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warabidakihime · 2 years

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Invisible Strings Chapter 9

Characters: Uzui Tengen x Reader | Modern AU Synopsis: Sequel of Parallel Lines Content Warnings: profanity, smut, sleep paralysis, eventual violence, blo0d, slight manga spoilers (tho i strayed away from the original plot but yeh), can be a bit psychologically triggering for some so proceed cautiously.

Previous Chapter: Prologue Next Chapter: Chapter 2

author’s note; And now for Chapter 9! This is more of a filler update, but things will finally pick up after this. I'd also want to thank everyone who has shown appreciation for Invisible Strings and Parallel Lines.

To be honest, I came up with PL while working on layouts at work. My mind does that occasionally, where I'm doing something entirely different yet my head is thinking somewhere else.

I'm also not lying when I say that I haven't been this inspired and driven to write in a long time. I started writing on wattpad in 2011 lol, then I sorta stopped because life became really hectic and toxic, and now we're here.

And believe it or not, I've only written smut once or twice. Despite having read so much of it, I'm not particularly good at it.

Anyway! Thank you so much for giving me something to look forward to!

I owe it all to you.

Enjoy the update!

Also, you nasties, you're welcome. ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°)

"Shit, fuck!"

You exclaimed, your voice filled with a potent mix of pleasure and exasperation.

For the third time that night, your toes curled, your mouth agape, but no sound emerged as you surrendered to the waves of your climax. Unyielding, Tengen persisted in thrusting against you on the pristine kitchen countertop, the force of his movements causing your fluids to cascade across the surface. He showed no signs of relenting, his grip unyielding as he savored the depths of his desire for you.

"That's a good girl, taking my cock so well. Do you want more, huh? We have all night, my darling." Tengen's voice dripped with seduction, each word sending delicious shivers coursing through your body. Your inner walls involuntarily contracted around his length at the sound, drawing him deeper and evoking a guttural groan from your boyfriend.

To be honest, his words merely floated above your head, your singular focus consumed by the insatiable hunger for more. The magic word 'more' reverberated within you, and with an eager nod, you babbled like a doll, driving Tengen to the edge of his own climax.

Every time he reduced you to this state, it remained a delightful surprise for him. Your blissed-out countenance, a testament to the pleasure he bestowed on you, filled him with sheer contentment. In that moment, he felt a sense of possession and elation, knowing that he had you all to himself.

Tengen's lips claimed yours once more in a scorching kiss—an inferno of passion and desire. His fervor left your tongue drained and your lips tingling, all while he expertly positioned himself at your entrance. As the tip of his cock probed your sensitive core, your hips eagerly surged forward, seeking the divine connection.

You were an absolute mess as your beast of a boyfriend resumed pounding into you, his thick member delving deep and striking against your cervix with each powerful thrust. Chanting his name like a sacred mantra, your hands grew frenzied, desperately searching for something, anything, to hold onto as Tengen ravished you without mercy. Raking your nails across his back, you elicited pleasurable groans from him, completely lost in the rapture of the moment.

The aftermath of your intense passion would undoubtedly make taking a shower a challenge, as you had likely left marks on Tengen's back. The thought alone made him chuckle to himself.

Drawing away from the kiss, Tengen's eyes were fixed on your visage, his cock twitching with anticipation at the sight before him.

"I've always known you were a keeper, but damn, y/n, you're fucking enchanting," he breathed, his words lost on you as your capacity to comprehend anything beyond the sensation of his cock deep inside you had waned.

Yet, even in your dazed state, you responded to him with moans and the repeated chanting of his name.

You had reached subspace.

Tengen had successfully rendered you senseless.

Who could have predicted that a simple act of reeling him in by his belt loops for a kiss would lead to this?

But were you complaining?

Absolutely not.

"You're going to come for me again, right? Can you do that for me, my love?" Tengen's words barely registered as he quickened his pace, the lewd sounds of flesh slapping and the sloshing of arousal filling the expansive penthouse. He skillfully stimulated your sensitive nub, intensifying your pleasure.

"Ahh—! I can't—"

"Yes, you can," Tengen hissed in your ear, propelling you into overdrive.

Everything became too much.

His voice, his scent, and the bewitching rhythm of his cock within your needy core

Everything.

The culmination of sensations catapulted you into yet another climax, and this time, a soundless cry escaped your lips. The electrical surge coursed through your body with an intensity surpassing all previous orgasms combined, leaving you trembling uncontrollably in Tengen's arms.

"Fuck—you're squeezing me so tight—" Tengen's hips stuttered as you clenched around him once again, and with a final series of powerful thrusts, his hot seed surged forth, coating your walls and leaving them glistening in its wake.

Both of you remained silent as you caught your breath, your juices continuing to trickle from your quivering core. Tengen leaned against you for support, his legs weakened by the sheer intensity of your shared passion.

A chuckle escaped him as he opened his eyes to gaze at you, an expression of pure adoration gracing his face.

In stark contrast to the raw intensity that had unfolded in your kitchen, he pressed a tender kiss on your lips.

"My baby girl, you're so adorable," he murmured, his words a gentle reminder of the profound connection you shared.

Tengen didn't receive a response, as you remained lost in your own little universe, consumed by the desperate longing to return to Earth. Oblivious to his presence, your boyfriend patiently awaited your return, showering you with affection.

He traced delicate kisses across your face, leaving a trail of affection in his wake. Gradually, his lips descended to your neck, savoring the remnants of his earlier passion. From there, he ventured to your shoulder blades, nibbling gently while his hands caressed your sides, their touch both soothing and electrifying.

A timid whimper escaped your lips, capturing Tengen's attention instantly.

"Are you alright?" he asked, his trademark smile illuminating his face.

You nodded, your hazy smile conveying your contentment. "So good," you affirmed, your voice laced with desire.

"Was I too rough?" Tengen inquired, his tone filled with concern.

"Do it again next time," you replied, your words laced with anticipation.

Tengen chuckled, the sound resonating with warmth. As his hands continued to glide over your body, eliciting delightful shivers, he hummed in response to your request.

Though his actions were seemingly ordinary, the touch of his calloused hands against your skin felt utterly extraordinary. Unintentionally, you tightened around him, causing a soft moan to escape his lips.

"Sorry," you chuckled sheepishly, your cheeks tinted with a rosy blush.

Tengen withdrew, leaving you yearning for the intoxicating fullness he provided. Scooping as much of your mixed fluids as he could with his fingers, he brought them to his mouth, savoring the taste of you. Your eyes widened, a moan escaping your lips at the sight, which only elicited warm laughter from him.

Just as he was about to speak, you surprised him by mimicking his actions. With wide eyes, he observed as you sensually sucked your own finger, savoring the essence of your arousal.

"Fuck my face next time?" you boldly suggested, your voice laced with desire, releasing your finger with a satisfying pop.

Tengen's laughter reverberated throughout the vast penthouse, his mind still processing your audacious act while you casually dropped another bombshell.

To be honest, your proposition reignited a stirring in his loins, however slight.

Your audacity earned you a breathtaking kiss on the lips, a tender exchange that followed Tengen wiping away tears of laughter from his eyes.

"Oh, Y/N. You're truly something else," Tengen remarked, his chuckles punctuating his words.

A yelp escaped your lips as Tengen playfully slapped your ass, assisting you in stepping off the counter since you were unable to stand on your own.

"You naughty brat, let's go wash up before my dick springs back to life again," he teased, his voice laced with a hint of mischief.

Tengen carried you like a princess, his strong arms supporting you as he guided you back to your shared bedroom. He deftly wiped away the remnants of your passion from your thighs and belly before escorting you to the bathroom.

It would be an understatement to say that you were adjusting well to living with your boyfriend. Each day brought new discoveries and delights as you navigated the intricacies of your intertwined lives.

"Stop that."

"Stop what?"

"That!"

Zenitsu cast a sidelong glance at his boss, who wore a stupid grin on his face as they sat in the office library, immersed in their work.

"I'm sorry, but you're giving me the creeps," Zenitsu remarked, his discomfort evident in his tone.

"Then leave." Tengen shrugged nonchalantly, his attention fixated on the screen of his laptop.

The new week at Hashira Corp. had commenced, with everyone back to work as another significant event loomed on the horizon.

The annual Hashira Gala

It was the day the company had been established, and the event held immense significance. Despite having several months to prepare, the team knew that meticulous planning and flawless execution were essential for this grand affair.

Tengen, true to his title as the God of Festival, was in charge of the gala's theme, a responsibility befitting his expertise. Zenitsu, with his surprisingly refined taste, had taken charge of the venue's interior design. His eye for aesthetics had been evident even in the design of Tengen's opulent penthouse.

You, along with Nezuko and Yushiro, were entrusted with finding the ideal venue, as last year's location had already been reserved by another organization. Meanwhile, Mitsuri and Senjuro embarked on a journey across various countries in Asia, extending the company's invitations personally.

Despite the advancements in technology, Kagaya preferred the personal touch of hand-delivered invitations.

"You see Y/N every day at work, and you're even living with her. Stop acting like a love-sick puppy when we're working!" Zenitsu grumbled, casting an annoyed glance at Tengen.

"As I said before, you are free to leave. I can handle this on my own. I'll call on you when I need something," Tengen replied, his focus remaining unwavering on his work.

"I don't want to," Zenitsu retorted, his voice filled with a mix of frustration and longing.

"Why?" Tengen inquired, finally diverting his attention to his secretary.

"There's no one on our floor right now. Y/N and the others are out with Giyuu-senpai. It's very lonely," Zenitsu admitted, his loneliness seeping through his words.

"Then shut your mouth and focus on your job," Tengen responded dismissively.

"Rude! I'm telling Y/N!" Zenitsu exclaimed, playfully smacking Tengen's shoulder in retaliation.

In response to the blonde's threat, Tengen rolled his eyes, a fond exasperation evident on his face.

"How's living with her?" Zenitsu inquired after a brief pause, curiosity lacing his voice.

"It's fine," Tengen replied nonchalantly.

"Fine? Even though you were smiling like a lunatic earlier?" Zenitsu pressed, his tone filled with skepticism.

Tengen deadpanned, finding himself caught off guard by his secretary's ever-changing moods. "Why are you suddenly interested in my love life when you were horrified by my smile just five minutes ago?"

"I guess I want to strengthen our rapport," Zenitsu shrugged, offering a half-hearted explanation.

Hashira sniggered, finding amusement in Zenitsu's attempt to bridge the gap. "Well, it's fantastic, living with Y/N."

"Yeah?" Zenitsu's curiosity grew, his tone eager for more details.

"Yeah," Tengen affirmed with a contented smile.

"And how about you?" Tengen redirected the conversation, his voice tinged with curiosity.

"What about me?" Zenitsu replied, slightly puzzled by the question.

The Sound Hashira furrowed his brow, searching for the right words. "When are you going to present that ring to Nezuko? It's been sitting in your locker for an entire year."

Ah, well," Zenitsu chuckled shyly, "I still haven't found the perfect moment."

"And that is..." Tengen prodded, genuinely curious about his friend's plans.

"Perhaps after the Gala," Zenitsu revealed, his voice filled with a mix of excitement and nerves.

"I forgot; our anniversary falls on the day of the event, right?"

Zenitsu's expression shifted to a slight frown as he remembered the significance of that date. "Yeah, I don't want to overwhelm her, so I'll wait until the gala is done before proposing. It'll be a few days before her birthday anyway."

"Have you asked Kamado for his blessing yet?" Tengen inquired, his curiosity getting the better of him.

Zenitsu winced as he realized he had neglected this crucial step. "No, not yet."

Tengen shook his head in mock disappointment. "Hey now..."

"I just don't know how to do it, okay? Tanjiro and I are best friends, but I want to properly ask for his blessing, especially after letting him down before," Zenitsu admitted, sinking further into his seat.

"Is he still upset about it?" Tengen asked, his concern evident in his voice.

"No, not anymore," Zenitsu replied, shaking his head. "He's already forgiven me."

"Why would you break his one and only request anyway? You're such a nitwit sometimes," Tengen muttered, recalling Tanjiro's anger when Zenitsu failed to bring Nezuko home on time.

The situation had been even worse since Nezuko had been intoxicated when Zenitsu finally brought her back. They had attended a friend's birthday party, but Nezuko had a commitment the next day, visiting their relatives in the countryside. She wasn't even supposed to join Zenitsu, but he had promised Tanjiro that he would bring his sister back as soon as he could, so she could get enough sleep.

However, the blonde had lost track of time and escorted Nezuko home well after midnight.

It wasn't just a matter of breaking a promise; it was endangering his beloved sister's well-being, and Zenitsu felt the weight of his irresponsibility.

"Yeah, I know. Tanjiro has called me that a hundred times," Zenitsu admitted with a sheepish grin.

Tengen chuckled. "Serves you right."

"You're terrible at comforting people," Zenitsu remarked, rolling his eyes playfully.

"Just concentrate on your work so that we can meet the others for lunch," Tengen urged, redirecting the conversation.

The group had decided to dine out for lunch once again, as the cafeteria food had become monotonous. Tengen had read in your messages that you were almost finished with your field work and would be returning soon.

"What are we eating for lunch?" Zenitsu asked, his stomach growling in anticipation.

"Yushiro mentioned that they discovered a really good buffet restaurant a few streets away," Tengen replied.

"He's really amazing at discovering new hotspots," Zenitsu murmured, impressed.

"It saves us the trouble of finding a place ourselves," Tengen agreed.

The remainder of the morning passed quickly, with Tengen and Zenitsu diligently working in the library while you were out in the field with the rest of the team. By 1:00 p.m., you had successfully returned to the office, and everyone agreed to take a short break before heading out for lunch.

In the pantry, you and Tengen were preparing a cup of coffee and grabbing a snack. Tengen opted for a granola snack and a yogurt drink while you poured your coffee.

"Were you able to find a good place?" Tengen asked, curious about your search for a lunch venue.

"Nope, not yet," you replied, pouting slightly. "Every location we went to is completely booked, and the ones we liked are too expensive."

"I see. Well, we don't have to rush since we still have time," Tengen reassured you.

"How about you? Do you have any updates on the theme?" you inquired, wanting to know if Tengen had made any progress.

"Not yet," Tengen admitted, shaking his head. "I have a few prospective candidates, but I need to ask Gyoumei for his opinion. At least there's still progress."

As the two of you stood together, Tengen slipped his arm around your waist, pulling you closer to him. He leaned down and gently kissed the top of your head.

"I missed you," he whispered.

"Someone's clingy?" you teased, looking up at him with a playful smile.

Tengen laughed as the two of you walked back to your floor. "I was getting weary of Zenitsu's loud nagging earlier, and I missed your soothing voice."

"Are you bullying him again?" you asked, raising an eyebrow.

"No?! He's the one who bullied me today," Tengen protested, feigning innocence.

"Serves you right," you teased, knowing their banter well.

Tengen couldn't resist the opportunity and playfully smacked your ass, causing you to yelp in surprise and almost spill your coffee.

"Tengen! I almost spilled my coffee, you know?" you exclaimed, giving him a mock glare.

Immediately realizing his mistake, Tengen felt remorseful. He took a step forward, leaning down to kiss the tip of your nose.

"I'm sorry," he apologized sincerely, his eyes filled with regret.

"Sometimes I hate how handsome you are," you playfully remarked as you continued walking together.

"Why?" Tengen asked, a mischievous grin on his face, anticipating your response.

"How am I supposed to stay annoyed with you when you look at me like that? Damn you and your beautiful face," you complained, pretending to be exasperated.

"What can I say? I'm a hu—" Tengen began to reply, but before he could finish his sentence, you quickly left him alone in the corridor, feigning annoyance.

The rest of the lunch break passed quickly as everyone devoured their food, their hunger fueled by the morning's hard work. However, a momentary interruption occurred when Zenitsu, in his usual candid manner, asked about the legendary prowess of Tengen's manhood. Without missing a beat, your boyfriend came to your defense and playfully smacked the blonde on the head. Although you typically side with Zenitsu, you couldn't help but agree that he deserved the reprimand this time.

Even though you didn't voice your response, you couldn't help but ponder Zenitsu's question in your mind.

As the afternoon wore on, Zenitsu and Nezuko excused themselves from the office, having something important to attend to. Yushiro, on the other hand, was engaged in a meeting with Sanemi and Gyoumei to discuss the inspection of existing technologies and the replacement of any defective units. It was just you and Tengen left in the office.

At your desk, you busied yourself with last-minute arrangements, scheduling visits to potential venues for Wednesday.

"Y/N," Tengen called out, his voice grabbing your attention.

"What?" you replied, keeping your focus on your work.

