#Midnight Jacket AU

[ask-midnight-jacket]

Everyone else deserves cuddles too!

They get a good cuddle pile going on when they get back to the hideout. Needless to say, everyone is exhausted

[loopspoop]

Y’know…I don’t think Jigen only ever would have one gun on him. I feel like he would have at least 15 hidden on him at any point in time

[1800titz]

ᴋɪɴᴋᴛᴏʙᴇʀ — ʟᴇᴀᴛʜᴇʀ/ᴍᴀꜱᴋ ᴋɪɴᴋ

KISS ME | Stalker!Harry x Reader, purge au

You left him with a taste of you lingering between his teeth, after the first time. With his appetite, it’s only fair he comes back for seconds.

★18+

I don't know what possesses me to write a psycho sicko every time the pumpkins start rolling out onto the doorsteps (see Hitchhikerry) but there is simply something in the air, I fear. This is ᴋɪꜱꜱ ᴍᴇ for the KINKTOBER projects.

PLEASE read the warnings, and please put yourself and your comfort first and foremost. Consume only what you’re comfortable consuming. This one is not intended to be read as a love story, and has sensitive topics, dark themes, and *dubious consent.

If you enjoy this, consider checking out my patreon masterlist, constantly being updated, with loads of exclusive content. If you would like to see the other KINKTOBER projects and join the taglist for upcoming projects, do so here.

CONTENT/WARNINGS: dubcon. stalking. sexual assault. coping with sexual assault. under negotiated kink. unsafe sex (no use of condom, no negotiation prior). manipulation. mask kink. leather kink. daddy kink. breeding kink. p-in-v. oral (m to f). general manhandling.

WC: 12.3K

As always, Harry is just a faceclaim.

Spring is bleeding out onto the tarmac. 

Gold and liserian and bluebonnet. Midnight and cherry-red massacre, seeping into the gutter grate with the sky glowing like a peachring. 

Spring is bleeding out onto the tarmac. It’s unstilted, and smells like rust, and kerosene, and Summer feels a hundred miles away. A thousand, like sunrise on the twenty-second, milliseconds seeping like sand through a clogged hourglass. Like someone wedged their sticky fingers in through the top and stuck a piece of gum to the narrowed opening.

The miasma, even days later, when waste management hordes the lily-white cadavers into semi’s and street sweepers come out to pressure wash the asphalt, burns your nose like you’re huffing acid. 

And it feels like God cupping his hands around the continent and squeezing every ugly, brutish thing out. You wonder if the blood seeping between the asphalt slates sticks to the grooves of his palms. His fingerprints, casting massacre into the pitch sky, smudging asterisms together. You’re supposed to feel the holy spirit. 

(Feel it— don’t you feel it?) 

At the back of your tongue, in every empty room, like a nebulous haze of goodwill and unconditional love. When you were a kid, you wondered why feeling God didn’t make your skin itchy. It would, right? If the body of Christ stalled at your nape, looming over your shoulder. You were raised catholic, so it still lingers and sticks to the nook of your periphery like an oilslick, no matter how hard you knuckle at your eyes. 

You wonder if it’s that same holy spirit they’re tasting in the heme when they cough, supine on the sidewalk. If it’s God’s liquid love, righteous across every capillary, with the swing of a sword. A forefinger on a trigger. 

That’s what they say, anyways. Last Tuesday the blonde lady on Fox news said it was always God in our veins on the night of the holy purge— feel God (transubstantiation like a distant, muffled folklore ringing in your ears) cleanse your soul. Fox news always starts to lean on epistemic justification in Spring, and you wonder if people believe God is scrubbing them from the inside with a bathbrush. You wonder if they really even believe in God, anyways, when it’s all just a mangled apparatus for population control. 

(But God wants them to kill the poor people, right?)

Last spring, a man broke into your apartment. 

Charcoal bulk. Tapered obsidian. Wide shoulders, wide arms, wide, herculean thighs, in all black. Slate denim. Battered leather jacket. Those massive hands, coated in pure-nightfall leather. You remember them well, because you thought they resembled the thick, sheepskin gloves your grandfather would wear out in the snow—

Nothing besides black on him, besides the cruel arsenic white of a plastic doll mask stretched over his balaclava. Like those ugly, inexpressive porcelain things you’d find stacked up in antique stores. Your gaze lingered on the delirious scripture across the forehead. Kiss me.

He slunk in while you were in the bathroom. Cracked in your front door. You discovered a crater in the shape of his kneecap, days later, when you replaced the broken locks.

You found him on your couch like a stygian king, thighs split, like he belonged in your tiny living room in all his ominous, leathery heft, and for a second, you just stalled at the threshold with your heart at the base of your throat. Eyes wide. In stagnant impasse with this absurdly nonchalant intruder. Between a beleaguered rock and a hard place. He’d cocked his head at you. Dead silent, and your hindbrain prickled with parity of a slasher film clip— the kind you’d peep over your blanket, folded up to your nose with shaking hands, after bedtime. You weren’t allowed to watch the movie, at the time. But you always remembered that scene where the indifference rolled off the killer in lapping, tidal waves before he’d strike and carve a character open. 

Something scratched at your hindbrain. Some hysterical thread, clinging to the falsehood that this was a rancid illusion. A nightmare, limned in butter-yellow off the lamp on the side table. His dirty boots kicked up on your coffee table. Inkblots in the plastic cut-outs of the eye sockets, glimmering like hungry nightfall. Because it was the purge, sure, but it wasn’t you. 

Never you. It couldn’t happen to you.

Hindsight humbles the untouchable, crooked complex you wore on your shoulders. Your head, with your chin held high, behind the glowing string-lights tucked across your blinds and the bleeding street under your balcony.

(You remember you thought God prickled at your nape that night. May God be with you— that’s what they say.)

(God was cold, and it made your skin itch. Maybe he would have been warm, and kind, and you would’ve felt the goodwill and unconditional love if you didn’t ask so many stupid questions in kidhood during bible camp. If you didn’t bury your bible into the bottom of your nightstand when you realized they were justifying their gnarled agenda with the pages.)

You felt sick—

And he told you he didn’t have any interest in killing you. A purr, muffled by layers of stitched cotton and plastic. No interest in all that. Wouldn’t wanna hurt a pretty thing like you. 

Like a sarky paradox to all the formidable space he was taking up, in all his horrifying gear. 

Kiss me.

An irony to the ichor thumb-smudge across his forehead. An irony, you thought, to God with a bathbrush, and the date, and the time, and the uncomfortable, imperfect squeeze of you into the bracket of wrong-place-wrong-time. In your own apartment.

Aren’t you gonna thank me, he hummed, on his feet now, from across the room. Stalemate. Rotten stasis. Deadlock, at his discretion, with you, shaking like a leaf under the archway. 

For protecting you? That’s what he said. 

(If you weren’t frozen in place with the leftovers you had for dinner curdling in your belly— eye to eye with a facsimile of the reaper— you would have snorted. It was just so absurdly ironic that it nearly made your ribs ache.) 

He was so big, you thought, when his shoulders climbed and his chest swelled, under the animal skin. So rigid. You wondered if he was all bulk like that, under the layers, or if the loose coat, and the gloves, and the daunting mien of a predator just made him seem that much larger. You’re not a small thing, but he made you feel as much. Like a dolly. A maquette— a perfect marionette to toss around between his hands on the perfect night, the perfect date on the calendar. 

Lotta bad men around, tonight.

The floorboard creaked under his weight. One step forward. The carpet bristled under your heel. 

Aren’t you gonna thank me for protecting you? 

(Kiss me.)

You remember how you went along. Easy. Didn’t say no.

And you could chalk it up to survival— pure, self-preservational instinct— and the gunfire looming outside your window. No. You remember the swell of panic, the riptide of adrenaline tearing you into a deluge of auto-pilot. Something seeped into the hairline fracture across the line between saving yourself— and your dignity, your pride. 

(Something ugly, and wrong, and so out of place. So warm in a room so bone-chilling.)

You thought you were broken. The two choices, unequivocally, were always fight or flight. 

(So which synapse misfired, that night, that kicked your gears into neither?)

You remember ugly things from that night. It felt like your ribs were being pried open, and he was picking you apart, pinching some raw and deep to pluck it out between leather fingers, until you were squirming in a pool of your own spilled volition. Like milk knocked over on the counter. Left to rot. Curdle.  

Because it didn’t hurt. He didn’t hurt you. 

And maybe that was worse. Because you were supposed to kick, and fight, and scream, and you— 

Didn’t. 

And maybe at first, it was a form of endurance. Survival sense— shutdown, like a generator on its last limb, preserving its own continuance. Just go along, just survive, just—

It’s easier, you think, in retrospect, to justify that. 

What’s harder is that you remember you thought you were broken because part of you, eventually, didn’t want to kick, or fight, or scream. 

(Go for the eyes— that’s what they say— and where would you go, in those inky craters, under the shadows? Like polynyas brimful of tar. You’d drown.) 

You remember the way he called himself daddy— come sit on Daddy’s cock, tell Daddy how good he feels— and you remember the visceral burgeon of disgust swelling in your belly. 

The way it made you revolted, and shuddery, and white-hot. 

Wanting. Slick. 

Because he’s not your daddy. Wasn’t. Isn’t.

You knew it for what it was. A gross game. Meant to debase your conation. This scary man in his scary mask on this, scary night, in your home, here to take something for himself. A flinder of your rib— a cracked piece of bone, here to tuck it into the inside of his coat. To watch your face crease with the juxtaposing blend of repulsion and want, rolling down your spine like rainwater off a downspout, as your cunt fluttered. 

He fucked you stupid on his cock again, and again, and again, until the sun was scraping at the land with its hot fingers, and the corners of your room were white and blue. Took what he wanted, because he decided he could. 

And that’s the game. The brutal nature of humanity crumbling under the weight of anarchy, and unrestricted autonomy, even if only for a night. Bereft morals. Selfish whims.

(And you took it. Just took it. Didn’t put up a fight, not when terror started lagging behind pleasure.)

He ate your cunt, too, just the way you liked. For hours, with the plastic mask tucked up like the balaclava, to the tip of his nose. The hard edge, and the cotton, pressing into your mons when he rolled your clit with his tongue, pressed the flats of his white teeth against it. You remember that. 

His nice, clean white teeth, and his pink lips. 

He must’ve been a pretty man under all the unnerving guise.

By the time the siren screeched at seven, you were strewn on your sheets like puddy across the sidewalk. All worn, and tired, and malleable, which he seemed to like. Panting, sweaty, tacky. Covered in him. The sticky, pearlescent mimesis, like memorabilia. Your pink underwear dangling out of his pocket like a perverted token to pin up onto his wall like a poster, after. His hard, leather fingerprints, blooming across your soft love handles, where he held your bones in place (but you didn’t need him to— not when you were so willing to placate and assuage and give). The chiaroscuro made your ribs rattle when you breathed deep. 

You stared at the popcorn ceiling when his belt buckle clinked. Slotted himself back together, into unobtainable nightfall against the backdrop of daytime. 

There’s a lot of things that stuck with you from that night. He didn’t hurt you, and your skin stayed sealed, but according to everyone, a part of you maybe-died, or that’s how you should feel, anyway. So, you wondered if that gangrenous part of you was severed off, bleeding out onto the carpet. Between the floorboards, staining the ceiling of the apartment on the floor under yours. A nebula of rust red across plaster.

(You thought it was severed, because at first you didn’t feel it. Anything. Nothing. Numb. Pinpricks across your psyche like your hand when you slept on it the wrong way. Maybe he cut it loose when you weren’t looking— when your lashes fluttered, smogged in the haze of yellow string lights, when your cheek kissed the mattress, and sex.)

You remember a lot of things that make your chest feel tight, like cotton unspooling in the crevices of your lungs, and your head feel waterlogged, and your knees brittle. But you remember he told you, before he left, that he’ll see you next year. 

I’ll see you next year, sweetheart.

Like a portent. It should’ve been. In a way, it felt like a reassurance, and you hate that pulpy part of yourself. 

And what can you do? 

You’re a statistic. 

The label feels wrong. Permanent. Like a bumper sticker stamped onto your forehead with gorilla glue. You’re lucky, they tell you, after. What a close call, when you swallow preventive abortion pills and shiver at your own reflection passing in the mirror. You think, maybe, your guardian angel blinked, somnolence searing at the backs of its eyes. Because, maybe, angels sleep, too. You don’t know. They didn’t teach that in church. 

