed to freeze in a panic. “Won’t you tell me why?”

“Can you not do it?” Marinette parried.

Kagami blinked back, clearly challenged but slowly took Marinette’s hands in a gentle hold. They were soft and warm, yet strong and worn from training. Marinette had to ignore her thrill. “Now, look me straight in the eyes and tell me,” she paused dramatically, “you do not regret eating my pastries.”

Kagami looked surprised. “They were amazing, I’ll cherish them the rest of my days. Of course, I’d never regret it.”

Oh. Marinette was teasing but the sincerity suddenly made her hands feel very warm. Marinette blinked violently to play off the warmth of her face. “A-and that you do not regret wearing that Louis Forton gown to the last gala.”

Kagami sighed and her lips fought from curling. The dress was truly a complicated monstrosity that even amnesia couldn’t sear from the mind. “That was unavoidable. I can forgive that much.”

“And that you won’t regret your arranged engagement.”

Her hands flinched in Marinette’s. “I—of course, I—never would,” she said, stilted, and blatantly looked away from Marinette’s gaze that Marinette was surprised.

She continued, “And that the feeling of satisfying your mother is more precious than the feeling of picking up a sword.”

Kagami’s face stilled. Her hands clenched Marinette tightly, but she stared forward in a new sense of wonder. A sense of clarity. Her eyes shone with a wet sheen, like a diamond forming dewdrops.

She stood a long while, opening and closing her mouth. “Am I allowed such a thing? To not say it?”

“It would not make you less of a wonderful daughter.”

“But it would make me a selfish one.”

“For a parent, a child could never be selfish. You’ve never been disobedient, so how can you know how she would react?” Marinette said. “And even so, even if she reacted poorly, she is not the one who has to live your life. Endure the choices. It is not your fault you were born a duchess’s daughter, but it is your responsibility to shape what this life has presented you. And so far you have disregarded that responsibility.”

“Then what should I do?” She asked slowly, as if sure no one could have an answer.

“What you want,” Marinette said simply with a shrug and a smile.

Kagami hummed, staring at Marinette. Marinette could imagine she perhaps admired Marinette’s nativity, and that Marinette’s words meant nothing at all. But it hurt her to see such a wonderful person, a wonderful spirit like Kagami feeling trapped when she had such potential.

Then Kagami’s face lifted miraculously into a soft smile. A rare and blossoming sight that shone like colors bouncing from her chest. Kagami grasped and lifted Marinette’s hands to her mouth, placing a brief kiss on the tips. Marinette’s face inflamed.

“Thank you,” Kagami whispered.

“W-what for?” Marinette laughed nervously, not sure what else to do. “I just told the truth. I hope I wasn’t acting too ridiculous.”

“You’re never ridiculous. I always enjoy being with you. I’m very glad we’ve met, Marinette.”

God, this woman is a weapon. I don’t think I can stand. Marinette finally pulled her hands away and contradicted herself by standing with enormous force.

“Yes, I always enjoy your company too. Gosh, it’s warm. I should go for a walk. Not you though, you should finish your tea. Not that I don’t think you’ll keep up or incapable just—I’ll return, okay?”

——-------------

“Marinette? Are you there?”

“Marinette sat upright and stared disbelieving at her door. “Kagami?” she whispered and ushered to open the door. Kagami stood, swaying slightly at the entrance.

“Marinette,” she said the name so simply and with sweetness Marinette knew she was not of the right mind.

“Come inside quickly.” They walked to Marinette’s bed and sat. “Did you drink?”

“The men wanted to have talks in the parlour. I didn’t back down and joined them.”

Marinette became alarmed. “They didn’t harm you or—?”

Kagami shook her head a little dramatically. “Many of them collapsed after I challenged them to some games. I ordered some maids to escort them then…well, I walked here.”

“Oh,” Marinette snickered. “I wasn’t aware you were an expert at drinking games.”

“Neither was I.”

Marinette shook her head. Of course, Kagami would be stupendous at something she never tried before. “Well, drunk or not I’m always happy to keep you company.”

Kagami smiled sweetly again. “I could not think of better company no matter the situation.”

Marinette’s heart squeezed. Two wondrous smiles in one night, Marinette might faint from sight. “You mustn’t say that when Adrien is around,” she joked.

“But I’m sure Adrien knows it as well. I can hardly bear to leave you for a moment.”

“What about sword training? I bet you couldn’t tell me I’m better company than your most treasured activity?”

“Even that…perhaps.”

Marinette's heart thundered against her chest. The room stilled and she felt she must have heard wrong. Nothing could matter more to Kagami, it was in the book. Kagami’s independence was a relationship of love itself, no matter how glorious she was, no one was enough. Yet…perhaps…

“May I…have your hand?” Kagami asked, staring intently at Marinette’s hand against the sheets. Marinette was busy stopping her heart from stuttering out of her chest and now Kagami said something so ridiculously ambiguous and wanted to touch her—Marinette didn’t think she would survive the night let alone the next few minutes.

“Can I not?” Kagami asked when Marinette took too long.

Startled, Marinette exclaimed, “Yes! Of course!” louder than proper and presented her hand upwards as if waiting for a palm reader’s forbidding prediction. She hoped it wasn’t obvious how her handle trembled.

Kagami took her hand gently, the tips of her fingers tickling the back. Their hands slid over one another at various angles: a hook of thumbs, that courteous raise of the fingers, an intertwining of fingers. Marinette’s nerves made the atmosphere feel heavy and electric. Was this not intimate by all standards? Or was she overthinking? Her heart raced and Kagami seemed to languidly test all the ways their hands would fit as if it was custom.

Marinette could not suppress her nervousness and leaned forward with a laugh. “Are you looking for something?”

Kagami’s lids were drooping and heavy, yet her gaze was fiercely focused on her ministrations. She hummed and pulled Marinette’s palm upwards. Her lips pressed firmly, right to the center of Marinette’s palm. She moved the hand towards her cheek with a content sigh and a sleepy smile.

“Yes, this is what I wanted.”

Marinette’s body screamed. She’s sure her heart stopped, how could she dare to hope to win against such a daring attack? Was Kagami a cozy drunk? It’s good she left those men behind, she would have hated showing herself like this. But to act so intimately—Marinette’s body was on fire.

After a few breaths and realizing Kagami had a firm grip on Marinette’s arm and looked much too content to be moved, Marinette took a moment to appreciate—at least a little—her position.

Kagami’s cheek was soft and smooth. It fit perfectly in her hand. Her cheek was a little warm, probably from the alcohol, but it was enticingly inviting. Marinette shifted forward, heat building between them, to get her arm more comfortable.

“Are you awake?” Marinette whispered.

Kagami blinked lazily into a droopy stare. Something told Marinette that Kagami might not remember this tomorrow.

“I’m going to lay you down to sleep.” She looked Kagami up and down. “We should probably get you a little comfortable too.”

Her grip squeezed Marinette’s wrist in emphasis. “I’m perfectly comfortable.”

Marinette laughed nervously. A clingy drunk, indeed. “I won’t leave you. W-we’ll…if you like, we can sleep together.”

Kagami nodded as if it was the most natural conclusion. “Yes.”

“Ri-right.”

Marinette edged Kagami gently to remove her outer garments. At times Kagami would catch her hand for another touch of her lips; Marinette applauded her ability to remain standing. Marinette dimmed the lights before carefully edging her way to one side of the bed. Kagami’s eyes never left her and tugged Marinette immediately down to the sheets.

“Ah, Kagami!” Marinette exclaimed, happy the dim lights could hide her warm face.

Marinette’s hand cradled Kagami’s cheeks once more, held close like some precious stuffed toy. “Let us sleep,” Kagami asserted.

How can you act so bossy when I’m the one taking care of you? Marinette’s mind grumbled.

“I hope you remember this tomorrow,” Marinette mumbled.

“I will,” Kagami sighed, close to sleep.

“If you do, you should reward me for taking care of you.”

“Anything you want.”

Marinette grinned, sly. “Don’t forget. I really suffered. Honestly.”

Kagami hummed, clearly sleeping a moment later. Her breath tickled Marinette’s wrist and her hair grazed softer than the silk pillows. Marinette’s mouth parted, staring at the soft light in the room illuminating her slightly red cheeks.

Her chest could not unravel and her gaze could not stray. Her stomach tightened and pooled with heat many times as she laid there.

Before she could fall asleep, she moved her thumb a few times against that pristine cheek. Kagami breathed deep once and sighed happily. Her lips, softer than a rose, lifted slightly. Marinette grumbled once more, “Suffering is putting it very lightly.”

——---------

Marinette woke up groggy and alone in the morning.

She stretched high to the canopy and wondered why her chest ached. The maid came in a moment later and said, “Kagami is waiting for you in the greenhouse.”

Oh. Her stomach flipped. “Was Kagami awake early this morning?”

“As usual. Not even silly wasted old men can unsettle our lady.”

Marinette hummed. Kagami probably didn’t want to disturb her. Judging from the time of day, Marinette slept later than usual. “Ah, right. I heard she drank them under the table.”

“It was a true sight!” The maid gushed. “Our lady wanted to speak about business ventures in the northern lands but they only agreed if she won a round of cards. They played various games in which the loser would drink a large cup of sake. It was a dirty rule. But she rarely lost, and never slurred or stumbled when she did. Even this morning they were grumbling over headaches and she didn’t seem phased at all.”

So she didn’t drink much last night. Is she a light drunk? Marinette giggled. “Our lady is too tremendous.”

“I was appalled when Adrien didn’t watch over her, but I suppose he knew our lady better than us all.”

“Adrien wasn’t at the parlour?” Marinette asked, surprised.

The maid was tugging Marinette’s dress into place as she said, “He headed to bed early after the first round. A man leaving his fiancee unattended with a room of stuffy men—I wanted to smack his behind the ears!”

Marinette supposed Adrien would have attended Kagami to her rooms instead of letting her wander to Marinette’s. Perhaps he was finally accepting her capabilities, but something seemed wrong about leaving outright.

“How would you like your hair, my lady?”

Marinette hummed. “Just a few pins today.”

She walked to the greenhouse, the wind playing with her loose strands along the way. She took a deep breath before going past the glass doors.