"C'mere!" Tengen beckoned, his tone filled with a hint of longing. "I'm starting to feel lonely here."

"I'm working," you stated matter-of-factly.

"That can wait," Tengen insisted. "Come on, I miss having you near me."

"You miss Zenitsu already, my love?" you teased, enjoying the opportunity to playfully taunt your boyfriend.

You could hear Tengen whining like a child from his desk.

"Y/N, hurry up and come here," he pleaded.

Unable to resist his pouting any longer, you decided to give in and march over to his desk. "What?"

"Sit here," Tengen said, patting his lap.

"We're at work," you objected, glancing towards the door of your floor to ensure no one was watching.

Tengen shook his head, a harmless smile playing on his lips. "We're not going to do anything," he reassured you. "I just want you close to me."

You hesitated at first, feeling a twinge of apprehension, but the longing to be close to Tengen overpowered your reservations.

Like him, you had missed the warmth and comfort of his presence.

You had never considered yourself particularly clingy, or at least you thought so, but ever since you met Tengen, you found yourself yearning to be by his side, no matter the time or place.

It might not be the healthiest attachment, but nobody's perfect, right?

Without hesitation, Tengen pulled you onto his lap, his arm securely around your waist as he rested his chin on your shoulder.

"What are you doing?" you asked, your eyes drifting to his computer screen.

"I'm just finalizing my proposal to Gyoumei," he murmured, leaning in to kiss the junction of your neck before returning his attention to his work.

"Hey, there's a typo in your email," you pointed out, noticing a few misspelled words and punctuation errors.

Tengen rewarded you with another kiss, this time on your jaw, the extent of his reach from your current position. "Thank you~"

Gradually, you settled into the cozy seat, leaning back against Tengen's chest, and watched him diligently work on his presentation. The steady rhythm of his heartbeat provided a soothing background, lulling you into a state of drowsiness.

As the room fell into complete silence, the battle to stay awake became more arduous. Despite your efforts, sleep eventually won, and within a few minutes, you succumbed to its embrace.

Who is she?

As you stared at the mysterious woman standing before you, your mind raced with questions.

Wait.

She looks oddly familiar.

Wait.

There's something strikingly similar about her appearance and mine.

However, her porcelain-white skin was starkly different, adorned with peculiar floral tattoos that sprawled across her face. Her eyes held an otherworldly quality, swirling with spirals and displaying an unfamiliar hue. When your gaze fell upon her body, you noticed subtle scale-like markings and dangerously sharp fingernails.

"Hey!" she began, and an indescribable terror gripped your heart.

"Who are you?" you managed to ask, your voice trembling.

"I am you."

The words hung in the air, thick with anticipation and tension, leaving you paralyzed with fear.

TAGLIST: @babygirl-panda19 @hypnocountrymusicfunnyfan @exodarkwolf16 @qdreamueen @vesta-ro

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1kook · 4 years

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espn & bdsm

this is part 6 of my netflix & chill collection !

summary; You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills. warnings; smut (18+) in the forms of brief femdom, handcuffs, nipple clamps, blindfolding, flogging/use of a riding crop, soft dom kook, cunnilingus, spitting, unprotected but passionate, degradation, as always it starts horny n then turns into I love u kink miscellaneous; kook has a swollen ankle so idk how he did all this, jk abuses the fuck outta pet names part 7, revenge gone wrong tbh, this was honestly a beginner’s intro to vanilla bdsm word count; 12.7k

notes; this is like… a healing fic… for the part before lol. also i did not know what was going to happen next as I was writing. anyway entire smut scene was based off THIS bad boy ur welcome fellas and the Jungkook described here is from in the soop episode 2... cutie... yes every single 1 of those words is a link

lmk what you think! a simple ask goes a long way <3

You're at the nail salon with Doyeon when she first mentions it.

“Have you ever, like,” she pauses, making a vague, swivel gesture with her head. You furrow your brows and she sighs. “Topped him. Have you ever been the one to take control?”

Your nail artist blushes, furiously filing away at your nails until the most perfect stiletto shape stares you back in the face. “Oh. Not really,” you admit, wiggling your wet toe nails around in the styrofoam flip flops issued by the salon. “I mean, sometimes I talk him through it.”

Doyeon snorts. “Babe, talking him through it and being the boss are two completely different things,” she says rather dryly, seemingly unbothered by the fact your two nail techs are being subjected to this more than intimate conversation. But you’ve had weirder talks with Doyeon in public; this doesn’t phase you. “Listen,” she says suddenly, dropping her voice down to a whisper that has you leaning closer to hear her. “You know how I’m a member of that site, right?”

You nod. “Oh yeah— Sexuality Unleashed: The Best Toys Worldwide!, right?” She kicks your shin, but the jab is muted by the bottom of her own styrofoam flip flop.

“Yeah, just tell everyone here my credit card number while you’re at it,” she hisses. Her anger fades soon enough. “Well, they’re always sending me all sorts of freebies for my devoted patronage,” she explains. She quirks her lips to the side, throwing one brief glance at the blushing nail artists in front of you. Eventually she seems to come to a conclusion. “Long story short they sent me some cuffs and I’m gonna give you them.”

Your jaw drops. “Woah, really? I don’t know… Don’t those usually run kinda pricey?” you ask tentatively. You’re trying to play it off, act like this isn’t something you want, but the reality is so much worse.

The minute the word cuffs had slipped through her lips it’s like a door opened before your eyes. A big, wooden door with chains strapped across it and a padlock you swore you’d never open.

Somewhere in your mind, you had always convinced yourself handcuffs in bed was something you’d like to have done to you. But, because she was your best friend and by extension a personified version of all your freakiest, often filtered, thoughts, it was like Doyeon had reached straight into your cranium and extracted your most secret fantasy— and that was Jungkook in handcuffs.

Your nail artist pats your hand, motioning you to head over to the drying station. Before you can be separated from Doyeon, you whip around to throw her one desperate look. “I have never wanted anything so bad in my life.”

She cackles loudly, easily garnering the attention of every employee and nail enthusiast in the salon with the evil witch vibes she exudes.

Truth be told, your argument with Jungkook had brought upon a newfound appreciation for him. Weird to say, considering you had wanted to kill the dude when it had originally happened. But the great thing about you and Jungkook was that you were flexible people— both in bed and out. A few long conversations later and you had reached the root of the problem.

And that root was your apparent lack of communicating when something was wrong. It was weird to think that anything could ever be wrong when Jungkook was involved. He was your honeybun, sugar plum, pumpy-umpy-umpkin. Your sweetie pie, for lack of better wording, and he could do no wrong—

—is what you’d like to say. But if there’s anything you’ve learned in the past year of dating Jungkook, it’s that perfection was a made up belief that revolved around the idea that someone’s flaws couldn’t possibly be a good thing. And as you’ve come to realize, Jungkook wasn’t the perfect gentleman you’d initially chalked him up to be. He was human, just like you, with his own list of worries and thoughts, and sometimes those thoughts manifested into flaws. They could be ugly or they could be beautiful, but at the end of the day, they all made Jungkook into the person he was— and you loved that person. Disgustingly so.

You had your moments, and he had his. Everything would not always be sunshine and rainbows for the two of you, but it was fine so long as you learned to play in the rain and stomp in the puddles.

Still.

You were you.

A slightly mean, slightly conniving, petty ass human who had been plotting his revenge since the day the two of you made up. I mean, you weren’t actually just going to let him get off the hook like that, were you? He had saved himself last time with a gooey, heartfelt apology and confession, followed by some extraordinary dicking down that had left you Naked and Afraid for three days after.

But you weren’t that easy! No, ma’am. You had to let him know that some gorgeous demon dick was not enough to satisfy you after a fight like that.

Jungkook was in for a desperately needed reality check, one that jingles in your purse when you step out of the Uber that drops you off at his place. You know he’s home because his front light is on, and also because he’d texted you that he was watching some soccer match on tv tonight. He’s a pretty big fan, especially of the club playing tonight, so you decide it’s a perfect night to strike.

Your copy of his key slips right into the keyhole. Your slippers are in the same place they always are, neatly set off to the side right by the stairs. He’s not in his living room, undoubtedly the most perfect place to watch any type of sporting event with that huge Jumbotron of his. The damn thing made it feel like you were in the stadium itself.

There’s a quiet hum coming from upstairs. You creep up the steps, carefully rounding the corner at the landing until you’re staring right into his dimly lit bedroom.

The way Jungkook’s got his bedroom set up is so that you can look directly at his door from the bed, terribly inconvenient for when that sleep paralysis demon hits in the middle of the night and you’re left staring into the dark hallway. He’s snuggled comfortably over his sheets, about three pillows supporting his back. The light of the tinier, more acceptable television he keeps in his room is dancing across his features in bright shades of green. You almost throw yourself onto his mattress like a starfish until you spot the carefully placed foot on the bed.

“What the hell did you do?” you blurt. A wrong move, considering he hadn’t seen you yet and your sudden appearance makes him jump nearly ten feet into the air, almost knocking down the bag of ice that sits on his ankle. “Oh my god, it was that damned Pilates class, wasn’t it?” you fret, rounding the bed until you’re on his side.

“Oh hey,” he says as if you’re not currently pulling the first eight seasons of Grey’s Anatomy to the forefront of your head to treat him. “When’d you get here?”

“Cut the crap, who did this to you?” you ask, sitting beside him with the utmost care. You drop your bag off to the side, the loud clatter of the inside contents vaguely registering in your head. The ice pack comes off easily, revealing a relatively okay looking ankle save for the slight swell towards the more medial aspect of it.

Jungkook takes the moment to sit up, joining you in your inspection of his injury. “No one,” he answers, using his new position to drop a kiss against the side of your head. “I fell off the ladder helping Mrs. Jung across the street.”

You choke. “You fell off a ladder?” you squawk, eyes wide as your gaze shifts from his ankle to his entire body.

He places a hand on your shoulder, “babe, I was on like the third step. It was one of those old wooden ones,” he explains with a nonchalant shrug. “The step just happened to snap on my way down.”

You scoff. “That old lady is out to get you,” you warn him. “Remember the time she almost had you plug in those burnt out Christmas lights for her? The ones that would have electrocuted you to death.”

Jungkook laughs, settling back into his stack of pillows. “In her defense, she’s old,” he offers. He’s wrapped up in a black hoodie, fluffy bangs parted down the middle. He’s got on some blue shorts, a huge difference from his usual dark-toned clothing. He looks so good and warm, and you’re suddenly hit with the fact you can’t possibly handcuff this poor, injured angel to his bedpost and ride his cock into the sunset. “You didn’t tell me you were coming over.”

You deflate, wild fantasies thrown out the window. “Yeah, well,” you sigh, ditching your pants and climbing over him until you’re snuggled into his side. “Wanted to show you my nails.”

It’s a lame excuse. But he buys it, so.

“They’re cute,” he says, taking your hand in his. He turns your hand over, inspects your pretty new acrylics like he actually has any idea how much they cost or how sexy they look. He raises your hand to his face, pressing a smooch against your knuckles that has you heart thumping embarrassingly loud in your chest. God, you hated this fool.

You turn your nose up at him, like you’re some snooty rich girl who couldn’t give him the time of day. Except it’s not like that, and Jungkook knows.

“What’re you watching?” you ask instead.

He’s got that stupid dopey smile on you, the one that takes one nudge against his side to snap him out of. “Ah, just the game.”

You squint at the screen. “Is this Fox Sports?” you ask in disgust.

He pinches your side. “This is ESPN,” he corrects. “And you don’t know shit about sports channels,” he points out. “So sit this one out.” You give in with a huff, cuddling closer into his side while trying to jostle him as little as possible. Jungkook seems to have no deeply rooted concerns about his injured ankle if the way he hauls you into his arms is any indicator. “How did nails with Doyeon go?”

“You know, the usual,” you respond, idly toying with one of the strings on his hoodie as your eyes focus on the little figures running across the screen. He hums, gesturing for you to elaborate. “Talked about sex, how much better than you at life she is, some more sex.”

He scoffs at that. “Doyeon is not better than me, and I have a whole trophy case to prove it.”

“Okay, but have you singlehandedly Twitter beefed with an entire sorority in your freshman year of university and won?”

He frowns. “No.”

You give him a look, one that says stand down now unless you want to lose to my best friend and get your feelings hurt. Jungkook understands. “Anyway,” he announces, turning his attention back to the screen with you. You think his team might be winning—you vaguely remember seeing him wear a similar jersey once—so he’s pretty relaxed for now. “They’re doing pretty good considering they just lost their main striker.”

You have no idea what that means. “Who? Messi?”

Jungkook knows you don’t know. “He doesn’t even play in this league,” he explains anyway.

“Oh, I saw him trending on Twitter last week. Thought he died or something. Whole time it was just a bunch of soccer nerds crying about him leaving his team.”

He laughs. “You should be a sportscaster,” Jungkook decides after your ever-so-eloquent recap, tucking his head cutely against your shoulder. There was a study once that claimed the incessant need to squeeze a baby’s cheeks or hug puppies tightly was actually the innate human response to kill something they felt threatened by. Oddly enough, you find yourself thinking of that as Jungkook’s citrusy shampoo floods your nostrils.

“Oh, speaking of Doyeon,” he says suddenly. “Did you give her my address? I got a weird package from that store she likes that I genuinely don’t remember ever ordering.” You frown, sitting up slightly until you can look at the side of his face, the cute mole on his cheek calling your name.

“What?” you ask. “Was it in her name?” Jungkook nods. You’re about to tear the roof off his house and go hunt that evil wench down when realization dawns on you. “Oh, no, yeah I gave her your address. My mom stayed over last weekend and Doyeon needed to order something nasty. Guess it got delayed until now.”

Jungkook nods and then doesn’t say much else, which is weird considering the circumstances. You expected him to gently scold you for carelessly giving the psycho that was Kim Doyeon his address, but she’s been here a few times to pick you up, even came over for beer night once. She probably knew it anyway, but you still expected some type of reaction of disapproval from him.

Something’s off, and you know better than to leave it at that. You poke his cheek, right where that mole you’d been eyeing was. “Did you open her package?” you ask, grin slowly consuming your features at the fact Jungkook was apparently a mail snooper.

He looks away. You laugh. “Oh my god, you did,” you cackle, sitting up beside him to get a good look at the blush growing on his cheeks. “What did you see?”

“Nothing,” he huffs, pretending to be overly invested in his soccer match again, but that ship died the moment you stepped into his room. “Babe, I can't see the match.”

You roll your eyes, purposefully shifting in front of him so he’s forced to look at the maniac look in your eyes. “What did you see, Jeon Jungkook, and are we going to steal it from her again?”

His cheeks bloom impossibly darker at that. “No!” he coughs, pointedly avoiding your gaze.

But your curiosity is at its peak now, his reactions only exacerbating it. You grab him by the shoulders, hands balling the material of his hoodie as you give him one firm shake. “What did you see,” you demand.

“Oh my god,” he gives in. You release him and he flops back onto his pillow mountain. “They were things,” he explains slowly, cheeks rosy. “For your, y’know,” a vague gesture over his chest.

You frown. “A bra?” you guess. “I’m not gonna lie, Kook, think I just lost a little respect for you.”

“No!” he huffs. “They were… little clamps. For your nipples.”

If this was a cartoon, you’re almost certain you’d be that character with the object in question in their eyes, heart fluttering in your chest at the words that leave his mouth.

Immediately, two things become obvious to you.

One, Kim Doyeon was a bigger freak than you’d expected who obviously dabbled in an assortment of trades. Clamps, your brain screams, overwhelmed with the image that appears in your head, the one that has a shiver running straight to your core. You would have to thank her for this gracious, unintentional gift she’s bestowed upon you.

Two, you’re gonna have to write her the best, most plausible apology letter tomorrow when you inform her those clamps have been lost in the mail, never to be seen again. Or you could just straight up tell her you snatched them up the moment you found out what they were, but you doubt that’ll go over well.

Jungkook groans. “You have that look in your eye,” he points out. You snap your attention back to him. “And I just wanna say in advance that I don’t think i can give you the fun night you deserve, baby,” he apologizes, motioning towards his still swollen ankle.

Something distinctly mean switches on inside of you.

You flash him a sweet smile that has him letting down his guard. You lean forward, pressing a soft peck to his cheek as you climb down the bed towards your forgotten purse that’d been resting on the floor until that point. “Who said I needed you to have fun?” you throw over your shoulder, carefully slipping Doyeon’s first gift close to your body so he won’t see.

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed look. “Really,” he says dryly, “you think you can have fun without me?” He almost sounds cocky, as if the idea of you even enjoying yourself the teensiest bit without his help seems unfathomable.