You go to therapy. The woman in the big, sable chair gives you this look. Crinkled countenance pinched in pity. How pitiful, you’re reminded, and how lucky you are to only be scratched by a freight train. You’re not smattered pulp on the railroad tracks, but in the cruel cosm, you feel like jam dripping down God’s hands. 

You ask her if it’s fucked up that it felt good. 

She tells you it’s not. 

But then, you ask if it’s fucked up that a crackled fragment of you, maybe-sort-of-in-a-way, wouldn’t mind if it happened again.  

That’s a different question. 

Because you’ve been mulling that thought over between your teeth, in the hollow gaps between mortified, pale-faced solaces, I’m sorry’s, I’m-sorry-that-happened-to-you’s. It’s been festering, and feels like a chunk of you rotting under the sun. But maybe, if someone tells you that it’s okay—

If you had to do it over— you put it that way, like emphasizing a crease in a sheet of paper, and she gives you another, long, reticent look this time, instead of a response. 

(Because, maybe, putting it that way makes the insatiable itch in your arteries more relatable. Easier to swallow. Easier to tolerate. Maybe you sound like less of a freak, with the tumult.) 

Guilt for feeling pleasure is, apparently, very common, as indicated by the PDF she emails you that night to look over. Rape Victims and the False Sense of Guilt. 

Rape. The word rape, across the screen, makes you flinch. It’s such a small word in the sea of the text, only four Lilliputian letters. Teeny-tiny. But it feels big. Like a big deal— rape, that’s a big word. It’s razor sharp when it echoes behind your skull. It’s ugly, and it ends on a blunt, hard sound. No elasticity. No give. This unyielding, little word that shatters around you in its hideous, mangled phonetics— is that what happened to you?

You’re lucky. What a close call. I’m sorry that happened to you.

Pleasure is a natural, physical reaction. A bodily reaction. That’s what it says.

You can cope with that. Comprehend that. The rest is— loaded. Like an assault rifle, in spring. You don’t know how to peel the pieces apart. You never learned how to take apart a gun.

You know what a bodily reaction is. 

But nothing explains the chimera you chase after— the fantasy, when you’re plugged around two of your own fingers, weeks, months later, chasing the phantom ache. 

Liking masks is okay, but liking masks is only okay if there’s something preliminary about them. Liking to feel small and scared is okay, but only if there’s a safety net, and safewords, and you trust the other person, and know them like the pores across the back of your hand. A stranger isn’t allowed to make you feel this way. 

But liking this— thinking about this, with your head fuzzy and your skin simmering— is wrong. Bad. 

It’s okay, but you need to heal. Something bad happened to you, and you need to sweep your pieces into the dustpan before you start to put them back together. That’s what you read between the lines. It feels accusatory.

(Only, you don’t think you could mold them into the same form, if you tried. Stick them back into their rifted crevasses, when they’re jagged and misshapen.)

The things you feel are, by all definitions— according to the internet, and everyone around you— wrong. Ugly. Sick. You shouldn’t feel anything but nausea scraping at the back of your throat, pooling briny under your tongue, when you think about that night. About him. That’s what you find in the vats of their eyes when you tell people what happened, the stricken shape of their faces. Like you’re broken. Because you are broken. 

Some part of you has a big indigo bruise stretched across it, smarting something awful. Some part of you is fractured ceramic. 

You’re a statistic. A number. A sliver on a bar graph. It feels like throwing yourself headfirst over a rock face. Into a yawning abyss. You splinter upon contact with the water, but it doesn’t ripple around you. Just lets your dissevered pieces wade and buoy.

You don’t go back to therapy after the third time, and you spend all summer burying your esoteric predilections at the back of the shelf. Let them gather dust, because they’re shattered anyways, and you don’t know how to make any sense of the smashed fragmentations. They’re so jagged, they’ll cut the soft skin on your palms up if you cup them too close.

You move when your lease ends in the summer. Not really by choice, but the decision has the weight of all those ruckled, condolatory looks. Those I’m-sorry-that-happened-to-you’s, like flour-sacks across your shoulders. Your apartment still reeks like him. It’s a phantom musk, whispering along your lungs. Cigarettes, and leather, and tangy sweat (it almost feels like it belongs— not unpleasant, like the brine across Poseidon’s abdomen). It’s uncomfortable. You long for it. You’re imagining it, you know that. 

Your new apartment is clean. It smells like bleach, and it has all different locks, and the promise spills in cobwebs behind your skull. You try not to get tangled in them.

And everything tells you it’s wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong— everything. A churning, gut feeling, when you sign the new lease, when you roll around your sheets in the middle of the night with your hand between your tacky thighs. 

You feel like you’re breaking an unspoken rule. You’re supposed to heal. This isn’t healing.

You consider booking that out-of-country trip in March. Week-long, just to stifle the premonition under the heel of your palm. The omen, that was still dripping heady, clotting the air alongside the stifling sound of the zipper closing its teeth together. Crinkling leather when he buckled his belt.

Your mom gives you a call. Tells you to come out to Maine for the weekend. You shrug the invitation off with your phone cradled between your cheek and your shoulder, and your laundry between your fingers. I’m fine, mom. I’m—

Fine. Cataclysmically. Okay. Bleeding out onto the tarmac with every step, like the incipient springtide. 

You cup a posy of daffodils between your hands with wistfulness speckling across your chest. 

You used to love spring. In kidhood, before the heavy, inordinate burden of purge-nights spanned across your shoulders, spring had the delicacy of a flower. The warmth of sunshine beading across your skin. The naivety of pastels. A callow touch of rose-tint.

You always knew living alone had its risks. In an apartment, no less, flimsy and unsheltered by security shutters and the bulwarks of a standalone. A danger, like a yellow warning sign. It’s the same precarious footing that warrants your mother’s calls back to your hometown every spring. 

(The same reason she called you last year. And you— stupid, stupid— didn’t go.)

You don’t know how to excuse yourself this year. Lack of self-preservation? Stupid, callow hope? You don’t know what you’re hoping for. 

(What you’re feeding.)

Maybe it’s the way you’ve been dusting the shattered shards on the shelf. 

Anybody else in your position would be halfway across the continent, and you’re shutting down your flower shop and turning in for the night. Pretending (that you’re pretending) you’re inviolable, like that headspace didn’t get crushed under his thumb last year. The clock ticks on the wall. 

The man who comes up to the register has a bouquet in his hand. A sprig of carmine carnations that crinkles when he lays it flat onto the countertop. He’s tall. Broad. Pretty— the first thing you think of, upon impression, mapping out the ridges of his face, the even slope of his nose, the burnt umber curl that spills over his forehead. Wordless. He stares at you. 

Just stares. Not quite boring into you, but lingering, inkpools fixed. Indescribably. Unremitting.

There’s a familiarity in his gaze. Something that weaves across you in unspooling, crepuscular cobwebs, something that prickles. And eye-contact feels like a stalemate. A competition; who will give first? Your mettle splinters in hairline fractures. 

“Is this,” your smile is flimsy. Brittle. Eyes dipping to the flowers he’s laid out. “…all for you today?” 

He smells expensive. Like amber musk, but something sticks to his scent like an afterthought. A note, in undertow. 

Smoke.

Like he washed his hands, brushed his teeth, but couldn’t kick the odor off his clothes, lingering in the stitches.  

Emotions dredge up from the pit of your psyche like his presence is the metal head of a shovel. Cold leather. A hot touch. Things you’ve left numb for too long, oozing, electric, alive. Your fingers flex on the stems, and the plastic clicks under your hand when you stare down at it. You can’t look. 

“Mm.”

You feel flayed. Raw. Like you’re going to come apart into tatters in the middle of the store. In front of a customer. You cast your gaze up. He isn’t looking at you anymore. Hands buried in his pockets, eyes listing across the melange of flower assortments you’ve got on display behind the counter. And you feel—

Embarrassed. Silly. Your cheeks heat, your heart thundering at your throat. It’s silly. 

“Oh,” you breathe as you roll the bouquet between your hands. Key in the numerical series to the system, “I like these. They’re very pretty. …Looks like today, it’s going to be… twenty-six.”

For a moment, he doesn’t say anything. Nothing at all, doesn’t make any motion towards procuring a payment method, and that nagging sense of worry spirals between your brows when you cast your inkpools up to find him staring again. Under your hands. There’s a judder to them. You watch his hand reach into the front-pocket of his jeans, and cull a cashfold. He licks his fingers before he separates the cash, and hands it to you. 

Your fingers brush. You swallow. 

You hand his change over with your fingers twitching. 

“Happy purge,” he tells you. Suddenly.

Your smile wobbles. Creases. Curls back up into a proxy of a cheery mien you have the resolve to upkeep. “Happy purge.”

His fingertips drum across the counter. “And may our souls be cleansed.”

It sounds droll. Wry. Like he’s making a mockery of every piece of propaganda the news channel paints across your screen, a week-long affair in snippets before commencement. You swallow. 

“Up for anything tonight?”

The question shouldn’t nick between your ribs. Scrape into the soft place— you’ll get loads of customers that ask. That participate, affluent folk. Young people, with grease smeared across their smiles when they tell you that they’re excited to exercise their God-given right. 

You shake your head. “No— no. I don’t… partake.”

The silence that congeals between you is suffocating. Heavy. You feel your poise withering. Shrinking back into you, under the weight of his gaze. It’s an eerie stagnancy, and you feel like you’re sinking to the depths. 

“You’re,” you tell him, trying to smile, but it doesn’t meet your eyes this time, “…all set.”

His eyes roam. Openly. Lash across you in bounds, slow, detail-oriented. It’s odd. Makes you feel strange. Finally, they fix on your face. No doubt, creased with discomfort. 

“Stay safe tonight,” he tells you, before he turns, bouquet in hand. 

“Right. You— stay safe,” you rock forward on your heels. The bell over the door jingles. 

You’re broken, but you’re not stupid. You twist the locks when you get home. Double-check every window. Turn off every light that you aren’t using. 

The announcement comes across the TV when you’re in the shower, and by the time you come out, the emergency broadcast has morphed off into a rerun of Friends. You don’t know what to do with yourself. Tuck your knees to your chest and stare at the clock? Roll into the fetal position and pray? 

May God be with you. 

The gunfire outside begins during the credits. You can’t stomach the harrowing scream that seeps across from the street below, so you plug your ears with your headphones, and you blast music until you feel like your ears are bleeding. Hole up in your bedroom.

You can’t discern the feeling that clots in your chest when you come out to your living room, eventually, to find him on your couch. In eerie stillness. Terror? Relief? 

He notices you. Swells when he breathes, all heft, just like you remember. The burgeon of fear that prickles at your nape, making your hair stand on end, you find, clots beside something you’re unable to dissect. For a long second, the both of you just breathe. Observe. 

He breaks the silence. 

“…Come tell Daddy hello.”

Daddy. Daddy— the titular moniker makes you bristle, startling you out of your stupor like whiplash. What are you doing? What are you doing?

You stall by the bathroom door. This game of cat and mouse is precarious. You’ll lose— that fact is brassbound. Undeniable. You don’t know what you were expecting. Why you stayed. You’ve got the short end of the stick, always. And still, you contemplate, lingering with your hand on the doorknob. The stagnancy in biding your time feels like staring at a snake coiling beside your feet. Waiting for it to lash forward. 

You take a slow step forward. Another. He doesn’t make any moves towards you, doesn’t give any indication that he’s keen to sit up. Content with the view of your dread snowballing. Mushrooming. Hands resting across his lap, his tree-trunk thighs split apart. 

Waiting. Watching. 

You don’t expect it when he sits up, grunting, to wrap his hand across your forearm. Lug you forward, into the alcove between his thighs. The brush of leather across your bare skin makes chills erupt across your skin. Manhandling you, like puddy between his hands. You’re supposed to fight, you’re supposed to kick, you’re supposed to—

Scream. You exhale when he twists you and forces you to sit on his knee. You’re stupid. What you’re chasing isn’t healthy.

You think he’s going to ask why you moved. Silly girl. Didn’t think I’d find you?

He doesn’t. 

“Been a good girl?” he drawls, instead, chest swelling in your periphery. It feels mocking, despite the casualness of his tone— unsanded around the edges. The irony of the position has your teeth set, like you’re a child on Santa’s lap, and not a grown woman on his. A petrifying— 

Half-stranger. Almost.

The revelation is uncanny to the way you’re searing under your skin. And there’s a thin line, you think, between coercion, and the way your heart batters a little faster, the way you clench your fingers together to avoid squeezing your thighs.