Kagami was leaning back in her seat, hair half hazardously in a ponytail and garbed in her training attire. Her clothes clung perfectly, showing off her strong legs and defined waist. The light adorned her hair like turquoise stars dancing on the strands. Marinette had to clutch her chest before it leaped out.

How does this woman look more handsome than any male model on a cheesy romance cover?

Kagami caught her eyes and Marinette held her breath. Kagami put down her cup of tea and cleared her throat. Marinette walked forward and gave a small greeting. “Good morning.”

Kagami’s eyes tentatively caught hers. “Yes. Good morning. Did you sleep well?”

“It was alright.” Marinette sat and a maid poured her a cup. The color was milky and when Marinette lifted it, it was sweet. Peppermint black milk tea, her favorite. Marinette glanced upwards and fought a raised brow as she sipped. She sighed content. “You must have slept wonderfully.”

Kagami cleared her throat. Again. Marinette was fighting a smile. “When have I not?”

“Oh yes, how could I doubt you? Though, I was referring to your full day yesterday. You stuck with the men all day and left the wives and fiancees to their gossip without your input.”

“It wasn’t as scary as I thought,” Kagami said. “The men were as bad as the ladies with gossip and wholly unprepared for my education or opinions. Honestly, I feel I might have bullied them.” Her face didn’t change— as if discussing the weather— but her eyes sparkled and her tone tilted on amused.

“Is it bullying to be educated?” Marinette mused behind another sip.

“Only if you’re a woman. The element of surprise is an unfair advantage. Perhaps they’ll be more prepared next time.”

Marinette perked and grinned. “So you’re determined?”

“I feel more at ease. Perhaps I’m really not suited to being a wallflower for the rest of my days.”

“Certainly not. You should inherit and manage the Tsurugi estates and assets without the need for a partner. You’re easily capable of that much.”

Kagami’s body softened in the light. “As you’ve told me.”

“You should listen, I’m wiser than I look.”

Kagami looked down at her cup, losing herself in thought. Marinette looked around the flowers and butterflies in the afternoon. She downed another cup of tea slowly unwinding from her nervousness.

“Last night…” Kagami started slowly. Marinette hid behind her cup and raised her eyes in acknowledgment. “I acted childishly.”

“Oh? To what are you referring?”

“It’s hazy,” Kagami bit her lip and fiddled with the edge of her snack plate. “But I rudely burst into your rooms and acted unbecomingly. I want to apologize if I made you uncomfortable.”

“You were very expressive,” Marinette grinned. “It was very cute.”

Kagami huffed in her seat, fiddling with her long braid with rosy cheeks. “Please don’t say it like that.”

“What? You said it was your first time drinking. I was very honored to experience a new side to you.”

“I told you that?” Kagami grumbled lowly, head tucked. She timidly glanced upwards. “What else did I say?”

Marinette pretended to ponder, filling the space by reaching for snacks and sipping her drink. “It’s not so much what you said but what you did.”

Marinette glanced at Kagami and she stared resolutely at Marinette as if missing any micro movement would place her life in jeopardy. Marinette stuttered in her teasing. She thought Kagami would be embarrassing but was she perhaps…curious about Marinette’s reaction?

“U-um…” Marinette stuttered and stirred too much sugar into her tea. She didn’t flinch even as the overwhelming sweetness hit her lips. “You did say you enjoyed my company. Nothing else.”

“Mm, I do,” Kagami said simply. Then she sighed. “I invaded your space and acted brazenly. I suppose I’m starved of affection,” giving a self-deprecating chuckle.

It was a heartbreaking sound. “No—no! I was happy you felt close enough to come to me. In fact, I’d—well I’d…” Marinette gulped a breath, realizing she was placing a blade over her head. “I wish you’d be open with me more often. I didn’t know if you’d welcome such affection.”

“You’re alright with…? Rather you wish we were more affectionate?”

It was Marinette’s turn to clear her throat. “I’ve always held hands and hugged my close friends. I assumed Kagami only made the rare exception to humor me, so I distanced myself.”

“Well. I will admit you are my exception.”

Marinette’s face burst red. Then Kagami stood and moved her chair so it was inches from Marinette's. She looked up confused and when Kagami sat she offered her hand face-up, her expression calm.

“Is this alright?”

Marinette covered her mouth with one hand, unsure how her face betrayed her, but placed the other within Kagami’s. Kagami entwined them in a strong grip that tingled up Marinette’s arm.

Kagami’s face bloomed into a soft smile and she relaxed deep into her seat as if a weight left her shoulders. Marinette could not sip or eat the rest of the afternoon, feeling she had consumed too much sweetness for the day.

——

#marigami #ML #Kagami Tsurugi #marinette dupen chang #drabble #storytime

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dirt-cup-draco · 4 years

Text

Sirius x Reader- Ruin

I don’t have anything too specific but would it be possible to do a pure angsty argument with a young Sirius...(wait for it) ... in the rain (Ik I’m sorry I’m so cliche). Idm what about. Just arguing outside in the pouring rain outside of Hogwarts. Maybe it started inside and then you storm (eheh) out and he follows you and just yelling at each other and all that jazz. Idk if I want it to be too cliche with a rain kiss and a makeup or just mega heartbreak and a breakup, it’s up to you I trust ya

You groaned in discontent as you listened to the persistent fall of rain, bringing your sheets up tighter around your chin as you tried to block out the cold. Your body ached and your nose was stuffed. You sniffled and cracked an eye open to see that your dorm room was entirely empty. How odd, usually the girls made quite a ruckus while they got ready.

You bolted upright but regretted it as nausea rippled through you. Falling back against your pillows you let out an exaggerated sigh. You felt miserable and you had missed two of your classes already. That just meant you had more homework to make up and less time to relax.

Today was not your day.

Blanket drawn over your shoulders you settled deep into the corner of the couch, the fire blazing before you but doing nothing to ease the chill you’d felt since waking some odd hours earlier. Your legs ached, having been tucked underneath you as you tried to stay on top of homework, Lily bringing you all you needed. You hadn’t even needed to ask, she had just been kind enough.

It made you smile, but even her act of warmth couldn’t seem to cheer you up and make you feel better. You were still feeling quite ill and the rain hadn’t let up one bit. You hadn’t even changed from the night before, still in pajamas with wild hair and tired eyes. Voices floated down the hallway and caught your attention, bringing you from the daze your boredom had cast over you as you wrote a paper for herbology.

Peter and James were laughing over something, the latter’s voice far louder than the few students who trickled into the common room behind them. Your eyes were focused on the entrance, a smile playing at your lips but falling as you watched Remus round up the stragglers of the night, portrait swinging closed behind him.

“Remus-” You started, catching the boy’s attention but he was quick to read your expression, settling beside you on the couch.

“Sorry love, I’m not sure where Sirius ran off to,” He admitted with a kind but reserved smile. You tried not to show how disappointed you were.

“It’s fine, just thought he’d visit or that I’d at least catch him in here some time today,” You sighed, fiddling with your quill and chewing on your lip. Your boyfriend was usually so attentive, and never ever had you dealt with the dilemma of an absent Sirius Black. He was usually right beside you, arm wrapped around your shoulders no matter what either of you had going on.

You got sick often and he was always right there, skipping class no matter how many times you scolded him, taking care of you. Why was today different? One word from Lily and usually he appeared like magic.

“He’s just been busy,” Remus supplied but you knew he also wasn’t sure what his friend was up to. It unnerved you more than if Remus had known, yet chosen to keep it from you. What could Sirius be up to? You didn’t have time to let your mind wander again as Remus interrupted. “Feeling better?”

You nodded slightly as the gryffindor brought the back of his hand to your forehead, testing your temperature. A concerned look passed over the boy’s features. “You sure you’re feeling alright?” His hand trailed from your forehead to stroke your cheek and you sighed happily, his cool skin refreshing against your own.

“I’m feeling pretty good now,” You teased, keeping his hand against your cheek. It was practically like holding an ice pack to your skin. Remus chuckled, thumb brushing over your cheekbone comfortingly.

A stern and gravelly “ahem” came from the entrance and your attention was drawn to the familiar voice.

“Sirius!” You grinned, pushing up from the couch to embrace your boyfriend. You were quick to wrap your arms around his middle but after a moment you realized he hadn’t done the same. “Siri?” You questioned, pulling back as Remus stayed on the couch, saying nothing.

“Oh!” Sirius chimed in as if it had been the first time you were speaking to him. You couldn’t put a name on his expression but it left you feeling like your stomach was in knots. “Didn’t realize you’d noticed me, don’t let me interrupt!”

His voice was sickly sweet and you bristled at the tone. “Excuse me?” You asked, needing clarification.

“Don’t be like that,” Remus sighed, voice soft and you finally started to realize the reason for your boyfriend’s odd behavior.

The wind howled against the castle, pushing the torrent of rain harder against the glass and nearly drowning out your friend’s chiding.

“Don’t be like what, Moony?” Sirius asked, the nickname being spat out like it was poison in his mouth. “I didn’t mean to interrupt you making sure that- oh what’d you say love?- Y/N, my girlfriend, was feeling good. Please, continue making her feel better,”

“Sirius!” You scolded at the implications. “What’s gotten into you?”

“I could ask the same thing!” He argued. “I think the answer you’re looking for might be ‘your best friend’.”

You gaped at him, mouth wide open in shock. “Sirius Black how dare you!” You seethed. “At least he has the decency to see how I’m doing! Don’t be mad just because Remus is a decent guy,”

“Guys, come on” Remus begged softly, not wanting to see you two fight-let alone over him. “Sirius, I wasn’t trying anything with her-”

“Sure looked like you were,” Sirius growled. “Whatever, doesn’t matter to me. Have fun with your ‘decent guy’ Y/N,” And with that, your boyfriend was strolling out of the common room.

Your mouth was dry, throat tight. What was Sirius going on about? You couldn’t wrap your brain around it. You gaped at Remus who was pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “I”m gonna-” You motioned towards the portrait, not really sure of what had just unfolded.

“Please do,” Remus sighed. “And Y/N? Make sure he knows you didn’t mean to compare him to me,”

You winced but nodded. Sirius and you had been together for nearly a year and a half, longer than anyone thought, including yourself. He was amazing and you had been so terribly happy, but dating a notorious Black came with it’s ups and downs. Sirius had been destroyed by his family, his self worth and ability to trust taking the largest blow. It had been something you had both agreed to work on together, months ago.

