#Like just tossing in all sorts of nonsense like its a rap song

[canibalistic-brownie]

I have to keep reminding myself that none of y'all know me in real life and even if you think what I'm writing is cringe, its not for you, its for me. But h-h-h-h-holy shit is it hard to get out of that mindset of anxiously wondering what other people will think of your writing the entire time.

[drowning-in-dennor]

A Washed-Up Fool

Many an interesting thing washes up on the beach, brought to the land by the wayward waves of water and fate. Whether the sea brings in a shell, a piece of driftwood or a girl with lessons on how to truly live, it cannot be denied that much can be learned from these aquatic deliveries.

[Warning: This is nine thousand words long so buckle up folks] [This work contains mentions of blood, as well as slight violence.]

  The sea’s radiance hurts her eyes.

  Off the waves, which bob and roll with the breeze, fading sunlight glows, glimmering like tiny sparks upon their watery blanket. Kiara looks away from them, but green spots still bounce around in her vision. She tries to blink them away.

  Against the shore the waves roar, a dull whooshing sound with every ebb and flow, leaving white foam fading on golden sand. It echoes, over and over again, in her head. With a grimace, she tries to drown the noise, if drowning water were possible. The attempt fails. Kiara grits her teeth and walks faster, determined to escape the sound of rushing water as soon as possible. If not for the factory yielding a decent pay, she would’ve moved somewhere quieter far sooner.

  But a few paces from her house, the sound of the waves but a dull nagging in her mind, someone begins to sing.

  It’s the pointless sort of song, the type that repeats over and over again with no indication to where it will end. It is soaring, trilling, like the warbling of a bird at the most inconvenient of times. Kiara’s ears almost ache at the sound; after eleven hours in a factory surrounded by low, whirring machines, the song cuts through the still-present white noise in her head like a hot knife through butter.

  She ponders on whether she should turn back and ask the singer to stop before they become more of an annoyance than they are already being, but then Kiara looks at the sky, steadily darkening with every nonsensical verse that comes from the beach, and decides to just leave it be. When she finally reaches home, slamming the door shut and closing all her windows, she sighs. The song, as idiotic as it is, keeps repeating in her head. Kiara pinches herself to try and shut herself up. 

  While cleaning the living room, Kiara sweeps sand out from between the floorboards, opening the door and depositing them onto the ground outside. Her shoes, worn-out from walking to and from the factory every day for three years, never fail to track sand into her house. She sets down her broom after her floor is clean and grabs her shoes, sweeping the sand off their soles and shaking the cloth out her door. It seems the ocean follows her everywhere.

  Dinner is, as usual, a simple affair; the rough rye bread and blandly-cooked array of carrots, potatoes and fish are no strangers to Kiara. She finishes her meal quickly, rinsing her plates with water, drying them off and pushing them into her plain cupboard. The evening is, as usual, unremarkable. 

  Almost immediately after dinner Kiara changes into her plain nightclothes, walking upstairs on stairs with dull floorboards. She looks out the window, at the distant sea, which now looks like an inky swatch of silk in the darkness of the night. The curtains slide shut, leaving only Kiara’s lantern as the only source of light.

  Clothes for the next day are laid out on the bedside table. Kiara folds up her day dress, untangles the laces on her corset, shakes out the sleeves of her cardigan. Then she extinguishes her lantern, plunging the room into darkness, and crawls into bed.

  As her eyes close, the sound of the sea floods her.

  The next morning, Kiara’s alarm-clock slaps her awake at five in the morning with its shrill, tinny cry. She turns it off, yawning, and slides out of bed. The sun is just starting to rise, weak rays of warm gold reaching in from between the curtains. 

  Fully dressed, Kiara slips on her shoes and walks downstairs, her worn heels clicking dully against the steps. A slice of last night’s loaf of bread serves as her breakfast as she leaves the house and walks to the factory. Barely anyone is out on the streets at such an hour, when the sun has just begun to breach the horizon with its golden glow, and all is quiet. Kiara treads quickly, chewing on her bread, and sweeps past a few passed-out drunkards sleeping on the streets, past a few dogs curled up on the cobblestone. On the other side of the street, where stone fades to sand, the waves lap at the shore. 

  Thankfully, there is nobody singing in the morning, no irritating noises to grate on nerves that are already frayed from an early waking. The walk to the factory does not take long, and soon Kiara is surrounded by the familiar, almost soothing noises of machinery. She reaches her station, dispels all thoughts of the sea and of songs from her mind, and begins to work.

  She runs home once the day is done, ignoring how unbecoming she must look, letting the sound of her shoes pounding against the path and her rapidly-pounding heart surpass any other. When Kiara reaches her house, she is gasping. A stitch is in her side. 

  She repeats the routine of the former evening. The assortment of clothing that she lays out on her bedside table before she goes to bed is almost identical with her morning ensemble. Kiara winds up her wretched alarm clock to wake her exactly seven and a half hours later, turns out her sheets, snuffs out her lantern and sleeps.

  The morning is the same. So is her breakfast, and her trek to the factory. By lunch, when she goes to the same vendor and buys the same pastry, her eyes are strained from operating the loom. Kiara looks to the sea; little people are there save for a few fishermen preparing to sail. The obnoxious singer from two nights before is thankfully not among them.

  The afternoon sees six more gruelling hours on the loom, but she takes the burden. Once she returns home, she will have dinner, and sleep will replenish what energy she has lost. When the long workday is over, Kiara pushes her hat onto her head and trudges her way home.

  To her utter dismay, somebody is singing again.

  For the second time, her ears protest at the sounds, and she doubts she can handle a third. Looking around her, squinting at the glare of the setting sun, Kiara finally finds the person oh-so inconsiderately causing the ruckus, who is perched nonchalantly on a rock. Kiara rubs her temples and approaches them.

  Nearing them, Kiara realises that they are female. She leans back, relaxed and rejoicing, her porcelain hands clutching the rough-hewn stone, creamy unstockinged legs crossed at the ankle and half-dipping into the water. The waves lap at her feet, beads of water glinting on impeccable skin like tiny crystals. 

  She tosses her head back and down bounce glossy ringlets so well-groomed they look as though shaved from varnished wood; they fall in front of azure eyes so wide and happy they seem to reflect all the sky and sea. Her lips are stretched into a smile as slight and sweet as the branch of a quince tree, pouring out some inane little ditty that could be calling out to the seagulls soaring above the beach. 

  And her voice, soaring and surreal, is the low murmur of rain, the deep sigh of a coastal wind, decadent and sweet at the same time; if one were to drink the world’s richest wine and eat the darkest chocolate while walking past gently babbling waves, then somehow turn that to sound, that would be her voice.

  Kiara reaches the rock, where the girl is still singing. She raps her knuckles on it, clearing her throat. “Excuse me.”

  The girl looks down, her song wavering slightly. Kiara raises her voice. “Excuse me,” she repeats.

  She stops singing, and in place of words is a lazy smile. 

  “Your singing is a disturbance,” Kiara says. She ought to be more polite, surely, but the song has grated away at what little niceties she had remaining. “I ask you to stop, please, for the good of everyone around you.”

  She speaks.

  “Oh, but I cannot help it.” Even in speech, the girl sounds as though she is singing, her voice deep, melodious and elegant. “The ocean is singing, see, and it longs for accompaniment. And it’d be a shame to not take the chance to sing a duet with the ocean.”

  The girl is probably mad, an undiscovered escapee of an asylum. Or perhaps she is a poet — arguably, that is worse. If she is a poet, or a writer, or any of those other literary types, she will keep Kiara here and blabber on about metaphors and symbolism. She will never be able to escape her.

  “Your singing is not a duet with the ocean.” Kiara looks at the girl’s smiling face, gazes upon the strong, yet delicate hands that have surely not worked a day in their life. “It’s a nuisance and an annoyance, and I would greatly appreciate it if you stopped.”

  “But can’t you hear it?” The girl gestures to the ocean. “Can’t you hear the song that the ocean sings? That can’t be a nuisance. It could only make you wish to sing along, to run into the ocean and feel the cool water around your feet.”

  Kiara sighs. “The ocean is not singing. The ocean cannot sing. And just because you can does not mean you should.”

  The girl tilts her head, and another shiny, oak-dark lock of hair falls into her eyes. “I see. I thought you might like some music to listen to while walking home, that’s all.”