You don’t say anything. It’s rhetoric, because he isn't finished. He cups your knee under his palm, the dark leather, and says, “Kept your pussy to yourself, mm?”

Not your hands. Not your hands. 

Your pussy. 

The undiluted vulgarity trickles down your nape, makes you flinch, and you fist your hands a little harder, until the crescents dig into your palms. It’s still just as nonchalant, even-toned. But it’s crude, and it makes your face hot. 

Like he owns that. Like you belong to him, in some way.

(And maybe, in some way, some part of you does. That piece of your rib he still has tucked into his pocket from last spring.)

Your heart is in your throat. You turn your cheek. Away. Just enough, but the hand that was on your knee presses against the side of your face. Two fingers, gloved, that pry your attention back onto him. It’s almost effortless. Feels like he’s using hardly any strength at all, has your chin snapping back, and the weight of two fingers, against that groove under your cheekbone, has an ache radiating up into your temple. He’s feeling the ridges of your teeth through your soft flesh. Wrenching his fingertips into the hollow rift between the two rows, and your breath ebs your lungs in soft pants, free falling the gap between your lips. The slick, gummy inside of your cheek twinges under the pressure.

You stare back, and—

You don’t know what you find. What you’re looking for. There’s a hunger in the plastic cut outs, glimmering in the tenebrose, like a predator shimmering in the distance of the thicket. One that’s spent all winter hibernating.

He digs his fingers in a little harder. Makes your head tilt with an ease that makes your head spin. The sound that leaks out of you is embarrassing. So unlike you. So small, and vulnerable, and raw. 

It reminds you of feeling like you were being carved open, like you were having those pieces pulled out of you. Those fragments that you’ve buried deep behind your ribs, all yours. Delicate chattels between his fingers like a thread that he’ll tug to unspool you to the core.

His thumb grazes the corner of your mouth. Your lower lip. Rests there, all leather. It smells like charred tobacco. Tar. 

“Yes,” you breathe. Appease. The word comes out tangled with a frantic note, an exhale, and sounds garbled off your liquified, molasses-heavy tongue. 

Maintaining eye contact is difficult. Intense. Feels like wading a knee-deep morass with how treacly it makes your head feel, but it’s impossible to look away. With the angle he has your head, you feel snared into an unspoken standoff. Feels like you’re caught in a springe he’s laid out. You, with your rabbiting heart, and your ankle caught in a noose. And him—

Those deep-seated inkpools glimmer from the underbrush. 

“Is that right?”

It’s like a car crash, you think, stuck in limbo. A beatific maelstrom of metal scraping on metal. The beautiful, horrifying view, in the split-second of collision. Time in stasis. Slow motion.

You can’t look away.

He stops pressing to rap the pads against your cheekbone, instead, and the thump that echoes in your skull almost sounds hollow. Loud in your ears. The pang lingers in your jaw, like a dull ache, across your upper teeth, the inside of your cheek. 

There’s a split second there, where that bilious feeling slinks into your stomach and coils up, stretching between your lungs. That sick you find, buried under the galvanized cobwebs spooling your sense of self-preservation, like a haze of little, electric gossamers across your synapses. The incipience of a wave of nausea, softly lapping, at the thought that all of this, everything, is premeditated, and the gnarled root of it all sinks so much deeper than you’d ever expect. 

That he’ll know— knows— that you brought another man home last fall. 

It was stupid. A one off, scraped off a bar stool on a Saturday night after one too many whiskey sours, and the sex wasn’t even any good. You don’t remember it. 

But your head feels syrupy. You don’t know what’s worse: this burgeoning fear that you’ve disappointed him with— what? Free will? Autonomy? 

Or the slick ooze of the bone-juddering revelation that settles; he’s probably been watching you. Keeping tabs. 

(How else did he know where you moved? How to pin you under the pad of his thumb with such startling ease? You’re a thumbtack on a paper map, and a petrified part of you wonders if he’s got it— a chart of your whereabouts, your existence snared into a creased sheet— dangling next to the panties from last spring.)

If he knows about your liaison, he doesn’t indicate it. Opting to, instead, graze the shape of your lips with his thumb again, and push in to scrape the flats of your teeth with the leather. It’s gross. Feels strange— leather against the smooth inside of your lips, and when you breathe around it, you feel like you’re spinning out, headfirst, hurtling toward the ground. Something you don’t want to acknowledge rolls over, white-hot, in the pit of your tummy. 

“That’s good,” he settles on, and palms your breast so abruptly that it makes your lungs squeeze. Your throat clicks when you swallow. 

It feels so mechanical. Calculating. Collected. Nonchalantly purposeful— nothing gradual, no build up— like he’s here to reap and take, intent on what he’s looking for. But it’s all a startling, unnatural paradox, considering you were left so overly-satiated last spring, that you almost felt like a mindless shell of yourself. Entirely sapped. The enigma left your head clogged up and heavy for days. Weeks. Months. Your lashes flutter, dusting unfitting bliss across your cheeks like the speckling heat. Like pleasure is bulky, and rounded, and doesn’t fit into the jagged slot your anticipation has chiseled. 

He squeezes the doughy flesh in his hand, and scuffs your pebbling nipple with a side-swipe of his thumb. Then, the other. Long, thick fingers spanning, and coasting across your diaphragm, climbing your waist, the chiseled, swelling rungs of your ribcage, cupping under one of your tits again. He only stops at the soft sound that crawls out of your windpipe. Eyes flickering at the reedy, wanton whine that gushes through the seal of your teeth. The self-awareness makes you wither into yourself. Shrinking. Ecstasy feels like an agrestal parasite, mushrooming between your nerves. Budding in that slope under your navel.

(Wrong, wrong, wrong— a broken mechanism, misfiring. Grinding. Your eroded mettle squealing under the pressure.)

You can hear him breathing. He sounds like an animal. A panting beast. Feral. Untamed, wild, huffs stifled by ribbed cotton and matte plastic. He notches a nipple between his thumb and forefinger, and pinches it. Tugs. A gust of your desperate breath escapes through that barren dearth between your teeth when he palms you by the front of your neck and pushes you against the back of the couch. 

It’s sloppy. Clumsy, an awkward angle from where you were on his lap— your limbs flail before you topple, and it requires more core strength on your part than you anticipate to sink back, but it isn’t violent. Aggressive. The coarse denim on his thigh abrades your naked skin when he twists to hover over you. Cushion denting under the weight of his knee. Your neck cranes back as he pins you to the back of the couch by the column of your throat. Head tipped back, nearly dangling over, neck straining. He looms over you.

Just—

Staring. Staring. You stare back and wonder if he feels your pulse hammering with the layer of the leather barricade between skin kissing skin. Like this, the mask is limned in shadows from the slant, and the crepuscular orifices under the plastic are even harder to make out. Harder to gauge. You want to gauge. You want to see—

You won’t have the upper hand. You know that, but prying for the threadbare margin of a hint, a motive, a reaction, feels like digging your fingers in for a last-ditch lifeline. 

His eyes are half-mast. Dark lashes spanned over the glint in pitch, mounted in white. You can’t see what he’s thinking. Can’t—

He reels forward, back hunched, leather jacket crinkling, and you feel the plastic mask tucked to your cheekbone. Your temple. Your hair. He reeks like santalum. Petrichor— the first rain spilling onto the pavement, scrubbing the bloodshed off into the grates— and the overwhelming scent of leather that clots in your nose. His mask scrapes your ear. He sniffs.

And you think, a little hysterically, that he’s smelling you. The recognition prickles in your skull, and climbs up your nape in a shiver. And it feels so— 

Animalistic. Primal. Indelicate. Like any sense of decorum flaking off and shedding like desquamate feathers, and it makes you feel so small. A frisson rides the ledges of your spine. Something shudders across his shoulders. Rattles them— you clock it in your periphery, stunned into subservience with your fingers twisting into the couch cushion. 

He sighs. Hums. Like he’s vibrating over you, buzzing, and the thought has that skein across your lungs tightening. The sound that seeps out of him is brassy. Low. Hungry. And the likeness that scrapes at your hindbrain, through the plume of reluctance and crushing desire, nearly makes you feel delirious— it almost sounds like a dog whining. Like he’s been holding himself back, and your scent is too much, chips an integral shard out of his flinty resolve. 

You don’t know why, but it makes you squirm. Makes your chest roll under him, hips shifting. Your eyes oscillate. Stutter from the ceiling fan to the corner of the room, because he’s smelling you and sounds like he’s falling apart. 

Your throat jumps under his hand. He drums his fingertip under your jaw, and it feels like the tick of a clock. He reels back. Slowly. Tipped over you, huffing with his head cocked. Almost panting. This harrowing monster, quivering in his skin, in all his heft, like he wants to eat you alive. Swallow you whole. His eyes slip. The feather-dust of his lashes kisses the pink-rimmed seam of his lower lashline, and he takes a deep breath, intumescent across the breadth of his shoulders. 

You swallow again, your throat still under his hand. The heel of his palm glued to your trachea. Your jaw arched back, under the press of his fingers. His eyes list. Stall across the apex of your denuded thighs, and the brief blip of pressure across your jaw, your throat, the fleeting restriction on your airway when he levels his weight and resituates, has your irises lolling and tainted gossamers stretching in sticky netting behind your skull. His freehand skates your abdomen. Prods your diaphragm, leather fingers grazing your belly button, the hem of your sleep shirt. Rucking it up. 

The boundary between arm-twisting and downright craving is negligible. It’s a foundation, under you— a poor excuse of a half-wall— crackled in fissures. When your hips hitch at the way he circles your navel, in a way, it feels like crumbled free will. Your own autonomy worn down and corroded by the chemistry spuming your veins (you tell yourself it’s artificial. A lethal injection of dopamine and melanocortin), because it feels like the hunger is pried out of you. Pulled out, tangled on his crooking fingertips. 

(And what do you have to say for yourself, when you need him like you need to eat.)

Your hips cant when he strokes his fingers over your waistband, across the sensitive, soft stretch of skin over your mons. You can still hear him breathing over the bloodrush, like spindrift, across the little, vibrating bones, deep in your ear. He sniffs, gaze pinned to the shape of your quivering thighs (juddering knees, swelling tummy)—

He knocks your legs apart with his thigh, until the plush of them spills around the shape of him. All broad, all muscle, all denim against your smooth skin, and he wrenches one of your thighs up with his fingers under your knee. Presses you back by the shin, with your sole planted on the couch cushion, and—

Like this, he has the perfect view. The perfect shape of your cunt, through your panties. They’re white this year. So unassuming, just a plain bikini-cut in ivory, but you wonder if he’s weighing the way they’ll look beside the other pair, like a sordid tchotchke. 

His eyes linger on it. You can’t see his inkpools, but they feel molten. Heady. Predatorial, and the shockwave riding the slanting arches of your ribcage makes it harder to take in a full breath. Lagoons spilling heat. They surge the soft shapes of your body like lavascapes, melting across your skin. 

You’re wet. You know that— feel the damp heat like you feel the want droning across your bones, lacing your muscles. And the sloppy, saturated shape of your dribbling pussy, behind the thin veil of a gusset, is no exception. You curl your toes. Dig them into the couch cushion. The carpet. Dangling onto the fragility of your self-possession (unraveling), and then he probes, with the tip of his index, right where your clit sits. A meager tap.

Your arousal is a tangible wad in your gut, and he plays with it between his fingers.

Desperation climbs to the base of your throat at an alarming rate. Echoes in your jugular as a thrum when his eyes sway between your face and the shape of your cunt. The shape of it under the entirety of his palm, swallowing you whole, between your legs, when he pastes his hand there. And he can’t feel the way it’s soaking, can’t feel how slick you are, but you wonder if the sheer heat leaches through the layers. 

If he can feel how hot and wanting you are, through the glove. 

He purrs like he can. Trails two fingers along the splitting fjord, your puffy lips. His thumb crooks into one end of your gusset just to let it snap back and watch the shiver roll up through your shoulders, huffing around a thick, rumbly noise that sounds amused. Drenched in humiliating mirth. A crater forms around his knee cap when he presses it onto the cushion. Between your split legs, thigh pressed flush to your cunt. Tight. 

“Gonna be a good girl,” he murmurs, face dangling over yours, and the words sound masticated. Starved. “—and let me eat that slutty cunt?”

There’s a fine line, you remind yourself, between being forced, and whatever the— you don’t want to admit it, won’t admit it, stuff it down— rapacious froth inside of you means.

He splits your lips with his fingers. Pries them apart like a butterfly to pin up and frame.  