You grin, padding over to his bedside, where you carefully pick up his hand. You mirror his actions from before, pressing a sweet kiss against his knuckles that makes that conceited look slip off his features for a second, eyes soft.

Click.

Jungkook frowns. “What the—“ before the sentence can leave his mouth you’re lunging forward, wrestling his hands above his head, until they’re both secured at his headboard by the soft cuffs Doyeon had given you that afternoon at the salon. Jungkook’s wide eyes stare back at you, briefly leaving to glance up at the silver chain that wraps behind one of the rungs of his headboard. “Babe,” he says slowly. “What the fuck.”

You beam at him, leaning down to snatch a pillow from beneath him so he’s better positioned, leaning back more. “So cute,” you gush, taking in the way his raised arms have the hem of his hoodie lifting at the waist. There’s a faint trail of hairs around his belly button that disappear beneath the elastic of his shorts. “Do you like them?”

Jungkook blinks. “Baby,” he says a second time, much slower and a little too calm for your liking. It almost gets swallowed by the roar of the fans on TV. “What is this?”

You ignore him, scampering around his room until you find the hot pink Sexuality Unleashed packaging peeking out from beneath his bed. Sure enough, it’s in Doyeon’s name but his address. A whole complicated mess just for some nipple clamps she’ll never see again. It’s what’s inside anyway, not that you thought Jungkook was lying, but there’s something about the actual, carefully wrapped packaging that makes your heart and pussy flutter.

“Oh! Aren’t these the prettiest things?” you exclaim, whirling around to where Jungkook is shaking up a storm with his cuffs, pout growing on his features the longer you leave him there. The ice pack slips off his ankle, falling onto the comforter beside him from all his movement.

Jungkook doesn’t seem the least bit interested in the silver nipple clamps in your hands, too busy trying to free himself from the sudden trap you sprung on him. “Sweetheart, we can play with those tomorrow, alright?” he tries, relaxing his arms and finally looking your way. There’s a frustrated furrow to his brows, one you rarely see but adore very much. “Just undo these cuffs for me, yeah?”

You tilt your head to the side, placing a hand on the inside of his calf that you trail all the way up as you move to stand beside his hip. His thighs flinch at your touch, tensing when you stop just before the crotch of his pants. “Mmm, don’t think so,” you smile, dropping the thin chain beside him.

Your shirt goes first, peeled over your body until you’re left standing in your bra. It’s nothing too special this time, just your average run of the mill comfort bra hugging your chest. But that doesn’t really matter, especially not with the way you’re hoping things play out tonight. You’d discarded your jeans a few moments prior, so the shirt joins them on a pile on his floor.

As much as he tries to act irritated by your refusal to release him, there’s a slow stirring beneath his shorts. It’s emphasized by that bright blue material, cock swelling as he watches you take off your clothes. “Baby,” he warns, possibly for the last time. But you won’t know unless you push some more, you tell yourself, placing one knee on the edge of the bed, the other thrown across his lap.

“Wow,” you marvel, picking the chain up once more. Jungkook shifts beneath you, half hard cock brushing against the cleft of your cheeks. “Don’t you wanna see what it’s like, Jungkookie?”

He says nothing, watching you with solemn eyes that leave no room for reading him. Behind you, the game commentator is chattering up a storm.

Doesn’t matter, especially not when this flimsy metal had you so completely hypnotized. You reach behind yourself, unsnapping your bra with one fluid motion that has the cups falling onto your lap, soft chest on display for the man before you. Your breasts spill out slowly from their cage, pretty hardened buds slowly coming into his view. They make him pause his fussing, half-lidded gaze falling to the swell of your chest hungrily. His hands jerk, the cuffs doing their job of keeping them there.

You grin, placing a hand on his chest, over his hammering heart. “Do you wanna see me wear them?” you croon, tugging the material of his hoodie up his stomach, until your thighs are sitting directly on his tiny waist, thin thong just over his belly button. You trail your hand up, letting it brush up the side of his neck and bury into his scalp. You give an experimental tug that has his eyes squeezing shut. “Yes or no, Jungkookie?”

He’s being a huge brat for you, eyes scrunched up together like the sight of you enjoying yourself sans his touch is unimaginable. Another tug of his hair and he’s exhaling shakily, a quiet, “yes,” slipping past his lips.

The chain drops onto his chest with a quiet thud, shocking him enough to blink his eyes back open. Releasing your hold on his hair, you sit back on his lap, towering over his fidgety body like a goddess at a temple, him the lowly worshipper beneath you.

Your hands crawl over your body, starting somewhere around your waist. The glide up over your tummy, caress the underside of your breasts teasingly. Sure Jungkook knew your body well, but you knew your body best. One hand rubs teasingly over your breast, palm pressing down slightly against where your nipple lies, while the other drops down between your thighs, slowly grinding against your mound.

“Look, Jungkookie,” you gasp, body twitching at your own hands. You take a hardened nub between your fingers, rolling it back and forth until it’s standing at its peak. “I can do it without you,” you tease, rolling your hips against him slowly. The thin material of your thong does nothing to save you from the delicious swell of his cock against you. “F-Fuck,” you whimper, circling a finger over your clit. “It’s, it’s even better.”

His restraints jiggle against the bed frame, an obvious look of distress crossing his features. “No,” he huffs out a whine, tugging at the cuffs as you slowly unravel on his lap. They don’t give, no matter how much he pulls. You know he’s holding back, afraid of damaging his headboard, and you take advantage of the fact as you move to roll both nipples between your fingers. He groans harshly, jaw tight. “Hate you,” he hisses, hips wiggling beneath you. “Hate you, hate you.”

You breathe out an airy chuckle. “R-Really?” you ask, trembling hands finally reaching back for that second gift of the day. Your breath is shallow, so thoroughly wound up from your own playful hands, and you tremble at the mere brush of the cool metal. “Oh fuck,” you whimper, bringing them up to your chest, “I’ve never done this before,” you confess.

There’s a sense of amazement that consumes you at the thin chain you hold in your hands, the pretty gold painted clamps on each end. It makes you shiver, body unconsciously grinding down against Jungkook’s lap where his engorged cock was fighting against the material of his shorts.

“Then let me help you,” he tries, the childish tone from before melting into his usual silky smooth baritone. Jungkook even softens his gaze at you, let’s his tongue peek out to wet his lips as you almost seriously consider his request.

Had it not been for the sudden loud shout from the sports commentator behind you, a long obnoxious gooooooaaal, you probably would have fallen victim to that honey-eyed gaze. You would like to personally thank every loud-mouthed, ESPN commentator out there for saving you from Jungkook’s dangerous seduction skills.

Without a second thought, you bring one of the little camps close to your chest, giving it a few experimental squeezes until the nerves are replaced with an overwhelming wave of horniness that even Jungkook can sense. “Fuck,” he groans, shaking his restraints back and forth like a wild animal as you slowly get to clamping your left nipple.

You’re not sure what you expected; part of you had thought it was going to be an excruciating pain, one that would make you want to scream and shout in sheer agony. The other part had reduced it to a barely there pinch that would never live up to your fantasies. As it stands, the sensation of the clamp around your swollen nipple sits right in between, drawing in a choked gasp that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head.

“Baby, sweetheart,” Jungkook gasps alongside you, eyes zeroed in on the pinched off bundle of nerves. There’s a sudden grinding sound that fills the air, like the sawing off of wood that definitely doesn’t sound good, and it’s a direct result of the fight he puts up against his headboard. “Please, please,” he begs, muscled arms tugging back and forth. “I have to touch—“

The second clamp goes on, making your entire back arch as if you were possessed. You're not, just extremely overwhelmed by the prickle of pain on your tits that makes you grind down against his cock, hands fisting the front of his hoodie like it’s the only thing grounding you right now. “Oh,” you shudder, thighs quivering at the heightened stimulation you receive from the clamps sitting on your nipples. “Kook, I-I can’t.”

He growls, hips bucking beneath you in a crazed effort to better situate you on his lap. “You gotta take these off me,” he rasps out. The next buck of his hips makes the chain dangling between your breast brush dangerously close to his face. He’s unintentionally goaded on by the TV in the room, the annoying drone of the commentator shouting something about never giving up. “Can make you feel so much better, sweet girl,” he cooes, jutting his head out like he needs a kiss.

Your head feels woozy, pussy throbbing at the sensations being channeled down into your core. Your eyes flutter shut, and before you can think it through, you're blindly reaching for the chain, giving it one light tug that has you mewling like a kitten. “O-oh, fuck,” you sob, looping your finger around the thin chain carefully. Another tug that pulls against your nipples sends a gush of wetness down between your thighs. “Cock,” you slur dazedly, “need your cock.”

Jungkook shudders out a long breath. “Le-Let me go then, sweetheart,” he chokes out, “let me fuck that pretty little pussy for you.”

“Uh uh,” you disagree, bringing another angry buck out of him, metal cuffs rattling loudly. “Want you to watch,” you pant, reaching behind you for his shorts. “Watch me, Jungkookie.” It takes three tries for you to get a grip, the elastic material slipping from your fingers before you finally gain some semblance of control and paw them down . The shorts and the boxers came off together, his engorged cock springing up to tap against your ass. “W-Watch,” you repeat dazedly, leaning forward with one hand on his shoulder to line him up with your dripping hole. Behind you, the commentator is droning on about core balance or something of the sort. It takes two tries as you blindly have to tug your panties to the side as well, and just as you have his fiery red tip against your entrance, something else happens.

He catches you, pearly teeth biting down on the chain that connects your clamps in a motion you can only liken to a bloodthirsty shark jumping out of the water, jaws snapping to catch its prey. It dangles in his face, the same way his own necklaces have done to you so many times before. But the difference between you and Jungkook was that while you let his assortment of necklaces hypnotize you, drag across your face painfully, he doesn’t. He snaps forward, catches it between his teeth.

You mewl loudly, foggy vision turning onto him. Jungkook’s got this unreadable look on his face, likes he’s pissed off and turned on all at once. “You’re not in charge,” he murmurs around the chain, the s and c sounds all slurred together. “You will never be in charge, silly girl, you got that?” he spits, yanking his head back like an animal, pulling your upper body with him by the two golden clamps on your nipples.

There’s tears in your eyes, lining your waterline and threatening to fall with each tug his mouth gives against the chain of your nipple clamps. He’s got his neck craned back as far as he possibly can with a pillow beneath him, chain links digging into his bottom lip. “Y-Yes,” you sob, your entire body quivering at the way he so easily manages to overthrow you, “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry,” he says, solemn eyes flickering across your twisted features once more. He gives another purposeful tug, head snapping back just the tiniest bit, but it’s enough to tug you forward again, a loud whimper torn from your throat. “Undo these cuffs for me, sweet girl,” he commands softly, jiggling the same restraints he’d spent the better part of fifteen minutes fighting against.

“Y-Yes,” you whimper, hands wildly slapping down on his bedside table. You had had half the mind to leave the key there when you had retrieved the cuffs, telling yourself it would be easy access afterwards. It’s not, apparently, the silver pick falling just out of reach. For some reason— it’s probably the sensitivity and horninesss, the pinpricks of pain that originate from your nipples —this fact frustrates you to the point of tears.

“Easy, doll,” Jungkook talks you through, voice low and soft beneath you, “relax and grab it for me, okay?” You nod, angrily blinking away a tear that drips down your face. It splatters on Jungkook’s cheek, bringing a soft huff of amusement from him.

Finally the key brushes your hand, and you sigh in relief, shakily leaning forward to undo the lock above his head. He releases his killer chomp/grip on your chain just as you release his cuffs. “I-I’m sorry,” you sniffle, a sudden need to apologize as you watch him rub at the raw skin around his wrists. “I didn’t—“

“Shhh,” he says, cuddling you into his chest. “It’s alright,” he says simply and you believe him.

Which ends up being a terrible mistake exactly ten seconds later when he’s shoving your face into the sheets, your cries and whimpers muffled by the sounds of the game on TV as he winds your arms behind your back. You struggle for all of five seconds before a soft click resounds from behind you.

“Did you think I’d just let that slide, sweet girl?” he growls against your ear, hot breath fanning across your skin. “I'm not your dog, __,” he spits, suddenly yanking you up by your cuffed wrists. Your chest is heaving, arms aching from the way he’s got you on your knees, blind to whatever he’s doing behind you. “Don’t lock me up, because I’ll always come back to bite.”

“I’m sorry, I’m sorry,” you stammer, flinching when a hand snakes around your waist, an experimental tug to the chain of your clamps. It sends a shudder down your spine, amplified by the hot press of his body behind you. “I won’t do it again!”

“I know you fucking won’t,” he laughs meanly, trailing his hand down over your mound. One finger circles your clit through your underwear, a shaky sigh exiting your lips at the jarringly light touch. “Because I’m gonna fuck you until you’ve learned your lesson, silly girl.”

“I said sorry,” you whimper, thighs quivering. His cock brushes up against you, the same cock you were about to ride until the sunset. Oh how the tables have turned.

A hand slips beneath your underwear, pad of a finger rubbing against your swollen clit. “Oh,” you exhale, surprised with the suddenly gentle touch following his words. “Th-That’s nice,” you murmur, head lolling forward at the slow rhythm he sets, playing with you like you were a toy that needed warming up.

“Yeah?” he husks out. There’s a yank to your clamps that makes you gasp, chest following the motion as if it’ll reduce the shock. “You think this is about making you feel nice?” he murmurs. Another tug, followed by another, until he’s raining down a series of rhythmic shocks onto your tits that make you shiver and twitch, tongue heavy in your mouth to the point you feel like you’re drooling.

“Wait,” you whimper, arms twisting behind you. “Hurts, hurts” you cry, arching your back like it’ll save you from the steady stimulation against your rock-hard nipples.

“Does it?” Jungkook hums, one hand working away at your clit. He swirls it around his finger, pressing down on the nub in an attempt to distract you. But it only heightens the sting coming from your breasts, the blossom of pain that grows over each mound the longer he plays with you. “Good. Want your pretty little body to hurt for me, baby.”

Right after saying that he releases the grip on your chain, letting it swing back and forth until it eventually rests on your stomach, throbbing nipples spared for now. A breath of relief washes over you now that you only have to worry about the hand playing along your folds. The TV is still flickering to your right, but the commentator's voice sounds fuzzy and so far away, like he’s in a whole different dimension while you and Jungkook are here.

Your reprieve lasts shorter than you expected, as his free hand slowly begins creeping up your waist, fluttering over the little gold clamps pinching your nipples. “Pretty girl,” he compliments, nudging one tender nub with a playful finger. “Pretty, pretty baby,” Jungkook murmurs as he begins massaging the scorching hot skin around your nipples gently. There’s a warm kiss pressed to your shoulder, followed by a trail up the side of your neck. You shudder, trying to focus on the hand that creeps down your folds, teases itself against your entrance.

“Jungkook,” you whine softly, rolling your head to the side so he can suck bruise after bruise onto your skin. You’re definitely drooling, the saliva thick and heavy in your mouth. “T-Too much.”

“Thought you wanted that,” he mumbles, kissing up and up until he’s at your jaw and then he’s at your mouth, languidly kissing you. He’s doing that thing again where he’s hellbent on drowning you in his spit, and if you didn’t know better you’d think he was preparing you for something. “Wanted me to watch you bounce that tight little cunt on me while your tits were like this,” he says, punctuating his statement with a light slap against the side of one breast. It makes you jump, a moan catching in your throat.

The finger that had been playing meanly along your wet folds eases itself past your lips, plunges head first into the aching heat inside of you. He works it against your walls, thumb over your clit as he curls his finger inside of you. You moan loudly, shaking in your restraints. The hand over your chest squeezes, pushes the clamp deeper against your breast until your entire body is short-circuiting.

Your first orgasm comes over you with all the grace of a lightning bolt; it’s sudden and jerky, has every nerve ending wildly spasming as you whimper his name. “No more, no more,” you beg, head lolling back against his shoulder. He shows you no mercy, simply rubs furiously over your clit, until you’re jerking into his maniac hand.

When it’s over, he places a kiss against your jaw, curling his finger inside once more “Play with yourself,” he whispers.

“H-Huh?” you stutter, the rattle of your cuffs loud in both your ears, but not as loud as the breath you were trying to catch post-orgasm. You wonder if maybe he got ahead of himself again—he occasionally did that, thinking ahead to a point you hadn’t reached in your normal progression of sex —but suddenly he’s shoving you back down again, the finger that was slowly driving you insane rudely exiting your cunt.