  “What’s your name?” Perhaps she can report this raving lunatic to the police station tomorrow morning.

  “My name now, you mean?” She picks at her dress. It is beautiful, striped pink-and-white with lacy blue bows sewn along the hem. She has made the scandalous decision to not wear a crinoline. Kiara pinches herself. She must not forget the girl’s name. “My name now is Lilje.”

  “Your name now?” Kiara repeats incredulously. “What do you mean? Will your name change when the sun goes down, and change again when it rises? What are your names then?”

  The smile on Lilje’s face wavers slightly. “I will not tell you my names from other times. You know my current name, yet I still do not know yours. Is that not enough?”

  “It is enough.” She forces herself to twist her lips in a semblance of a placating half-smile. “I’m sorry for pressing, and now I will leave. And if you must know, my name is Kiara.” A wave splashes the shore, and she darts backwards to avoid it. On the contrary, Lilje allows it to wet her feet and her gown without a care in the world. “Have a good evening, Lilje.”

  “Likewise.” Her full, bright smile returns. “I hope to see you again.”

  “I do not,” Kiara mutters as she turns away. Her hat is precariously close to flying off her head, for it has been fighting the good fight against persistent seaside winds the entire conversation. She will have to get herself a new hatpin soon. She can hear Lilje humming quietly even as she steps back onto the road. At least she is not so loud now.

…

  While eating her usual dinner, Kiara’s mind wanders back to Lilje. She is so different from all the other ladies she knows from work. She lets her long hair fly free in the wind, her gown is shorter than what is deemed acceptable by most and she does not even wear a shawl to cover her bare arms. Anyone would think her peculiar, to say the least.

 Her teeth bite down on something hard. With a jolt, she realises she has been chewing on her fork. Her plate has been long-emptied. 

  Kiara sets her fork down and carries her plate to the washbasin to clean it. She winces slightly at the still-hot water, rinsing her cutlery with her bar of soap quickly. Though her washing-up could not have taken more than five minutes, her hands are red when she wipes them dry. 

  Before she goes to get ready for bed, she takes her wash bucket outside and throws the soapy water within it onto the stones. Kiara carries it to the well in the city centre. Nobody is there, fortunately; she has hardly any energy left to have a conversation. She pumps water into the basin, standing a good distance away to keep her dress from getting wet. While the basin is being filled, she looks around. Apart from a few night-workers trudging home, the street is empty.

  Ever-present, the rolling waves are the only sound she can hear. Her street tapers off into the beach, and not a day goes by when the cobblestone is not half-covered with sand. Perhaps she should have moved out of her seaside house long ago.

  The basin is still not full. Kiara keeps looking. The tide is high, and the water threatens to splash onto the streets. The rock Lilje was sitting on is almost entirely covered. The girl is nowhere to be seen. 

  Cold water sloshes onto her shoes, soaking into her stockings. Kiara jumps, turning towards the well, and realises that she has been pumping so long that the basin has overflowed. Shaking her hands dry, she carries the now-heavy basin back to her house.

  After setting it down, Kiara heads upstairs to her bedroom and gets ready for sleep.

  The next morning, she opens her cupboard only to realise she has run out of bread. She will have to go without breakfast this morning.

  Stomach growling, she leaves her house and begins her walk to the factory. There have been tales of starving workers collapsing after skipping meals and being sacked by their ruthless employers, but she will not be one of them.

  “Oh, good morning!”

  Lilje is standing on the beach, a few meters away from Kiara. She is dressed in blue today, a brilliant azure that seems to blend in with the cloudless sky above. The hem of her gown only comes halfway down to her calves, leaving her ankles and feet exposed. Many a man would throw a fit if he saw her. “Good morning.”

  “Off to work?” She walks unsteadily towards Kiara, toes digging into the sand. Her unsteady gait looks like that of a newborn colt. “It is quite early, after all.”

  She nods. Her having to talk to this irritating nuisance of a girl at six in the morning must be a punishment of sorts. What did she even do wrong?

  “You look hungry.” Lilje sways back and forth like a reed in the wind, continuing, “I don’t think you had breakfast today. Wait here.” She hobbles away from Kiara and closer to the sea. Only her conscience keeps her from abandoning Lilje.

  When she returns several minutes later, wobbling so much that she seems just one misstep away from falling, she is holding a shell. “You can eat this.”

  It turns out to be a scallop, pale-pink and glistening slightly. Kiara has only eaten scallop once, but it did not look anything like the one that is resting on the cream-and-white shell Lilje is holding out. It is not steaming-hot, nor covered with a peppery butter sauce like she remembers. In fact, it does not look cooked at all. She cringes. “Is that raw?”

   “Yes.”

  “I am not eating that.”

  “Why not?” 

  Her stomach churns with hunger, but she forces herself to say, “it looks repulsive.”

  Lilje laughs. “Now, don’t say that! If we judged all foods by how they looked we would starve. I promise you this tastes perfectly fine. I just had one for my breakfast.”

  Which is worse — forcing down this peculiar thing, or risking a humiliating collapse in the middle of work? She has not eaten anything in twelve hours. “Fine,” Kiara huffs. She takes the shell from Lilje and, bracing herself, picks up the scallop with her hands and eats it.

  It tastes of the sea, cold, light and savoury with just a hint of sweetness. It is softer than she expected. At the very least, it is not repulsive, like she thought it would be.

  “Well?”

  “It’s all right,” she admits. “Thank you.”

  Her face lights up. “I’m glad to hear that.” Lilje coughs, and Kiara takes a step back. “If you so wish, I could bring you more food. Since you liked the scallop, I know of some other dishes you might also enjoy.”

  “I never said I liked it.” At the disappointment passing over Lilje’s face, she quickly adds, “but I will consider your generous offer. Thank you once again.” Kiara notices a cluster of her colleagues walking down the streets towards the factory. “But I must go now.”

  Eyes twinkling, Liljes bids in that deep, sing-song voice of hers, “I hope to see you again.”

  Kiara does not answer her.

…

  There is no more singing when she walks home from work, and the tide is rising. To her surprise, Lilje is sitting on her rock. It is half-submerged in water, but she does not seem to care. She dips her feet in the water, kicking them up from time to time and sending droplets of water flying into the air. The spray catches the light of the setting sun and flashes like hundreds of tiny, ephemeral crystals. She catches Kiara’s eye and grins.

  She nods back, but does not get any closer. The seawater would surely destroy her shoes.

  By the time she reaches her house, the sun is nearly gone. Kiara looks back towards the beach. Lilje is no longer there.

…

  The factory is closed on Sundays. Often, her colleagues gather on Saturday evenings to discuss what to do on their day off, suggesting a swim or an afternoon of needlework. Kiara has never joined them. Her Sundays are usually spent sleeping in, then going to the general store to buy food. Like the rest of her days, it is nothing special.

  While walking home from the store, her satchel full of cans, Kiara finds herself instinctively looking towards the beach in search of Lilje. Sure enough, she is standing knee-deep in the water, the bottom half of her gown dripping wet. Unlike the bathing gowns she sees her colleagues show off sometimes, this one resembles a chemise from the olden days and exposes her bare arms. Lilje steps further into the water, and her pure-white gown swirls around her legs.

  Kiara nears the beach, but she does not notice her. The wind is especially loud today, sending tiny grains of sand swirling up from the beach and blowing her skirt about. Only her crinoline prevents her legs from being shown.

  In the water, a particularly large wave knocks into Lilje and soaks her side. Her gown clings to her every curve, and Kiara cannot help noticing how she has that silhouette most ladies yearn for, even when she wears no corset. She forces herself to tear her eyes away and step onto the beach. The heels of her shoes sink into the sand. She grimaces.

  Lilje continues walking into the sea, completely oblivious to her soaked bathing-gown. Another wave crashes into her. Ensuring that nobody is around to see her, Kiara takes another cautious step and calls out her name.

  Those mesmerising blue eyes light up at the sight of her. “Hello!” With unexpected speed, she runs to shore to stand before her, dripping water onto the sand. Her hair has been tied back with shell-pink ribbons. “And what are you doing today?”

  “I just bought some food.” She lifts her satchel. “I will be heading home soon.”

  “Why don’t you stay here for a while?” Lilje offers. “It must be so boring to stay at home on the only rest day of the week.”

  There is little more to do, anyway. “I will stay, I suppose,” Kiara says begrudgingly. “What have you been doing?”