Mental snapshots to encase on a shelf, mounted beside your underwear and a pushpin map with your face smattered in uneven, sawtooth cut-outs. All raw, and sloppy, and wet. Gushing down to the cleft of your ass— he can see everything, and his eyes rove like he’s mapping every bit of you to memory, your underwear balled and tucked into the pocket of his coat. Drinking in every delicate detail, your pebbled clit twitching under his thumb scuffing, and it’s so—

Humiliating. 

Embarrassing— shame clots in that interstice between your battering heart and your ribs, that soft spot it’s been dribbling into since he perched you on his lap like a little girl begging for a present. You screw your eyes, cup the heels of your palms over them. You can’t look— can’t—

He moans again. Gives you a heady hum, nearly as slick with want as you are between your thighs. Only, his is oil to your honey. Motor fluid to your syrup— a slippery smear of grease to sap. Rotten. Thick and coal-dark, like tar. Something gritty that catches like sand between his teeth when you try to close your knees. It’s a faulty maneuver, with your feet pried apart on his elbows, and you can only latch your knees, and—

It’s the wrong thing to do. 

A slipshod attempt to preserve your dignity, but what’s the use, when it’s porous enough for him to spew the virulent pollutant of longing for him? Noxious. Infectious. Enough to mill your pride from the inside into a powdered dust. Instead, he pries the folds of your cunt apart with one hand, on two fingers— an index and a thumb— and slaps the back of your thigh with the other. 

Your thighs quake. Plush flesh shaking upon impact, the searing heat wave that robs you of your ephemeral resistance— rolling the thought that this is gross, not what you want— and scorches it through to the core, until all that’s left for you to face is the overwhelming desire.

“Eyes on me,” he grunts. Dour. Unrelenting, until you peer through the spaces in your fingers like you’re watching a nightmare unfold, and let him wrest your knees back apart. “Yeah,” he tells you, hardly over the feather-light weight of a whisper, despite the way it feels like it’s crushing your skull from the inside when it swims your ears. “Just like that. On me, pretty girl.”

You can’t look away, so you chew on your fingers instead. Tuck them between your teeth, toes curling into the cushions. Your sleep shirt is in a discarded puddle of fabric on the floor, beside him. There’s something so uncomfortably potent in nakedness when he hasn’t even discarded his gloves. 

He won’t.

But an element of intrigue gets dredged up into the mist of your yearning when he sticks the pad of his thumb under the plastic chin of the mask to pry it to the bridge of his nose. Speckling the nebula, that clouds you, like stardust. Worse, yet, when he pries the balaclava to the same, angular slope, to show his bare chin, his full, pink mouth, his cupid’s bow. 

His nice, clean white teeth. 

His tongue, slinking out to smear across his lips. Like this, the cut outs aren’t over his eyes, and the pools of hunger are shrouded behind the plasticated layer. He feels with his fingers. Spreads your pussy apart, grazes his thumb pad across your throbbing clit, slick with your own sticky wetness, and you watch him purse his lips before a tacky, wet glob lands across your hood. Drool, dripping down, coagulating at your drenched hole. 

You shudder. Can’t look away— it’s—

Gross. It’s wet, and it’s rancid, and the feeling of it being smeared across your cunt, the feeling of a finger prodding at your rim, uselessly clenching at the air, makes your face crease. Brows pinching. 

(So why, then, do you feel so dizzy from the spiraling wave of your own lust fizzing across your veins?) 

You mewl. He tucks his fingers into his mouth. The same ones that have been smudging the amalgam of your slick and his own saliva, still tucked in that leather glove, and the sound he makes at the taste— pure hedonism, dripping around the plug of his own fingers— has your thighs hinging apart wider. Straining. 

It sounds so— shattered. So desperate. Frenzied. A sound like that, out of him, feels so unco that it nearly wrenches your head back. He groans around his fingers, sloppy, and grunts when he takes them out to feel for your hole, tease a breach with the middle digit, not quite bursting the threshold— 

And God, when he eats, it’s like he’s a man starved. Famished. All animal between your thighs, suckling on your clit, dragging his tongue across your hole, like it’s pure sustenance and he hasn’t eaten in weeks. Slurping around you, bullying your clit between his teeth like he wants to chew you up to spit you out. Rinse and repeat. 

He drags his tongue across you, so obscenely, seam to hood, like he wants you to see. Wants you to watch— wants you to know that you’ve got this horrifying brute on his knees between your legs, kissing on your cunt. Wants that ugly revelation to stick to the inside of your skull like knotgrass spilling across your bones— a twisted thought you’ll never be able to tame out of fruition. You let this happen; let him take. 

(And worse yet, you liked it.)

“Sloppy, little pussy,” he grunts, the words muzzled against your sopping cunt, spilling against his mouth, dripping. Sticking in strings to his lower lip, the corner of his mouth— and he crooks his finger. Notches it against your rim. 

It feels wrong. Strange. Leather against your cunt, instead of skin, when he prods and—

Pops the tip in. Stretches your gummy walls to the first, gloved knuckle. The soft, wet heat of you pulsing around him like a heartbeat is lost on the leather, the barrier between your skin, but he’ll make up for it. He’ll make up for it, he’ll—

“God,” you mewl when he crooks the finger and stuffs it to the hilt, stroking the wet squeeze of your walls enveloping it. 

The brutal ugliness in the concept of this man prying you open, stretching you taut when he wedges his ring finger in beside the first, with a glove on, douses you in shame. Has a white-hot heat spewing, geyser-like, at your underbelly. 

The sounds, though, the wet-squelch of those leather-coated fingers fucking into you, spilling slick and shoving it back in, makes your eyes screw. Has a heat nipping at the apples of your cheeks the way it nips at your cunt when he grinds harsh circles around your clit. It’s too much. Nearly too much when he nicks the razor-sharp mantel of your nerve-endings and hones there upon the horrid, wheezing sound you make, the way your leg flexes out beside his head in jarred reflex. Like he’s punishing it. You. For congealing up in his teeth like an insatiable sweet-tooth he’ll never scrape off his enamel. 

You cry out. Knock the heel of your palm into his forehead. Into the edge of that eerie mask, the kiss me, unsmudged, but he’s unperturbed. Unruffled. Unyielding, the same way the brutal crash of pleasure spooling tight behind your navel, your burning, flexed core. 

He catches your wrists in his hand. Like two limbs of a lamb, ensnared. The most perfect, decadent feast to carry out on a charcuterie board, and the sound he makes against your cunt nearly sounds inhuman. Like a rabid, territorial animal at its mealtime, mouthing off at a hand that tries to intrude. Encroach. Take. The vibrations make your head spin. Dizzy— you’re so dizzy, and you don’t recognize that you’ve been holding your breath until the shuddery cry that tears its way out of your mouth is silent. A hiss of a breath that melts into a long, wet gasp. 

He tucks your hands to your tummy, and takes. And takes, and takes. It belongs to him, right? The garbled slur that slips through the negligible gaps between your teeth sounds fucked stupid, and he hasn’t even split you apart on his cock. 

Your fingers twitch, pressed to your mons. Try to reach— to pry— hips canting back, forward, away, into. Against his slippery chin, and his tongue, and his unrelenting mouth. 

And oh, how you unravel, under his jaw, like you belong there. Under his hands, and the tip of his nose tucked to your mons, and the flats of his teeth, grazing—

He doubles down when he feels the pop— the release— your pretty, little cunt fluttering around his fingers, sucking them back in on every twist out, like a vice.

It starts on a long, wilting mewl. A desperate note that laces across your vocal cords and seeps out, not by your own volition, and ends on a gasp. The cord snaps. Too taut. Too much. The ripples of the aftershocks, lapping at your core, red-hot, sloppy, and spent, and overly sensitive, crescendo into a horrible ache when he suckles over your clit. Draws a searing stripe across your nerve endings with the tip, stifling groans into your puffy sex. 

You squeak. Tremble, toes tensing. Flexing. Hips arching back, trying to scoot away. Off. 

“I— came,” you bluster, but it sounds hoarse. Distant, in the thundering thrum of your vertiginous headrush. “I—“ you try again, hips canting, and he swipes out with his tongue, catches something raw and smarting on the fleshy edge. 

You jolt. Spine twisting, distorting pleas between your teeth you’re swishing them across your gums. You wriggle your foot, wheedling it under the space where his mouth is flush with your cunt. “I— please—“

He wrenches your foot back into place so aggressively that all you can do is make a pitiful, helpless squeak. Lashes fluttering, writhing, gnawing into your lower lip when he rolls his tongue across your pulsing clit. The sound that rumbles across your core rattles you down to the marrow. It feels like he wants to chew you to the bone. 

And when he pops off, finally— finally— panting like he’s had his fill, sucking at one of your lips until it’s tender and kiss-bruised— satiated this quenchless thirst that riles in the apertures of his skeleton, humming in his musculature— you breathe. Just breathe. Catch it— snag it. A soft repose in recompense for the throb in your guts, between your legs. Crystalline beads hover, sprouted from the corners of your eyes, streaking across your lash line. Your gaze is lachrymal. Pools of an unspooled bliss, mottled overwhelming, shimmery and red-rimmed. 

And the breath you’ve been catching—

Is forced out from between your lips when his hand lurches. Pins you, supine, to the couch, fingers spanning your nape. Heel of his palm at your jugular. The abruptness of the motion has your heart lurching to your throat. It nearly kisses the shape of his hand.

(But you suppose, if that cracked bit of your rib belongs to him, then maybe a sliver of your lung does, too.)

Somewhere between the dazed stupor of you, panting like you’ve run a marathon, and laying you out on the couch, he’s fixed the mask back on. The balaclava. And the crass, dirty thought that his chin is still slick under the cotton, making it sodden, and hot, and tacky to his skin, seeps across you and cakes like cement. 

He stares down at you through the cut-outs. Your heart is a hummingbird behind the rungs, trying to break free, and you feel it in your pulse, where his thumb strokes. You wonder if he can feel it. You’re still in that balmy, soggy headspace with your muscles pliable, your head heavy. A pastiche of heaven in a come-down, roping its way across your bones and smogging your hypervigilance. 

You’re less unnerved to be stared down at like that— like you’re a meal for him to chew apart between his teeth, like he’s contemplating every possible scenario and picking through to find the prettiest position to put you in, how to grind out the prettiest sounds— with your head feeling like it’s liquified.

Your lashes flutter. You trace the seams on the ceiling, where it’s been repaired for water damage. Maybe someone bled out on the floor above, you think. 

But the warmth of the evanescent fog doesn’t curb the note of nervousness that paints its way into your respiration— like bleeding watercolor— when you hear his hands on his belt buckle. See the way he hovers over you, so large, and indomitable, eyes potent and intoxicant. Hungry. 

(He’s sated his appetite enough to hold him over, bar him from tearing you apart, but he’s still hungry.)

“Think it’s about time you start to give back, sweetheart,” he tells you. Dripping ichor-thick with want. Like blood melded with syrup. 

Even with apprehension dancing across your mind, you want him to fuck you. You want him to stretch you fucking dumb around his cock, just the way you remember he did—

But his next words make that reluctance buzz a little louder in your hindbrain. Alarms. The blood-curdling croon of the siren.

“What do you think, mm?” he mulls aloud, tracing the pad of his finger across one of your pebbled nipples, then the smooth, unmarred skin of your tummy, pausing over your belly button. “Should Daddy make you a mommy this time? Make it stick?”

Your gasp sticks to your throat. Tangles between your tonsils. Your nostrils flare when you try to take a deep breath as indemnification, and you blink up at him, you find nothing but firm resolve in those voids. Abysmal, and unrelenting. 

“I— can’t… have a baby,” you croak, a touch incredulous, but you sound alien in your own ears. Like you’re drowning. 

He cocks his head, tipped down at you, with that ugly, ivory mask. “Sure you can. That’s what you’re built for, isn’t it?”

And the degradation, being stripped down to the metal cogs, the tender technicalities of your biology, makes your cheeks blister. It’s demeaning. You hate it. Hate him, you hate him— something molten rolls in your underbelly. 

(Something hot lingers between your thighs.)

You feel your legs dipping when under the weight of his crowding closer, between your split thighs. Bent at the knee, feet planted. The couch creaks. And when the coarse brush of denim kisses your naked skin, you feel the heat from it like a furnace. 

“No,” you tell him, eyes carved into narrowed slits, and the demand in your own voice makes your bones tremble when you hear. You suck in a breath. 