You flop down against the mattress with a squeal, wiggling around like you actually had a chance of doing anything with him watching you like he is. You struggle for a few beats, every shift against the mattress rubbing harshly against your breasts until you nearly want to cry.

Just as you reach that point, he’s rolling you into your back, hands uncomfortably bent beneath you. It leaves you unwillingly arching to accommodate them, tits practically presented for him to see. “Pretty girl,” Jungkook groans, reaching down for the first time that day to touch himself.

His self restraint was truly unmatched, you realize, watching him squeeze the base of his cock. He runs a palm over his abdomen, up his chest. He drags the material of his hoodie along with it, eventually shucking it off somewhere to the side. His hair, so fluffy and soft, flops over his forehead, a few defined strands tickling his eyebrow.

The mere sight of him alone made you shiver, pussy clenching at the wet dream before you. He’s not an idiot either, obviously aware of what the sight of his body does to you, the tattoos littering his entire right arm that hypnotize you. The faint glow of the TV screen against his side makes him look like the cover star of every middle-aged wife’s erotic romance novel. He reaches said arm down, runs a hand along your thigh until you’re spreading them wide for him.

He doesn’t touch you like you want, only slides over your body until he’s toying with the chain of the nipple clamps that were slowly becoming the bane of your existence. “Open,” he says suddenly, and you do. Your mouth drops open, tongue stuck out slightly even if you don’t know why. He’s ingrained the response into you by now, made you into a desperate slut always ready for anything in your mouth.

This time it’s the stupid, stupid chain connecting your nipple clamps. He tugs it until it’s pulled up, the pull against your nipples making you whimper and writhe. The metal is cool when it touches your lips, but his fingertips are warm. “Good girl,” he praises once you bite down; even this sends a shock of nerves down your spine and to your pussy. “Just like that.”

A muffled whimper escapes your lips, tears clouding your vision at the stimulation that was quickly overwhelming you again. Part of you thinks no more, please, I can’t. But the other has you spreading your legs for him, quivering pussy desperate to be filled.

The distress must be obvious in your face if the way Jungkook kisses your neck is any indication. He’s got one hand massaging against the underside of one breast, like he’s soothing the striking pain of your pinched nipples for you. If anything, it only strings you along more. “Stupid baby,” he chuckles meanly, a soft puff of laughter against your jaw, “thinking she could push me down.”

He leans back onto his knees, that same careful brush against the inside of your thigh bringing about an embarrassing whimper as he peels your thong away. “But you didn’t really want that, did you?” he eggs on, slowly shifting down against the bed, until his mouth is hovering over your exposed lower lips. His breath is warm, makes you yearn for him to be closer. “You like when I shove my cock into your little pussy, right? Like how it feels when I turn you into my little slut like this,” he sighs, pressing one chaste kiss against your thigh that makes you pull at the cuffs behind your back.

Soon, his mouth is on your clit, the same clit he had previously pampered with his hands but chooses to play with again. He licks an obscenely wet stripe from your throbbing hole to your clit, tongue curling devilishly towards the end. You whimper, though the sound is distorted around the chain in your mouth. Jungkook groans, dives mouth first into your cunt until he’s suffocating himself. His cute nose is pressed against your clit, and he takes advantage of the fact by taking one, dramatic sniff with his eyes rolled back. A soft moan escapes him.

“Fuck,” he shudders, “smell like heaven for me.” You moan at his sweet words, eyes squeezed shut as if that’ll stop the buckets of overwhelmed tears that you’ve been fighting off since the moment the clamps came on. “Wanna give you the world, angel,” he breathes, licking languidly against your folds, tongue occasionally peeking inside.

You mewl and writhe, every movement sending a tug of pain over your nipples. You want that gorgeous cock deep in your cunt, want to feel him in your womb, but you can’t voice any of this with the chain of the clamps between your lips.

Jungkook sits up suddenly, and you’re thinking yes, finally, before the look on his face has you screeching to a halt. There’s something distinctly different about him, a look you don’t think you’ve ever seen in bed before. Your thoughts are only confirmed when his foot slides onto the floor, as if he’s about to leave.

The panic must be evident on your face, because Jungkook is quick to swoop in and reassure you he’s not done with you yet. “Wanna fuck your little pussy,” he admits, carding a hand through your hair. “But the truth is I don’t think you deserve that just yet.”

With that he slinks off the bed, leaving you writhing in confusion as he heads off for the closet behind you. You can’t see what he’s doing, can only hear the shuffling of something back and forth. The TV is still on, the loud cheering of the fans muffling his clattering. You’re suddenly reminded of his swollen ankle, craning your neck to tell him to not overdo it, when something dark covers your eyes.

He’s standing just beside the edge of the bed, his signature teddy bear heat emanating off in waves so thick you could touch them. “Do you trust me?” he murmurs, voice close but not close to your ear.

Something swells in your chest, an emotion so intense your entire pelvis tightens up at the realization that Jungkook was asking for permission to blindfold you. You’re almost certain it’s one of his ties, a silky black thing that covers your vision for the most part, save for a little crack by where your nose juts out. A shuffle to your side, and then he’s gently prying the chain he had pushed past your lips earlier out. “Need an answer, ___,” he says quietly, almost nervously.

“Yes,” you gasp, your entire body set aflame at the sudden turn of events.

If you were being honest you would have never predicted your night would end like this. Maybe you came in a little too cocky, a little too optimistic for the night. It was supposed to be Jungkook handcuffed and powerless, you remind yourself— how on earth did you get here?

“Good girl,” he praises, giving you a little encouraging nudge to raise your head for him to actually tie the knot behind your head. It’s definitely one of his suit ties, you realize, because there’s a distinct cross-stitch pattern that you can feel only when it’s tightened against your skin, pressing against your fluttering eyelids. When he releases you, you’re suddenly all too aware of the sense he’s deprived you of.

“K-Kook?” you call out with a tremble in your voice. The rhythmic pattern of his footsteps rounds the bed again, and then there’s a soft touch against your leg.

“Right here, sweet girl,” he reassures you. The bed dips by your legs as he closes in on you, still tied up and on the verge of a second orgasm that he snatched away before your very eyes; not that you can see it anymore. His hand slides over your stomach, tugs playfully at the clamps. You moan, the sensation magnified tenfold by the fact you can’t see nor anticipate his actions now.

His hands glide like two sailing boats over the broad expanse of sea that is your body, molding against your curves like waves as they go. He hums appreciatively, and you find yourself glad you can’t see him. You can’t possibly imagine with what eyes he’s looking at you now.

You bask in the glory of his attention for another beat before he retracts his touch.

And then, suddenly, something distinctly not hand-like, and weirdly soft traces over the inside of your thighs. “Kook?” you ask tentatively.

No response.

It runs over your skin in the same way his hands just did, a unique shape your brain scrambles to put a name too. It’s soft, so soft. But cold to the touch. Inanimate for sure. It’s a toy, your brain supplies belatedly, but that much you already know.

It’s heart-shaped, you realize, just as it thwacks down against your pussy.

You shriek at the suddenness of it all, thighs clamping shut. Your heart is thundering at a pace of a rabbit’s, chest rising and falling as you blindly piece together what just happened. “Kook?” you whimper a second time, head craning back and forth in a desperate attempt to track his next move.

He’s not touching you anymore, but the bed is still dipping by your feet, so you deduce he must be there. You test your theory by sliding your foot against the sheets, lower lip trembling at the idea of him not being there.

Jungkook catches your ankle with one warm palm, slightly calloused from years of weightlifting. He raises it up, the cold air of his room hitting your exposed pussy. “You liked it,” he says, not a question but an observation. Your pussy throbs, the phantom strike against it lingering. A kiss to your ankle.

“Wh-What is it?” you cry, unconsciously pressing your leg closer to him now that you have his location. (You don’t see the soft smile on his face at your action.) Ever so slowly you let your thighs open again, now anticipating the next touch of that thing— that riding crop, you realize.

Jungkook confirms. “It’s a riding crop,” he explains, excitement curling around his words. Suddenly, it returns, this time against your stomach. He doesn’t strike you like he did before, simply lets it run across your tummy. “Heart-shaped. It’s so pretty,” he sighs dreamily. “Reminds me of you.”

You nod anxiously, stomach muscles tensed the longer it stays there. Jungkook obviously sees this, lifting it to give you the lightest of taps that still manages to make you gasp. “Cute,” he laughs, trailing it back to where it first touched down.

“Oh,” you tremble, thighs twitching as it pats tenderly over your clit. “Wai-Wait,” you warn, body arching as he runs it down, down your swollen folds. “No,” you weep, going to close your legs. But Jungkook predicts your moves, pressing your thigh down harshly against the bed.

“Shh,” he soothes, tracing the heart down your folds, pressing it flat against you. There’s a distinct lining over it that makes your hips jump, a faux-velvet covering the tip that tickles your skin. “Sit still for me.”

“No!” you gasp. Your back arches, body betraying you as it pushes your pussy against the toy. “I can’t, I can’t, Kook,” you sob, lips contracting around the gaping nothingness in your hole.

He condemns your attitude with a harsh swat of the riding crop against your cunt, tearing another high-pitched squeal from your lips. It’s followed by another against your clit that makes your body spasm. “Bad,” he chides. “Supposed to be my perfect girl.”

“I c-can’t,” you whine, the darkness over your eyes making the sensations ten times more intense. You don’t know where he or the riding crop are if they’re not directly touching you. Even then, the image is fuzzy in your head. “Need you,” you pant.

You try to reach for him, try to pull him into your arms. But you’re reminded of the cuffs holding you back, the metal digging into your skin behind you. You sob at the realization, angrily shaking your hands back and forth like maybe acting like a tantrum-throwing child will save you. It doesn’t.

Instead there’s a tug at the chain resting on your stomach, one that makes you cry out in pain when it pulls at your terribly sensitive nipples again. Jungkook uses it to pull you close, just a small inch off the bed that has you gasping for breath nonetheless.

“N-No,” you wail, nipples throbbing from all the sensations you’ve put them through tonight.

A chaste peck against your trembling lips. “Tell me how it feels,” he purrs, nose brushing against yours. Even with the tie obstructing your vision, the latest version of your boyfriend burns itself into your eyelids, force feeding you his sweaty skin and damp hair until even his breath against your face is enough to bring you to the edge.

“I-It’s scary, Kook,” you sniffle, listening for any signs of a reaction. But even if he did show one, your breathing is too loud and the ESPN channel is still blaring on screen. “Scary,” you whimper, lunging forward in a desperate move to feel the familiar brush of his tongue against yours. You miss.

“Do you want to stop?” he asks carefully, like he’s afraid he’s pushed too far.

He has. But fuck, do you love it.

“No,” you wail, lips smushed somewhere along his cheek, near his jaw and not his mouth like you wanted to. “Feels good, feels so fucking amazing,” you babble, cut off halfway through by a hiccup from your sad cries. “Wanna cum, wanna cum for you like this.”

Jungkook chuckles in relief, tilting his head until you can catch his lips with yours. It’s probably an awkward angle you assume, him adjusting for your vision-less whims, but it feels so good. It sends a shock to your pussy, his plush lips against yours. Without him telling you, you’re opening your mouth for him. “Spit on me,” you beg pitifully.

Jungkook groans, and you can almost visualize the look on his face perfectly— the tensing of his jaw, the push of his Adam’s apple, the pucker of his lips. “God, you’re disgusting,” he sighs, a fat glob of spit hitting the back of your tongue. Without your vision, you don’t see it coming, recoiling with a whiny mewl. The thin trail of saliva that follows trails across your chin when he finally reels back. You swallow greedily, wondering how soon is too soon to ask him to do it again.

With your full permission to move forward, Jungkook wastes no time trailing the riding crop over your wet folds, collecting your oozing pre-cum on the tiny heart as he roves it over your cunt. “Fuck, you can probably cum like this too, can’t you?”

You can’t answer, too caught up in the featherlight brushes. Even if you wanted to say something, one sudden strike against your pussy renders you speechless. “Mmh!” you hiss, biting down on your lip.

“Come on,” Jungkook encourages, resting a hand on your thigh. He presses the crop against you again, pushes down until the flat apex of the heart where it meets the flexible stem of the toy is pressing against your cunt hotly. He grinds it down against you, takes a sick pleasure in the pathetic way you arch up into it, rut against the little heart like it can provide even half the pleasure his hands usually would. “Talk to me, sweetheart,” he murmurs.

Your body is on fire, every nerve, every sensation shooting straight to your most erogenous areas— your cunt and your nipples. Talking seems like the farthest thing from your mind right now, too caught up in the way he roughly pushes the crop against your clit. A whimper rips itself from your throat, shuddering at the sensation. Unconsciously you jerk away from him, only to be scolded with another thwack against your quivering pussy lips. “A-Ahh,” you wail, squirming beneath him like a worm that can’t sit still. “Good— it feels good, Jungkookie,” you weep.

The soft mushy pet name has him raining down two snacks against you in quick succession. “No baby names,” he warns, frown evident in his voice.

Even with you completely under him like this, shackled and blinded with your love, something unmistakably childish and obnoxious curls around your throat, has you biting down on a grin as the coil in your stomach tightens. “D-Don’t like that, Jungkookie,” you choke out hoarsely, wildly bold for someone in your position. “D-Don't like being m-my baby?”

The crop loses its position over your folds, and for a minute you’re left anxiously anticipating its next touch.

It’s on the side of your breast, harder than the rest, combining with the already powerful pinch of the clamps. It makes you cry out painfully, stomach tightening at what is probably the most unexpected orgasm you’ve ever had. It isn’t like your usual ones that overpower you and make cum trickle out between your folds.

No, it comes in waves— literally. Your pussy spasms, pushes one splurt of cum out between your thighs, almost likes your lower lips are spitting it out. And then again, more the second time, against his mattress. He pushes your legs up to your chest to marvel at the cum coating your lips and thighs. “You’re my baby, stupid,” he hisses. He grabs at your clamps then, twisting the little chain in his hand harshly. You sob at the yank, at the way your nipples feel two seconds away from being ripped off. But you can’t even complain, because the sudden touch has your pussy clenching, before a final trickle of cum oozes out of you.

Even still, your mind babbles on. “N-No,” you choke, shaking back and forth. Despite the tie covering your eyes, they flicker like a mad man beneath it, like you’ll somehow get lucky and develop Seeing Through Fabric Ability if you try hard enough. “My, my baby,” you fight weakly, pelvis trembling from aftershocks of that orgasm. “My idiot b-boy,” you smile dazedly, eyes rolling into the back of your head at the sting you’ve become familiar with by now. “T-Tell me, Jungkookie,” you croon, biting down on your lip to keep a moan from spilling out mid-syllable. “Still the same, r-right?” you stutter, “still think you’re better than me, don’t you?”

He scoffs. “No,” he vehemently denies, brashly landing an unexpected smack against your hip, no warning in sight. “That’s not true,” he defends. You can hear his pout, the little push of his lips when he grows defensive.

You laugh, every bit the insane lunatic, fueled by your two orgasms and slipping sense of reality. “Ffffuck,” you whimper, rolling your hips up into nothing. “S-Say it again, baby,” you plead, tongue licking across your lips. “Tell me, tell me you don’t care about my problems, Kook-ah,” you whimper.

There’s a hesitant pause on his end, an unexpected lull in your play as he’s torn apart between doing what you want or playing it safe.

You know you’re confusing him, because you’re certainly confusing yourself. You don’t even bother trying to dissect your emotions— you’ve long since accepted your mind was a dangerous place when horny and presented with Jungkook’s sole attention. Well, you knew you were into the whole degradation bit, but this whole having-your-boyfriend-throw-the-words-that-made-you-question-your-entire-worth bit was certainly new and unexpected.

But there’s something in your heart (and in your libido) that needs this, needs him to fix this memory for you that maybe, kinda sorta, has haunted you for days, weeks now, as much as you hate to admit it. Needed him to fix the booboo he gave you with a bandaid, only leave a scar you could look back at and laugh off, not a gaping wound that opened at the slightest mention of it. Because while you forgave, you certainly never forgot*.

(*Unless forgetting meant having your boyfriend overwrite said memory that couldn’t be forgotten with the sheer power of his monster demon cock and wicked tongue. Only then could you forget.)

“Don’t be a fucking pussy, Jungkook,” you spit, feeling the hesitancy in the riding crop that brushes against your skin. It fades away quickly. “S-Say I’ve a dead-end office job; just holding you back,” you beg, trying to pretend the entirety of his little outburst hasn’t been ingrained into your mind for the last couple of weeks. Something flashes in your chest, throat closing off when the toy finally leaves your skin. “Tell me, tell me—“

He looms over you, teddy bear warmth covering the entirety of your body. “Is this what you want?” he asks seriously, lowly, breath fanning across your lips. Your makeshift blindfold feels distinctly damp over your eyes, chest heaving with an exertion that can only be emotional when he speaks so softly to you after routinely raining down brutal thwacks on you for the past half hour. “__,” he says sternly, “is this what you want?”