  “Walking around. Singing. You know, what I do every other day.” She shrugs. “I like to swim on warmer days.”

  “Sounds interesting.”

  “Better than being holed up in a house,” Lilje quips. “You ought to go get some fresh air more often.” She points at a rickety old thing floating a few paces away. “See, that over there is my boat. If you like, we could take it out to sea.”

  She does not notice the boat at first, only sees her companion pointing at a particularly-large pile of planks. Kiara holds her tongue and grits out, “it does not look very safe.”

  “It is, I promise.” She sweetens her vow with a sugary smile. “Come now, have you never wondered what it felt like to be at sea?”

  “Actually, I have not,” she replies honestly. “Unlike you, I am not particularly interested in the sea. But,” she adds grudgingly, “I suppose I can give this boat idea a try.”

  She beams. Lilje takes her hand and leads her towards the boat, humming cheerfully. Her hand is cold from the seawater.

  The rough wooden seats of the boat are miraculously dry, and Kiara sits down on it cautiously. Nothing breaks. Lilje sits in front of her, takes hold of the battered oars and begins to row.

  They float lazily on the crystal-clear water, waves lapping against the boat. The wind has calmed down a fair amount, just enough to keep them cool but not to make their journey turbulent. Lilje’s ribbons flutter like butterflies. “See, I told you the boat was safe.”

  “Mmhmm.” 

  “I realise now that we do not know much about each other,” she says. “We have talked a few times, yet all I know about you is your name and where you work!”

  “And I do not even know the latter about you.” Kiara folds her hands in her lap and asks, “so what do you do for a living?”

  “I sing. I think about things. Not the way a philosopher does, though, I have no need to think about the meaning of life and all that.” She dips her hand in the water for a moment. “I like to think about the temperature of the water and what type of rocks I might find in the sand. That’s all.”

  “Is that what you’ve always wanted to do?”

  “I guess so,” Lilje says. “And you? Have you always wanted to work in the factory?”

  She shakes her head. “Nobody truly wants to be there. When I was a girl, I just wanted to sail around on a big boat, on which I could have my own farm to provide for myself, and never actually work. But of course, that is not practical at all.”

  “Practical!” She repeats incredulously. “Humans throw that word around all the time these days. What does it even mean? If it means being like those company owners who lust after money and never dream, or the fools who only care for ‘useful’ things and not those that are beautiful, then I do not ever want to be practical.”

  Kiara shrugs. She looks behind her and sees the city fading farther and farther away. “Practicality puts the food on the table.”

  “It takes everything else in exchange,” Lilje remarks waspishly. “All practical people care about is surviving. Not one of them wants to live.”

  “And if I call myself practical, am I like them?”

  “Yes, you are. If you would like to be practical even though that word scarcely has a meaning, you are just like those humans.” She looks back and winks. “But I do not think you are. Deciding to get on a boat and sail to who-knows-where is not very practical, after all.”

  “You say ‘humans’ like you are not one.”

  “Am I human?” Lilje mulls. “I think that depends on how one defines a human.”

  “A scientist a while ago gave us the name ‘homo sapiens’. A philosopher from two thousand years back called us ‘featherless bipeds’.”

  She laughs, low and sweet. “So those plucked chickens at the butcher’s are humans also?”

  Kiara cannot help the giggle that escapes her lips. “Of course not, that’s why that theory was debunked.”

  The city is but a tiny speck now, and there is only water around her. The boat bobs up and down.

  Lilje looks back again, and Kiara notices a tiny, almost-invisible scar across her cheek. “Do you live alone?”

  “Yes,” she answers. “Why do you ask?”

  “Nothing much, really. I was just curious. I thought someone as pretty as you would have someone to go home to.”

  “Not yet.” It is suddenly difficult to look her companion in the eye; that azure gaze seems to pierce too deeply. “I am only one-and-twenty, though, so not yet a spinster. And I am not pretty.”

  “Yes, you are!” Lilje stops rowing and turns around to face her fully. “I like your eyes, for one. They look like the chocolates that I hear people like. And your hair is pretty, too.” She fiddles with one of the ribbons in her hair. “May I try braiding it?”

  Kiara touches her hair, running her fingers through the dirty-blonde locks. “All right.” She turns around so that her back is facing her, and soon she feels Lilje undoing the pins in her bun. 

  With a touch far more tender than what her hands seem capable of, she combs her hair with her fingers and twists it into patterns. Her hands fly, as though she is braiding rope instead of hair, and soon she is done. Lilje undoes one of the ribbons from her hair and ties it into the braid, right next to her right ear. “There!”

  She looks at herself in the water. A few locks of hair frame her face, but the rest have been coiled into an elegant twist. It does not pull her features back as much, and the ribbon at the side of her head makes her look younger, almost girlish. 

  “What do you think?”

  “It’s quite fetching.” Kiara touches the smooth silk ribbon. “I look quite different.”

  “You do not look as sharp,” Lilje agrees. “Not that it makes you less pretty, of course, I think you look as nice as ever.” She peers over the side of the boat. “Oh, look.”

  A school of minnows are darting away in the water, sunlight reflecting off their silvery scales. They dip lower and soon disappear into the depths of the sea. 

  “Do you ever wonder what lies beneath the surface?”

  She turns back around. “Not much. I have never gone so far out to sea.”

  “I have seen it.” Lilje’s eyes seem to grow brighter, a wild shade of blue that gleams in the afternoon sun. “And though you might not have the chance to see it today, I will bring it to you anyway.”

  Her stilted sentence has Kiara frowning. “What, are you going to swim?” She asks.

  “Precisely.” She reaches into the pocket of her bathing-gown and pulls out a gleaming silver knife. Kiara scrambles back before realising that she is trapped. “Give me a moment, won’t you?”

  Before she can say anything, Lilje hitches up the skirt of her gown and reveals her toned calf, its pale skin covered in tens of silvery scars. Unflinching, she draws the blade across her calf.

  “What are you doing?” Kiara lunges for the knife, edged with blood that looks a tad darker than normal. Lilje drops it, slips her gown off and half-dives, half-falls off the boat into the water.

  She hisses with pain when her bloody wound makes contact with the seawater, and her head dips below. When she surfaces, her hair is plastered to her face and her arms move to keep her afloat. Her legs cannot be seen, even in the clear water.

  Then something glimmers. 

  Kiara peers into the water and sees what she is below the waist. Her legs have knitted together, merged into one almost grotesquely. The undulating, flexible mass is covered in silvery scales, from the sides and end of which protrude paper-thin, waving fins. “A tail,” she realises aloud. 

  There are a number of slits on Lilje’s bare chest, opening and closing every time she takes a breath. She smiles up at the boat and points at her gills. “See, however you define a human, I am most certainly not one.”

  It takes a while for her to remember how to speak properly. Lilje looks ethereal in the water, her tail waving softly and her hair swirling about her. There is surely a name for people like her, something depicted in children’s stories and written off as fiction. These beautiful women of the sea, with gills and fishtails below the waist and must be called something. Feeling rather childish, she inquires, “are you a mermaid?”

  Lilje shrugs. “Maybe that is what humans call us sea-dwellers. But I am one of those who can live on both sea and land.” Her pale skin is ghost-like, glowing softly in the sunlit water. “Are you surprised?”

  “Well, it explains why you love the sea so much.” Kiara cannot tear her eyes away. 

  “Just stay here. I will be back soon.”

  Before Kiara can question her, she dives deep into the water again and disappears.

  The boat bobs up slightly at the splash Lilje’s tail makes. She peers into the depths of the sea, where she is already nowhere to be seen. There is not even a fish in the water, at least as far as she can see, let alone another sea-dweller like Lilje. Perhaps they are like humans, with a massive civilisation on the seafloor. Or maybe they are nomadic, moving from sea to sea with no fixed home. She will never know.

  After what could have been five or fifty-five minutes, Lilje rises to the surface and pops her head up. Her fists are clenched, and she leaps out of the water in a sudden, stunning show of strength. Droplets of water rain from her fins and onto Kiara’s head. 

  She rather inelegantly flops onto the boat with a crash. “Hand me my knife,” she says breathlessly. She snatches it from Kiara’s hand and slashes at her silvery tail. Blood seeps from the wound and sparkles on her scales, tainting its clean glow with a dark, angry red. She grits her teeth, one webbed hand clutching at the side of the boat.