He blinks. Something flickers, congeals, in his eyes, almost like you’ve stunned him with your gall. Your unrestrained defiance. And there’s something uncomfortably stifling in his gaze, searing down at you, when he tips his head. Almost like he’s contemplating your response. Rolling it between his fingers. His thumb draws a feather-light line over your mons, across the stretch of skin where your womb is buried under the soft layers of muscle and fatty tissue. 

“How do you think,” he kisses his teeth behind the layers— a muffled sound, but one you pick up on with your heartbeat in your ears, “it works out if I take you now, and they find you later? Keep you all to myself. Cancels out, doesn’t it?”

The indirect threat, framed as a hypothetical happenstance, makes something curdle in your blood like sour milk. The bile rolls in the pit of your tummy, and you feel your throat squeeze. Your exhale is a weak hiss. A wheeze, because you feel like the breath has been knocked out of you, alongside the foolish temerity.

The finger that’d traced a line across morphs into a hand, and he presses the breadth of it to your underbelly. Big. All leather, broad, your belly button peeking from the wedge between his digits. 

He sighs, and takes the hand away. Works it back over his belt buckle, until the tails are free-standing, bifurcated, and his fingers work over his zipper. It’s a huff that swells his shoulders, and you’re reminded just how big he is, over you. How massive. How staunch to his ideas— you wouldn’t stand a chance. 

“But maybe,” his head bows to watch where he’s working, and his tone is thoughtful. Menacing. Saturated with condescension, the same way you’re drenched with the remnants of your gushing slick, between your thighs. He meets your eye. “They wouldn’t look at all. Awful lotta people go missin’ altogether, tonight.”

You blink. Squirm. Thoughts of you, swollen and pregnant with his baby— chain-linked to his wrist, to a dreary, foreign bedroom like a dog to a doghouse in a backyard— makes you vitriolic. Angry. 

Horrified. 

(So why, then, does it make your head fuzzy? Kindles crackle at your underbelly, where he pressed his enormous palm.)

“No— no. I’ll be. You can—“ you shake your head. Try again. Placate. This is a gun, broken china on a back shelf. You can’t dissect it for what it means. Your ribcage shakes. “You can do— anything. Please.”

You imagine he’s sneering at you from behind the mask. Under the balaclava, lips crooked, when he tucks a thumb into his waistband and frees his cock. One hand squeezing at the root, stroking up. The motion has a slimy glob of precum blurting from the tip. It’s thick in his fist. Heavy. Mushroomed ridges vivid pink, long, fat. A little lopsided, skewed slightly to the left in his hold, arching towards you. 

He didn’t make you suck it last time, but you wonder if he will, tonight. Gag the bold subversion out with the subtle flex of his hips, your insolence— you, stupid, little thing, telling him no— with his cockhead spewing against the gummy wall at the back of your throat. 

The view makes you dizzy. Like you’re staring up to the summit of a mountainside with him looming over you. The peak that crawls over you, so tall, and makes you feel so insignificant. 

Those liquid gemstones have shed across your temples, but you don’t recognize it until his thumb swipes at the corner of your eye. A pillow-soft caress. It’s almost tender. Almost. Deliriously, you watch him smudge the same thumb, brandished in your tear, along his cockhead. The wet thumbprint coagulates with the slick there, weeping from his slit. 

“‘Course I can,” he tells you. 

There’s no gentleness in the way he manhandles you, then. Wrangling you, by the scruff of your neck, into a hover across his lap. Positioning you how he sees fit, with him seated back on the couch, and you dangling over his cock, angled up in the seal of his palm. Your knees split across either side of his lap. 

“But mum and dad,” he grunts, and when his cockhead prods against your seam, you gasp, flinching up. “should stick together. Don’t you think?” 

He drags it forward, smudging it against your spent core, and it catches on your clit, the overstimulated nerve endings there, enough to make you shiver. It wracks up your spine. 

There’s nothing romantic about the way he holds you. He doesn’t cradle you close with this sense of softhearted adoration— despite your vulnerability— only pulling you close by the nape when his slick cockhead slaps your clit, your mons, with a wet smack. You gnaw into your lower lip, muscles clenching. Seeking. He smears the tip back to your pulsating rim. 

“What’s’a’matter?” he coos, probably at the rucks between your brows, creasing across your forehead. Your eyes flicker up. “You don’t wanna be my sweet, little wife?”

(You do, you do— you—)

“Oh—“ 

The press of his tip wrenching you open, taut around him, knocks your head back. Makes your shoulders rigid, spine arching over him, and his chuckle to the gasp that clots in your trachea is dark. Rich. It fizzles into a husking growl, though, when he presses down on the tops of your thighs and sinks you over him. Against him. Stretching the wet, sopping heat around him that throbs like a heartbeat with every tight breath you take, every inch lower. Your knuckles scrabble. Notch into his leather jacket, crinkling, burrowing, balling. 

“There you go,” he hisses. Groans. You’re not looking, but you know he is. Feel the molten pools of his gaze fixed where he’s feeding his cock, unwavering. He nearly sounds awed— splintering apart— when he tells you, “Such a pretty pussy. Look at this slutty, little cunt. Swallowing me right up.”

It’s raw. Bare— skin on skin— as close as you can get, and the pang that smarts at your rim permeates all the way up to your head, until that too, feels plugged. Foggy. 

It’s too much. Too—

He flexes his hips up sharply when you stall, just enough to wedge in to the hilt, and it wrests a high sound of surprise out of you. Nearly pained. Liked a kicked animal. It snags on something deep with the motion, something you haven’t been able to reach with your own measly fingers, and you mewl. 

He gruffs a slur behind the mask, tethers it with a groan, a breath that sounds caught in his mouth, but you can’t make out what it is. Not over the thrum in your ears. The assault on your senses, the unstilted stretch that feels like it’s prying you apart. Splitting you down the middle. Your thighs tremble. A sting. A dull throb that spills in your underbelly, lapping at your sex in sweltering, warm waves. Your clit twitches. 

There is something so cataclysmic in the way he hollows you out. Carves himself deep, scoring you in a way that’ll leave you begging for a piece of him, after, when you’re empty. A piece of his rib in return. It’s wrong— you shouldn’t want this man, crave him like you crave sanctum and stability. Your frenzied desperation, panting over him, seated to the throbbing root, feels chock-full of a festering longing you’ve been burrowing down since last spring. Spilling over. It sprouts— and spring, you think, bitterly, is all about revival. Rebirth. Flowering— the yearning you’ve been hiding behind your teeth germinates across your shuddering shoulders. 

He makes you ride him. Grunting, spitting how he wants you to bounce on his cock like the good girl you are. Soft, sloppy, half-hearted grinds you can manage over him, until he takes over, hitched on a huff that sounds nearly exasperated, and ruts up into you with the leverage of his feet on the carpet. 

He fucks you like he’s sedulous to make good on his words. Hard, fast, bludgeoning your rationale until it feels like you need the tang of cigarettes and santalum in every wheezing breath you take, writhing over the shape of him. His thumbs on your nipples. His fingers under the weight of your bouncing tits. 

Every pummel up into you feels like it kisses the seal of your womb. Feels like it’s battering a little closer to fruitions, to threats, and omens, and promises. 

And you like it. Love it. Can’t get away, can’t get enough, pawing at his chest, and then his collarbones, and then his chin, fingers knocking the border of the plastic mask. Kiss me— you think it’s cruel. So cruel, that you can’t kiss him. Can’t make out the shape of his bared teeth, the glint of them with his lips snarling. You want to lick across them. Bite. Taste blood for doing this to you. For making you feel this way. You want to tear him apart. Catch his tongue against your incisors. 

The thought is a distant chimera. A daydream you can’t chase, snared in a limbo— just take, take, take. But over the crests of your cheekbones, your dewy gaze watches him. Watches him, the way he’s watched you. Unrelenting. It’s hazy at the borders. Your sight flecked with wetness, shuddering, like a camera in hands that can’t stay still, but you’re unremitting. 

“Spit on me,” he growls. It’s an abrupt request— command, brimful of authority. Perverse. Then again, when you don’t oblige, it spills as a rasping grunt, “Spit on me.”

It wheedles into your threadbare sense of logic, registers. Your brows weave. Pinch, face creasing when he delivers a sharp plunge up, into you, tip to root. It’s gross. Disgusting. Lecherous. You think about your saliva blooming across his face, the way his heavy balls will throb. 

You want to spit on him. You want to bite him, claw at him, hit him— you pucker your lips. 

It lands as a tacky glob stretching across the bridge of the nose on the mask. Seeping into the inner-corner of the eye cut-out. Glistening, slick. The sight is revolting. Nasty. Your lips curl down, your brows crinkle—

He groans. It’s loud. Suffocated on desire, hunger, want, akin to the noise he made sniffing at your hair like a monstrous hound. A fucking creep. 

One of his hands leaves your chest, his thumb wriggles under the plastic white mask. It gets discarded, tossed off onto the couch. 

The view of him in, only in a balaclava, is new. 

No less unnerving, but it’s different, and it makes your inhale tangle in your throat. Something clicks in your lungs. You hover over him, with his neck craned up at you, and his eyes are green. Two pools of epidote, eroding under the swell of his pupils. Hornblende inkblots. A long, winding wild forest. You could get lost in it. 

(And pitifully, part of you already has. Melting apart like gum under the sun, between his stupid, thick fingers.)

“Fuck. Again. Give me another,” he tells you. It rumbles, but it sounds like a plea. You feel it vibrating in his chest, under your fingers, first, then watch the divot of the balaclava wavering into his mouth when he takes in a breath between his teeth. The way the cotton is stretched, tucked, across the bridge of his nose. 

You spit where he breathes. Where he’s huffing with every brutal thrust of his hips. It speckles the ribbed cotton with shimmer, then melts into the black where his lips lay. You can’t see how it saturates the mask, but you watch the way it affects him. Watch him unravel— the way he breathes through his nose, long, deep, lashes fluttering and dusting along his cheeks as his irises loll, and you’re faced with the view of their pure ivory frames. The pink rim across his lower lash line. 

He hammers into you, mercilessly, with his leather fingertips against your clit. It’s too much. Too harsh. Pleasure and pain coagulate into a lagoon that sloshes your head, pulses between your thighs, under his incessant fingers. 

And when he comes apart, under you, you nearly tip over the precipice at the experience alone. He makes a ragged sound, a groan, hips stuttering, and spurts ribbon after ribbon of his cum against the spongy walls flexing around him. Into you. Against the seal of your womb— oh, God— you burrow your hot face into his shoulder, hips canting, and bite at the leather. 

“Fuck,” he slurs. Heaves— and you feel him melting under you. Thawing. 

Your spine ripples. The molten heat of his cum, sticking to you, plugged up by his throbbing cock, makes you feel feverish. Aching. Charred all over, from the inside. You take a deep breathe and taste his musk at the back of your throat. Lingering along your tongue.

It’s almost comforting. But the reminder of who this man is, and what he does (has done to you, is doing), crawls along the serenity of your haze like a poisonous treacle. You muster the strength in your core to rock up onto your knees, make to clamber off. 

“Okay,” you breathe, “Okay—“

The thought of repose is a bittersweet mirage, though, sparkling in the distance, when he nudges his hips back up from beneath you. 

It knocks into something that makes your lungs seize. You feel his tacky spend coated across the undersides of your ass cheeks, spilling against the inside of your thighs. Pooling in the thicket of dark, wiry hair that nests around the root of his cock, dusting his balls. He grunts, and when he jostles you over his lap again, you have to catch your balance with your hands against his pecs. 

His eyes are shimmery when you blink up at them. Expressive enough for you to clock the derisive mirth that curdles, in shavings, along the chrysoberyl flecks in the tumultuous seas, when he hums. “You didn’t think I was done, did you?”   

He’s not done. Not for a good, long while. But you suppose, that a year of self-denial, precipitous self-restraint, is bound to spill over, eventually.

(It’s just too bad for you that you ended up in the path of the hurricane, front and center.)

He fucks you again over the arm of the couch, with your ribs smushed to the ledge and your knees on the cushion. Arms behind your back, head dangling, tits aching with the press of his weight, every drag against the fabric. Fingers in your mouth, straining the corners wide, riding the grooves of your clamped, slick teeth. Pawing at your ass, squeezing the flesh, prying your cheeks apart humiliatingly wide.

He makes you cum again. And again, until you’re sobbing. Legs hitched over his shoulders, chin twisted, gnawing into your own shoulder to stifle your mewls. 

“Tell me your name,” you slur under him. With his chin over tucked your shoulder, his hum ripples across your eardrum like a humid gust. Rolls between your shoulder blades. 