You knew it was an uphill battle. Fifteen months in and he hadn’t yet uttered those three words you longed to hear. You knew it was a difficult thing to be allowed into your boyfriend’s heart but you had thought you had slipped past all of his defenses long ago. You had started to question whether or not you would ever be told you were loved by him. Before tonight, Sirius had always been good at showing he cared, but you supposed caring and loving were two entirely different things.

You more than cared. You more than cared and so that was why even if you were sick and dressed in a pair of thin pajamas with no robe, as you had forgotten to grab it from the back of the couch on your way out, you were chasing Sirius down the shifting stairs and out of the school.

He hadn’t looked behind him yet and you hadn’t yet taken a full enough breath to call for him, intent on catching up with him. You were slowed by the force of the rain, the icy sheets falling hard against everything beneath the inky night sky.

The moon was shielded by thick, weeping clouds and your hair was quickly plastered against your face. Your squinted against the storm but found it was no easier to spot your boyfriend than it had been a moment ago. “Sirius!” You called out, running out blindly in search of him.

Lightning flashed brilliantly against the sky, the bone rattling grumble of thunder following quickly after. You caught a silhouette that had to be Sirius’ not too far out but his long legs were carrying him quickly.

Your slippers were soaked and you kicked them from your feet, deciding they were only going to slow you as you sprinted after Sirius. You called his name again, chest tight and throat aching in protest as they had been all day long. He must have heard you over the onslaught of rain as he paused in his tracks. With burning eyes he looked over you, posture tense.

“Sirius, please,” You huffed, coming to stand beside him, still needing to raise your voice over the raging tempest. “Talk to me,” You begged.

“About what? How you and Remus were-” He started but you stomped your bare foot against the sodden ground impatiently.

“No! We weren’t doing anything,” You insisted. “Why are-”

“You were obviously doing something!” Sirius cut in as you tried to find the root of the problem. “Why else was he so close?”

“He was checking my temperature, Siri,” You explained, eyes wide and pleading as he continued to glower. “Nothing more, he was just being sweet,”

“Right, sweet, like Rem always is,” Sirius rolled his eyes, a bitter scoff spilling past his paling lips as the chill of the rain bit at him. “He’s just such a ‘decent guy’,”

“That isn’t a bad thing! A-and I didn’t mean that you weren’t a good guy, you’re the best there is, you’re my guy,” You promised as he was intent on using your words against you. “That was unfair of me, but you are being unfair right now too,”

“Me?” Sirius scoffed in disbelief. “How am I being unfair? You were practically in his fucking lap! I ought to be upset, if I was acting like that you’d be livid,”

“I wasn’t even close to being in his lap!” You yelled, throat raw. “I trust you Sirius, I would talk to you before assuming anything,”

“Of course you’d say that, make me the bad guy for not trusting you! I bet you’re just trying to keep me under your thumb while you go around with all my friends. You’re smart Y/N, really smart.” He laughed bitterly. “Get the broken fool to trust you and then whore around with his best friends,”

The rain was harsh and stung but nothing hurt as much as Sirius’ words. Your jaw fell slack as your lip began to quiver. Hot, fat, tears rolled down your cheeks and burned a path through the chill the rain had coated you in. “I- You- How could you say that?” You finally croaked. Your arms were tight around your own waist, hugging yourself as if you would be protected from the hurt you were experiencing.

“How could you lie?!” Sirius begged the question. “I don’t need to put up with this! I don’t need to put up with you,”

It felt like you’d been pushed down a flight of stairs and then kicked in the chest. All the air was stolen from your lungs. Your heart beat slowly after being stopped by Sirius’ cruel words. An apology was stopped in your mouth as Sirius continued to see things through his own misguided eyes.

“I love you,” You found your voice was but a whisper, knees weak and stomach churning. “Sirius please, listen,”

“No!” He sniffled, and you couldn’t tell if it was from the cold or if he was finding himself in a similar emotional state as you. If only you could get near and wipe the rain-or tears-from his cheeks. “Whatever you have to say is just going to be more lies. You were a mistake, w-we’re over!”

A pitiful whine broke free from your throat, high and haunting. Your heart was breaking in your chest and you weren’t sure how to combat it or save yourself from the pain. It was unavoidable and sharp and you felt as if you couldn’t breathe. You doubled over, a choked sob ripping itself out of your lungs as your legs gave out from underneath you, knees sinking into the mud. Your feet had gone numb long ago and you wished the rain could numb what you were feeling on the inside.

“Please,” You choked out, finding it hard to take a full breath. “Sirius, please,” Please listen. Please don’t leave me. Please tell me what’s hurting you. Please let me make it better. Please know I love you.

You were cold and exhausted, rain assaulting you from every side as the wind continued to freeze you and your heart pounded in sharp beats. Your chest grew tighter as you gasped for air. Your nose was blocked, lungs fighting for more air as you sobbed harder. “Please,” You tried again, with more urgency.

Please stay by my side. Please notice how I’m hurting. Please realize I can’t breath. Please help me. Please, I can’t breathe. Please.

Your pleadings were unheard as you couldn’t voice them. Silver sparkles danced in your vision as the rest grew darker than the night sky. “Sirius-” You muttered, seeing his expression change quickly from anger and hurt to confusion and then worry.

“Y/N?” He asked, having not realized until just now that your lips were blue against your pale skin. Your legs had been shaking earlier but now you were on the ground, hands drawn tight against yourself. Sirius spoke your name again as your eyes darted around, stopping on him for only a second before rolling around in their sockets. Whatever you were going to say was interrupted as your arms fell limp, body giving and falling against the saturated grass.

“What the hell did you do?!” Remus roared as Sirius ran back into the common room, a muddy and equally sopping wet Y/N in his arms.

“I-I-” Sirius fought for an answer, wracking his brain. You two had been fighting and he had been seeing red, he hadn’t even been sure of what you or he had been saying. He had been blinded by his jealousy and hadn’t noticed the signs that you weren’t well enough to be out in the cold for so long. “We broke up, well I broke up with her, and then she was passed out,”

“Fucking idiot,” Remus worried as his friend laid you in front of the fire. Sirius winced at the fury in Remus’ tone. Stepping back, Sirius watched as Remus brushed your hair out of your closed eyes, your consciousness not coming back to you get. “She needs to get warm,” Remus observed.

Sirius stayed frozen on the spot.

“Blankets, now!” Remus ordered. Sirius sprinted to his bedroom, grabbing any blanket he could find.

The ruckus seemed to escape the rest of the castle, drowned out by the continuing gale. Sirius followed Remus’ every order, still unsure as to what was happening. He had been so out of his mind coming back to see you and Remus so comfortable that he had snapped and only now was he returning back to himself.

Sirius realized he was scared, as he watched Remus tend to you with gentle hands. Everything about Remus was gentle and stable, loving and tender. He was far more than a decent guy, he was a brilliant man that could outshine Sirius in every way, shape and form. Sirius was scared that you were going to realize that and leave him behind, the shamed son. So, instead of letting you hurt him, he had to hurt you. At what cost? He wondered as your body was overtaken by violent shivers even as your eyes refused to open.

Sirius sat back on the couch, hands clasped tight together as his blunt nails dug into his skin. His clothes were soaked but he hardly noticed. “I’ve fucked up,” He muttered, tears spilling over as he ran over the past half hour of his night.

“I can’t disagree,” Remus said bitterly as he stepped away from your makeshift bed in front of the fire, falling into the couch beside Sirius. Remus looked tired. “What in Merlin’s name possessed you to think that either of us could ever betray you that way?”

Sirius rubbed his eyes furiously. “I just- I don’t know” He replied honestly. Sirius was stuck on how you had begged him to listen, begged him to see. The more he thought on it, the more sick with himself he became. “I snapped a-and I don’t even know why... She’s the best thing to ever happen to me and I fucked it all up,” Sirius choked on his words.

You were the best thing to ever happen to him without a doubt. He had been so hesitant to accept you into his life, to let you pick his walls apart brick by brick. Yet, with one smile he had been too enraptured to realize his walls had crumbled with the aftershocks of your beauty and kindness. Sirius Black loved you and it had scared him shitless.

“I’ve been distant lately,” Sirius spoke again as Remus sat stiff beside him but his expression was softening as he watched Sirius cry. “I’m sure Y/N’s noticed. Today especially. I just realized how much she meant to me and it freaked me out, In what world could I ever have a girl like her?”

Remus was about to cut in when Sirius cursed loudly. “Christ! I called her a- oh merlin, I am dead,” He shook with the force of his regret.

“You called her what?” Remus questioned and whatever warmth had crept back into Sirius was sucked back out again, his skin paling as he thought over all he had accused you of.

“I called her a whore, Rem,” Sirius cried out. “I’d fucking hate me, I do fucking hate me. What am I supposed to do? She’ll never forgive me now-”

“She shouldn’t!” Remus seethed but put his arm over his friend’s shoulder nonetheless. “I understand- Well, no, I don’t. But! I know how much she means to you, even if everything you have done tonight is in complete opposition of that. I’ve pushed people away too and sometimes they never do forgive you,”

Sirius chewed on his lip to keep another wave of emotion from knocking him on his ass. He didn’t expect you to forgive him. He’d called you cruel things, neglected your needs and made you chase him into the blasted storm. You’d pushed harder than you shouldve and now you were here, shivering and unconscious on the floor.

He slid to the floor, crawling towards you as he searched for your buried hands, making sure your blankets stayed wrapped tight around you. “My darling,” Sirius cried, fingers intertwining with your own still frozen hands. “I am so sorry,” His head fell to rest on your stomach as you lay still.

Remus watched, anger still plenty present but he shoved it to the side. “If anyone is going to forgive you for the shit you just pulled, it’d be her,” He spoke truthfully, knowing you loved Sirius with all you had-even to a fault. “That girl adores you Sirius and she would never hurt you the way you hurt her. You may be in pain, but she is one of my dearest friends, she is like family, and if you do it again-”

“I wont,” Sirius promised immediately, understanding what Remus was meaning to say. “I swear, if she gives me another chance after this, I won’t ever hurt her again... B-but you seem to care a great deal, are you sure you aren’t better for her?”