  As though ice in fire, the scales melt away, fins wilting into nothingness and gills closing up. Slowly, slowly, the tail fades until Lilje’s legs return, as though it was never there in the first place. A new, pink scar is among the many others on her calf. She gasps softly, one white-knuckled fist still clenched.

  “Are - Are you all right?” Kiara asks.

  She nods dismissively. “This is just how we travel between sea and land. We spill our blood and mingle it with water in exchange for a tail, and with air for legs.”

  “Does it hurt?”

  “I’m stabbing myself in the leg, of course it hurts,” she huffs. “But it is a small price to pay for the privilege of living in two worlds.”

  Kiara stares at her legs, at the many scars it has. How many times has Lilje gone through this pain simply to swim or walk? The sting of saltwater in a bloody wound is bad enough once, let alone tens of times. But she cannot keep herself from wondering aloud, “can all sea-dwellers do this?”

  She nods again. “Not many of us shift so often — the pain turns most away. And there is always the danger of being found. But I still do it.”

  “How does it work?”

  “Always ‘how’ with you humans. So technical!” She kicks up one of her bare legs. Kiara tries to keep herself from looking; for some reason Lilje has not put her gown back on yet. “You always want to know how and not why. But to answer your question, I truly do not know. Maybe I will one day, though.”

  The sun is beginning to set, painting the water with its beautiful shades. The waves continue to rock their boat, and they do not sound as annoying as they used to. Lilje wrings water out of her hair. The morning seemed just seconds ago.

  “We should leave soon,” Kiara says. “Neither of us have had dinner yet.”

  Lilje gestures to her satchel, forgotten under her seat. “We can just eat here.”

  “Eat cold, canned food on a boat in the middle of the ocean?”

  “Exactly!” She grabs the satchel and pulls out a can. “I think it will be fun.”

  Why does it seem like she can never deny Lilje anything? Kiara rolls her eyes in half-defeat as her companion wrestles with the container. She manages to twist the cap off after a while, placing it on her bench victoriously. “There we go!” She bends the cap to make a crude spoon and hands it to Kiara. 

  As she expected, the food is cold. But the lovely view makes up for her meal’s blandness. Lilje opens another can and picks out a chunk of carrot with her bare hands, ignoring her disdainful look. “Come on,” she wisps, “there is no need to be refined on a boat.”

  Once they have finished their meagre dinners and cleaned their hands in the cool seawater, Lilje picks up the oars and begins rowing back. It is almost completely dark, the water rippling like a massive pool of ink. Her eyes almost seem to glow with how bright they are.

  Kiara starts when they near the town and the faraway street-lights bathe them in their glow. “Put your gown back on. Goodness help us if someone sees you like this.” She averts her eyes as Lilje dresses. 

  It is unusual to stand on solid land again, where things do not rock and sway. She stretches her legs out, feeling her knees crack, and rolls her shoulders. Hours of being seated have made her feel like an old woman. Now presentable, Lilje stumbles out the boat and runs her fingers through her still-damp hair. “I very much enjoyed our afternoon together,” she murmurs. 

  “So did I.”

  Her heart leaps to her throat when Lilje approaches her and gives her a wet hug. Kiara looks around her, ensuring that nobody is looking before wrapping her arms around her. She can feel the warmth of Lilje’s skin despite the cold water soaking it.

  When they pull away, Lilje tilts her head. “Oh! I almost forgot. I found something while diving just now.” She opens her palm, revealing something small and shimmering. “Catch!”

  Reacting too slow, she lets the small item bounce against her chest before it rolls down the sand and towards the sea. Lilje chases after it and scoops it up before it can disappear. “What did I tell you?”

  “I am too old to be playing games like this.”

  “There is no such thing as ‘too old’. What is maturity but an excuse to give people responsibilities? Now catch!” She tosses it again.

  This time Kiara manages to catch it in her hand. She looks down and her eyes widen. Lilje has thrown her a pearl, a beautiful, perfectly-round sphere of silvery off-white. It is warm from being in her hands, tough and tiny and more expensive than anything she owns. “Goodness knows how much this is worth,” she breathes.

  “Oh, don’t you sell it. You would not be so ruthless as to sell a present from your friend, would you?”

  “No, I suppose not.” The sky is now fully dark, the only light coming from the street lamps along the road. “And I really must go, I need to sleep.”

  “Sweet dreams, then.” Lilje twirls around, toes digging into the sand, and says, “and I hope to see you again.”

  She smiles. “So do I.”

…

  Work in the factory is a downright nightmare after the excitement on Sunday. The harsh lights and mechanical clicking of the looms feel like an insult, a reminder that despite her euphoric afternoon she will still have to return to work. It is only eight in the morning and she can already feel that familiar ache in her shoulder from hunching over. 

  The monotonous work leaves her with plenty of time to think of Lilje — whimsical, carefree Lilje; beautiful, smiling Lilje; Lilje who is unafraid and enduring, who understands humans well even though she is not one herself. Her song fills the dull nothingness in the factory, no longer an annoyance, and Kiara can feel herself smile. The pearl she was given yesterday is in her pocket, stored safely inside a rough pouch. After work, she will take it to a jeweller and have them make it into a pendant.

  Her eyes are strained when she is finally allowed to leave for a short lunch. The cool sea breeze soothes her cramped muscles. Belly growling, she begins her search for the vendor who sells her regular lunch. But before she can lay eyes on them, she sees Lilje, limping up to her on bare feet. 

  The first thing she notices is that she is still barefoot, despite walking on the road. There are no new wounds on her legs, she sees with relief. She leans on her shoulder, giving her a strained smile. “Hello.”

  “Good afternoon.” Kiara shifts her weight so she does not fall over, either. “Are you all right?”

  “Yes, I’m fine. I just did not expect human roads to be so rough.”

  Her knees are buckling. She takes Lilje’s wrist and leads her to the rock she is usually found sitting on, asking, “why were you off the beach, anyway?”

  Lilje sits down and answers, “I wanted to try more of those human foods. They are so different from what us sea-dwellers have, see, and I would never turn down a chance to try something new. In hindsight, I should have covered my feet like you humans do.”

  “So did you manage to find something to eat?”

  She pulls a pouch out of her dress pocket and opens it, revealing two slices of pound cake. “I bought some for you too.”

  Kiara’s mouth waters. She picks up a slice of cake and bites into it, savouring its rich sweetness. The taste of butter fills her mouth. 

  Lilje is picking at her cake too, daintily breaking off small pieces as one would with bread, and nibbling on them. Crumbs scatter onto her skirt. “How is it?”

  “Excellent.” She pats her mouth clean with a handkerchief. “I don’t remember the last time I had cake.”

  “I ought to buy you more, then,” she says.

  “How did you manage to buy them? I do not think you get paid for sitting here.”

  “You’d be surprised how many coins you find in the sea.” Lilje pops another chunk of cake into her mouth. “This is very good. Too bad it would not even last a minute in the sea, though.”

  They move to sit closer to each other once they have finished their food, close but not yet touching. Kiara stares at her friend, who has cake crumbs at the corner of her lips. She has a splash of freckles across her nose. She would be content to stare at her all day.

  “What did you do this morning?” Lilje asks. She does not seem to notice her gawking.

  “Oh.” She starts. “Well, er, I was just working in the factory. How about you? Have you been up to anything productive?”

  She huffs, “now there’s another word I hate. It is used all the time, thrown around meaninglessly even though nobody really knows its true definition. Tell me, Kiara, if one person works all morning and another plays, what makes the worker more productive than the player?”

  “Er…” This is the sort of thing taught in a university to philosophy scholars, surely not something asked to a common woman. “The worker earns an income. The player earns nothing.”

  “Of course the player earns something! They would gain leisure and joy from their activities. Is that not as valuable as money?”

  “Joy does not pay the rent.”

  Lilje groans audibly, dramatically swooning on Kiara’s shoulder. “Always about money with you. If I were to look into your heart, would I see your hopes and dreams, or just a paycheck?”

  The heat of her skin is almost distracting, and she has to pinch herself as a reminder to answer. “If being productive is not about earning something, then I think it is about working towards a goal.”

  “And what goal would slaving away in a factory achieve? You save your pay for rent and for food, but there is nothing else waiting for you. You sell your freedom to a rich man. That’s it.” She tilts her head so that her chin is resting on her shoulder, and grins. “To play, however, is to reach the goal of making yourself happy. Is that not more productive?”