You gasp on a sob, unsure when these emotions had time to manifest outside your heart like this. You nod your head like a bobble head doll sitting on someone’s dashboard, lower lip trembling on a shameful cry that is not sex-induced like all the other ones until now. “I-I need this, Jungkook,” you admit, voice so tiny and soft, it almost gets drowned out by your shaky exhales and the crowd roaring on screen. “Need to overwrite it.”

He presses a soft kiss to your quivering lips, slow and so devastatingly loving. It’s nothing like the one from before where he’d spit down your throat per your request, and the unbridled adoration he packs into one simple kiss makes you crumble in his arms, sniffles piling on by the dozens.

He leans back after a moment, pulls your thigh over his forearm and finally lets you feel the hard ridges of his cock against your folds. “Stupid girl,” he huffs, trying to sound angry and annoyed, but there’s a lilting tone to his words, a love and trust you wouldn’t have been able to see with or without your blindfold, but can feel nonetheless. He pulls it off you anyway, the warm glow of the TV illuminating his face for you for the first time in about half an hour. Eyes soft, sweat trailing down his body. His body lines up against yours, but so does his heart. You feel it in the way he holds you in his arms, the way he’s careful about sinking into your folds. He slips an arm beneath your waist, uses it to hold you up so you’re not uncomfortably squishing your arms anymore. But if you ask, he’ll pretend he’s doing this for convenience sake only.

“T-Terrible fucking job,” he starts out, the stammer eluding the obvious discomfort he has saying those words, but he does it for you anyway. “Big fucking baby,” he tries again, slowly pushing past your tight walls with a shudder. “C-Can’t look away from you for two seconds because you’re such a fucking kid.”

“Worse,” you choke out. “Meaner. Please, Kook.”

He nods, holds your waist carefully when he finally bottoms out inside of you. “Dead-end office job,” he says, repeating the words that had made you want to crawl into a whole and never come out from. “Got some stupid fucking problems,” he tacks on, slowly withdrawing his hips from your heat. “Always complaining about the stupidest shit,” he hisses, fingers digging into your waist when it’s only the tip of his cock inside of you. “I don’t fucking care about it,” he seethes, forcefully snapping his hips into you.

They’re scrambled fragments of what he’d really said to you that night. Line after line that don’t carry a quarter of hurt or even make coherent sense for that matter. And still.

You whimper, mind fuzzy from the thrusting pace he picks up, body fluttering at the glide of his cock against your walls. But your heart is thundering in your throat, his willingness to help fix this memory for you tightening around your every being until you can’t breathe. “I-I love you,” you cry, clenching down around him.

Jungkook groans, pulls you flush against his cock until the thin hairs around the base of his cock are tickling your skin. “Stupid, fucking child,” he groans, “immature ass nobody,” he grunts, bucking into you like your words don’t mean a thing.

“I am, I am,” you wail, suddenly hit with the cold hard truth that your body was desperately on edge. From the stimulation your nipples had gotten all night, to the ghost of the riding crop that lingered across your skin; your body was tired, so ready for a final orgasm that you’re certain Jungkook will provide. “T-Tell me y-you—“

“Shut up,” he barks, sweaty skin gliding against yours. “D-Don't tell me what to do,” he huffs, nailing you into the bed. He’s pushing you hard into the mattress, like he wants to brand you into it. “Need to fix this— alone.”

You nod numbly, the crowd behind him cheering loudly. It’s like they’re rooting for him— for the two of you —as silly as it sounds, and as bothersome as it would be any other day, today the obnoxious sounds of the ESPN soccer match only serve to fix a bad memory from before. It’s loud and cringey as all hell, but you’ll look back to this moment and laugh.

And that’s what you want most of all. You want that memory from before, that nasty fight, to go away, to disappear forever and be replaced with this one. Of him, pounding you into the sheets as his TV blares beside you, just another day, another round of sex filled with your usual kinks. Nothing more, nothing less.

“Ffffuck,” you whine when the tip of his hard cock prods against your cervix. He’s going deep, he’s going all out, because he wants to fix this too. Wants to do anything to make it right, and he’ll never know how much you appreciate him for it. “S-So deep,” you whimper, hips jumping when he rams back inside.

“Stupid slut,” Jungkook snarls, tucking his head against your neck the same way he always does. “Making me do stupid shit like this,” he bites, but you know he doesn’t mean it, know he never will again. He rocks his hips into you, no longer concerned with holding you up from uncomfortably laying on your cuffed arms anymore as he pistons into your squelching heat. He’s pressed so close over you, lips brushing against your collarbone with each snap of his hips.

All the pushing and jostling about has the chain of your clamps wildly jumping about, sprawling across the planes of your chest, above your breasts, where he snatches it up between his lips again. “Stupid, fucking—“ he slurs, jutting his head to the side like a wild stallion. You sob at the tenderness of your nipples, at the way he pays them no mercy as he continues rutting into you like a mad dog in heat. “Slut,” he spits. “S-So fuckin’ pretty.”

Your mind is in another universe, and when that last word, that devastatingly familiar term, slips from his lips mindlessly, something inside you snaps. “N-No,” you sob, legs fidgeting around his waist at the orgasm that wracks through your body against your will. “No,” you cry in frustration, “didn’t, didn’t want—“

“Stupid, stupid angel,” he babbles, seemingly unaware of your orgasm as he continues fucking into your leaking cunt, ignorant of the cum that dribbles out, creams his cock as he carries on. “Fuck,” he pants, gnaws against the chain of the stupid clamps like he can’t bare this any longer. “Love you,” he says, though he’s still stuck in that mindset from before and his sweet confession sounds more like a threat. “L-Love that childish side of you,” he confesses, finally dropping the chain— much to your relief —and surging forward to kiss you on the mouth. He tastes weirdly metallic, a thought you can’t ponder too long as he continues ramming himself past your clenched lips and into your pussy. “Your fffucking dr-drive to succeed,” he grunts, mouth smushed uncomfortably against your cheek.

“Kook, sweetheart,” you shudder, sensitive pussy spent as he drills on. His cock is still so achingly hard, and he doesn’t seem anywhere near completion. “Take it easy,” you gently remind him, can’t brush your fingers through his hair like you usually would, so you settle for pressing your lips to his cheek.

“Fuck, fuck,” he heaves, pushing so deep you practically feel him in your womb, swollen mushroom head begging for entry. “Give me it all,” he stammers, “want you—want this forever.”

“I know you do, baby,” you coo, nuzzling your nose against his when he sloppily surges forward, panting and gasping over you like a crazed caveman. “I’m yours,” you gently remind him.

“No,” he chokes out hoarsely, eyes screwed shut. “Need more, all of it,” he mumbles. “Give me yourself, ___, need you for the rest of my life—“ he cuts himself off with a shuddered whine, so airy and wispy it makes you shiver. “Ffffuck, shit,” he howls, each thrust into your walls only unraveling him more and more. “Give me, give me—“

“Anything,” you whimper, body trembling from his excessivity. “What do you want, Kook-ah?”

He says nothing, losing himself in the warmth of your pussy as his orgasm rounds the corner. He’s in the final stretch, the final straight until achieving nirvana alongside you at the finish line. And, as you’ve long since come to understand, a true Jungkook Danger Zone. He loses all sense of self, random syllables and phrases slipping through his lips.

“Fuck, fuck, marry me— marry me,” he moans, snapping his hips into you with a ferocious speed that has you bouncing against the sheets, and that’s despite the tight grip his has on you. “Let me— fuck— let me fuck a baby into you, sweetheart,” he purrs, eyes shining like an absolute psycho, but you’re apparently into that because the idea squeezes around your chest and burrows it’s way in. “A baby,” he marvels like an idiot, eyes big and sparkly, “f-fuck.”

“Wh-What?” you choke, flinching when he bites down against your lower lip. He’s got you trapped beneath him, stuffing your brain with these ideas that make your heart enter cardiac arrest, body tingling like in Mario Kart when you’ve got the star power up. “Kook—“

“Sh,” he groans, digging his fingers into your sides as he rolls his hips against you. “Almost,” he informs you, but the blood rushes to your ears. “Oh, fuck,” he pants, jaw clenching, “oh, baby.”

Jungkook cums with a shivered cry, body hunching over you like some entity has just exited out of his spine. Maybe something did, because afterwards he manages to hold himself above you for exactly three seconds before dropping the entirety of his hefty muscles onto you. “Ouch,” you whine, wrists twisted uncomfortably beneath you.

“Sorry,” he huffs, completely out of breath and dazed as he rolls away from you. He ends up spread out like a starfish beside you, completely fucked out and definitely zooming through the fifth, sixth, and seventh dimensions.

He doesn’t say anything for a hot minute, chest rising and falling like he’s just run a marathon, until you butt in. “Kook. Undo me,” you remind him.

He looks over at you, dark hair falling over his eyes and sprawling around his head like a halo. Oh, he was going to be the death of you. “Oh,” he says, like his brain has just processed the information. “Right.” He sits up, tucking himself back into the shorts he never fully took off. That was his character flaw; never bothers to get completely naked during sex. Anyway, his straight male-equivalent of booty shorts come up around his thighs again, stretching sinfully across the thick muscles.

The five sonnet poem that was gearing up in your head comes to a halt when he touches your breast. “No, no more,” you cry, instinctively withering away.

Jungkook snorts. “I’m just taking them off, baby,” he says, reaching forward again with the same practiced ease you’d use on an animal. The clamps come off, all the nerves suddenly coming back to life. It’s a weird sensation, not having your tits subject to that prickling pain anymore, and it makes you moan softly. Jungkook soothes you with his wannabe masseuse hands, but you think it’s just an excuse for him to fondle your breasts.

“How’re you feeling?” he asks gently, hovering over you like a damned surgeon or something. His voice is so silky and smooth, hands soft against your chest. He’s so careful in the way he turns you over, somehow magically producing the tiny key pick you swore was lost between the sheets after its first use.

Being on your chest makes you tremble like a leaf, the faintest brush of the cotton against your tits enough to make your pussy clench weakly. “ I’ve got you, sweetheart,” he murmurs, carefully detailing his actions like you’re not watching him with your very own eyes. But it’s oddly comforting, having him walk you through the process of rolling your sore wrists. The inside of the cuffs had a plush lining, but it was a pretty cheap thing. After he’s done massaging the skin, he pads over to his dresser and returns with a shirt and undies for you. “Shirt,” he says, helping you into the clothing.

When you’re all snuggled under the sheets again, the television still loud as hell, he mumbles, “wanna talk about it?”

You exhale against his chest, feeling so light and fluttery from your orgasms and the way he runs his fingers through your scalp and the way his heart thunders by your ear. “Hm,” you hum pensively. “Nah. Think I’m fine now,” you admit.

Jungkook chuckles. “A full miracle recovery?” he teases. You nod, taking in the comforting scent of his fabric softener and just him in his entirety.

“Yep.” A beat of silence, the commentator is back to filling the space between you two. He talks about a mile minute, spewing stats and plays you could never understand in a thousand years. But you know Jungkook will get sucked in soon enough, so you strike while the pot is hot. “Do you wanna talk?”

He cranes his neck a little to look at you. “What do you mean?”

You roll your eyes, pushing yourself up to look at him straight on. “Oh, my mistake,” you drawl. “I seem to have missed the part where we were going to act like you didn’t just ask for my hand in marriage and then offered to get me pregnant—,” you pause, the realization suddenly hitting you like a trash can whipping down a hill on a rainy day at a thousand miles per hour. “Pregnant!” you exclaim, cheeks warm at the fact he really just said that to you.

Jungkook’s cheeks fare no better, a Flaming Hot Cheeto shade dusting his skin. “I, it was just…” he tries, poor tiny monkey brain working overtime to offer an excuse. “It-it doesn’t have to be a thing,” he blushes, big Bambi eyes flickering from you to the television to the heart-tipped riding crop by the foot of the bed. “I was just…”

You raise your brows. “Consumed by the spirit of King Henry IV to have fourteen kids?”

He blinks. “Wait, you actually paid attention to that film?”

“That’s not the point!” you exclaim, shifting onto your knees in front of him. “What,” you inhale sharply, heart beating wildly in your chest, “what was that?”

Jungkook can only play the shocked angel card for so long before he’s sinking back into his pillow stack with the sigh of a man who’s worked in construction for the last sixty-four years. “I just,” he mumbles, “I think about it sometimes.” His admission makes your heart lodge itself into your throat, wide eyes watching him spill out his heart to you.

He misreads the expression on your face. “I-Not now!” he hurries to explain. “Like,” he stammers, rosy hue slowly crawling down his neck, over his ears. “Maybe, y’know? In the future…”

You blink, brain reduced to a series of beeps and clicks like that of an old computer trying to compute information that is simply not processing. “Yeah…” you murmur, unsure of what to do with the film reel that suddenly flashes before your eyes, a look into a doorway you had never considered before. “I— me too.”

Jungkook chokes on his own saliva. “Really?” he yelps, has those sparkly anime girl eyes you always tease him about.

The gulp you do sounds loud in your ears. “Yeah,” you breathe, throat drier than the desert, but more confident than the first peabrain response. “I-I’d like that.”

There’s a bright beam of light that shines right in your face, so vibrant and dazzling it makes you flinch and by the time you’ve recovered you realize it’s his smile. “Yeah?” Jungkook mumbles back, pearly teeth framed by his pretty smile, brows raised at your stuttery confirmation. You nod. His lips twist into a smaller grin, a condensed version of the superstar one he gave you just moments before. Before you can brush it off with a joke, he’s snatching your hand up in his, a soft smooch pressed to your knuckles. “Okay,” he says quietly, dark eyes meeting yours. “One day?”

Your heart constricts in your chest, and all you can do is nod. “One da—“

“Goooooaaaaallllll!” the announcer on screen shrieks, the loud sounds of the TV killing your mood instantly.

Any dumbstruck, love struck, idiotic, ditzy expression on your face is wiped clean, replaced with an unimpressed glare you narrow on him. His nose is scrunched up like he wants to laugh, lips pressed into a thin line at your annoyance. He swipes the TV remote off the side table, arms spread open for you to crawl back into. You do so with a huff, pout smushed against the front of his hoodie.

“That’s enough ESPN for today,” he chuckles, switching the channel about a thousand times until Rick and Morty is playing on screen. “I’ll just watch the highlights later.”

“ESPN,” you scoff like an evil villain in a movie who’s just been presented with their mortal enemy, fisting the front of his hoodie.

Jungkook nods. “ESPN,” he repeats. A beat passes. “Kinda like BDS—“

“Go get your ice pack.”

epilogue

Because Jungkook couldn’t sit still for that one eventful night following his ladder injury, he ends up in a medical boot for one week, loudly clunking around the place like a reverse pirate. You snap a picture of him that you post on Twitter for your twelve followers to see, just him pouting at the doctor’s office with his new boot and club jersey on to celebrate last night’s victory.

It’s just a cute pic for you and your friends to laugh at.

Until it’s not, and his handsome face is circulating around the entire internet.

He’s being called the Face of FC Seoul, with desperate women messaging you left and right for his information. Other fans are bragging about the beauty that is an FC Seoul fanboy. It gets to the point where his face appears on the next night’s ESPN Nightly Recap, a special on social media stars posting about the game. Except Jungkook is neither a social media star nor did he even post about the game— you did.

But there he is, all five feet and ten inches of him smiling brightly at you from the ESPN Sports channel, wearing the boot he got from hand cuffing and whipping you to completion.

#goldenclosetnet #bangtanhq #networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jjk smut #jeon jungkook smut #jeongguk smut #jeon jeongguk smut #bts smut #mine

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marley-manson · 2 years

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☕️ GFA?

Thank you! It’s another long one lol.

SO like, I like it. I think it’s a genuinely great finale. Every character gets a fitting ending that suits them, usually in a sad way but sometimes positively. I kinda wish Potter and/or Margaret experienced some tragedy like the draftees do, but oh well, they got the least focus in the finale so that’s okay. I thought Klinger’s ending was sweet, Charles and Mulcahy’s effectively tragic, Margaret’s fine (she makes a decision contrary to her father’s opinion, I’ll take it), Potter’s... idk he gave his horse away and retired, it was unmemorable.