“I meant what I said,” Remus sighed. “She is a friend, nothing more. Y/N’s the sister I never had. When you treat her right, you are best for her,” Standing slowly, Remus clapped Sirius on the back. “Take care of her,” And with that, he was going to his room.

Sirius noted that your shaking had subsided, the color in your cheeks returning. Your breaths came out slow and measure, but raspy. Your voice had been scratchy since he’d confronted you and he remembered Lily mentioning how you’d been feeling like rubbish all day. Remus had only been taking your temperature. Sirius wanted to scream at himself.

His hands shook as the smoothed your hair, gently releasing any tangles that had formed while you dried out and warmed up. He sat for another hour, watching you take those same wheezing breaths before your hand twitched in his. Sirius held his breath, not wanting to wake you. You settled back down and he shut his eyes, replaying the scene of your fight again.

The way you had asked “How could you?” tore at his chest. Indeed, how could he treat you the way he had and still claim to love you? Maybe he was a Black after all...

“Siri-?”

He froze. Your voice was washed out and delicate, a whisper agains the crackling of the fire, but he had heard it. You blinked tight, your nose wrinkling in a way that he was so very fond of. Even after all that had happened his name was still the first on your lips.

“I’m here,” He promised, hands squeezing tight around yours as you fought to open your heavy eyelids.

“I had the worst dream-” You started but as you came to you realized you weren’t in your bed and you were cold, pajamas still slightly damp despite having dried significantly. You stiffened considerably. “It wasn’t a dream, was it?” You asked hesitantly, voice cracking as tears surfaced almost immediately.

“It was a terrible nightmare,” Sirius choked out, hand pulling away from yours to cup your cheeks. “This entire night has been a nightmare all because of me. I have no excuse other than I was scared and that’s why I acted so monstrously. I am no gryffindor Y/N, I’m the biggest coward there is for treating you like I did. I can never apologize enough-”

“No,” You agreed, looking around the common room instead of into his eyes. “You can’t,”

Sirius let go of you but couldn’t move away. “I barely realized what I was doing until you were unconscious and it all came crashing down around me... I had been wandering through the halls wondering how to tell you something and it had been making me anxious and when I came back, seeing you two so close, I fucking lost it. I-I had no right to question your loyalty or your love, and I am so sorry,”

You watched as Sirius broke down in front of you. You’d never seen him cry before now, yet he couldn’t seem to stop. His voice was as raw as yours and he wiped at his eyes every few moments, as if he could will himself to stop how he was feeling. How was this the same man from your fight?

“What made you anxious?” You asked instead.

“I wanted to tell you I loved you,” He answered immediately and you couldn’t help but scoff. “I-I know how that sounds now... But really, I mean it. I love you Y/N, but I am not what you deserve. I know that anyone else would be better for you and tonight proved it. I brought you here from outside not having a clue what to do but Remus took care of you and- it might not be him, he explained how he feels about you, but someone else is going to come along and love you better,”

“What are you talking about?” You sighed. “I don’t want anyone else, no matter what you just did....”

“But I-” Sirius was stumped. “How can you forgive me?”

“I don’t completely forgive you,” You admitted after thinking for a moment. “I’m hurt and that isn’t changing any time soon, but I do love you Sirius. Despite all that has happened I still love you. You’ve properly ruined me, it can only be you.”

“I’ll fix what I’ve broken, Sirius promised, pressing a searing kiss to your temple as you wrapped your arms around his neck.

“You better,” You sniffled. “Now lets go to bed please,”

Sirius rubbed your back, pulling you into his arms as he took you to his room, not daring to tell you no.

As you both got comfortable, you realized that the rain had let up. Only a light pitter patter could be heard against the window pane.

It was a new day. Not a perfect day, not even a good one, but it was a new start regardless and Sirius was next to you- holding you like he would never let go again, and you hoped that he never would.

#sirius black #sirius x reader #sirius black x reader #fluff #angst #request #ask #anon #anon ask #mega fucking angst #i tried for a happy ending

154 notes · View notes

olivenight17 · 5 years

Text

Neito Monoma X Reader “Protection”

Hey! So, I kinda just got the inspiration to write this. Forgive me if it’s a bit sloppy, I’ve been awake all night and it’s really late where I am. Part of this came from a nightmare I just had a few hours ago and I’ve been shaking since. So what better way to counteract it than with having fictional characters protect me from it? Ha ha... yeah sorry you guys. Hope you enjoy our crackhead blond with a softer side.

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Sometimes you wished you didn’t have your sixth sense.

To be fair it wasn’t easy. For years your classmates would tease you that you only made it up in order to pretend you had a quirk. It was hard to prove it existed, even if you asked the ghosts to do something, not all had enough energy to even move anything. It only got worse towards the end of the year.

That was when he showed up.

Neito Monoma, the most arrogant, loud-mouthed blond you had ever met, transferred to your middle school. After seeing how he could react to people trying to one-up him, you decided to stay out of his way. You didn’t need him picking on you for your quirk too. You figured you could just fly under his radar until it was time for high school. But, fate had other plans.

As you moved to the library to eat your lunch, two kids from your class blocked the way. “Well, if it isn’t the crazy ghost girl.” One of them sneered down at you.

You merely kept your head down, trying to push through them. They pushed back and you stumbled. “Akira, Natsumi, please. Can’t we just do this some other day? I didn’t eat breakfast and I’m really hungry…” You muttered.

The two simply laughed and pushed you another step back. “Aw, did someone forget to eat because of their hallucinations? Poor you,” Natsumi snickered.

You frowned in response. “They’re not hallucinations. They’re real ghosts, it’s not my fault you’re all too blind to see them.” There was a slight snarl in your voice. It was tiring having to put up with this harrassment every day and you were reaching your breaking point.

“Oh yeah? Prove it then, freak. Prove it like you’ve been able to every time anyone’s asked you about it!” Akira yelled, pulling you back by your hair when you tried to rush by them again. He slammed you into a wall and you whimpered in pain. “Nothing to say, huh? Surprise, surprise. Just admit it, you’re nothing but a quirkless, crazy bitch!” He spat in your face and you flinched.

The tension of his grip was suddenly released and before you knew it, Akira was on the ground and Neito was standing in front of you. “I have to say that is no way to treat a fellow peasant, so I think you two should learn your place. After all, I just recorded that entire scene. It would be a shame if the school were to find out about such indecent behavior, don’t you agree?” You could practically hear the smirk in his voice.

Natsumi helped Akira up and they both glared at him. “Why bother helping out a freak like her? Aren’t you too good for us anyways?” She snipped, her golden hair illuminating her anger.

“Oh believe me, I am far above you. After all I have a quirk that can be useful to society and you two, well come on. Do I really have to explain myself to a girl who’s only power is her glowing hair and a boy with boar tusks?” He chuckled as the two swore under their breath. “Now run along peasants and then I might consider deleting that video.” Venom laced his words and it wasn’t long before they both fled back to the cafeteria.

You could only stare at him in shock. “You… you helped me. Why?” He smirked at your question.

“Well that’s simple, peasant. You have a slight bit more potential than the rest. Though I must admit, I am quite curious to see if the rumors are true. So without further ado…” His hand rested on your neck for a split second, making you switch to confusion.

“Hey, what was that for?” You asked, but he wasn’t paying attention to you which made you huff. Then, a ghost appeared through the wall.

“What’s all that commotion for (Y/N)? This guy’s not giving you trouble, is he?” The ghost asked, squinting his eyes at Neito.

Neito was staring back at him with wide eyes, muttering under his breath as he took a step forward and extended his hand out to the ghost. His hand passed right through him and the ghost in turn tried to whack him with his mop. “What do you think you’re doing, child? Do you know how rude it is to just phase through someone like that!” The mop, of course, passed through Neito and he shivered in response.

You stood between them and held your hands up in apology. “Sorry, Mr. Ito, he doesn’t know ghost etiquette as well as I do. It won’t happen again, I promise.” The old man grumbled at your apology.

“He better not. You’re lucky I like you, (Y/N). Otherwise I’d give that boy hell,” He snapped.

You chuckled in response. “I’m sure you would. I’ll see you in the library a little later for lunch, okay?” You smiled brightly at him and he gruffly nodded before he disappeared back into the wall.

When he was gone, you whirled around to face Neito. However, before you get could a single word out, he was already asking questions. “Who was that?”

“Mr. Ito, he was a janitor who worked here about six years ago. He died slipping on a puddle of chocolate milk and cracked his head on a table. He’s why the school here is always so clean.” You responded and he slowly nodded.

“How long have you known him?”

“Since I came here. He’s a nice man.”

“He’s really a ghost.”

“Well yeah, you can’t exactly phase your hand through most people.” You chuckled. It was amusing, you could almost see the gears turning in his head as he struggled to process the information. When it seemed he had come to terms with what he had learned, you spoke up. “So, how exactly did you do that? Do you have a clairvoyance quirk like me?” A tiny bit of hope flared in your chest. Maybe, just maybe, you weren’t alone.

But it was diminished when the blond shook his head. “Oh no, nothing simple like that. My quirk allows me to use other people’s quirks after I touch them. But I have to say, your quirk is the strangest I have encountered yet.” He told you, rubbing his chin as he looked at you.

There was silence and you shifted under his gaze, getting the odd feeling he was staring at you like cattle. “I guess I’ll just go then…” You mumbled awkwardly, turning away from him.

Before you could get far, he caught you by the arm. “Wait, I’m not done. Since I’ve never experienced a quirk like yours before, I would like to study it more. So peasant, give me your phone.” You blinked owlishly at his words.

“What do you want with my phone,” You asked.

He sighed at your reaction. “I suppose I have to spell it out for you, I’m giving you my number. I expect you to reply when I text you and I’ll be sending you my schedule so you know when to come to my house so I can study your quirk more.” He explained and held out his other hand.

You nodded and placed your phone there with a slight smile. “Cool, I’ve never had a friend before.” You chirped absentmindedly, not expecting him to freeze so suddenly.

The craziest laugh you had ever heard thundered out of him, making you jump. His pupils were incredibly dilated and his face was frozen in an expression that you could only assume was meant to be mocking. “What? This does not make us friends. You are a mere peasant that could be of use! Someone as great as I could never be friends with a tool!” He exclaimed, handing your phone back and then power walking away.