  Weighed down by Lilje and her warmth, she cannot think of a way to answer. 

  “I think the answer is in the word itself,” she says slowly, “pro-duc-tive. There is ‘produce’ inside of it. To produce is to be productive, regardless of target or gain.”

  Her tongue finally unties itself, and Kiara sputters, “do they teach you these clever things under the sea?”

  “No, but us sea-dwellers see the difference between land and ocean all too clearly.” She snuggles into her side, kicking her legs. “Under the surface, nobody would look at an idler and tut, ‘why aren’t you doing something more productive?’. Nobody razes another’s dream by jeering, ‘that is impractical.’. It seems to be something only land-dwellers do.”

  “Interesting.”

  “That is one way to describe it. Really, you humans are so clever but so stupid at the same time. It amazes me.”

  “Tch.” Kiara flicks her nose indignantly. “If I did not have to go back to work right now, I would argue with that.”

  With an unladylike snort of protest, Lilje rises from her shoulder and instead collapses down on her lap as a noblewoman might do on a fainting couch. “Working hours are a sham.”

  Her heart is pounding so loudly it might well burst through her chest. As though by instinct, her hands go to play with Lilje’s hair. She must go, she simply must, but the idiotic part of her wants to stay on the rock and look at the sea and let Lilje lie on her and laugh and joke until one of them falls asleep, then they can wake up the next morning and perhaps have breakfast together. But most of her colleagues are already heading back to the factory, and she cannot be late. Kiara runs her fingers through her hair, careful not to pull too hard, and sighs, “I will be in trouble if I stay.”

  She pouts. “Then promise to come by after work.”

  “Fine, fine, I promise.” She eases Lilje off her and stands up. “I will see you this evening.”

…

  To both her delight and horror, Lilje is waiting for her right outside the factory, dressed properly but still devoid of shoes or stockings. A few passing pedestrians throw her a look that is equally annoyed and disgusted, and Kiara does not realise why until she sees the bloody footprints on the floor.

  “You went to sea again, didn’t you?” She asks as she once again leads her towards the beach. “Why do you shift so often if it hurts?”

  “I love both sea and land; I simply cannot stay in just one.” Lilje practically sits in her lap, white skirts sinking around her like sea-foam. “I’m used to the pain anyways.”

  “Would it not be better to avoid the pain entirely? Better have harmless stability than painful change.”

  “Always — ”

  “Always about harmlessness with you humans?” Kiara finishes drily. “Or something along those lines, at least.”

  She lets out a huff of laughter and tosses her head back to rest beneath her chin. “You know me too well. But I digress. If the world refused to change for fear of pain, nobody would get anything done. Isn’t it worth it to struggle now and rejoice later?”

  “I am starting to think all fish are philosophers,” she mutters.

  As though she didn’t hear her, Lilje continues, “you see me change form nearly every day. Even before that, I changed my home, my name and my very being. All those transformations hurt me on some degree, but now I am happier than ever.” She turns her leg and runs a finger over her new wound. “I am happy now, even if the price I pay for happiness is my blood.”

  Pinned down by the weight of both her body and her words, Kiara scrambles for a response. But she cannot find one, so she settles for burying her nose in Lilje’s hair. She smells of salt. 

  The sun is setting. It shows its brilliant, fading face in both the rippling sea and Lilje’s eyes, blue and bluer, before it will drown in the depths and disappear for the night. Kiara gets to work trying to untangle the knots in her hair. “You know,” she finally says, “I want to know more about sea-dwellers. You know humans so well, yet I know almost nothing about your folk.”

  Lilje lets out a puff of air and nestles into her chest. “‘Sea-dweller’ is an umbrella term,” she starts. “It refers to those like me, with fishtails and human torsos, but there are sea-dwellers with the lower half of a crab or an octopus. Nereids are also sea-dwellers.”

  “What are nereids?”

  “Maidens born of silt and sea-foam. They have legs, so they don’t look as strange as us, but if they try to leave the ocean and breathe air they will dissolve into the sand they are made of.”

  Kiara picks at a particularly annoying clump. “That is rather tragic.”

  “Well, they enjoy the ocean. Most nereids have no need nor desire to leave.” She closes her eyes. “Careful now, don’t tug.”

  “Sorry.”

  She kicks at the advancing tide, and a few droplets soak Kiara’s stockings. “I know that many humans ask about sirens. They do not exist.”

  “Really?” She asks. “But I hear stories of ships that sailed into rocks or into a foe’s ambush because of sirens that sang and told them to do so.”

  “There is no such thing as the siren species. That is just a term we use for sea-dwellers who like to sing to humans, whether or not they mean ill.” Lilje hands her a pair of blue ribbons, content to laze around and have her hair styled. “Before they knew which name to refer to me by, my friends called me ‘Siren’.”

  “It suits you.” Kiara weaves the ribbons into her bun, and adds, “but I think ‘Lilje’ does too.”

  She giggles, tilting her head back so that she’s looking right into her eyes. “I made sure to choose a name that fit me. It is a wonderful thing to have your life in your own hands.”

  “To be free, you mean.” She prods Lilje on the forehead. “You have the strangest habit of refusing to use a simple word and using a ten-word term of the same meaning instead.”

  “It is prettier that way.”

  “But it is not prac — ”

  “Don’t say it.”

  “Practical?”

  Lilje makes a face. “You’re the worst.”

  She laughs. “I’m sure I am.”

  The tide is rising steadily, white-capped waves beginning to surround the rock. It will be submerged soon. The sky is darkening.

  The water ascends halfway up the rock before Lilje finally says reluctantly, “you should go.”

  “Yes,” Kiara agrees, “I should.”

  They awkwardly shimmy off the rock and into the shallow water, soaking the hems of their gowns. Kiara trudges towards the streets, weighed down by her wet dress. She asks, “where will you sleep?”

  “In my boat. It is more comfortable than you think.” She gestures at it, floating miraculously in place a few paces away. “I would sail away forever if I could, but that would mean leaving this city — and you, of course — behind and that would be quite awful. Now I should stop rambling and let you go.”

  “I will see you tomorrow.” The fading sunlight is painting Lilje’s fair face gold. “Goodnight, Lilje.”

  “Goodnight.”

  She forces herself to turn away and walk home.

…

  Kiara cannot sleep.

  It cannot be the sand tracing her floors that is keeping her awake, nor the sound of the sea outside. Not any more. Her muscles ache and her eyes droop, but the soft embrace of sleep does not come to her just yet. She rolls over, burrowing under her blanket. Maybe she has gotten used to lounging around with Lilje squashing her, and now she cannot rest alone.

  Oh, Lilje; that pretty sea-dweller with her casual philosophies, bearing everyday pain that she exchanges for joy and belonging. Her soft, deep voice echoes in her head. Kiara curls in on herself and exhales sharply. The two of them have known each other for barely a fortnight, yet their lives have already become hopelessly entwined. 

  How would life be if they lived together? They could live on a boat so Lilje would not have to shift so often and be two lady sailors traversing the seas to sell fish and pearls. They could stop at every other harbour they pass, to buy new clothes and stock up on food. Or maybe she could grow crops on the boat like she’s always wanted to, so they would not have to survive on things in cans. They could anchor the boat in the middle of the ocean, and Lilje could go spend time with her fellow sea-dwellers, then they could watch the sunset together.

  Fantasies, all of them. Kiara lets herself indulge in them, smiling to herself as drowsiness finally takes over.

  The next morning, she hesitates in front of the factory. Why must she work for half the day, until she is so exhausted she can hardly think? Why must she give her time to a job she hates? Before she can stop herself, Kiara turns away from the factory and runs for the carpenter’s store.

  She spends nearly all the money she has saved, buying so many planks of wood and tools that she can hardly carry them. People throw her strange looks as she stumbles out of the store, half-buried under all her shopping. Arms trembling, she takes the supplies to the beach, tripping over her feet to reach Lilje’s rock.

  Sure enough, she is there. She jumps off her perch and helps Kiara set her load onto the sand, inquiring, “what’s all this?”

  “Supplies,” is all she can say.

  “Yes, I can see that, but for what?”

  “Your boat.” She doubles over, panting. “We are going to use all these supplies to make your boat bigger, and give it sails and anchors and all that, so it can sail far away.”