But what I’m really about here is BJ and Hawkeye’s plot, especially Hawkeye’s, so I’m just gonna gush about that mostly.

I love just about everything about Hawkeye in the hospital. I love how inevitable it feels, the show staying on point to build up to it since like, the seventh episode. The only sane response to an insane situation is to go insane, and we finally see it happen to Hawk for real. And it’s well done too, I prefer this take on a breakdown over pretty much everything we’ve seen before from Hawkeye and incidental characters. It feels more lowkey and character-focused and less sensationalized than, say, hysterical paralysis, or hypnosis recovering buried memories, or psychosomatic sneezing, or hallucinations, etc. We got the traumatic amnesia for the sake of the dramatic reveal and we got mania, we don’t need more than that.

And like, I love how they went for a manic breakdown instead of say depression and listlessness. They could’ve communicated Hawkeye’s MI through making him feel different and unHakweye-like (and we have seen him appear depressed in other episodes so it wouldn’t come out of nowhere), but instead they heightened the aspects we associate most strongly with him, and it works so well. The jokes, the word-association ranting, the energy, the emotion, the anger turned outwards instead of sideways. I adore it.

Like before I watched the episode I was very nervous about it because I knew I’d be very picky about how a mid-breakdown Hawkeye is characterized and I assumed I’d be disappointed, but nope, the show nailed it imo. Like I was beaming during the phone call scene lol, Hawkeye refusing to let them off the awkward hook by making angry joke after joke about it. Like “Just remember, every day you keep your best surgeon here you're killing patients :)" had me heart-eyed for the writing and acting lol. And then when he went on his rant about gaslighting after BJ triggered him? Chef kiss.

I also loved that he wasn’t cured when he remembered, or even after being discharged. It’s a low bar, but I have low expectations when it comes to old media and MI so Hawkeye still being a little manic when he’s back at the 4077 and Sidney coming down for a follow up was a pleasant surprise.

And then there’s BJ. This episode was both fantastic and terrible for him lol, in that it was an excellent, accurate, fitting portrayal of his character, and he was just awful in it. The first one to start playing hot potato with the phone call, talking about his baby child in front of Hawkeye when he’s well aware of what caused Hawkeye’s breakdown, acting inconvenienced when Hawkeye predictably gets triggered instead of remourseful (I will grant that this is obviously all in part to foreshadow the incident while preserving the mystery, but I can’t say it’s ooc), then - the wildest part to me - appearing hurt that Hawkeye doesn’t open the emotional door BJ can’t open himself and offer a heartfelt goodbye, because Hawkeye isn’t a mind-reader... then of course leaving without a goodbye or a note (having had plenty of time to prepare in advance while knowing he might not be able to say goodbye in the hospital, since he asks Sidney about it).

This all makes perfect sense for how consistently emotionally withdrawn and unsupportive he is, for how the pattern has always been Hawkeye supporting him no matter how awful Hawkeye might be feeling (eg Period of Adjustment), and for the theme of BJ being emotionally divided by making friends with Hawkeye and denying that by just silently escaping. But man it sucks for Hawkeye lol.

So BJ gets a do over, and even then he jerks Hawkeye around for ages with his refusal to say goodbye no matter how much Hawkeye needs to hear it. Obviously this leads to the touching final shot with the “note” and I think the writers did a great job of building up to that to make it feel conclusive and emotional, as well as meaningful to the characters and not just to the audience.

Like I adore that the emotional core of the finale is Hawkeye and BJ’s flawed friendship, and that we see those flaws in this episode but we also see how much they mean to each other. We got like half an hour of goodbyes here, and Hawk + BJ get the climactic spot, which is fantastic. The climax of BJ’s character arc is admitting his friendship with Hawkeye affected him, and I think it works, thematically. (On a watsonian level I don’t think the goodbye scene makes up for how emotionally evasive BJ was even in just this episode, let alone throughout the show, but it’s still a nice gesture.)

It’s also a great capstone to the little thread of Hawkeye’s reoccuring pattern of abandonment and it’s an a+ choice to work that into the finale to make the goodbye feel that much more climactic and satisfying. The writers honestly did a magnificent job of making this finale resonate with these characters in ways that have barely even been discussed verbally in the show, but are still on full display.

Like I’ve mentioned this before but I think “What if I was dying, would you hold me in your arms or would you let me lie there and bleed?” is an absolutely perfect line for Hawk to say to BJ, because it’s about BJ’s recurring pattern of refusing to be there for him emotionally. BJ will help Hawkeye if there’s something concrete he can do, but if there isn’t, he won’t just stay at his side and be supportive, he will toss him in the dirt and run away (Depressing News, Blood and Guts, most of Back Pay, Give Em Hell Hawkeye, The Grim Reaper, etc). I love how it becomes a significant aspect of the finale.

It’s just such good character writing, especially in an episodic show with iffy continuity in general.

Also speaking of character writing and continuity, I love how inevitable it is that Hawkeye is traumatized by the death of a child too. The show built up to that so successfully imo, From Hawk’s Nightmare to What’s Up Doc to Dreams etc etc. I think especially as a call-back to Letters, where the one thing keeping him going is being able to save an innocent life... kinda indicates that what Hawkeye lost in the finale was his ability to live with being part of the war machine imo. Also why I think driving the jeep into the O-Club was to some extent a suicide attempt. I’m not sure how purposeful that is though bc while Letters is def part of the lead up to the finale, the weapons repair bit is never addressed again and then Hawkeye salutes Potter lol so yk. But it’s a connection I like.

Aaaaand lastly I’m not sure how I feel about Hawkeye quitting surgery. I mean I think it’s awful and tragic and the worst possible thing for him, but I’m not sure if the writing also thinks that? It’s definitely meant to be the war affecting Hawkeye, but the way it’s phrased as wanting to be a small town family doctor and get to know his patients... feels a little too romanticized. Plus the way it comes after he gets back into surgery at the 4077 does seem like a way to try to distance that decision from the immediate trauma and make it seem like a more reasonable career choice. But like, it fucking sucks, it’s tragic, surgery is the one thing Hawkeye has ever wanted to do, and to end with him quitting his career track is so loaded, like how can you see it as anything but the war destroying him? So that’s like my one big question mark when it comes to the finale lol.

I think that’s about it. Thank you for asking!

send me a ☕️ and a topic and i’ll talk about how i feel about it

#mash #marley on mash #text post #(me googling the difference between recur and reoccur finally after just using the latter for everything and getting to be extra precise)#ask #mash s11 #bj mash #hawkeye mash #ship hb

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amaya777 · 4 years

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Beautiful Beast | A Twisted Wonderland Oneshot

TwstOBer 15. Poison - Vampire AU Pomefiore x female reader

For this theme, Pomefiore immediately came to mind and thanks to their Halloween costumes, I couldn’t help but want to write a Vampire AU for them. I’m a sucker for hot vampires after all lol.

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

Two months ago, someone had finally moved into that abandoned castle up along the cliff overlooking this small town. While you had not actually met them, you heard from rumors and gossip that the new owner was a gorgeous Count along with his equally handsome butler and pretty child. Apparently the three only seemed to come out at night when they did rarely leave their castle. Honestly it was nice to finally have something interesting happen in this boring place, a real mystery and wondering why someone would choose to live here.

But then came the sudden flyers posted within town three weeks ago, from the Count declaring that he was seeking a bride. He requested that those of age who believe they are worthy come to his castle at night to be judged and if suitable, enter in a courtship with him. All of the women in town swooned and eagerly talked about the possibility of becoming the wife of a gorgeous rich count. Even married women were so jealous and almost tempted to leave their husbands for a once-in-a-lifetime chance, resulting in the men and the boys not liking the Count at all.

So one by one, girls and women of all backgrounds dressed up in the most elegant gowns they could afford and prettied themselves with makeup before making their way to the castle. But each of them were never seen again once they went inside, the other townsfolk worried and questioning what the Count was doing with their women. When some of the men went up to confront him, they were found dead the next morning looking all drained of life.

Your older sister was one of those missing women, now thinking back to when she was getting ready to leave for the castle. She wanted you to come along with her, believing that if you or her were picked, then everything would be alright. Your family was one of the poorer families in town, scraping by and so to marry a Count would solve all of their money problems. But you didn’t like the thought of marrying someone just because they are rich or handsome, refusing the offer. But now you wished that you had gone with her, wanting to know what happened with her. Did he kill her and the others? Is he keeping all the women prisoners? Why else were those men found dead when they tried to find out too?

Someone needed to find out what was going on, but most of the women who did not go at first refuse to go near there now. It was clear that men were not welcome there either, making up your mind as you would go check it out. But since they seem to be dangerous, you needed a plan. You thought of the flowers that grew nearby whose pollen can be made into a poison that could kill in high doses, but at least would cause paralysis. So with the help of a local that was skilled with medicine and a tavern owner to come up with a bottle of vintage wine laced with the poison. A rich Count like him can’t possibly refuse a drink of this wine from a young woman after all.

So you dressed yourself up in an elegant gown, taking the wine with you as you made your way up to the castle that night. Upon closer look, the castle towered so high and gave off an intimidating aura as you nervously knocked on the double doors. The doors opened with a loud creak and there was a man with blond hair in a bob wearing a butler’s suit, giving a big smile as he saw you.

“Oh, a beautiful mademoiselle! Are you here to try to court Count Vil? We haven’t had someone in so long. You even brought a gift for him! That is certainly a first and perfect for dinner. Come in, I will let him know that he has a guest.”

He grinned, inviting you inside and holding the door so you could go inside before shutting it and taking the bottle. He mentioned that he would be back as you were amazed by the interior. It was as if time stood still, everything in here restored to when this castle must have been at its prime centuries ago. But still, there was a chill and feeling as if there was something dark hiding underneath all this glittering decoration, remembering what your mission is.

The butler came back and told you that the Count was ready to see you, escorting you to the dining room where there were four plates of food on the dining table as if they had expected you. But then you saw him approach you, what must be the epitome of grace and beauty as the man with blonde hair slicked back and the ends tipped purple wore elegant attire befitting a noble. When he stood right in front of you, he gave off a regal air and you resisted the urge to blush from how utterly beautiful he was. He looked you up and down and then took your chin in his hand, examining your face before he smiled.

“Another young lady, I had almost given up on this town. But you did come bearing a gift, so this pleases me. I am Count Vil Schoenheit. This is my butler Rook, and the boy there is Epel. Come sit and eat with us, we can partake in that wine as well.”

His voice was smooth and calming, almost feeling like you were under a spell. Vil let go of you, taking his place at the head of the table. You headed to your seat on the left side when you noticed the boy down at the other end of the table. If you hadn’t known better, you would have thought that he was a girl due to his silky lavender hair down to his neck and big round eyes. But he seemed to be shy, looking down as he tried not to stare at you for some reason. You were confused as to why though before you sat down in your seat and there was Rook pouring the wine into all of your glasses and then his own, not commenting on Epel drinking despite being so young.

The four of you started to eat, waiting on the others to take a sip of their wine. You dismissed it when they asked why you were not drinking as finally Vil along with Rook and Epel took a few sips from their glasses. Yes, just as you had hoped. Not long after, Vil then coughed and looked shocked before you grinned while standing up. “What did you do with all the other women who came here? Where is my sister?!”

You yelled as you were angrily walking over to where Vil sat, ready to finally get answers. But you failed to notice your surroundings, feeling your arms pinned behind your back by Rook and unable to move. Epel was also close by now, just staring at you with a hungry look as you were beyond confused. What, how?! The poison in the wine should have paralyzed them all! You heard loud laughter, coming from Vil as he got up and had a sinister grin while walking over, standing in front of you.

“Did you really think that would work on us? My, how bold of you to try poisoning us. But you are much more brave and interesting compared to the rest of those plain greedy humans. I knew your face seemed familiar, your sister wasn’t anything special. But you have that determination and spark in you that I was hoping for, yes finally.”

His eyes were mesmerizing, trying not to be taken in by them and struggling as now you were really pissed. He held your head and leaned down next to your ear with a smirk, whispering.

“You will be my bride, forever.”

You couldn’t process what he had meant in that deep voice until you felt it, Vil’s fangs biting down into your neck.

“Ah! S-Stop!” you cried out, feeling him drinking in your sweet blood as there was a lot of pain and then ecstasy. Rook chuckled, wanting to have some too as he then bit into the other side of your neck while Epel freed one of your arms, only to bite down into your wrist hard. They all were drinking your delicious blood, starting to feel extremely weak and dizzy after a few minutes.

The three monsters stopped drinking once they sensed that you were on the verge of death, revealing their sharp fangs and blood-covered lips. You fell to your knees as Vil kept you from collapsing, cutting his palm with his nails and blood dripping down. He kneeled down, holding you close to his chest before placing his palm up to your lips, forcing you to drink his blood.

“Now you are mine.”

#TwstOBer #twisted wonderland #twst #twst wonderland #pomefiore #twst pomefiore #vampire au #twisted wonderland scenarios #fanfic #oneshot #twisted wonderland fanfic

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mintsuke · 4 years

Text

Aspectabund (k.s.)

(adj.) letting or being able to let expressive emotion show easily through one’s face and eyes

In which; you’re only ever taught that all yokai are evil, until Kita Shinsuke proves you otherwise.

WC; 7.8K

Warnings; Violence, Minor deaths, Mention of Kita’s tongue but implied

A/n: An addition to my Yokai!AU and a “subtle” request from a lovely anon! If you haven’t already, read my first work of this AU for Suna (link here!). Lmk what you think and if I should write for any other characters <3

+I last minute started adding more stuff lol, so some parts might be kind of unedited and have mistakes so I apologize.

References to Nurarihyon no Mago <3 (and a Hisoka reference if you catch it ;’))

For the majority of your life, your family nearly talks your ear off concerning the dangers of the existence of yokai, also termed ayakashi. Any member of the (L/n) clan were countlessly taught that these strange, supernatural monsters and spirits were all evil and only existed to bring harm and strife to the human race. They fed off of terror and most times humans.

Onmyoji were humans that had evolved in order to use their innate spiritual power to fight back and exorcise such apparitions. Any and every sightings and encounters with the supernatural were to be taken care of.

For you, you followed after your father and brother without question, promising to bring honor to your family.

Dressed in your school’s uniform still, you leaped to dodge the swing of the monstrous imp’s fist. The impact crushes the ground, kicking up pieces of debris that fly in all directions.

“Nimble little thing!” The imp growls in frustration at your swift movement, “I’ll have your head and heart on my dinner plate soon!”

“Dinner plate?” You repeat, snapping your fingers to materialize a palm-sized paper with ink strokes written over the front, “That’s quite classy for your kind, I commend you.”

Brandishing the parchment, a pale yellow aura engulfs it momentarily before extending into a long pole, a curved blade fixed at the top.

“As much as I’d like to sit here talking, I’ve really got to head over to the conbini before they sell out of the pork buns!”

The imp lunges, arm wound back in preparation to attack as you take a stance with your halberd held behind you, other hand flashing another parchment. Roaring, he shoots his fist forward to make a grab for your body, but you shift on your feet quickly, turning to evade before stepping firmly on the concrete and swinging the pole upward in a half figure-eight motion. His arm comes flying off as you circle it around to finish the shape and drag the blade across his bulky torso.

Viscous, dark liquid pours from the wounds, the imp roaring in pain as his other hand swings around in a hook. Spinning the pole, you holding it firmly to the side to block the strong punch that sends you skidding across the pavement.

“I’m going to enjoy eating you, you bitch!”

With a flick of your wrist, you shoot the paper out and it easily attaches to his fist. Crackles and sparks of electricity emit from it, causing him to grunt at the temporary paralysis. Quickly, you kick off, arm winding back before moving in an arc to sever his head from his bulky body. It falls with a heavy thunk on the pavement before his body dissipated into steaming black miasma.

“Ahh... I’m all dirty now,” You sigh hopelessly at the blood splattered over the material of your uniform. Surely the employees of the local conbini wouldn’t question the mysterious stains.

You snort as you head home instead, the halberd long disappeared as you walk along the stone path past the large gates and into your home.

“I’m home,” you mutter as you slip off your shoes in the foyer, placing it against the raised platform leading to the rest of home (facing towards the door).

A smile graces your face at the sound of soft pattering of hurried footsteps. Stepping onto the raised flooring, you’re welcomed by a small body leaping up into your arms. You giggle at the little boy, dressed in the onmyoji white garments.

“You look disgusting.”

You snap your head up to the male, also wearing the same clothes, standing at the doorway.

“It was just a small scuffle, onii-san,” You grin cheekily with a small bow that he mirrors.

Shuji, the eldest, snorts while Kou, the youngest, beams up at you.