“Tell me your name,” you beg, again, mottled with frenzied desperation that climbs your throat. You know those eyes. You know that face— the one that lies underneath. The misty contours of it scratch across your skull in the smog of a memory. You know—

Your lower lip wobbles when he cups over your sternum, takes your breast in a doughy handful, squeezing around it, drowning you in every wet squelch, every slap of his hips against your ass. 

“Daddy.”

When you wake up, he’s not there. Ephemeral. The night nearly feels temporal, if not for the slick between your thighs, dewy at your cunt, where your seam is still aching. Crusting along the insides of your thighs. 

You feel like every bone is out of place. Like everything needs to crackle and slot back. Worn, tired, when you kick your feet over the edge of the mattress and stand. It pangs between your legs, first. And then across your chest. 

Your underwear is gone. You know you won’t find it. 

When you check the clock it’s midday. Late, too late to even be considered sleeping in. You’ve wasted the twenty-second off into somnolence. There’s still a haze across your head. This balmy, misty thing that keeps you sluggish. Tired. You’d chalk it up to oversleeping, but. 

It’s short-lived. Hollowed by the vacancy. Something stirs in the back of your head— you should probably send a life signal out to your family. Let them know you’re not splattered across the sidewalk, somewhere, or worse yet—

You think about his words. Keeping you all to himself. The thought makes your shoulders shudder. 

On the way to the bathroom, you find carmine carnations in your kitchen. Mounted in a vase that belongs to you, plucked out of the cabinet over your fridge. Beautiful, beautiful carnations.

kinktober masterlist here. | general masterlist here. | patreon here.

TAGLIST: @aprlmuse @babegoals @cinnamonone @flubblubbb @ivegotthecinema

@bxtchboy69 @iloveharrystyles04 @littlenatilda @witch-rry @watermelonsugarslut

[f1amour]

˖ ࣪ 𖥔 BED CHEM

pairing | charles leclerc x singer!reader

face claim | olivia rodrigo

content warnings | some social media au, birthday sex, unprotected sex, oral, fingering, praise kink, soft dom!charles, edging, dirty talk, public sex, restroom sex, car sex —18+ only, minors do not interact

authors note | another belated birthday story but hope you guys enjoy!! maybe this’ll bring good luck for todays race :))

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liked by charles_leclerc, arthur_leclerc, lilymhe, and 1,938,733 others

yourusername my everything. my world. all in one. i will always be thankful to be so lucky that i have found a love that will last a lifetime. meeting you was like listening to a song for the first time and knowing it would be my favorite. it’s you today and tomorrow, forever and always, in another world and universe; it’ll always be you. happiest of birthdays my charlie. i love you. 💌🧸

view commmets below…

user1 your honor i love them

user2 “meeting you was like listening to a song for the first time knowing it would be my favorite.” FUCK I WANT A LOVE LIKE THEIRS

charles_leclerc mon amour. mon soleil. ma lune. mon étoile. merci de m'aimer et d'être mon meilleur ami. tu es le meilleur cadeau que je puisse jamais avoir. je t'aime maintenant et dans tous les univers. [my love. my sun. my moon. my star. thank you for loving me and being my best friend. you are the best gift i could ever have. i love you now and in every universe.]

yourusername charlie🥹🥹 i love you so bad, baby. (thank you google translate🤞🏼)

user3 the best gift i could ever have…i aspire to have someone love me like this one day

arthur_leclerc you guy make me sick.

yourusername applications open someone please date my brother in law so he could stop third wheeling with us!!

arthur_leclerc fuck you i got 200 message requests now because of this🖕🏼

yourusername ur welcome 😙

user4 the relationship she has with his family is so cute and hilarious😭 the fact she calls them in laws🥹

lilymhe alex is crying after seeing your post.

yourusername mission accomplished 🫡 thank you and alex_albon for setting us up 🫶🏼

alex_albon okay so when is the wedding?

charles_leclerc soon😉

yourusername YOU HAVENT EVEN ASKED ME?!

charles_leclerc i know but soon…i know you’ll be my wife

lilymhe great he’s crying again

user4 i can’t believe they’ve been dating four years now it’s CRAZY

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yourusername posted three stories!

slide 1/3 surprise!! my new single bed chem is out now dedicated to my favorite libra

slide 2/3 bed chem music video out at midnight, can you guess who the special guest is?

slide 3/3 the day that we met he was wearing this white jacket and now four years later he wore it once again for the music video…hope you guys enjoy it as much as i did ;)

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AUSTIN, TEXAS. 2024.

“what if someone hears us?” you breathe out shakily while charles’ lips are attached to your neck. his hands digging into your hips giving it a soft squeeze before he spins your around almost bending you over the counter and facing the mirror.

“has that ever stopped us? come on, baby. it is my birthday after all and you said i can have whatever i want. what i want is you,” his fingers slip under your skirt, pushing your panties to the side, “i think you want it too. you’re soaked for me.” charles kisses your shoulders as he adds two fingers, slowly stretching you out with your eyes connected to his through the mirror.

“remember our first date? you were practically begging for me to fuck you on the table right there in front of everyone. but only i get to ever see you like this, a mess for me,” he taunts, fingers moving deep inside of you, curling against your g-spot as he pushes your face to the side pulling you in for a deep kiss until you were both gasping for air.

“charlie, wanna cum…please,” you choke out, already feeling close with your walls fluttering around him. you push yourself against him already feeling his cock through his pants, you needed him.

"uh uh, baby," he purrs, "tonight is my night so i want you to cum all over my cock. before that i wanna come in your pretty mouth. on your knees, cherie.” he slowly pulls his fingers out and you moan at the loss of fullness before he’s tapping your ass signaling to kneel on the cold tiles.

charles’ eyes grow darker as you sink down on your knees and pull his pants down, his cock springs free. without notice you wrap your lips around the tip of him and his pre-cum coats your tongue as you take him further.

“mon dieu bébé, ta bouche est tellement parfaite. merde,” his hand tangle in your hair and around the back of your neck. your hand wraps around whatever doesn’t fit in your mouth and you speed up your movements, “shit. ‘m gonna cum mon amour.” he groans as you hollow your cheeks around him.

with just a few more strokes before thick ropes of cum fill your mouth, charles’ head thrown back in pleasure catching his breath before helping you up. he wipes the tears off your face gives you a sweet kiss teeth clashing as you both smile, “i love you so much.” laughter now fills the restroom as you jinx each other with the sentence.

his hand intertwined with yours after fixing each other’s appearance you walk out of the restroom and go back to sit down at the dinner where some of the other drivers and their partners were seated.

“fucking finally! you filthy whores we’ve been waiting 20 minutes for you guys. couldn’t you wait until after dessert!” max curses at the two of you and you give him the finger before sitting next to charles and lily right beside you,

“i got my dessert already.” you chuckle leaning your head on charles, his hand resting on your thigh. the rest of the group doesn’t mind, seeing the two of you with a smitten smile obviously enjoying yourselves but their faces turn sour at max’s next comment, “yeah, a salty one.”

“max!”

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after dinner you all headed out to your own cars and to the club where the real birthday celebrations would start for charles. however, you had one small wish to make on your behalf despite it not being your day. “don’t pout at me, baby. what’s wrong?” charles rubbed his thumb on your knee as he drove to the next destination.

“what’s wrong? you didn’t let me cum! i gave you a fucking blowjob with my knees on a filthy floor and i don’t get to cum? it’s your birthday but…i’m mad. i gave you a song, an entire album this year, i gave you leo, and what do i get? nothing!” you cross your arms and push his hand away.

“my love, is that why you’re upset? fine,” he takes a quick turn into an empty parking lot and you look at him confused because this certainly wasn’t the club you had booked. “charles, this isn’t the—.” you stop when he undoes your seatbelt and places you on his lap.

“have your way with me, ma chérie,” he leans in pulling you into a kiss, his hands on your face as you deepen the kiss and roll your hips against his causing him to let out a groan. clothes are quickly shrugged off to where your aching pussy rubs against his hardened cock.

his cock slipping in as you let yourself moan as he stretches you, “you take me so well," he grunts. "that’s my girl, just relax for me. gonna give you exactly what you want.”

now fully seated on charles, cock deep inside of you as he holds your face in his hands, “j'aime toujours à quel point tu es jolie quand je t'ai comme ça. [always love how pretty you look when i have you like this].” he grunts letting you rock your hips against him.

“still don’t know what you’re saying but i love how you talk to me in french,” you press your lips to his as he squeezes your hips. he thrusts up meeting your movements as well causing you both to let out loud moans as the car shakes, “tu me prends si bien, chérie. [you take me so well, sweetheart.]”

"don't stop, please, don't stop." you whimper feeling one of his hands pull away from your hip but gasp when it goes to your clit adding pressure to it, “charlie,” your moans coming out loud and needy, grabbing onto his shoulder and fucking yourself harder on him.

charles can’t help but let out a string of curse words mixed in french and italian. you have no idea what he is saying other than his usual pet names for you but it has you close to your orgasm and he could tell, “that’s it, baby. taking my cock so well give me a little more and you can cum.” he grabs you close to him your chest pressed against his as he forces himself up into you hitting your sweet spot with every thrust.

“cum with me, pretty girl.” a small nod and you capture his lips in yours letting out a moan against his soft lips as you reach your orgasm. a loud groan escapes his chest as he empties himself inside you.

you let a few minutes pass as you both catch your breaths and share a few sweet kisses, “best birthday ever, from my favorite gift ever. i love you,” charles smiles at you, his cock still buried deep inside you making the moment much more intimate for you, “i you, charlie.” you kiss his nose which makes him let out a low chuckle.

“we should probably get going before—.” as charles speaks up about heading to the club some bright car lights shine in your faces causing you to wince. you jump up startled when you hear a knock on the window, “fuck! mon amour…still inside you,” charles groans feeling your walls clench around his cock.

“you guys have been gone for an hour! we get it you like to fuck but we couldn’t get into the club until you arrived. i need a fucking drink!” max yells through the window stressed as if you had missed an importat meeting. in his eyes, you did.

however, his little tantrum caused the two of you to throw yourselves into a fit of giggles as he curses in dutch the only words you can understand are gin & tonic. “best birthday.” charles repeats, his loving smile directed at you. his best gift ever.

[winterchimez]

Heart's Detour | Jeon Jungkook

SUMMARY: there has been a rise in kidnapping cases in town, and your brother feared for your safety and decided to send someone who would keep you safe in the meantime. what you least expected was that the biker gang's leader was the one your brother had gotten for you, thinking that this could probably be the biggest mistake you'll ever make in your life.

PAIRING: biker!Jungkook x afab!reader (feat. lieutenant!Seokjin)

GENRE: biker au, angst, crime, fluff, thriller, slight suggestive

WARNINGS: nc-17, flirty & delulu kookie 😃👍, slow-burn, pet names (sweetheart, princess, kitten), violence, action scenes (certain parts may contain slight bit of gory content), mentions of weaponary (guns), minor characters death, blood, betrayal, mentions of crime (kidnapping and human trafficking), slight mention about sex, traumatic backstories, mentions about mental well-being/health, Jungkook is shirtless at one point 👀, kissing, making out, yn also flirts back but it's only to keep Jungkook in place 🫡

WORD COUNT: 22,779

A/N: my very first bangtan fic!! if you thought this seems familiar, it's bcs i have written this originally for tbz Sunwoo which you can access here !! i just love this baby so much and somehow...kookie just fits the story too well. so here it is & i hope you'll enjoy!

“Oh my god, you look like my next big mistake.” 

That was the first thing that escaped right out of your mouth as the familiar figure pulled into the driveway. You already knew who it was—that black leather jacket, the black helmet that covered his breathtaking look (as much as you didn’t want to admit it), and the slightly worn-out boots he always wore. 

It was the moment he took his helmet off and shook his hair to clear his vision so that he would always look straight at you and smile before you decided to ruin the mood. 

“Now that’s just rude. I was nice enough to accept your brother’s request to come pick you up.” 

“What makes you think I’d go with you, Jungkook? You’re one of our district's most dangerous human beings,” you deadpanned. 

“Look sweetheart, it’s either you hop on, or I’ll leave you behind. For your information, I would still drag your ass to ride my baby because I would not want to be fed to the hound dogs by your brother.” 

With his reply, you quickly glanced around the area you were in to find that it was dead silent and empty and that it was already going to be midnight as you glanced at your watch. Knowing that you didn’t have a choice, you reluctantly grabbed the helmet Jungkook was extending to you and placed it over your head. 