  Lilje crosses her arms. “I told you, I have no intention to leave this city alone.”

  “Then let us leave together!” She bursts out. “We’ll renovate your boat and travel the seas together, and I am suggesting this is because I like you very much and even though we haven’t known each other very long I think being stuck on a boat with you for a long time would be far better than working in the factory for another day, and now I realise you might not like me back and will call me an idiot for saying all this.”

  For a moment, the only sound that permeates the awkward silence is that of the waves, eternally soothing. Then Lilje steps closer to her and takes her hand. She laces their fingers together, smiling. “I like you just about as much as you like me, which I hope is a lot. And to sail away from here with you would be a dream come true.” She kicks one of the planks and adds, “one thing, though — do you even know how to build a boat?”

  “...no.”

  “So you’re telling me that you bought all this with no idea how to work with them?”

  “Yes.”

  “Well,” Lilje says teasingly, “that is not practical at all.”

  She laughs. “Why, thank you.”

  “See, you are learning.” She rummages through the tools and emerges with a hammer as well as a box of nails. “We ought to start building. We can learn how along the way.”

…

  It took them one year to finish the boat. Once the year was up, and their little vessel was ready for sailing, Kiara walked into the factory for the last time and announced that she was to leave. Precisely the day after, she packed all that she needed from her house, sold it and sailed away with Lilje. It was difficult, as they didn’t build the boat on a harbour, but they managed. The sight of the city, growing smaller and smaller as she left it forever, is one that she will never forget.

  They have been at sea for five months now, on their little dogger-boat that Lilje decided to name Seafarer. It is, perhaps, the most cliché name one can give a boat, but she insisted. The cabin is small, and sometimes on peaceful days they sleep on deck to get fresh air. The sails rip and the mast snaps during storms, and it can smell unbearably of fish on hot days, but it is paradise nonetheless. 

  Kiara crosses the deck of the Seafarer now to check on the pool of oysters they raise. Lilje found a way to slip a bead inside of them to have them create pearls, so that she does not have to go through the danger of diving for them. Once the pearls, round and beautiful, are collected, they turn them into jewellery and sell them wherever they have docked. She changes the water in the pool, plucks a few dead leaves from their tiny farm and pecks Lilje on the cheek. She is seated next to the oyster pool, busy setting a pearl into a brooch.

  While rushing back to their cabin to count their day’s wages, she passes the contraption Lilje built, made to turn seawater into freshwater. Kiara lifts up the waxed paper on top and removes the bowl of freshwater, adding it to their large bucket. She splashes some of it onto her face.

  Once the wages are counted and the brooch complete, the two of them sprawl on their bed to sketch new designs. Lilje wiggles her pencil, swinging her legs up and down as she draws. Despite having never learnt how, she is talented at creating art.

  Kiara glances at her kicking legs. The number of wounds on her calves does not grow too quickly these days, with her content to swim as a human instead of a sea-dweller. Now, Lilje mostly uses whatever magic she has to make the oysters produce pearls in weeks instead of years. 

  “Look, we can use four of those smaller ones for a snuffbox, and the big ones for bracelets.” She touches the pearl hanging from her neck and resting at the bob of her throat, matching Kiara’s necklace. “Maybe we can use some for headdresses. I hear those are rather popular here.”

  “Put some on a hatpin,” Kiara muses. “That would look quite stylish.”

  “Oh! That’s clever.” Lilje starts to roughly sketch a pearl hatpin. “By the way, did you remember to water the tomatoes?”

  “Of course. I watered the cabbages, too.” The patch of vegetables was the most difficult addition to their boat. It has been destroyed twice during storms, but they managed to fix it both times. “How much longer ‘til this batch of oysters are ready?”

  Lilje hits the bed while thinking. “I reckon one more week or so. We will have fresh pearls just in time for our next port.”

  The boat bobs up and down slightly, swaying them like a cradle would a baby. Outside, the sun is beginning to set. Lilje finishes her drawing of the hatpin and stands up to leave the cabin. 

  The sea is painted pink and orange, glittering here and there from the fading sunlight. Waves lap softly against the hull of the Seafarer. Kiara holds her hand as they walk, shoes clicking softly against the deck. They look out at the sea, at boats that are sailing away to somewhere else. Tomorrow, they will lift the anchor out of the water and join those boats, leaving this city for another whose name they do not know and whose language they do not speak. Not knowing where they will go next is half the fun.

  “What are we having for dinner today?” Lilje mumbles.

  “Those strange little pies we bought from the market today. And if that is not enough, we still have those canned fish things that smell like death.” She wrinkles her nose at the thought of them.

  “They’re good, they really are.”

  “Whatever floats your boat, dear.” 

  Lilje lets out a puff of laughter and prods her side. The sun is setting further. 

  As the sun sinks beneath the horizon, she begins to sing. Kiara pulls her closer, letting the sweet song mingle with the sounds of the sea and envelope her with bliss. 

  The waves roll. Birds call. She stares right into the waves, where the last sunrays glimmer, and does not look away.

[ncityislove]

Filth

Pairing: Jungkook x reader ft. Jimin (barely tho) 

College AU

Genre: smut smut smut smut 

Warning: sexual content, swearing

Word count: 4,184 .

➳Pairing: Jungkook x Reader

➳Genre: Smut

➳Warnings: sexual content, cheating, swearing, slight bdsm

➳Word Count: 4K

Filth. Everything about your behavior disgusted you but there was no stopping you once you’ve gone too far. You had been doing so well in the beginning but something changed inside you. Something inside you morphed until you were a person so unrecognizable that when you looked in the mirror it nearly startled you. 

And if you thought your actions were bad, you haven’t accounted for your thoughts. Those were sinful. Too awful to be spoken out loud. Not even whispered to your closest friends on a late drunken night, draped over the pale blue cushions of your cheap couch. 

It was a Friday night. The full moon hung high in the sky creating eerie shadows across your skin. The breeze from your open window kissed your face, tossing loose strands of hair here and there as you paced back and forth. Your stomach was in knots and your hands had a mind of their own as the moved involuntarily around each other. 

Unfortunately, this was normal for you. Your mind reeled endlessly and you tried to reason with yourself for the hundredth time that day. Your roommate wandered into the room, humming a sweet tune to herself. Her hair was in her usual sporty ponytail which bounced when she walked. 

“You should go with me for once y/n,” she said folding her arms against her chest. 

You didn’t dare look her in the eye. “You know I can’t.” 

She frowned. 

“I have a huge test tomorrow, okay?” You lied. 

Your roommate rolled her eyes and shuffled to the door clearly irritated. “Whatever, I’ll be home late,” and with that, she was out the door. 

You were left alone with your thoughts once more. You started pacing again, unsure of what to do. You picked up your phone then threw it down only to pick it again. You opened your messages to the most recent one.

Kookie[10:37]: Be ready tonight

You hesitated over the keyboard and eventually gave up at your false attempt to back out. You were only fooling yourself, trying to pretend to be a good person. Your phone buzzed.

Kookie[10:38]: It’s payback time ;)

Your heart skipped a beat after your eyes scanned the screen. That’s it. You were going to hell. The memories from last Friday flooded your brain.

You were laying in your bed dressed in nothing but the sexy red bralette and matching lace panties you had picked out the night before. You waited and waited for the arrival of a special someone but he never came. Just when you were about to give up and find your much-needed attention elsewhere, your phone rang. Seeing who it was, you immediately answered.

“Hey, it’s me,” said the smooth voice on the other line.

“Jungkook, where the hell are you? I’m getting bored.”

The boy chuckled. Wherever he was it was noisy and the sound of an indecipherable rap song could be heard faintly in the background.

“I’m sorry to cancel like this but-”

“You’re canceling on me?” You interrupted.

“Yeah look, I promised I’d go to the party today to be with Lindsay and I tried to get out of it but she keeps bitching about it.”

Your shoulders tensed at the mention of your roommate’s name and the familiar wave of guilt made its way to your stomach. You two generally avoided the subject of his girlfriend but at times like this, it was unavoidable, which made it very uncomfortable for you.

Jungkook cleared his throat. “Shit, she’s coming back. I’ll make it up to you next weekend, bye,” he said rushing off the phone.

You sighed in resign lying on your back, trying to remember how you even got to where you were. Just two months ago, you spent your evenings curled up with a book or scrolling aimlessly through Tumblr and now…well let’s just say it’s been a while since you were able to concentrate on a book. 