You were visibly shocked and more than a little disappointed, until you noticed the new contact he made. It appeared that was all for show as only a few minutes later he had texted his plans for the week. Shock gave way to excitement and giggles escaped your mouth. He was such a weird kid, but in a way, so were you.

That was how Neito Monoma decided your friendship.

He eventually came around to admitting- which was by no means an easy task- that you were his friend, and that’s when life really began to look up for you. You finally had someone who had your back and knew who you were. Though it took some digging, you began to get to know Neito too. While he was still loud-mouthed and arrogant, you understood that it was only a facade. He used it as a way to hide his insecurities about his quirk and the challenges he knew he would face trying to be a hero. You also realized that he was a really good friend. He was caring in his own way and never failed to show up anyone who was giving you trouble. Anything he said or did, it was to help you and you could never be grateful enough for it.

While you thought he would ditch you once high school came about, that was not the case. Even though he was working hard to be a hero at U.A, he still reserved time for you. He introduced you to his other classmates and friends, though he’d never admit it, and they became your friends too.

By the time high school had ended, you had realized how hard you had fallen for him. Surprisingly enough, it was not you who asked him out. No, it was all him. He had shown up at your house with a bouquet of roses, an adorable blush on his cheeks and a speech he could barely stutter out. It was enough for you and the two of you had been dating ever since.

You had started your lives together. While Neito was out bringing villains to justice as Phantom Thief, you had started your own business to help people with the supernatural. There were a lot of ghosts in houses who could do some stuff the living didn’t quite understand, so you showed up when called and mediated the situation. It was nice to have found your calling, especially with a man you adored so much. He really helped you.

Especially on one particular night.

You closed the door with a sigh, today’s batch of ghosts had been very aggressive and you were happy to be home. Neito wasn’t in the house yet, you figured he was still on patrol, and you took a mini stroll along the halls. It was empty, and by empty, you meant devoid of anyone.

You furrowed your brows, this was odd. Normally the older residents of the house would be greeting you and asking how your day had been, but you couldn’t even feel anyone’s presence. You shrugged it off, maybe they were just tired tonight.

The stretch of silence filling your ears was eery and for some reason, you felt tense and on edge. “It’s just because of work…” You assured yourself, heading to your room. Sitting down at your desk, you began typing away at your computer to check off the jobs you had completed. Just as you reached your hand out to power it down, you felt your hair stand on end.

Someone else was in your room.

An icy chill ran through your body and you sat completely rigid. This was not a ghost from your house. It had an awful energy that seemed to crawl all over the room and you found it hard to breathe. It hadn’t taken form just yet, if you could reach your sage-

“Hi,” it uttered, in a sickly sweet tone that echoed off the walls. From the corner of your eye, you saw a woman with light brown, curly hair and blue eyes. She was crouching down at the side of your desk with a stare that was most certainly inhuman.

This was bad. This was very, very bad. “Leave… leave me be. This is not your home, you are not welcome.” You commanded but it fell off in a whisper. Her eyes glowed and before you could control yourself you were facing your head towards her.

She didn’t speak, only continuing to look into your eyes and you hadn’t noticed anything out of place until her face started rippling. Inky black spread across her face, oozing and dripping as dots of white speckled her being. You gulped, your stomach was churning.

There was a burning force at your back and you landed on the ground just in front of her. You were panting like a dog, throat burning with the feeling of puke but nothing was coming out. Hacking and coughing, you felt blood start to come from your mouth. Tears were streaming down your face. The burning sensation on your back was growing stronger and you let out an ear piercing scream. You were going to die, you were going to die, you were going to die…

The door slammed open, faint shouting swimming in your ears but it seemed so distant compared to the pain. Then there was warmth and the scent of burning sage invaded your nose. Slowly, the presence ebbed away from you, the woman baring her teeth at you savagely as she retreated from your room. “Yes, that’s right. Get the fuck away from my house and if you ever come near my love again I will send you straight back to hell myself!” A voice shouted above you. Glancing up, you saw the pale blue eyes of your boyfriend. “(Y/N), speak to me. Are you okay?” He asked urgently and tears bubbled in your eyes all over again.

You clutched onto him tightly as you sobbed. “Neito thank god. I thought it was going to kill me, it was so strong and it forced me to the ground and I...I…” You sniffled as he rocked you back and forth.

“Sh, I know, love. I know… but you’re alright now. I will personally make sure that thing never comes back. I’m here, it’s okay…” He reassured you, kissing your forehead lightly.

The two of you stayed like that for a long period of time, fear keeping you awake as your eyes darted to every shadow in your room. The darkness no longer felt safe and you swore you could still see it flicker in a corner. Neito eventually had to get up and turn the lights on just to relax you. “Come on love, lay down. We’ll keep the sage burning and the lights on, it’s not going to come back,” He murmured. You hesitated, before slowly nodding and curling up next to him. It wasn’t long before a sense of serenity passed through you, and you fell asleep to the drum of Neito’s heartbeat. He was your guardian, always there to protect you when you needed it most. You didn’t know what you would do without him.

#BNHA #Neito Monoma #x reader #comfort #my hero academia #I'm really sorry #I was scared #I want to get my mind off this nightmare #someone request soon #Neito Monoma x reader

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jmeddows2 · 5 years

Text

Purple Thunder (Roger Taylor Series) - Part 2

(present/old) Roger Taylor x Reader

Notes:** Sorry for grammar mistakes/ weird sentence structures. English is not my first language but anyways, I gave it a go. Enjoy and feel free to submit requests, feedback etc.

There are going to be some inaccuracies regarding song lyrics throughout the series.

This is what I imagined Reader to wear:

Part 2: You woke up the next day to an empty bed, because Josh had already gone to a band meeting for his upcoming tour. You made your way into the kitchen to find a note on the counter: *Morning babe, I’m at the studio, coffee should still be hot. Have fun today, miss you already, I love you*

With a smile on your face, you pour the coffee into your own merchandise mug and grab your phone.

*5 unread messages*

*From: Ruf - Darkness*

“you’re meeting up with my dad today??? :O why didn’t you tell me? ☹ x ” – 7.03 am “oh sorry, good morning, (Y/N) :D x” – 7.04 am “congrats on the Grammy by the way, I want to be you when I grow up 😉 x” – 7.10 am “my dad told me to take you home to his home studio in Surrey, if that’s ok x” – 7.20 am “I’ll pick you up at 11 x” – 7.24 am

You first met Rufus when your band was a support group for his band ‘The Darkness’, during that time you also had a short fling with his lead singer. Honestly though, it was all about the parties, coke and booze. On one of those drunken nights you ‘accidently’ expressed your love for Queen and especially Roger, to Rufus. He was so shitfaced that he probably forgot every word you said anyways.

You were a little disappointed, that Roger didn’t text or call you himself, since you exchanged numbers the night before. Taking a quick glance at the clock you nearly dropped your mug. 10.33 am. ‘Fuck, how am I supposed to get ready within the next 27 minutes?’, you thought to yourself. You took a quick shower, brushed your teeth, put on a white lace bralette, some light – blue ripped jeans and a fluffy, short coat. A little exposing, but that was your trademark after all and you couldn’t just show up to Roger fucking Taylor’s house wearing joggers and an old, washed out shirt, right? While applying your eyeliner you received a message on your phone:

*From: Ruf – Darkness* “I’m outside x”

You took one last glance in the mirror, locked the door and made your way outside. There was Rufus, leaning against a red Ferrari 308 GTB. Once he spotted you, a smile appeared on his face and he greeted you with a big hug: “Ahhh, (Y/N)! Long time no see, how have you been?” “Pretty good, how else would a Grammy winner feel?”, you replied. “Congratulations, majesty. I meant what I said by the way, I want to be you when I grow up”, you chuckled at his comment. “Ruf, you’re older than me. Nice car you got there!” He opened the door for you, closed it, got in on the driver’s side and the car journey began. “My dad actually gifted it to me, he bought it in 1983, but this bad boy is still in the best shape. You look very pretty today! Who’d you dress up for, though? We’re just going to see my dad and you’re going to be locked up in a studio”, he chuckled. His words made you blush, but thankfully he didn’t notice. “Thank you. But what do you mean, Ruf? I always wear this kind of stuff. How long is the drive anyway?” “About 35 minutes, I lived in Surrey my whole life. My sisters lived with my mum though. The only people that still live in the Surrey home are my dad and his wife.”, he explained. Right. You totally forgot that Roger was a married man. “I see, some embarrassing childhood pictures I could browse for then?!”, you tried to cheer yourself up. “Don’t even try, love”, he chuckled.

The drive went by quickly and you found yourself in front of the biggest house you’d ever seen. And you’d seen plenty of them. It was majestic, close to a castle, with lots of greenery. Hell, the garden was at least ten times as big as your apartment in the city of London, which was far from small itself.

“T- that’s where you grew up?”, you stuttered. “Yeah my dad owns a few houses. One’s in Ibiza, one in Switzerland, a mansion in LA, there’s also the apartment in Kensington. I used to live in Kensington one with my girlfriend, but we decided to get our own place in Soho”, he laughed. “So nice to hear, how’s Jessica by the way?” you asked as you both walk towards the front door. “She’s good, very good. But it’s so hard to have such hectic lives, my touring and her modelling job. Who am I to tell you about these kinds of things? You know exactly what I’m talking about. Greet Josh from me, by the way.”, he answered. Hearing those words, your mind drifted to your boyfriend, Josh, and you wondered what he was on about in this moment. Your thoughts were cut off as the door swung open. “Hi, there you are, kids.” Kids. Ouch. “Nice to see you again Mr. Taylor!”, you stretched out your hand. “C’mere”, he took you by surprise and pulled you into a big hug. When he released you from the probably best hug you’d ever received, a slight pink shade started to form on your cheeks. Thankfully the two didn’t notice, because he turned to Rufus and greeted him just the same way. Rogers expensive cologne still lingered on your chest from the hug and you swore it was your favorite smell already. “You two must be hungry, I prepared some ‘pigs in blankets’ for lunch. I know it’s not much, but Sarina’s not here and I suck at cooking.”, Roger stated proudly. “Sorry pap’s, I can’t stay over, I promised my girl Jessica to accompany her to a photoshoot. (Y/N)? I’ll pick you up at 8 to go back home?”, Rufus asked you. “Don’t bother, Rufus, enjoy your time with Jess.”, Roger said, as he turned to you “I can give you a ride home, (Y/N). I figured to stay in Kensington for the upcoming weeks, since my wife is gone to shoot a new movie. So if you don’t mind…” “I’d appreciate that, thank you, Mr. Taylor”, you smiled kindly. “It’s Roger for you, don’t make me even older than I already than”, he said with a sad smile, never leaving your eyes. “You’re not that old”, you decided to cheer him up. “She’s right”, Rufus chimed in. “..you still got it….. for an old man”, he laughed. Roger took it with humor and was quick to tell him: “Don’t you have somewhere to be, son?” A quick goodbye was exchanged, with the two of you left in the kitchen.