He smirked at your reaction, knowing very well how he was the only option to get back home. Before he did the same, he hopped back into his vehicle. 

“Grab on.” That was the last thing he said before covering down his face shield as he started the engine. As you gently wrapped your arms around his wrist, he gave the throttle a few twists. Instantly, the bike propelled forward, and you were both on the road. 

It wasn’t unusual for your brother Seokjin to cancel on you and be unable to pick you up from your job location on the city's outskirts. You knew deep down that he was always busy with his job back at the station. He was one of the lieutenants of the Seoul Metropolitan Police Department, after all. When duty calls, he has to stay behind and arrange transport for you instead.

You have repeatedly reassured him that you could take the bus back home or figure out how to deal with matters like this on your own. However, your brother insisted that you were not to take the public transport back as there has been a sudden rise in crimes in the city. 

Additionally, the town you resided in was infamous for the biker gangs, the one that the man in front of you was part of. Nobody dared to come close to them, fearing for their lives as they were capable of doing the worst possible things you could’ve imagined. But it was part of their persona that they always kept up with, as it helped them stay safe from potential dangers or threats against them. 

Hence, you have never understood why your brother, who was part of the police force, would associate with a man like Jeon Jungkook. As far as you and the public knew, he was the leader of the biker gang in Seoul. As soon as his name was mentioned, the public would keep a distance and fear the man himself. But because of how often you have interacted with the man, you find him to be the complete opposite of the image he painted towards the public. 

In reality, he was a goofy guy and not as terrifying nor harmful as the public had determined him to be. He was careless at times, getting all ahead of himself, which completely paints the picture of him being delusional. At times, you would tease him about something, and that was when you realised he gets scared easily. Talk to him about a ghost story, and you can guarantee that he was going to piss his pants even before you even reached the climax of your story. 

In other words, he always looked out for you in your brother’s absence, and he would lurk behind the shadows somewhere, ensuring you would be all alright. You were pretty sure that he probably signed some sort of deal or contract with your brother to do so because who were they to spend most of their life looking out for a young adult like you? 

You were definitely grateful for that, as much as you would never admit it straight up to Jungkook’s face; you just couldn’t understand why a biker leader like him would associate with you and your brother. 

As you both rode for a bit, you eventually found yourselves back in the heart of Seoul. There was something about riding a bike as you took in the breathtaking view as the wind rushed past your tousling hair, sending this thrilling sensation down your spine. 

If you were with a complete stranger, it would have set off so many alarms in your mind because of the multiple biker stories you have heard from the news and your brother. 

But somehow, for some reason, riding with Jungkook has always made you feel comfortable and safe. 

Perhaps it was why you decided to hop on with him in the first place. It was your first time riding his bike with him, yet you weren’t too mad about the idea. In fact, you were kind of grateful that your brother set up such arrangements. 

It didn’t take you both long enough before Jungkook eventually dropped you off right at your doorstep. You got off the bike with ease and handed the helmet back to him as you walked up to your front door porch. Right before you decided to turn the doorknob to open the door, you turned your head back to see that Jungkook was still there looking at you.

“You’re not going to kidnap me, aren’t you?” 

“Come on, you actually think that I’m a pervert? What makes you think so, sweetheart?” 

“Many reasons,” you spat.  

“Rude.” 

“I’ll take that.” 

“Well, now that you’re back home safe and sound, I’ll finally take my leave. Let your brother know about it.” 

With one final glance, he lifted his feet on the ground back up to his bike before twisting the throttle again to give his motorcycle an immediate surge of power, and he sped quickly out from your neighbourhood. 

As you got into the comforts of your home, you made yourself comfortable before sending your brother Seokjin a text to tell him that you were safe and sound before tucking yourself into bed. 

Throughout the night, you just couldn’t help but ponder why the biker’s leader would actually care or even listen to the law enforcement to escort you back home. He couldn’t have cared less and certainly had much more pressing matters than dealing with a young adult like you. 

As you tossed and turned in your bed, that question remained in your mind, keeping you wide awake all night. 

Jeon Jungkook, just who or what exactly are you?

“So you’re my personal babysitter now?” 

You were chilling at your local coffee shop, rushing up your remaining assignments due the following week. You were still a university student before your part-time job and had no choice but to sacrifice most of your sleep and free time to deal with pressing matters. 

Just as you were typing away on your laptop, a familiar figure suddenly approached you with two cups of iced macchiato in both hands before he plopped down on the seat right across you and handed you one of the drinks. You raised an eyebrow at him, making him stop sipping his coffee away. 

“Brother’s orders,” he replied.

You had no idea why exactly Seokjin was doing all of this. In fact, he hasn’t been coming home much for the past week as he had been caught up with work at his station, which is also where you assumed he was sleeping for the time being. During his absence, the infamous biker leader sitting in front of you has been personally coming to pick you up from work every single day. 

You thought that since you were off to focus on your studies this whole week, you would finally take a break from the delusional man himself. It turns out you were wrong, and he was here with you in the coffee shop you once called your comfort place. 

You didn’t entirely hate this guy, though; it was more of questioning why he was associating with you more often now as one of the town’s most feared individuals. Naturally, that also caused the people around you to give you the side-eye or just avoid you like the plague, all thanks to the one and only Jeon Jungkook.

There was a moment of silence between you two as you continued typing away on your laptop. It wasn’t long before the male bent over to peek at your laptop screen to see what you were working with. 

“Don’t even bother helping me," you replied bluntly. 

“You never know I might be an expert in your field of work.” 

You sighed. “Jeon Jungkook. It’s literature.” 

“Well, I wouldn’t be the biker gang leader for no reason. I’ve got great communication skills, after all.” 

“For your information, it’s about writing a 2000 essay review on William Shakespeare’s Romeo and Juliet.” 

Upon hearing the novel's name, he immediately grinned widely before scooting his chair closer to you, giving you this puppy look that he was now very intrigued by your work. 

“Oh my god, Romeo and Juliet is my absolute favourite! Mark my words when I tell you I am a huge fan of romance novels or TV shows!” 

You sighed in defeat when he began reading the essay that you have written so far; you could tell that he was the type not to let go of something that piqued his interest. He was even reading it very diligently, and you couldn’t help but chuckle at that sight. 

“Hey, don’t look down on me. Just so you know, I aced all of my tests back in school and was a model student.” 

“Hmm, questionable, but I will take that.” 

Just like that, the time seemed to pass as quickly as possible, and you were even surprised by how much knowledge he had about the classic novella itself. It was intriguing to find out that he got invested in the topic and was able to help you brainstorm specific ideas that you could add on to make your essay much more sophisticated. 

Right when you were about to type away to finish up the final parts of your essay, you suddenly felt a little tap on your shoulders, which made you turn your head back to see who it was. Once you laid your eyes upon them, you quickly shot up from your chair and gave them a big hug. 

“Kisa! Where exactly have you been? Everyone at work has missed you so badly.” You hugged your former co-worker tightly, rubbing your cheeks together even as it had been months since you had last seen each other. 

“I know. Things have been rough recently, and I had no choice but to take a short leave.” 

“You could have at least told us what was going on, Kisa. Weren’t we all your closest buds around town?” 

She chuckled. “I guess.” 

There was a little awkward moment of silence between you two, which you thought was a bit odd as Kisa used to be an excellent talker who would always have a topic ready up her sleeves. You quickly examined the look in her eyes, and you could tell that something was off; it almost felt as if she was trying to tell you something, but she couldn’t for some reason.

Hence, you decided to ask her. “Hey Kisa, is everything alright—”

“You know, Y/N! There is this new cafe right towards the end of the street where we could go that serves your favourite croffles. It’s been a while, so why don’t we catch up for a bit?” Kisa asked rather hastily. 

You could sense that something was off from her tone of voice and speech, and you desperately wanted to find out at this point. 

“Yeah, of course! Let’s head off—”

“I’m sorry, but she won’t be able to join you today.” 

Immediately, Jungkook grabbed your wrist, pulled you back towards him and wrapped his hands around your shoulders. 

“You see, Y/N is actually on a date with me today. Perhaps the both of you could do it some other time? I apologise for that, Miss.” Jungkook replied with a smile on his face, and that immediately made Kisa back off. 

“Y-Yeah, of course! I’m so sorry to have bothered you, Y/N. I’ll see you sometime again soon!” 

Instantly, Kisa turned her heel and dashed towards the front door. Just like that, your co-worker you haven’t seen for months disappeared into thin air once again. You quickly darted your face back to Jungkook, trying to interrogate him as to why on earth he had done what he did. 

“Jeon Jungkook, I knew you were delusional, but that doesn’t mean you could do that to me—”

“Let’s get out of here.” 

Jungkook immediately cut you off and quickly helped take all your belongings for you as he pushed you towards the front door, right towards his bike. Once you both had strapped on, Jungkook immediately took speed and quickly drove away. During the entire ride home, it was obvious that he knew or saw something, as you felt his whole body was all tense up as you wrapped your arms around him. 

He was awfully quiet too, not even sparring a glance back at you during the journey, and that alone was weird enough for you since he would always joke around and shout aloud amidst the busy traffic to make sure that you were still able to converse with him. 

But no, not this time. 

Once he dropped you off at your front porch, he kept scanning the area around your house and wouldn’t even try to speak with you. When you finally removed the helmet and handed it back to him, he quickly grabbed your wrist again, and his grip tightened against yours. 

“Whatever you do, stay at home for now. Do not leave unless it is me or your brother who answers the door,” he spoke firmly, making sure you get that through your head before he finally let go of your grip.

This was the infamous biker leader you grew up listening to rumours about how he was cold in reality, and as to why so many people were terrified of him. There was this aura around this man, and that whatever came out from his mouth, he meant business, and he wasn’t the type to joke around when he set his mind on something. It was also the deathly cold stare he gave that scared so many people, including you right now as you witness them firsthand in person. 

Giving him a little nod, he lets go of your grip so you can finally head up to open your locked front door. Once you had turned the doorknob and taken your first step in, you glanced behind again to see that he was still giving you that cold death stare. To be honest, it terrified you a little, and you knew that you couldn’t ask what the whole fiasco happened back at the cafe, at least not for now. 

With that, you walked right into the comforts of your house and closed the door shut, eyes still glued towards that cold death stare from the biker leader. You tried your best to distract yourself by cleaning up the house a little and getting yourself all cosy and ready for bed while sparing a few glances at your windows to see that Jungkook was still there, staring directly at your house, or rather, at you. 

It wasn’t until the clock finally struck midnight that Jungkook decided it was time to leave you alone as he drove off and disappeared.

Whatever happened today was enough for you to finally conclude that something was up, and you needed to know. It surely must not have just been a pure coincidence that Jungkook has been popping up in your life just like that out of the blue, and how your brother actually trusted him and asked that he took care of you in his place, and with what happened today at the cafe with Kisa. 

Something was definitely up, and you needed answers. Immediately.

You couldn’t care less if you were to be scolded by your big brother. When you woke up this morning, you quickly called for a taxi to take you to your brother’s station. It took a while to convince the ones at the reception that your brother was one of the lieutenants, so they had to call Seokjin and make him personally come down to escort you. 

Seokjin's eyes widened upon seeing you, but the moment he saw your face, he knew that you came here for a good reason and that you weren’t just here for a visit. 

After passing through the multiple securities, you finally ended up in his office on one of the top floors. Luckily, things weren’t too busy, so your brother had some time to spare with you. 

“Hey sis, I’m sorry I haven’t been able to come home lately nor pick you up from work. It’s just that I have had so many cases to deal with—”

“Seokjin, I need answers.” You cut him off. 

It was the look that you had in your eyes that made it absolutely clear to Seokjin that you weren’t leaving until you had the answers that you desperately wanted. It has always been like this for you, even when you were a child. You were persistent and would do anything to get whatever you wanted. With you seated on the couch in his office, you leaned back slightly and crossed your arms and legs, indirectly telling your brother to do the same.

Seokjin let out a deep sigh before he finally got himself comfortable and placed a hot cup of freshly brewed tea he had made just for you right onto the table, pushing it towards you before he finally sat down across the couch from you.

It took a moment for him to rub his palms together before lifting up his face to look directly at you. 

“Y/N, please know that I’m doing everything I can to keep you safe at all times—”

“Not that, Seokjin. Just cut to the chase, please.” 

“It’s…well, long story short, there have been multiple cases of young girls who have been going missing for the past couple of weeks. And we have been searching high and low for clues but to no avail.” He furrowed his eyebrows as he finally spat out what had been bugging him for weeks. 

“Okay? And what does that have to do with you sending the infamous Jeon Jungkook to care for me?” 