You remembered your roommate, Lindsay, introducing you to the infamous Jungkook, as her new boyfriend. His beautifully sharp yet soft features attracted you and his gentle voice enticed you all at once but you kept your distance. You weren’t that kind of girl. At least that’s what you told yourself. Every Friday the football team threw a party and for some reason, everyone always went. Why no one got bored of the same guys drunkenly grinding on the sleazy freshman girls or the same guy throwing up in the front yard every week, you didn’t know or care. But one day Lindsay dragged you along with her and her very hot boyfriend. You lasted longer than you thought you would but after an hour of the same guy trying to convince you to go up to his room, you decided you’d had enough. You searched for Lindsay everywhere but she was nowhere to be found. You were contemplating on calling a cab when just like fate, Jungkook bumped into your side roughly.

“Oh!” you exclaimed. 

“Are you okay? I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking.” When your eyes met his, your stomach lurched and you quickly averted his gaze. 

“I’m fine, it’s fine,” you said brushing the invisible dirt off your shirt. 

“Have you seen Lindsay? I’m going back to the apartment and I need to know she’s alive before I head out,”

Jungkook shook his head. “I think she left with her cheerleader friends or something.”

You tried to conceal your shock. She ditched you. She left without even telling you and she was you RIDE for god’s sake.

You but your lip, thinking hard about how to go about this. Anger bubbled up inside and you were ready to just go home, rid yourself of the dress too short for your liking and finish the last chapter of your book.

“Alright,” you said after a moment. “Thanks for telling me,” you said walking off.

“You red a ride home?” He called after you.

You turned around a little shocked at his offer.

“No, I’m fine walking,” you said continuing down the brick path. The last thing you wanted was to be in a confined space with your roommate’s drool-worthy, hot boyfriend. But life doesn’t always go the way you want it to. Jungkook grabbed your wrist and pulled you in the direction of his car.

“Nonsense, you live too far to walk all the way to your house.”

You blinked, unaware of what was in store for you. Jungkook, a complete stranger at the time, had hauled you into his car and fastened you in. You wanted to protest, to reject his offer for Lindsay’s sake but you didn’t. His presence gave you a giddy feeling and the thought of parting ways so soon saddened you. This was not good. You barely knew the guy not to mention he was off the market. 

You sat stiffly in the passenger's seat of the tidy car while Jungkook twisted his keys in the ignition. The car smelled like cherries and something else..fabric softener? You tried to shake your off thoughts away and concentrate on the road in front of you but your attempts were all in vain. 

Every time the orange beam from the street lights above reached inside the car, it gave Jungkook’s dark hair a tangerine glow. You fought the urge to run your fingers through his hair and faced forward, stealing a peek every few minutes. 

When the large apartment complex lined with too many rose bushes came into view, your heart sank. Then your brain sent a pang of guilt for being so upset about your departure. Then when Jungkook insisted on walking you to the door, not taking no for answer, you gave in a little too easily. At the door, you timidly mumbled your gratitude and unlocked the door. It wasn’t until you had stepped inside and turned to close the door behind you that you realized Jungkook hadn’t left. 

“Yes?” You asked slowly.

“Do you mind if I come in? I wanna wait for Lindsay,” he said flashing a bunny smile.

You hesitated. Couldn’t he just go back to the party and meet up with her there? You definitely didn’t want to have him in the house with you alone but you felt yourself melt at his smile and the close proximity wasn’t helping either.

You opened the door a little wider and the charming boy entered your small apartment. He settled into the couch next to you and it almost seemed as if every time you glimpsed up from your phone, he was closer than he was before. But that’s because he was. You pretended not to notice as Jungkook finally closed the last few inches of space between you and your knees were touching. When you looked up again his eyes were on you and his lips were only centimeters away from the top of your head. His breath tickled your face and your breath hitched in your throat.

‘He’s your roommate's boyfriend. This isn’t right.’ You thought to yourself. But somehow instead of scooting away, you found yourself leaning in for a kiss, which then led to a full on make out. Eventually, you ended the night with gut-wrenching orgasms, screaming and pleading for more. You lost all control and had no one to blame except for yourself. 

You shut your eyes tightly as the faded memories of your shameful adventures came to mind. Before you even realized it, two months had come and gone and every Friday night, while your roomie was out getting way too drunk with her friends, you and her boyfriend were exploring each other’s bodies in ways that would get you arrested if you were in public.

Your veins flooded with desire at the thought of Jungkook secretly fucking you hard in public. Yep. You were definitely going to hell. Or prison, whichever comes first. You were turned on beyond belief and you knew no one can give you that incredibly addictive high that Jungkook gave you when he was in between your legs; no, not even yourself. You awaited Jungkook’s arrival, eager for what he had planned for your behavior from the previous week.

 Sexually frustrated and out of sorts, something bad came to mind. You ran out of your bedroom in a hurry and straight into Lindsay’s. You dug through her closet until you found what you were looking for and dashed to the small box you called a bathroom. The old you would never do this but this wasn’t the old you. This was the new you. The you that was daring and bold. You were alive and there was no going back. Jungkook turned you into a needy, horny slut that was addicted to his body and the both of you knew it well. When you begged for him to come over and fuck you to oblivion, he would only send you an arrogant smirk and tease you. 

You pulled the lavender skin tight crop top over your head then the high waisted denim jeans that accentuated your curves up your legs. You tasseled your hair messily before spraying Jungkook’s favorite perfume and speeding down the street to the party. You recalled the stares you got from the drunken idiots, playing childish rounds of beer pong and truth or dare but most of all, you remember the cold hard glare you reviewed from Jungkook when you caught his eye. He scanned your body up and down, biting his lower lip harshly looking furious and turned on simultaneously. He couldn’t just leave Lindsay’s side to join yours of course, but you made sure he regretted not bailing out on the party for you. You wanted to make him remember why he skipped out on the parties in the first place which was exactly what you did. You smirked at the memory of him pulling you aside when he thought no one was looking only to get a whiff of the fragrance he loved oh so much. His member twitched in his pants, making him curse under his breath. 

You shifted on the couch anxiously, waiting to receive your punishment. You knew the price of teasing Jungkook and you were more than willing to pay it. Jungkook liked to be the one in control, always showing off his dominance at every opportunity but last week had been a slap to the face for him. You had him in the palm of his hands and he did not like that one bit. Tonight was the night he’d prove his dominance once and for all.

As if on cue, there was a loud rapping at the door. You tried to contain your excitement as you scurried to the door. You opened the door and a tall brown-eyed boy bored his eyes into your soul, hungrily. A smile crept on his face when you stood aside to let him in. 

Jungkook silently stepped inside as you looked him up and down taking in his attire. He wore a baggy white tee shirt that outlined his shoulder blades (which turned you on for some reason) and a pair of grey sweats. He walked confidently to your room, not needing directions, as he knew the way fairly well, and you trailed not too far behind. 

As soon as you walked through the door, you were swooped into the arms of an angry looking Jungkook and flung onto the bed. The bed cried beneath you on the sudden impact. 

“Y/n…” he began, cocking his head to the side. 

“You shouldn’t have gone to that party last week and you shouldn’t have worn that god damn dress,” he said edging closer where you lied on the bed. 

“Who the fuck gave you permission to look so sexy like that,” he purred. “Because I know it wasn’t me,” he said, hovering over you now. 

Anticipation built up inside of you as you stared into his dark orbs, aching for his touch. You thought of how bad it was that you wanted him so shamelessly but pushed the thoughts to the back of your brain, locking them away only for them to be resurfaced after it was over.

“Did I give you permission to that? Huh?” He said grabbing your face, sharply. You shook your head and he sat up slowly as if he was in disbelief. 

“You’re damn right I didn’t. That’s why I got a surprise for you,” he said eying your sinuous figure. 

“Clothes off. Now,” he demanded, his voice like gravel. You quickly obliged, removing your clothing as fast as possible.��

Jungkook took a grey object out of his pocket and waved it in the air for you to see. You gawked in shock at the realization of what it was.  

“Is that…duct tape?” You questioned. 

   Jungkook wordlessly yanked you up so that you were sitting erect and held your arms together above your head. 

“I would’ve gotten a better kind of bondage but then I thought 'why should I? Naughty girls like you don’t deserve the luxury,” he said ripping a strip of tape off with his teeth. 