“Let me give you a quick house tour before we get to work, darling?”, his words sent shivers down your spine. With each room, your eyes grew bigger and bigger, it must have cost a fortune, made you speechless and Roger noticed your excitement, which made him kind of proud of himself. The mansion included seven bedrooms, a huge swimming pool, a Jacuzzi, several game rooms, stables and a tennis court outside. “Wow”, was the only thing you were able to mouth while you two stood in front of the lake, right beside his house. “You know, I always used to come down here, when things get too crazy. I’ve written so many songs here. It’s inspirational, peaceful.” “I can see exactly what you mean”, you agreed with him. “When things got too crazy for me, I never really had somewhere to go, you know? To blow some steam off. That’s why I literally exploded”, you sad with a sad smile. “Sorry to bore you with that.” “No, no, I know what it’s like, love. The constant pressure, people being complete wankers and judging your every move, I’ve been there before, don’t worry about that”, he gave you sympathetic smile. “…except that there isn’t a Grammy stood on my trophy wall”, he continued. You two started to laugh when a serious expression started to form on his face: “Seriously though, don’t let these wankers get to you. You’re a talented, pretty, young girl. If you should ever need some advice, help or anything, I’d love to help you out, to mentor you. You’ve got a bright future ahead of you, this is only the beginning.” “Thank you, that means a lot coming from rock royalty, Mr. T-, I mean Roger”, you blushed. “Let’s get to work, shall we?”, you asked to escape the situation. It didn’t make you feel uncomfortable, in fact, you wanted to hug him and shower him with compliments, but that would be too weird, right? You two made your way to the back of the house where his home studio was situated. It was bigger than any recording studio you’d ever been in. You spotted approximately 20 guitars, a beautiful white piano, a ukulele, 5 drum kits in different sizes etc. You found yourself admire the walls, which held framed drum skins of his, one had his face on, another one had a simple ‘Queen’ written over it, and right next to that, one with the Queen logo. As you reached the last one a ‘smile’ crept onto your face, as it was the Smile band logo (see what I did there? 😉) You were so mesmerized by the drum skins, that you didn’t notice Roger standing right behind you. “I see you’ve found the old gems, love”, he made you jump. You couldn’t even find the words to say before he began: “So I’ve got this little song here and I’d like to release it sometime soon, but I’d love to hear your opinion on it, your honest opinion!”, with that the song began to play.

A heavy guitar started the song, while a steady beat kicked in in the background, accompanied by the lyrics ‘wake up, you boys; shape up, you girls; are you, aware; there’s gangsters running this world’. You lost it at the next part when there was heavy drumming involved, nodding your head to the beat, while Roger always kept his eyes on you, to get a great view of your reaction. Once the song was over, he broke the silence: “So? How’s that? Be brutally honest!”

“Honestly?”, you managed to keep a straight face which turned into a smile, “I love it, the guitars, the drums, the lyrics, it’s catchy and has a real meaning.”

“Are you sure? I could spend a little more time on mixing it to-“ “It’s perfect, Roger, I mean it”, you cut him off. He smiled at you. How could a rock legend like him be so self – conscious? As he fiddled with the buttons on the mixing board you found yourself staring at him. Admiring his beauty, blue ocean eyes, you could get lost in them. You dreamed of situations like this since you were younger, even younger than now. He didn’t look his age at all, his smile looked the same as it did in 1975. Damn. How could anybody be so beautiful?

“..did you just hear me?” “Sorry, what?” “I asked if you want to grab something to eat right now? We could take it down to the lake” “That sounds awesome”, you answered. “What’s the song called?”, you asked as you dipped your feet into the lake, taking a bite from the ‘pig in a blanket’. “Gangsters are running this world, actually. I also dubbed it to be the ‘purple version’” You nearly choked at his words. “Purple?”, asked. “Yeah, it’s kind of an homage to you and your band. You inspired me on the musical parts” For the literally hundredth time that day you felt speechless. You just stared at him searching for words, which you most certainly couldn’t find. This atmosphere inspired you to the fullest: peace, silence, only birds chirping, you decided to scribble down some lyrics into your notebook. You didn’t even have to think hard about it, it just came naturally. Once you looked up, Roger was already looking at you. “What? Do I have something on my face?”, you asked. “No, was just admiring the view, I must say you look very beautiful today. Not just today, you always do.”, he said. You thanked him and were quick to excuse yourself to the bathroom, even though had no intention to use it. Is this really happening? You splashed some water on your face to calm down a little. *Roger’s POV* ‘Wow you really outdid yourself once again’, he thought to himself. ‘What is this girl doing to you?’ He knew it was wrong to say such a thing, but he couldn’t help himself once he saw your face all concentrated, shining eyes flying over the paper, the tip of your tongue poking out to lick your lips slowly. *(Y/N)’s POV* You made your way back to Roger, as it was starting to get darker and darker outside. “I’m sorry if I made you feel uncomfortable earlier.”, he apologized. “That’s not it, Roger, I’m just really tired, it’s been a long night yesterday and I’m exhausted.” Lies. You were literally asleep once you arrived home at 11 pm. “That little boyfriend of yours got kept you awake then?”, he laughed. “Stop”, you playfully hit him. You didn’t want to admit that it was actually him, you were thinking about right before you fell asleep. The ride home was quiet, mainly because you fell asleep after 5 minutes, cuddled into the seat of Roger’s spacious Range Rover. “(Y/N), love? We’re here!”, he gave you a light shake, got out of his seat, walked over to your side, to open the door for you.

“thanks for your help today”, he smiled down at you. “I wasn’t any help at all, but you’re welcome”, you smiled back. Roger pulled you into a hug, there it was. His smell, you wouldn’t mind staying like this forever. And your heart started to beat fast. The warm, safe feeling was quickly cut off by the clicking of cameras. Fuck. Paparazzi. You exchanged quick goodbyes, escaping the situation and to prevent more pictures to be taken. Fuck. They had to ruin everything. Maybe it was for the best. Walking into the flat Josh had already been waiting for you on the couch. “What is that?” he sounded angry. “What is what?” He pointed to a picture on his phone which showed Roger and you hugging just a few minutes ago. Fuck, those paparazzi’s work fast.

#roger taylor #Queen #roger taylor x reader #present day roger #present day roger x reader #Brian May #greta van fleet #josh kiszka #rock band #rock music #classic rock #purple thunder

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onedoesnotsimplywriteafanfic · 5 years

Text

You just pissed off the wrong Serpent

Characters: Sweet Pea, Jughead, Toni, FP, Archie, Betty, Reggie and Reader

Pairing: Sweet Pea X Reader jones

Summary: being Jughead’s coursing you a serpent by blood. You moved from Riverdale when you were 14 year and got a serpent tattoo as a reminder who your family are and where you are from. You are a shy girl but when people piss you off you are a total badass who doesn’t need a man to save her life.

In your time back at the Serpents you grow fond of a black haired boy. When he gets himself into trouble you’re there to help him and treat his wounds. But what will happen when you find out he is beaten by a group of bulldogs.

Warnings: language, death,

Word count: 5,205 (hihi oeps, I let my self go wild on this one, hope you enjoy)

A/N: This story is set in the second season of the story there are vectors that I used in the story and some that I added myself.

It was busy in the Whyte Wyrm and FP Jones, the king of the Serpents, had called out a meeting. All members of the Southside Serpents were present. It was busy around the bar, everyone had something to drink and waited for the meeting to start.

Some serpents started to get impatient and some had already left the building. It was noisy and the smell of cigarettes hung in the air.

FP walked on stage and asked for everyone's attention. ''Silence!'' He shouted after he didn’t had attention from the rest. He waited until it was quiet and all eyes were on him. "My niece is coming back to Riverdale from tomorrow, she is a serpent by blood so respect her as one. She can come across as shy, but whatever you do don’t piss her of," he looked around the group as a warning. ''The consequences are for you. '' The earlier buzz was exchanged for silence comprehensiveness.

Everyone exchanged a look with each other but there was one among them who knew what FP was talking about and it was not his son, Jughead. The serpent king left the stage and Jughead took over. "Wait, there is one more thing." He said fleetingly before everyone walked away. "Everyone knows how fond we are of our nicknames, my niece only joins in as Y/N. You don’t have to come up with a cute or tough nickname because you will not succeed. There is only one nickname that she tolerates and you also have to earn that right." He nodded quickly and wondered if it was of value that he shared this with the others. "And what is that then?"A boy asked from the crowd. "Jonesie." The same boy grinned, the girl next to him looked at him and knew exactly what he was thinking. "Don’t you even dare." She said before he could say something.

For the serpent's the rest of the day was the same as all other days. For me it was the best day in my life. On my bike I drove to Riverdale, it was a trip of three days. Packed and collapsed with everything I could carry, I was on my way to visit my uncle and nephew. I could not wait to see them again.

It was five years ago that I had seen them for the last time. After the death of my mother, my father and I left Riverdale. Against my will I had to leave my friends and build a new life in an unknown city.

Before I left, I got my serpent tattoo as a souvenir, a reminder that I was always welcome and a reminder of where I came from, who I was. My father was left behind in connection with his work, a well-respected merchant.

The last kilometers were ahead of me. It didn’t take long before I arrived in Riverdale. En route I stopped at Pop's for breakfast. I was too excited to eat right when I got up. I parked my motorcycle in front of a window so that I had a good view of it.