“Nee-san, good work as always!”

“Thank you Kou-kun,” You smile down at the boy as he separates from you.

The stark difference between your two brothers is amazing, but you wouldn’t want them any other way. Kou always seemed to look at you with starry eyes, amazed by your skills. Shuji was a tough love. He was the doting big brother that didn’t like the idea of you taking after the family business, but at the very least you were able to defend yourself from yokai. It was more of protective older brother things.

The next night, you find yourself in the conbini you had meant to raid for pork buns. Humming joyfully to yourself as the worker puts your order into a brown paper bag, you don’t notice the wobbly lady whose body is stretched and bulging in different places that are hidden under her massive coat.

To others, she might’ve looked like a city-folk with her prim hair-do and manicured nails. All the way out here in Hyogo, however, she definitely looked out of place slithering into a small conbini like so.

“Men...” She shudders in delight, tilting her head up while her eyes stare down at the other customers in the store.

You don’t cast her too much of a second glance as you pay for your pork buns. The curious thought of what someone like her was doing over here in the countryside crosses your mind, but you ignore her anyway.

Shouts arise as a male customer walks past her to leave, and with a flick of her arm, his head comes clean off and sprouting with blood. A woman shrieks in surprise as the body drops to the floor, motionless.

Head snapping towards the commotion, you gawk as her arm stretches, hand seizing the poor cashier by his neck. Retracting, his body is flown across the mart and towards the entrance. The woman makes a display of shoving her nose into the back of his hair before exhaling loudly with content.

“Mm simply exquisite! Much more refine than the city!” She bellows as the nails on her other hand dig into his arm. The man is kicking the air frantically, screaming in pain as he claws at her hand crushing his neck. Ripping off skin and heavy strands of muscle from his forearm, as easy as if he was made of string cheese, she nearly releases a salacious moan before devouring it. Disgust churns in your stomach at the obnoxious smack of her lips and loud chewing.

“Fuck,” you curse as the other customers cower and take the cashier’s sacrifice as a distraction to run outside to safety. They trip over each other, forcing themselves through the small opening the sliding door can allow.

The woman’s mouth widens, incredibly so, to swallow the cashier in one gulp (his pleas muted once her mouth closes around the remnant of his shoe. She ignores your presence and turns to exit the shop, in favor of the men that had run outside. Her arms stretch like rubber, flinging around like a lasso, and latch onto their heads like gum.

With a flick of your wrist, a talisman appears in your hand. Heading outside as well, the paper burns brightly with a familiarly pale yellow aura before extending and materializing into a large wooden bow. It was a long bow, similar to the length and style of the traditional bamboo of the hankyu bow, appearing like the branch of a tree.

“Stop!” You call out after her, straightening out your bow arm and aiming it steadily in the path of a fleeing customer. Reaching toward the arrow rest, with your index and middle finger extended, you carefully draw back as you trace the materialization of an arrow shrouded in bright aura until you reach your lower face. Taking in a deep breath, shoulders falling lax as you follow the path of her whip-like arm. You release just before she can snag his head, causing the arm to sever at the point of contact.

She shouts, the remains of her arm spewing with dark blood as her eyes turn towards you.

“You... You’re one of them!” She growls, “I’ll make sure to savor you, cute little onmyoji! Ripping your skin off, then each muscle one by one!”

Quick drawing, the arrow is much smaller this time as you release it at her, but she dodges easily.

“That puny little arrow won’t work on me!”

Your eyes widen as her body splits; a dark body, covered in mouths with shark-like teeth, emerging and taking over her human-like form. More arms sprout from this form, mouths wide and baring their teeth at you.

What was a yokai like this doing in Hyogo?

Her arms flail, a large hand with a snarling mouth set in the middle of its palm comes hurtling straight at you.

Flicking both of your wrists, one contains multiple talismans and the other a single one. Shooting them in front of you, they stick to an invisible barrier, creating a temporary shield that receives the brunt of the attack. The other takes shape into your halberd.

With a wrist roll of the long pole, spinning it over the back of your hand before catching it, you hold it with two hands to block the heavy hit from the side that the paper barrier isn’t protecting you from. Fire suddenly burns through your body, pushing you forward and off balance as an attack from behind knocks you over.

You groan as you hit the pavement hard, the razor-like teeth tearing into your left thigh and another at your torso.

Blood. Blood. So much blood. You think hazily, head spinning from the large wounds.

Were you really about to become fodder to this thing?

Her giggles are high-pitched and chilling, voice no longer sounding human-like. Transformed, her body slithers like a snail, appendages grabbing blindly at the ground to propel her towards you.

“You had a little kick to you, spunky, I like it. I love it when they struggle y’know?” The woman laughs as you grip a talisman in your hand, reaching out to stick her with it.

“Onmyojutsu is really something,” She hums, one limb whipping onto your wrist, a mouth open to bite into your arm.

You cry out, tears springing to your eyes as you blink away in attempt to focus your gaze on her.

“Quite annoying, but it makes killing my prey a little less... boring.”

With a shaky breath, you wonder if maybe this was really it. Shuji and Kou come to your mind, wishing you could have one more moment to express how much you loved your brothers.

Until the pain on your wrist is gone. The burning ache in your leg and mid-section continues, but you have just enough energy to make out the figure that slices the woman in numerous sections before she dissipates into miasma.

Eyes, irises just as fiery as the pain shooting through your body, are all you remember as you feel your body being lifted. A soft voice chastises you to stay awake for a while longer but you protest weakly until you slip under.

You don’t know how long you were out, but you come to with a raging headache, head throbbing wildly as you sit up. If not for the dull ache in your left thigh and the right side of your midsection, you would have been happy to forget the fight against the Akujo Nokaze.

Glancing around through the throbbing of your temple, you huff in attempt to calm your unbalance from sitting up too quickly. Tatami and shoji surround you, and you almost believe you’re back home at the estate, but you can sense the heavy amount of fear around you. The building is nearly drenched in the aura that exudes from yokai.

You had been lying down on the tatami, head once resting on stacked seat cushions in an attempt to make a pillow, and a familiar maroon jacket resting over your body. Squinting down at the fabric, you recognize the characters that spell out Inarizaki High School on the backside.

Then you remember your savior, those glowing eyes.

“Looks like you’re awake,” a calm voice surmises along with the soft slide of the shoji door scraping open and close.

Oh. This jacket, you piece together now as you look up to the captain of your school’s volleyball club.

Kita Shinsuke, third year from class seven, dressed graciously in an aegean blue yukata, with a haori (a more cloudy shade) resting over his shoulders. You’d only seen him a few times in passing, walking to the conbini with a few of his rowdy teammates, or that one practice match your friend had dragged you to in order to gush over the infamous Miya twins. He was only put into the match once or twice, but you found something quite admirable about the tenacity his ability to pick up seemingly strong spikes or screwed plays.

What was he doing here? Dressed like he was ready to attend a fireworks festival. Was this his jacket?

Then your eyes focused on the perked ears that sit atop his silver hair, a fluffy tail swishing back and forth behind him.

“Don’t panic—”

Sucking in a breath, you whip out a talisman. The parchment taking the shape of your bow, aimed directly at him.

“That’s not a good idea (L/n)-san,” Kita says firmly, a tone similar to one he uses when chastising the boys, “The yokai outside will sense your onmyojutsu from a mile away, even worse they’ve already caught wind of your blood.”

“Put it away.”

He doesn’t falter in his stare down, gazing into your eyes without waver. It’s not until they flash a dangerous golden hue before you finally let the bow dissipate into thin air. Nodding in thanks, he takes a step further into the room but senses your stiffness.

“You’re a yokai too?” You say defensively, fingers gripping tightly at the jacket covering your lap. It made your chest hurt. He was deceiving his team, the whole school. Was he planning on preying on the entire student body? Was he going to pluck each student one by one, and devour them until he had to move onto a new feeding ground?

What were you doing abiding by his orders?

All yokai are evil, the cold and hardened voices of your father and Shuji echo in your ears like ice cold water in attempt to bring you back to your senses, any and every encounter with them must end in exterminating the darkness.

“I can hear your heart racing, just relax, I won’t hurt you.”

You glare at him, holding out your hand with a talisman clutched in between your thumb and index, “You’re lying! All yokai are evil and deceitful!”

“I’m not, I swear,” He says with his hands up to show innocence, “I won’t try anything.”

Biting your lip, you relent and put it away, and he does well to stay rooted to his spot, so not to get a rise out of you again.

“Where am I?”

“The yokai district,” He answers simply.

Your heart beats faster. No wonder you can feel such heavy amount of aura around you, so palpable you could cut through it with your halberd. You’ve never felt so thick of fear that you nearly felt overwhelmed, fingers near shaking as you grip tighter to the maroon material.

“Did you take me here?”

Kita lifts a finger, noting the way you tense, to point at your leg, “If I didn’t act sooner, you would have bled out from the Akujo Nokaze. Although forgive me for my actions I had to take to heal you..”

Blinking, you don’t quite understand what he means by his apology as you lift the jacket to gawk at your healed leg. There’s no mark left, no wound, only the slight discoloration from your blood. Your arm has no indication of her last attack. He turns his head away as you lift your uniform top to stare down at your healed torso.

“Wh—”

Heat crawls up your neck, settling in the apples of your cheeks, as you whimper with an especially painful throb of your headache.

“You don’t mean...”

“It’s a secret,” He says with a more teasing lilt to his voice, the subtle quirk of his lips a contrast to the faint shade of red that blooms at the tips of his ears when he continues to look away from your exposed waist.

You respect that, despite his recently discovered identity as a yokai.

“I could’ve treated it at home, you know,” You frown, shoving the material back down.

The male shakes his head, “Please, onmyojutsu can do more destructively than healing.”

That didn’t mean he had to take it upon himself to— you stop yourself from the perverse image of Kita kneeling over your body. Face burning at the thought of his digits brushing over your thigh before his tongue— you slap your hands over your face, releasing a strangled groan to his confusion.

Although, your flustered expression is tell-tale of what you must’ve been thinking about and he too flushes at the memory of your precarious position an hour ago.

“I think I’ve stayed long enough,” You finally manage, although clutching your head at the continuous onslaught of your headache.

“At least stay until your fever goes down,” Kita offers, he turns away to leave the room, not before casting a glance back at you, “Just sit tight, I’ll bring some porridge for you.”

The sharp glance could have been translated as: don’t cause any trouble or just try to escape. You nod vigorously in response.

The shoji shuts with finality and you let yourself relax. His fear was intense, daring you to try something. Someone as powerful as that was not something you could try and exorcise yourself. It never changed the fact that he did save you, but he was a yokai. Not only that, he was a kitsune, known to be malevolent and conniving. They were infamously known to play pranks and deceive others.

Your chest twisted again at the thought. The captain of the volleyball club, someone known to be perfect and confident. He didn’t seem like the type to bring misfortune and death upon Inarizaki. Were you to report him to your family, and have Shuji or your father exorcise him?

He saved you though... the thought continues to tug at your mind.

When he returns with porridge and a glass of water, he makes sure to stay a safe distance away given your continued caution.

“If you’re thinking about exorcising me, you won’t win,” His blunt voice cuts through the silence like a blade, causing you to flinch. It wasn’t even meant as a bluff or to look down on you, he was confident and merely stating the fact that he was stronger than you.

You don’t answer, but continue to eat and hydrate yourself with a troubled pout that juts out your lips and strews your brows together.

Cute, he thinks, tail swishing behind him jovially.

“Shall I take you home now?”

Your fever calms, headache reduced now, as you blink up at him in surprise. A chuckle bubbles from his lips surprisingly, the sound not entirely unwelcome to your ears, it’s almost adorable.

“Don’t look so defensive, I won’t try anything, we’ll just take a small scenic route.”

“Small?” You repeat as he motions you to follow him out the door.

“Put on my jacket, you’ll need it,” He says, ignoring your questioning glance as you leave what seemed to be a private room. You gulp, hesitantly slipping your arms through the track jacket before following after him.

The fox leads you down the hallway of more rooms, laughter and raucous voices to be heard from within some. You both enter the main dining room of the restaurant, filled with yokai both human-like and not so human-like seated at the arrangement of low tables. They were boisterous, drinking from mugs of beer and porcelain ochoko (you wondered how the tiny cup didn’t shatter under their grip). Delicious looking food was served to their tables, making your belly rumble at the smell of it.

You catch the glimpse of a grey-haired cook in the kitchen, similar fox ears sitting atop his head like Kita’s. Was that...?

“Come on, they’ll smell you if you linger.”

Biting your lip, you turn away from the cook, who looks back at your retreating figure with a knowing smirk. The host is equally as familiar, but Kita swiftly leads you outside the restaurant and further down the alleyway.

“Are you planning on disposing of me now that I know your secret?” You gulp as the lights of the restaurant seem to dim now that you’re further away.

He laughs, “I would’ve eaten you as soon as I finished off the Nokaze, if not then, then when I’d gotten a taste of your blood.”

You shut your mouth, cheeks burning as he smiles slightly at your reaction.

“I said I was gonna take you home, no?”

With no more complaints on your part, he places two fingers partly in his mouth, producing a shrill whistle that summons a large snake yokai, with a bushy mane around its head, to come flying.

“O-oh my Gods, oh no, I don’t think I could,” You squeak as he holds out a hand towards you.

“Not all yokai are dangerous, (L/n)-san, trust me.”

Did you trust him? The thought still weighing down in your mind. You didn’t think about it then, but you realize he knows your name, even without having actually met you before.

He turns to you with a beckoning glance, smiling patiently and kindly, coaxing you to put your trust in him.

This was going against every moral taught to you ever since you began training to become an onmyoji, but against your inhibitions, you took his hand. It was warm, searing almost, against your fingertips. He saved you, kept you from death’s door, and never harmed you throughout your time spent in the yokai district. Maybe he was right.

With no effort, he lifted you onto back of the snake demon. Muttering a small apology, hands on your hips in order to lift you up. He joins you, hopping on behind you in a comfortable cross-legged position.

“Is dropping you off at the school alright?”

You nod, sucking in a breath when the snake rises into the sky, just meters above the tops of the buildings. Not expecting the height, you gasp and reach to hold on to the snake, but there’s no reigns or handles.

“Careful, you’ll fall,” Kita’s voice whispers from behind, an arm settling around your waist to secure you against his chest.

Nodding mutely, you purse your lips in attempt to silently will away your definite consciousness of his warmth spreading across your backside. He didn’t seem all that bothered by the proximity, but you guessed after having to heal your wounds in rather intimate locations, he wasn’t all that embarrassed around you now. Still, it was unbeknownst to you, his ears burning as he focuses his gaze on the buildings below.

Who knew the ever confident captain of Inarizaki could act so coy, almost as though he wasn’t exactly sure of his own actions for once.

“It’s quite pretty,” you comment finally, awestruck by the view of your hometown from a higher point of view. Hyogo was not as entirely modern as other places in Japan, but you enjoyed the simplicity and the traditional aesthetic of your part of the prefecture as opposed to other districts like Kobe.

“Mm,” he makes a noise of agreement, “I like to take strolls like this from time to time. The view never gets old.”

Admittedly, he quite enjoyed the view with your addition, eyes cherishing your own, wide and sparkling with curiosity at the view above and below.

You glance up at him, heart skipping a beat at the way the wind sifts through his hair. Kita Shinsuke was admittedly very handsome, his expression serene as he turns his attention to watch the minuscule specks of light scattered across the dark sky above you three. Ignoring the prominent fox ears, he was still appeared to be that normal high school boy you saw. He still exuded that same air of confidence around him, holding himself up just like how he displayed every instance you saw him in passing.

How was he able to live like a normal human and yet still very much be a potentially dangerous yokai? Was that possible?

You sensed no killing intent, no indication of malice or the like. Why? When you’ve been constantly told that ayakashi were the enemy.

“I see...”

He looks down at you, noticing the troubled look in your expression, quirking a small smile in response, “Surprised? The onmyoji like to spread that us yokai are monsters and only live to wreak terror among humans. Some of us had once been humans before, you know?”

Chuckling at your questioning look, he shakes his head, “I was a born yokai, although I know a few who have had to suffer and became apparitions like us.”

“I cannot speak for the ones who do prey on humans and seek to harm them, but we too only mean to exist peacefully. Just like humans, we work and eat and have our own families. I go to school with you, do I not?”

He doesn’t wait for a reply, releasing you from his hold as the snake lowers to the school courtyard. Once landed, or at least hovering just above the ground, he slips off first before offering you a hand.

You can’t place a finger on the feeling; you’re not quite sure why you feel slightly disappointed to end your time with the kitsune so soon.