He wrapped a thick layer tape around your wrists and ankles before climbing into the bed with you. Unease settled into the pit of your stomach opposed to the excitement you felt earlier but you were curious so you didn’t protest.

Jungkook laid you against the headboard so that your back was supported against the pillows. 

“What are you gonna do to me?” you asked in a quiet voice. 

He chuckled at your question. “Nothing.”

You furrowed your brows in confusion only to have your question answered by Jungkook sliding his sweatpants down to his thighs and palming himself through his boxers. You watched in complete awe as he continued to rub himself, moaning from his own touch. 

“Jungkook..” you whined. 

Jungkook rid himself his boxers, unsheathing his hard on and you moaned at the glorious sight.

“You see this? This is what I had to deal with because of you,” he growled. 

Jungkook began pumping his member, making you cry out in desperation, unable to move. Jungkook hissed as his movements became quicker, ignoring you completely and you bit your bottom lip, feeling the arousal pool between your legs. You squeezed your thighs together to try to get some relief. 

“Kookie, please,“ you whimpered. 

Jungkook paused to look at you. A mischievous snicker erupted from his lips, making you uneasy. 

"I’m sorry, baby. Am I not giving you enough attention?” he asked. 

You remained quiet unsure what the right answer was. 

Jungkook crawled over to you and carefully sat you up so that you were sitting on your feet. You sat still, not daring to move without his instruction. Jungkook cupped your face in his hands and kissed you fervently. You kissed him back, enjoying the short moment before he pulled away. Jungkook tucked your hair behind your ear before ghosting his lips across your neck. 

“Suck my cock,” he purred. 

His breath tickled your ear, spreading goosebumps across your flesh. You bent over so that your elbows and knees were supporting your weight and licked the precum dripping down his tip before completely engulfing it into your mouth.

Jungkook cursed lowly, entangling his fingers through your hair. You flicked your tongue across his slit looking up at him and he bit his lip watching you. You took in his entire length hollowing your cheeks and Jungkook rewarded you with several grunts and moans. His eyes shut tightly as he pulled your hair taut, whispering dirty things under his breath. Your eyes watered as his dick went in and out of your throat but you didn’t even think about stopping; his husky grunts making you wetter and wetter by the second. 

“Oh fuck yeah,” Jungkook groaned, his voice laced with ecstasy. 

You bobbed your head up and down, feeling his stiff dick twitch in your mouth. You released his member out of your mouth and swirled your tongue around his shaft, swallowing around him. His stomach tightened and he knew he was close. You took him back into your mouth sucking his tip down to the base causing him to squirm. His grip on hair became tighter and tighter until he reached his climax, lilting out your name. You licked the juices spilling down his cock as he tried to recollect himself. 

Once Jungkook came down from his high, he pushed you flat on your back without warning. You let out an “oof!” in surprise. Jungkook lifted your legs so that your toes faced the ceiling and trailed a finger down your thighs. Your breath hitched in your throat as he got closer and closer to your pulsating heat.

“Look at how wet you are,” he said still slightly panting from his orgasm earlier. 

Jungkook gently rubbed your clit and you whimpered in pleasure. He chuckled at your reaction and pulled his hand away making you frown. You couldn’t see what he was doing because your legs blocked your vision. 

Soon something was back on your clit but it wasn’t the familiar warmth of Jungkook’s fingers. The object was cold to the touch with a smooth surface. Before you could say a word, the object jolted to life sending vibrations through clit into the very pit of your soul. 

“Oh my god,” you keened. 

You had never used a vibrator before and now you couldn’t figure why you hadn’t tried it sooner. You only wished you could see Jungkook but the tape around your ankles denied you of any resistance. 

“Kookie, the tape...I wanna see you,” you groaned. 

“You know I can’t do that, baby,” huffed kookie from behind your legs. 

You heard a switch click and the vibrations were suddenly stronger, faster than before. You squealed, kicking your feet and Jungkook had to grab your legs with his free hand to keep you still. You moaned loudly when he sang the vibrating toy in your entrance. It gave you an odd jittery sensation at first but soon sent rippling shock waves down through you. 

   All of sudden Jungkook stopped and you felt his hair against your thigh as he whipped his head toward the door. 

“Jungko--”

“Shh!” He interrupted. “Did you hear that?”

A door closed then opened again in the distance. 

“Y/n!!” Your roommate exclaimed. 

“Shit,” Jungkook cursed, sprinting to lock the door. 

“Are you sleeping?!” she slurred. 

She was definitely drunk. 

“Wake up bitch!” She screamed bamming on the door. 

You craned your neck to see Jungkook staring at the door looking like a deer in headlights. 

“Are you even in there?” She questioned, half talking to herself. You heard her hum then pad down the hall to her the bathroom which was right next to your room. The shower started up and there was a loud thud followed by a loud yelp which was more of an angry curse then silence. After a few moments, Jungkook looked at you with an amused smile on his face. 

You frowned, knowing exactly what he was thinking. “No.” You said quickly. 

Jungkook scrunched his nose. “No?” He repeated. “You don’t tell me what I can and can’t do.”

You let your legs collapse on the bed. “When it comes to my body, I do.”

Jungkook licked his lips.  "Is that a challenge?“ he said returning back to your legs. 

"No, it’s--Jungkook stop she’ll hear us!” You said whisper-shouted. 

“Then she’ll know that nobody can make you cum as hard as I do,” he said removing the tape from your ankles. 

   The smirking, brown-eyed boy grabbed your thighs and roughly pulled you closer to him. Jungkook spread your lips apart with two fingers and licked a stripe up your pussy making you shudder. He continued to lick you, applying just the right amount of pressure with his tongue. 

“Kookie,” you mewled. “S-stop..you…I can’t do this,” you whined. 

Jungkook ignored your pleas and flicked his tongue at your entrance before delving in completely. You cried out and Jungkook slapped the inside of your thigh hard. You hissed as the stinging flesh turned pink.

“Keep it down,” he said before reattaching his lips to your core. You threw your head back biting back a moan. You clasped your still-tied hands together as he lapped his tongue up your slit, placing little kissing here and there. He squeezed your quivering legs in warning when you accidentally let a groan slip out and you bit down harder on your lip, your eyes rolling back. 

“Stop, Jungkook, I’m gonna cum,” you pleaded.  

Jungkook ignored you again delved two fingers into your entrance and pumped them quickly in and out. 

“Jungkook!” You yelped. 

Jungkook spun you over on your stomach and smacked your ass, which was sure to leave a bruise. You groaned in pain. 

“Didn’t I tell you to keep it down?” he said kissing the tingling skin. His lips made his way back to your clit and his fingers returned to your hole, once again making you lose your shit. The fear of Lindsay hearing you both thrilled you and scared you at the same time, disgusting you. You pushed back your guilt and let the feeling of Jungkook’s fingers pleasure you. 

   Jungkook shook his head vigorously between your legs and you shoved your face in between the crook of your elbow to muffle your cries. You watched Jungkook with hooded lids as his fingers found your g-spot resulting in the familiar feeling of the knot in your stomach to tighten. You let out little whimpers, panting and heaving as you neared your high. Jungkook let a hand roam up to your chest massaging and squeezing your right boob, pinching your nipple. 

   Jungkook groaned into your pussy and time slowed down for a moment. The world faded to white as you rode out your high, speaking in tongues and grabbing at anything in your reach. 

   Jungkook licked up your mess and hummed in delight. At that moment you heard the shower cut off and Jungkook snickered a little too loudly. You swatted at him with your foot.

“Shut up!” You whispered. 

“Sorry,” he said still smiling before kissing your stomach. “But you have to admit I punished you good.”

You scoffed. 

“Oh please, you can barely move and I didn’t even fuck you this time,” he teased. 

You smiled and then frowned immediately afterwards. The guilty thoughts had returned just as you knew it would, only to be magnified when Lindsay came out of the bathroom singing Britney Spears absentmindedly. 

As if reading your mind Jungkook crawled into your bed and hugged your naked body. 

“Don’t worry about her y/n.”

“Yeah,” you said, knowing he would say anything to keep whatever it was that you were going.

Jungkook wrapped the cover around the both of you and put his chin on your shoulder. He never came off as the type cuddled with after sex but he never failed to snuggle up with you after you wore each other out from your Friday night activities, and each and every time he did; you couldn’t help but wonder if he held Lindsay the same way.