I hooked my helmet at the steering wheel and walked in as follows. My mobile and wallet were in my leather jacket and I didn’t need more at the moment. After my order I sat at a table and enjoyed the food. I never expected to miss this.

It started getting late in the morning when I left dinner. It was not so far till the southside. We had agreed at the Whyte Wyrm.

When I arrived there I parked my motorcycle next to everyone else, as if he belonged there, he fitted in nicely. For now I left my things on my bike knowing that it would not be stolen.

Inside I looked around for familiar faces. Actually, I searched for my uncle or nephew but came out with someone else. My old friend Toni Topas. When she noticed that I was looking at her, she walked towards me with joy. "Y/N, you are here!" She gave me no chance to respond and hugged me firmly. She was always a badass around others, but she was quite the softy to me. "Hey, since when do you call me by my name?" It's strange that she didn’t mention me by my nickname. "I don’t know." I laughed and gave her a shove against her shoulder. "Don’t worry, did you see my uncle?" I looked past the crowd, hoping to see him.

Toni shook her head. ''No, not yet, think he has yet to come.'' She shrugged. ''No problem, we have more time to chat.'' Together we walked outside so that we could understand each other better. There we sat on a bench, after all we had five years in which to catch up whit.

Our lives had changed dramatically and yet it all seemed the same. We heard motors coming between laughing and chatting. I looked in the direction where the sound came from and before I knew it I was reuniting with my family.

FP placed his helmet on the saddle of his bike and walked straight in on me. I hugged my uncle firmly, I had not only missed the city but also my uncle. Although I was close with my parents, I was very close with him.

Jughead stood behind FP and waited for his turn. "Hey kiddo. It's good to see you." I buried my face in his chest. ''I missed you so much.'' It was almost incomprehensible. FP had to laugh. ''I missed you too.'' He kissed the top of my head. I think jughead got a bit impatient because he cleared his throat as if it were nothing. ''Oh, come here Juggie.'' Separating me from FP, I held up my arms for Jughead.

He held me as firm as he could. "Hey Jonesie." The smile on his face wrote volumes. "How is my favorite niece?" I shook my head and grinned. ''As far as I know I am your only niece, but I am fine and now I am here even better.'' Pointing around me I took everything in me and then looked back at Jughead. "Good." Seeing me enjoy was the most beautiful thing he could ever wish for. I wash everything to him.

As if he suddenly realized something, he looked at me with a crooked head. "Is there something?" I asked as I pulled my eyebrow. He grabbed me by the shoulders and turned me around so that I turned my back to him. ''Yes, where is your Serpent jacket?'' Somewhere I thought I heard something of disbelief and betrayal in his voice. ''I had to have a reason to come back so I gave it to your father before I left with mine.'' It was a lame excuse, but it was the truth.

While Jughead and I were talking, FP went to his bike to grab my Serpent jacket. He had taken it with him for certainty because somewhere he knew I would come to the Whyte Wyrm first. "Oh, I missed you!" I said to my jacket when I grabbed it.

With the biggest grin on my face, I put it over my leather coat. My Serpent jacket was just like Toni's, no arms just a torso. After five years I had finally grown up. Previously he was always too large but since everything that grew he fit exactly.

The four of us walked into the Whyte Wyrm, it was time for a party, or in any case later in the evening. For now we took soft drinks or coffee. There were so many new faces and only a few acquaintances. ''I see a lot of new ones.'' I looked at my uncle with pride. Previously the Serpents were with much less man. Maybe she just saved the fifty members. Now there were certainly more than two hundred. Old and young, active and retired.

FP took a sip of coffee. ''We have come a long way, but one thing is certain. The Serpents will never die." I nodded in agreement. "I drink for that." I joked and held my bottle of cola in the air.

I was very talkative whit friends and family, but I was quiet and shy around strange things. As if a switch was turned, my personality changed. And that happened today too. It was a quality that I wanted to change.

While we were talking, a young Serpent boy came to stand with us. Once I noticed him, I became quiet. "Hey guys." He said cunningly. Toni looked at him angrily and shook her head. "You must be Jughead's niece, Jonesie right?" He had a grin on his face.

Glowering I looked at him. "You don’t have that right to call me that." I looked at my hands. "Sweet Pea!" Toni sounded furious. She was always too protective when I was in my shy state. "What." He held his hands in the air defending himself. "Sweet Pea, this is my niece Y/N." Jughead introduced me to his friend.

On the one hand, I couldn’t blame him for calling me that, but it was the way he said that I was pissed off about. "Hi." I said soft and cold. "The name is Sweet Pea." He held out his hand and could clearly see that he was full of himself.

At the moment I couldn’t afford to shake his hand and that had more reasons.

With a nod of his head he took his hand back. "Okey." He said slowly. Toni could not help laughing. ''I'm sorry, but this time you will not succeed.'' She menaced to say trough her laughter. Personally, I didn’t know what she meant by that, but Sweet Pea obviously did. He walked away with a facial expression in ten days of storm and thunder. "What is his deal?" I asked, looking at him as he walked away. "You don’t want to know." Jughead sounded disappointed, not in me but in his friend. Jughead just wanted to protect me.

The day went further normally. Jughead took me back to the trailer park and made sure that I had a place to sleep. "My room is immediately on the right, I'm sleeping on the couch." It was a sweet gesture to give up his bed. "You know that is not necessary, I just sleep just as fine on the couch." I had already taken it into account. "No, you're sleeping in my room and I'm on the couch." He insisted and packed my bags away from me before I could put them on the couch. "You still don’t take no for an answer, I see." I remarked, some things never changed. Just before he walked past me with my things, he laughed and shook his head. "That's right." He quickly looked at me and then walked to his room.

The days seemed to fly by, luckily I was in no hurry to go back home. I could stay as long as I wanted. I started to know the others Serpent better. Sweet Pea and I were also ready on speaking terms.

A day or two after I had put him in his place about mentioning my nicname, he apologized. "Hey, I'm sorry about last. I should not have called you that, jughead had already told us that you should earn that right." He looked at his feet and the tall boy suddenly seemed very small. I had forgiven him that day.

I haven’t been to school for ages. I was taught at home by one of the best teachers my father could afford. Jughead, on the other hand, still had to go to school just like the others. That gave me some more time to explore the city and retrieve old memories. It was also time to visit two other old friends. Neither knew that I was back as far as I knew. I owed it to them.

Waiting in the trailer until the breaks started. Another hour, another 45 minutes, another thirty minutes. I started my motor and slowly drove to Riverdale High.

The school was packed with students, each one going their own way. I myself sat on South Side High from the beginning. It had never been my choice or that of my parents, but at the time we did not have much control.

After I arrived at the Riverdale High parking lot, I stayed for a few minutes longer on my saddle. The school building towered above me. Lost in thought, I looked in front of me.

After a while I was taken out of my thoughts. I turned around and looked at the person who had appeared from behind, Sweet Pea. I rolled my eyes and looked at him. ''Shouldn't you be at school?'' With the question leaving my tongue I broke into contact. He shrugged his shoulders with a conceited smile. "Oh, it's not like they miss me." Sweet Pea leaned against his bike.

It was quiet for a moment and I didn’t know how to respond. "I have to go." I fastened my helmet to my bike and walked towards the entrance of the school. I left Sweet Pea far behind me and imagined a way through the sea of pupils

I had no idea where to go, in all my years of high school I had never stepped foot inside Riverdale High. Like a chicken without a head I walked through the corridors to look for a sign from my old friends.

I passed a room where several students came to meet, first I walked by but then I saw a well-known hairdo in the corner of my eye. Archie.

In the doorway I stopped and watched the group. A smile appeared around my lips. Suddenly I was brutally pushed aside by a red-haired student, she looked at me with a filthy expression. ''Keep your filthy hands away from me, Serpent scum.'' Offended she walked inside. All of a sudden all attention was focused on me.

Archie and Betty stood up. ''Y/N.'' They said at the same time with the same enthusiasm in there voices. With a little smile I waved at them. Fortunately, they had not forgotten me yet.

Reuniting with my friends we were looking for another place where we could sit quietly. "When did you come back?" Betty asked as soon as we were seated. "A few days ago, I wanted to come by earlier but it shot through." I felt guilty that I had not called or looked them up. ''It's all right, you too have built a life.'' Archie defended me. "It's so good to see you again, and you've become a lot more mature." He added. I had indeed become more mature over the years. I was at least three to four years older than they where.

Sometimes it was not easy to be the oldest, especially if you were shy around strangers. There was a lot to discuss in such short time. We mainly discussed what we had done over the past five years, and we also discussed how I got to the Serpents. "I left with a tattoo as an excuse to come back." I admitted. They laughed at my reaction.

Unfortunately, the classes started again and our reunification was interrupted. ''Come by soon. My father would appreciate it if you came by." Archie mentioned as he gave me a hug. "I'll certainly do it." I tried to get so much lost time and emotion out of the embrace that I was struggling to let go. The same was for Betty.

Outside, Sweet Pea was still parked next to my motorcycle. I made an attempt to ignore him, but that didn’t work out as I planned. "So, how was your reunion?" Frankly, he sounded interested. "Good." Astonished at my own reaction, he looked at him. "But what are you doing here?" I asked him softly. "To be sure that you will return safely." I couldn’t tell whether he meant it or not. "I can take care of myself." I said before I put on my helmet and drove away.

Sweet Pea followed me all the way back to the Whyte Wyrm. "I have to give it to you, you can drive." His grin said more than enough, he was impressed. I walked inside with my head shaking. Before I got in the door he called me. "Hey Jonesie," he challenged me. I turned around and looked at him with envy. "I told you once before and I will not say it again, you don’t have the right to call me that." I raised my voice and frankly, he was shocked.

Inside I saw my uncle sitting at the bar and asked for a drink. My uncle looked at me quizzically. "Are things okay?" He was not sure if he should say anything or leave me in my delusion. "Sweet Pea is working on my nerves." He laughed and knew what I meant.

Suddenly it occurred to him. ''Wait. He should be in school." He squeezed the bridge of his nose. "That boy will be my end of me." He said more to himself than to me.

The same afternoon when the others were free from school, we sat together in the Whyt Wyrm. Jughead and I were talking about looking for Betty and Archie. In the meantime Sweet Pea gently asked Toni if she could explain why he shouldn’t call me Jonesie. "It's not my story to tell." was the only thing she had to say about the question.