“Are you okay from here, or should I see you home?” Kita asks after you bow in thanks.

“I can handle myself, thank you very much!” You glare at him weakly with an adorable pout to pair with.

He raises a brow, “It wouldn’t be very gentleman-like if I were to allow you to walk home alone...”

Flushing, you turn away with a rushed good bye, muttering about how it’d be a problem if your clan sensed him accompanying you home.

Watching as you leave school grounds, his lips quirk slightly before patting the snake yokai and hopping back on to head back to the restaurant.

You were still wearing his jacket.

“Good work today,” Shuji says when you meet him at the foyer.

It was later than usual, you didn’t anticipate just how long you had stayed in the yokai district with Kita, nor how long your scenic flight took. Kou must’ve been asleep by now, given it was still a school night.

“I’m back,” You reply with a tight lipped smile. A part of you felt guilty. Kita was a yokai, a being you were taught to treat with no mercy, but you let him run free. It was true, his fear was immense, probably enough to easily overpower you, but it didn’t change the fact that he still treated you kindly. It was as if he wasn’t capable of snapping your neck with just a flick of his wrist, as if you weren’t able to exorcise him. He was kind and patient, and wanted to show you that just like him - yokai can be civil and walk alongside humans. His last statement stuck with you: just like humans, we work and eat and have our own families. Were you all just indiscriminately killing possibly innocent ayakashi who had their own families to go home too?

That was just not how your family saw it. Shuji despised them, just like your father, just like the rest of the clan. They would laugh and punish you for such radical thinking.

“You reek of blood,” His nose scrunches when you pass by to enter the house. His eyes focus on the particular garment you’re wearing, one he’s never seen you wear before.

“I had another little scuffle,” You reply, scratching your cheek meekly with your pointer, “A huge one from the city I presume.”

He doesn’t question it, but you can most definitely see the imaginary cogs turning in his brain. You had almost forgotten to give back Kita’s jacket, and he must’ve sensed the remains of the fox’s aura lingering on the material.

Returning to your room before he can ask about it, you’re not sure what to make of it. Pulling the jacket tighter around you, you feel almost shameless as you sniff the remains of Kita’s scent on the material. It smells like the early morning dew that clings to the blades of grass, and a hint of something citrus like disinfectant.

It’s soothing.

Come the next morning, Kita’s only half expecting it when you rush into his class during break, calling out his name. Gaining the watchful eyes of his lingering classmates when you sit in the seat in front of him, his teammate occupying the one beside him, Omimi, casts a wary glance your way as other students whisper in question of your identity.

What was a second year just randomly waltzing up to the captain of their volleyball club doing? Not only that, he watches with wide eyes when you present a paper bag with Kita’s washed jacket.

“Do you need somethin’?” the silver-haired boy asks after putting away the paper bag with a grateful nod, unwrapping his bento that his grandmother had lovingly made that morning.

“I decided to keep an eye on you,” You declare with a confident smile, one that his teammate looks to him with a confused glance.

“What for?” He beckons you to continue, saying thanks for the meal before digging in.

“I’m just making sure you don’t try to eat anyone.”

Omimi nearly chokes on his spit.

“Shinsuke, she...”

The boy simply nods at the implication but doesn’t say anything else.

You make it a habit to eat lunch with the two as much as you can, with the premise that you were making sure he wouldn’t do anything heinous.

Perhaps you were starting to look forward to lunch with Kita. He too had also began expecting you to come running into the classroom with your own bento clutched in your arms.

You had slowly become a norm in his daily life and he wasn’t complaining.

He didn’t speak much, but he listened to you prattle about school and your friends being suspicious of your sudden absence at lunch break. He gave input here and there, sometimes throwing in a teasing comment that catches you off guard every time. It even surprises Omimi to see you two getting along, especially when the captain had explained the situation to him after the first time you had barged into the classroom.

It had to be impossible to have a yokai and an onmyoji getting along like so, even if you did threaten to exorcise him when he teased you a little too far. There were only a few figures in history who held friendly relations with ayakashi in the past. The hatred between the two groups were still much more prevalent despite that.

Could it be, he thought as Kita chuckles at your flustered expression, there was something more to this than friendly banter and such?

It was only inevitable that the rest of the team would catch wind of this... friendship. Not that Osamu and Atsumu shut up about the whole ordeal at practice after Kita had brought you to the restaurant the first time. They teased relentlessly him about bringing a girl, a human girl, into the yokai district, nearly going into details of healing your wounds until he shut them up with a scathing look.

“Why do you still put up with her when she could possibly exorcise you, or all of us even?” Aran asks as they gather their things, at the end of practice, in the clubroom.

The captain pauses what he’s doing to appraise his friend’s troubled frown.

“She won’t. She’s strong but she has a good heart.”

He ducks his head to continue packing his things, but the blush that rises on the skin of his cheeks and the tips of his ears are evident to the other. It’s quite endearing to the team to see their captain appear so smitten. To an onmyoji descendant nonetheless.

Leaving the clubroom, he greets you outside the gates, as if expecting you to be waiting for him. You always whistle nervously, playing off that you didn’t want him preying on any straggler students still left at school.

“Darn, you got me (L/n)-san, should I just eat you up instead for foiling my plans?”

He enjoys the fluster that always crosses your expression, stammering out as his team watches in mild surprise at the interaction.

When you do wait for him, he takes it upon himself to walk you home. In spite of your worries of alerting your family, he pushes the limit and usually drops you off a block before, watching as you disappear around the corner before he heads home or to the district.

“You like her?” Akagi asks during break of their practice, nursing his water bottle while dabbing a towel at the sweat dripping from his forehead. The libero glances at his captain’s expression, not at all expecting the suppressed smile that threatens to break across his face.

“She’s... special,” Kita affirms.

“Special, as in a crush?” Atsumu cuts in with a wiggle of his eyebrows, “Please Kita-san, Suna’s been simpin’ over the girl in his class for the longest time, ya can’t fool us by callin’ her something as vague as special.”

The mentioned middle blocker chucks his towel at the setter in response, much to the amusement of the rest of the team.

“I’m... not quite sure,” He admits, although he couldn’t ignore the way he felt at ease being around you. The days you didn’t walk home with him or eat lunch with him and Omimi, they felt empty or he felt concerned even for your absence. When you smiled or laughed at something or grew shy at his teasing, he felt his chest swell and flutter. He wanted to see more, he wanted to see every kind of expression you had to offer. Your ups and downs, absolute mirth making your eyes appear warm as they crinkle with delight, the determination burning in your eyes when you had faced the Nokazu, the doe eyed and flustered gawking when he pushes his luck and touches you in some chaste way. He wanted more. Unlike himself, you were able to express emotions so explicitly, it amazed him.

Did this mean he liked her? Well, of course he liked her, otherwise he wouldn’t enjoy her company the way he did.

Were they referring to his feelings as romantic? Was that what this was?

Did you feel the same way he did? Could he read the small glances exchanged between you both, the cute little bashful expressions, the pain in his chest, all of these small instances as something akin to being romantically infatuated with you, and you to him in return?

“Who was that?”

You stiffen when you enter your home after another walk home with Kita. He’d invited you to watch one of their practice matches before accompanying you home, despite your usual banter about his plotting to kill you or his inability to allow you to walk home alone.

Shuji stands, leaning in the doorway like usual, his arms crossed over his chest. Narrowed eyes watch as you swat your hand in dismissal, timidly calling the boy your friend that lives on the way home.

You don’t think much of it, hoping that your elder brother won’t try to question Kita’s identity any further. You almost forget about it even, lost in the beauty of the fox’s glimmering coral glow, the calming bubble of a chuckle that rises from his throat, that serene smile that could sate any fears you had. Not sure when it had started, you always feel like you’d swallowed a whole cage of butterflies. In your chest, your heart seems to flip and twist as your face grows hotter. Walking home, side by side, almost always entails your hands brushing against one another, causing you both to look away timidly.

Perhaps you couldn’t keep deluding yourself into thinking you were hanging around him (and his team after finding out about their true identities, when Atsumu cornered you after class one day) just to keep an eye on his actions. When did you start to enjoy being around him and experiencing more than his outward bluntness and blank gazes? Smiles seemed to grace his lips more often than not when he was with you, surprising much of his team when he spotted you in the second floor viewing balcony. You adored each and every one of his smiles, even if they were all subtle and almost unnoticeable. Or possibly the storm of emotions that raged in his eyes. If not for his usually monotonous tone or blank expression, you always adored the way his eyes were the window into his emotions. They crinkled similarly when happy, burned with a flash of warning gold when irritated or upset, and even grew murky when tired and having a bad day. Although the last one was rare, you enjoyed this side of Kita Shinsuke that no one knew of.

No one could experience him the way you did when he took you on more strolls on the snake yokai, soaring the skies or travelling to the coast of Hiyoriyama or the Hattan falls where you both watched the moonlight shine brilliantly over the reflective surface of the water.

When you both stop at the usual spot, a block away from the estate, he doesn’t say anything at first. Pursing his lips before catching your curious gaze.

“Listen, (L/n)-san,” He starts, but his eyes focus behind you and his voice cuts off to your confusion.

Turning around, your chest tightens in dread to see your older brother standing there. He glares coldly at the boy in front of you, hatred and disgust almost rolling off of him in palpable waves.

“Onii-san...”

“Shut up and step away from him, he’s been deceiving you this whole time,” Shuji snaps, eyes never leaving Kita’s, “Get away from him, his fear is way too powerful for you (F/n).”

“Your brother?” the fox mutters to you in questioning.

You nod in trepidation, gulping as your brother demands you step away again.

“Onii-san, he’s not dangerous I swear!”

“He’s lying to you!” He snarls this time, “He’s a deceitful fox!”

“I know that!” You stammer, but still take steps to approach him in hopes of calming him down, “Please, he’s not like that, he saved me a while back!”

“Bullshit, yokai are evil, I thought you knew that by now,” He grits, fury burning in his eyes as he shoves you to the side and out of his way. You yelp as you nearly lose balance and stumble to catch yourself. “If you knew this whole time and said nothing, you’re a fucking disgrace,” the elder says with a deep frown at your choices, words cutting through you like glass, “Letting this monster continue to live and run around, neglecting your duties.”

Your eyes widen as he summons his shikigami, the glowing apparitions of twin wolves made up of dark blue aura.

“No!” You shout as Kita’s tails and ears sprout from their respective places, eyes glowing that fiery hue as palm opens upward, igniting a volleyball-sized foxfire. The flame flickers a marine hue as he brings his arm back, towards his chest, and shoots the flame to the ground in front of the wolves. They, however, jump through the blaze and continue their haste towards him without waver.

Launching multiple palm-sized parchments, they flatten and create a barrier in front of Kita as the shikigami converge on him, slamming into the shield with sparks flying from the impact.

“Stop being stupid (F/n)!” Shuji growls, stomping over and grabbing you roughly by the collar.

You glare back at him, gripping his hand twisting into your uniform top.

“I’m not! I like him a lot, and I won’t allow you to hurt him!”

“Stop with this bull crap!” Shuji roars, beyond irritated by your sudden confession.

Kita’s eyes flare wildly at your ousted feelings, focusing on the desperation in your eyes as your brother throws you down once again. You weren’t in any danger like before, but it didn’t sit well with him for you to be treated like that.

In a flash, he picks you up with ease, slipping his arms under your back and knees. Stepping firmly down, he spins over his shoulder to send Shuji flying backwards with a back kick. The latter is quick to protect himself with a single talisman, although not able to stop himself from being pushed backwards.

“Get away from her,” The elder grits through clenched teeth.

Kita swiftly dodges an attack of his wolves, lunging to the side to set you down gently. You reach towards him worriedly, but he shakes his head.

“Kita-san...”

“Don’t worry, just sit tight here, okay?” He reassures with a good natured smile, brushing the backs of his fingers across your cheek affectionately. The action is sudden, making your stomach erupt into a fit of butterflies, as his eyes flash gold before he turns around to face the older male.

“Why don’t we calm down, there was no reason for you to berate and hurt your sister like that,” the kitsune says levely as he stands across from the elder, both standing tensely in case the other attacked suddenly. His eyes, however, contrast the patience in his voice and burn brightly intune with his inner emotions.

“Cut the crap, I can’t believe you blinded her into thinking that you monsters could be anything but evil,” Shuji snaps, “I’ll have your head and take the liberty of exorcising garbage like you myself!”

Kita dodges, shifting on his feet easily and slipping away from narrowly getting swiped by the shikigami. The wolf-like apparitions growl and snap at him viciously, unwavering in their attacks. Without his sword, he was left with his extended claws, diving into a roll before slashing at one and causing it to disappear in a cloud of smoke.

His jaw clenches as Shuji appears through the smoke screen, a short blade in his right hand. Brandishing the blade, the onmyoji attempts a slash downward but the fox catches the blade. The sharp end bites into his palm, blood dripping down his forearm.

“Kita-san!” You call out, but he doesn’t make any sign of acknowledgement.

Stepping forward into your brother, he drives his elbow upward, stopping before Shuji’s own, then retracting his arm and instead driving it into the other’s solar plexus. The elder’s mouth widens, gasping as oxygen forces its way out of his lungs all at once.

He nearly folds, sucking in a sharp breath but Kita is relentless. Pressing his palm into Ryuji’s neck briefly, he then drags his hand down and twisted ihs claws into the material of his overshirt.

Easily, the fox subdues the other. With Shuji on the ground, further winded from being slammed into the pavement that had caused a small crater from the impact, he glares up at Kita kneeling above him. Keeping an elbow settled over his sternum, he holds up his hand teeming with tendrils of his foxfire.

“Do it, kill me now,” Ryuji wheezes under the slight pressure on his chest, “I’m a disgrace to the clan if you allow me to continue to live.’

“What a shame then, I don’t crave killing like you think we monsters do,” Kita says as he retracts his arm and stands above him ,”I think you’re deeply mistaken by my intentions, or the intentions of many other yokai that don’t feed on humans.”

“I care about (L/n)-san,” He declares, ears tinging pink at his boldness. Even he, the most blunt person on his team, wouldn’t have expected this kind of confession to come out of him, “I could never harm her, nor would I want to when she’s someone important to me.”

“That’s hard to believe,” Shuji clicks his tongue, although hesitantly accepting the hand held out to him to help him stand.

“Please believe him!” You interject (although blushing at Kita’s own confession), helping to hold your brother up as he calms his breathing, “He saved me from being eaten by the Akujo Nokaze and showed me that not all yokai are evil as Father says they are. Please believe him!”

“You know Father won’t be happy about this,” Shuji says after relenting in his hardened glare. Placing a gentle hand over your head, an action he’s never done before, you gaze up at him as his eyes look back at you with a certain sense of adoration.

“I’ll take responsibility,” You assure him firmly, “I’ll show him that yokai can coexist with us peacefully, save for the ones that we should exorcise of course.”

You help Ryuji back to the household before you immediately return to Kita waiting outside for you. He smiles warmly as you jump him with a hug around his middle. A surprising development, given you both were too shy to brush hands when walking together.

“I’m so sorry you had to go through that!”

“Not at all, I apologize as well if I went too far...”

You shake your head vigorously, “No! In fact, it’s amazing how much control you have! You could’ve broken his arm or something, but you really taught him a lesson and I’m grateful!”

“I don’t think showing my strength will convince your brother that I’m harmless...” Kita chuckles softly as you two part from your brief hug. You quickly grow conscious of your lack of distance and step away, looking down at your feet shyly.

He clears his throat to catch your attention, looking you straight in the eyes this time, with those gorgeous coral irises, “If I may ask... did you mean what you said earlier? That you like me?”

Your face flushes at the memory. It was the spur of the moment, but you’d blurted it out in an effort to make your brother stand down.

“If I said I meant it...”

“Mm I suppose the feeling is mutual then,” he whispers under his breath, but loud and clear to your burning ears as he reaches over to brush his fingertips over your cheek like before. There was something predatory about his gaze, his ears still perked above his head and his tail wagging in contentment, it felt like he could eat you whole right then and there. Eyes gleaming down at you, you felt like a rabbit caught underneath the paw of a fox.

“Wha... you don’t mean...!”

“Or should I keep this one a secret too?” He teases, although his voice is low and almost daring you run away or defy him.

You shake your head vigorously as he chuckles. Letting his hand fall, his fingers tangle with yours, watching greedily at the bashful way you stare down at your linked hands before gazing up at him in confusion.

“Have time? Let’s go on a stroll then, shall we?”

How sly of you Kita Shinsuke, you think as you smile and let him whisk you away.

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