Sweet Pea didn’t settle for the answer and kept asking questions. "Toni, please tell me, please." He couldn’t stand that something was kept secret for him. "No Sweets, it is her story to tell if you want to know it, so ask her." She pointed to me. Not noticing that they were talking about me.

He looked at Toni while shaking his head. ''No way, she would never tell me if I ask her.'' He looked up quickly in my direction and then back to Toni. "No, forget it." She looked at him intently. ''Come on Toni.'' He raised his voice a bit, where Toni answered. ''No!'' It came out harder than she expected and caught our attention. "Toni? Is there anything?" I asked out of curiosity.

She didn’t say anything and that led me to look at Sweet Pea. "What were you talking about?" I looked worried at Toni. There was something on her mind, I could tell from the way she looked at me. "That she don’t want to tell me why I don’t have the right to call you Jonesie." I bit my bottom lip to hold back my anger. ''Because it's not her story to tell.'' Without knowing, I repeated Toni's words.

Sweet Pea pulled a hand over his face. "Okey," he nodded and looked at me. "Why can’t I, or anyone else except Toni and your family, call you Jonesie?" This issue was very personal, I would rather not talk about it.

It brought back too many memories, even when I was called Jonesie it sometimes made me tear up. Our friendship went the right way but not so great that he could call me by my nickname.

The fact that we didn’t got closer was due to his attitude, his tough behavior that he set up as if he wanted to impress me. I would have preferred that he was just normal to me and was himself. In principle he was a very nice boy, and that’s the side of him that I want to get to know better.

I looked at my hands not knowing what to say. "Y/N, please tell me." His voice sounded soft, he really wanted to know. "I'm sorry, I can’t." I was on the verge of tears. ''Why not.'' His words had something of a hard edge. "I just can’t, Sweets." My eyes were poking and my voice was trembling, I didn’t want to talk about it anymore. "Why not?!" Angered at the fact that I didn’t want to say anything, he shouted the words at me, his hands he kept annoyed.

Tears ran down my cheeks to my chin. I could no longer keep my self strong. I shouted back angry, sad and disappointed. "Because I can’t!" I wiped a tear from my cheek and ran past him outside. I hit him with my shoulder between deliberate and malicious.

Amazed by what just happened, Toni and Jughead watched Sweet Pea. "Actually Pea, we told you so." Jughead showed no emotion to Sweet Pea. ''This is not really the way to win her over, you know that right.'' Toni gave him a stab under water.

Left alone in the Whyt Wyrm to suffer in his own thoughts, Sweet Pea looked at the door through which I had disappeared. Tormented by his own actions, he ran a hand through his hair. "What have I done?" He asked himself.

FP saw Sweet Pea from a distance and walked to him in sympathy. "Sweets, go talk to her before it's too late and you can’t fix this." Were his advice. Sweet Pea nodded and ran after me.

Outside I wasn’t to bee seen anywhere. No idea where I could be he got on his bike and drove until he found me.

As first he drove to the trailer park but I wasn’t home, then he drove to Pop's but I wasn’t there either. In the hope that I was with Toni, he drove to her house to find out that I was not there.

On the contrary, I was nowhere where he thought I could be, he had never been able to guess where I was.

Out of frustration he drove back to the Whyt Wyrm, upset he walked in and was intercepted by FP. "You haven’t have found her I see." Sweet Pea shook his head. "That's because she doesn’t want to be found. But I'll tell you where she is." Sweet Pea's eyes grew big in hope. ''Cemetery.'' Was all that FP shared with him, the rest was for him to find out.

Wondering why I was there, of all the places where I could be. He parked his motorcycle and walked out of the entire cemetery looking for me. Finally he found me, sitting in front of a grave. The grave of my mother.

The uncontrollable tears fell from my cheeks one by one on the ground. As if the wheater was playing on my feelings, the sky became increasingly sad. Several clouds came up and the sun was already out of sight.

At the beginning of the path, Sweet Pea stopped, looking and wondering at whose grave I was sitting. He walked to me cautiously. From the corner of my eye I saw him coming my way but I felt so empty that I didn’t care. Behind me he stopped, looking over my shoulder, he read the name on the tombstone in front of me. "Jociline Jones"

His thoughts were running a mile an hour. He opened his mouth to say something, but no words came out. I sobbed once and wiped away my tears with a tip of my sleeve. "She died when I was eight." I moved and pulled my knees up to my chin.

Sweet Pea swallowed a lump in his throat. "I'm sorry, so sorry." There was a pause between his words. ''About everything.'' He added. His voice trembled and sounded broken.

For what seemed like an eternity we sat in silence. "Come here." I looked over my shoulder and gestured for him to sit next to me. Initially he hesitated, but then he moved closer to me. "The reason I don’t want people to call me Jonesie is because my mother always called me that." I looked at him for a brief moment.

Maybe it was selfish, but I couldn’t deal with those emotions. "That's why we have to earn the right." As if everything fell into place, Sweet Pea understood what Jughead meant back then. I nodded. ''I shouldn’t have reacted to you like that, you didn’t know what the underlying meaning was.'' I confessed out of nowhere.

It never happened before that some people tried to call me by my nickname, Sweet Pea was a special case.

Sweet Pea put his arm around me and pulled me closer to him. "It's all right." I crept closer to him and let go of all the emotions that I felt at that moment. Sadness, guilt and something of love came out in a big tear show.

Until the sun went down we sat at the grave of my mother, close to each other in silence. His company felt good. I felt safe with his arms around me. Everything I thought about him disappeared and gave way to an interest in the bad boy with a soft edge.

From that moment everything changed. We grew closer together than neither could have imagined. Sweet Pea got to know one side of me that was the opposite of the shy girl he first thought he knew.

We protected each other and stood up for the other if necessary. Most of the time he stood up for me and I took care of his wounds when he once again had fallen into a fight. "Sweets, you have to be careful." I said countless times when he was standing on the sidewalk with a bloody nose. Despite everything, I always let him in and I took care of him.

One afternoon, some one knocked at the door of the trailer, it could only be one. With a sigh I opened the door and saw a beaten up Sweet Pea. His eye was blue and his nose seemed broken.

Quickly I stepped aside and almost pulled him inside. "Who did this?" I asked harshly as I sat him at the kitchen table. At first he said and nothing. ''Sweets, this can no longer continue, so who did this.'' I looked at the damage on his face before cleaning and caring. ''A Bulldog. And then not the dog." He twitched when I touched a cut on his lip. "It was a random attack, I was walking down the street when he and some of his friends dragged me into an alley." He confessed.

My blood started to boil and became fiercer with the seconds. ''I am so done whit this.'' I put two cotton wool in his nose and threw the rest on the table. ''Get up, we're going.'' Before he could respond, I was already at the door. "Sweets, now." I didn’t have time to linger, I now put an end to it.

We drove to the Whyt Wyrm to get the rest before I confronted the Bulldogs in my own. The evening came on and it rained like a storm. We intercepted the Bulldogs on the street. The entire team had come together to patrol the streets.

I walked over to them and called the one to a halt that I knew. "Archie!" I yelled to get over the sound of the rain. Archie turned and the rest of the Bulldogs followed. Before Archie could say something, a boy with black hair and a strong jawline stepped forward. He looked from me to Sweet Pea and back again. A grin appeared on his face. "Can’t do it alone so ask your girlfriend to finish it off for you, how cute." He looked at us defiantly.

Sweet Pea was about to jump on top of him in anger but was stopped by Jughead and Fangs. Both parties stood a gross from each other. "Reggie, what does this mean?" Archie asked the boy who just spoke.

Relieved that Archie was not there when Sweet Pea collapsed, I answered his question. ''The fact that apparently your oh so reliable teammates go behind your back to beat up Sweet Pea out of the blue.'' I pointed from Reggie to Sweet Pea who stood behind me. Archie looked shocked at me. ''Reggie? Is this true and don’t lie to me." He stood next to him. Reggie chose to lie. ''No, why should I do that if we walk through the streets to stop the violence?'' He almost sounded credible.

Behind me a low growl filled the silence. Sweet Pea did everything in his power not to attack him. "That's bullshit! Look at him,'' I once again pointed to Sweets to make a point. ''Who else would have done this.'' There was no one so crazy about attacking a Serpent alone or with more than one. "Fuck it, he deserved it!" Reggie stepped forward and my mouth fell open from his accusation.

I took a step in his direction and Sweet Pea wanted to stop me to protect me, but Toni told him not to. "I wouldn’t do that if I were you, she can handle this perfectly. Believe me." She told him.

The rain kept on and we were wet to the bone. My hair stuck to my face and started to lose the feeling in my toes. "He thinks he has all the right just because he is a Serpent but you all forget one thing, the Bulldogs rule the North side, not your Serpent scum." He spat out the last one. ''Bulldogs are replaceable, a Serpent you are for life, that is what you forget.'' I emphasized you.

Reggie's face departed from self-conceit to anger. Before I was suspected, he hit me with a flat hand. By the impact of his hit I leaned to the right. Something in my mouth became warm and tasted like iron. I spit a blob of blood on the floor and then straightened up again. With my fists tied, I heard the others take a step back. In the silence of everything I hear Toni laugh historically where Sweet Pea added. ''You just pissed off the wrong Serpent.'' Reggie looked surprised over my shoulder and then at me, but before he could respond I hit him with my fist.

It was a quick but hard blow, hard enough to knock him down and hit unconscious. Behind me there was cheer and laughter. The Bulldogs didn’t know how to react and looked aimless at Reggie on the floor. ''Never mess with a serpent. Because if you mess with one of us, you mess with us all." I looked at my knuckles, the rain flushed away the blood.

I turned to the others and Sweet Pea immediately put an arm around me. "I think this side of you is pretty sexy." He said with a wink, I responded by rolling my eyes. "Don’t get used to it too quickly, lover boy." Teasingly I gave him a punch with my hip against his. Still haggard of what had happened a few Bulldogs were squatting next to Reggie who slowly came by. Together we went back to the Whyt Wyrm to celebrate our victory.

It was an evening I never wanted to forget, it was the life of a Serpent but unfortunately I had to return to my father soon and I had to leave this life behind once again.

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