“You’ll be needing him, Y/N. I promise he will surely be looking out for you, no matter what.”

“Well, that’s reassuring to know. But why, Seokjin? Since when have you ever associated yourself with a dangerous man like him?” You questioned. 

This time, you could tell that your brother was slightly hesitant in his next words and struggled to come up with possible answers that would please your curiosity. 

“That’s…something I can’t say for now. But you will eventually find out yourself soon.” 

You scoffed before standing up and raising your voice towards your brother. “Seokjin, I came all the way out here to hear answers from you, my own brother. The fact that what happened at the cafe last night was odd enough, to the point that Jungkook even gave me this death stare warning me as if I may be in danger or something. I have no idea what exactly you both are planning, but you better tell me everything from the beginning for God’s sake, right this second.” 

There was this apologetic look in his eyes as he stared right back at your now-turning-red face, standing up and placing both hands on your shoulders, trying to calm you down. It was then, all of a sudden, that there was a knock on his door, and he instructed whoever it was to come in. It was one of his subordinates, and he was summoned to the chief’s office to discuss the missing cases further. 

Before Seokjin left the room, he turned back to grab his jacket quickly and hastily put it on while speaking to you for one last time. 

“Stay here, Y/N. I’ll drop you back home after I’m done with this meeting. I’ll try my best to return as soon as possible.” 

Within seconds, Seokjin and his subordinate rushed out of the room and closed the door shut. Now that your brother was gone, there was no way that you would just sit back and relax, knowing that there have been cases of young girls going missing around town. You needed to learn more about this, even if your brother isn’t willing to tell you anything more about it. 

You decided to salvage through his work desk, opening up each cabinet to see if you could find anything useful regarding the case. Scanning through the multiple files that he had kept away nicely, it seemed as if your brother might have taken the file that contained potential evidence or information about the missing girls, so you were left with nothing that could give you a bit of an insight to what exactly was going around in town.

That was until you discovered a little slip of paper peeking through one of the files. 

You quickly took it out from the folder, and a smirk began to form on your face as you read through the information on that little piece of paper. 

“If you’re not going to tell me, Seokjin, I’ll figure all this out myself then.” 

With the last remaining pocket money you had, you managed to hail a taxi to bring you to the specified location that was written on that little piece of paper. However, you gave the driver a slightly different route than the one from the paper, for you knew that no ordinary citizen would ever step foot within the infamous territory.

The moment you stepped out of the vehicle, you assumed that you would be walking for about a good ten minutes before you were able to arrive at the exact location. You didn’t mind that in the slightest bit—you just needed to find the right person to ask the questions that have been gruelling in the back of your mind. 

The walk towards the location wasn’t exactly smooth as you had to pass through the woods to get there undetected. It was already dark out then, so you had to rely on your handy-dandy torchlight from your phone to guide you through the woods. It felt eerie, and the crackling sounds as you stepped on the branches scattered across the ground didn’t help in the slightest bit.

But you had to remind yourself that you came here constantly for a purpose: no matter what, you weren’t going home empty-handed. With the best of your abilities, you pushed through and eventually, arrived after almost an hour of walking, where, in reality, it would’ve taken you ten minutes if you didn’t spend most of the time getting lost in the woods. 

What mattered was that you were finally at the location, and upon first inspection, it was a vast empty parking lot filled with motorcycles from one end to another. Thankfully, there were multiple huge metal transport boxes that filled the area, so you sneakily stepped out from the woods and ran to the closest one to hide. 

You decided to sneak your head out a little and peek through the corners of the box, and as expected, you were able to spot several individuals towards the far end of the parking lot. Some of them were leaning against their bikes as they drank to their heart’s content while chatting away, while others were ultimately passed out and fast asleep in the empty garage at the centre. 

Judging from the location you were at now, it was nearly impossible to hear precisely what those individuals were talking about. If you want to get your hands on concrete evidence, you have got to move closer. 

With a quick dash, you ran towards box by box while trying your best to be undetected. Each time you managed to get from one box to another, you always gave yourself a quiet sigh of relief and tried your best to calm your beating heart down. 

Okay, just a few more boxes to go. I can do this—

Instantly, someone came up from behind to cup your mouth with their hands while the other was wrapped around your chest, trying to calm your muffling sounds down. 

“What in God’s mind were you even thinking of stepping foot in this place?”

That voice. It belonged to the person you have been longing to find in the first place. 

“J-Jungkook,” you muffled as his hands still cupped your mouth. 

At that moment, both of you heard footsteps coming closer to where you were and knew you were about to be cornered. There was no reason for an outsider like you to be present in the biker gang’s territory, and you would pretty much be skinned alive if you were to be found.

Time was ticking, and you needed to think of a way to get out of here undetected. 

But thankfully, it seemed as if Jungkook had everything under control. 

Or so you thought. 

Just when the few bikers came around the corner, a loud gasp came from them as they witnessed the sight beyond them. Never in a million years would they have caught their boss making out with some random stranger in their base.

“U-Uh, boss? What exactly is going on?” One of the bikers stammered, hoping that the question asked wouldn’t get him into trouble. 

It took a few seconds for Jungkook to turn his head to look at them with his face looking like a mess as if he had just had a steamy kissing session with whoever he was with, as he was also trying his best to protect your identity by pushing your head down towards the crook of his neck. 

The bikers gulped at the sight, but Jungkook quickly gave them a plausible answer for now. 

“You see, this little one has gotten some valuable information from us, and I’m just doing a favour to get them cough up whatever shit that they know and to ruin them a little bit for some fun.” He smirked. 

That was enough to shut the bikers up, and then they quickly brushed it off, telling their boss that they would get a quick smoke to loosen up a bit. As they finally walked away and the coast was clear, Jungkook immediately lifted your head to get you to face him directly. He could tell you were beyond speechless and there was this unreadable emotion on your face. 

Confused? Mad? Upset? Maybe all of it at once. 

But that didn’t stop him from dragging you out of that place as he quickly brought you back into the woods, going through the dark passageway once again until you both ended up back on the road you originally came from. 

That was when you finally freed yourself from his grasp, and you began raising your voice at him, even if you didn’t mean to. 

You didn’t know what you were feeling at this point either—one thing for sure is that you definitely felt overwhelmed by everything that was happening. As much as you tried to open your mouth, the words wouldn’t come straight out. With that, Jungkook decided to help you finish your sentence instead.

“Admit it, you liked my kiss.” 

Your eyes widened. “What the actual bullshit, Jeon Jungkook.”

“So now you can talk.” 

God, this was starting to get to your head badly, and there was just so much vulgar language that you wanted to throw at the man in front of you. But it seems that Jungkook was once a step ahead of you. 

“You’re up to no good, princess.” 

“What do you even know, Jungkook-”

“I have a pretty good guess that you came without telling your brother, or rather, against his orders.” 

You absolutely hated that Jungkook knew precisely what was going on in your mind and how he could read you perfectly. It was as if you were just plain as day—your discreet movements or actions you’ve tried to keep secret will always be revealed quickly against your own will. 

Eventually, you decided to give in. “Fine. I did.” 

“Now, someone is not being a good sibling, aren’t they? Might have to report back to big brother Seokjin, and someone’s going to get some timeout—”

Before Jungkook could finish his sentence, you quickly stomped towards him and grabbed his collar, seemingly shutting him up for a moment.

“You’re going to tell me everything. Every single detail, Jeon Jungkook.” 

Jungkook already had a good guess as to why you were here in the first place. You came to find him and took the risk of visiting his hideout written on the piece of paper you found in Seokjin’s office. Mentally, he was throwing curses at your brother for not spilling the details because now he was the one who was going to do it instead. 

Kim Seokjin, I sincerely hope that your microwave is going to break down so that you will be having cold meals for a period of time and that you will get your ass kicked by your CEO for not having much progress in the missing cases. 

From your not-so-nice friend, Jeon Jungkook. 

As much as you almost exerted this fiery aura, Jungkook did not flinch in the slightest. He was used to things like this anyway; he was the biker gang’s leader after all. Instead, he grinned back at you.

“You clearly have lost your mind thinking that you can manipulate the biker leader to spill out the deeds for you. It seems that you have not experienced why exactly the public fear about us, Y/N.” 

This time, he slowly takes a step forward little by little, and you slowly begin to back off while your hands remain on the collar of his shirt. 

“Let me tell you a little something, Y/N. The moment when you stepped within our territory, you were just as good as dead meat.” Jungkook continued. 

Another step forward.

“Do you know why the public fear us, Y/N? We are predators. And predators hunt for prey who messes with us.” 

Another step forward. 

“And you little innocent citizens of Seoul have officially become our prey because no one messes with us. I mean, no one. You have chosen death when you decided even to come close to us.” 

Another step forward. 

“So you might as well say your last words before I devour you up, hmm?” Jungkook then stops at his track as he leans forward so that both of your faces are mere inches away, and he closes his eyes while giving you the biggest smile you have seen just yet. 

That alone was enough to shake you to your core. 

It was just as portrayed in books and TV shows, on how smiles make the villains ten times worse than they are. When a villain smiles, you drop everything and run for it. 

If only that were what exactly you did. 

You straighten your posture before you spit back at him. “You won’t have the guts to do that to me, Jeon Jungkook.” 

“And what makes you think that, sweetheart?” 

“Because you love me,” you spat. 

Upon hearing those words, the smile immediately fell from his face, and a shocked expression replaced it. Jungkook quickly backed off and took a few steps back away from you. 

Bingo. 

“N-No, I don’t.” Jungkook chuckled. 

“Jokes on you, young man—you were literally head over heels for me, that’s why you agreed to babysit me in the first place.” 

You instantly noticed how flushed his face was getting as he quickly cupped both sides of his face with his hands, trying to calm the heat down. But that did not stop you from moving towards him now as you continued taunting him. 

“You know, I think your fellow bikers would be delighted to hear that their boss was in love with a commoner like me, don’t you think? I’m sure the biker community loves to hear romance since you boys have been angsty all year.” 

“No no no! Not the biker community! I’m supposed to be a cool leader everyone looks up to and worship goddamit!” He was now covering his ears like a little child. 

Oh, Jeon Jungkook, you indeed are such a sucker for romance. 

Finally, you took the final steps and stood before him, placing both hands upon his shoulders, and you returned a devilish smile. 

“I think someone’s got a good explanation to do before I feed him to my brother’s hound dogs back at the station.”

“Kim Y/N, I absolutely would love to ruin your makeup right now.” 

“Jeon Jungkook, I absolutely would love to throw you straight into the river right now.” 

After that confrontation on the empty road, you both decided to take this whole conversation elsewhere before any of the bikers made their way out to confront you two again. 

So you hopped back onto Jungkook’s bike and drove a little to the well-known spot in Seoul, Han River. 

Since Jungkook had barely recovered from your counterattack before, he was clearly distracted as he droved through the city, constantly putting out this pout and sulky expression on his face, making you want to tease him more.

Occasionally, you would purposely snake your hands up to his abdomen to his chest, which made the male squirm and his body tense upon the contact, making him cry out loud, for God’s sake, and somehow apologise throughout the entire ride. 

The moment you both got to the river, Jungkook immediately asked you to get out of his vehicle while trying to calm his pounding chest down. Unfortunately, you were nowhere near done wrecking the bike leader, so you snaked your arms around him as you dragged him out from his bike, taking them down to one of the stairs facing the river. 

Jungkook was not in the right mind and was trying his best to counterattack, which at one point he did. But thanks to the taekwondo classes you took back in the day, you quickly turned the tables around.

So now Jeon Jungkook was the one pinned to the ground while you were hovering above him, pinning both his hands above his head while your legs kept his in place, leaving him no room to move around. 

“If only being delusional wasn’t my weakness, I swear Y/N…”

“Tell that to the ones who created you. They were the ones to cast this spell upon you.” 

“What do I get if I tell you the truth?”

You paused for a moment. What were you going to repay him exactly? 

But since you were already keeping up with this facade a couple of hours ago, you might as well continue the seeds that you have planted.

“A kiss from me to you.” 

Upon hearing those words, the male smirked before finally closing his eyes and let loose his body slightly. 

“Fine, Y/N. You win.” 

With that, you also did the same by slowly releasing your grip on his arms, knowing well how he wouldn’t be counterattacking you soon. 

“What I am about to tell you, Y/N… I’m not exactly sure if you’re able to stomach it all, to be honest.” 

“Nothing as bad as the cases that my brother has done, I bet.” 

“Fair. Your brother deals with brutal homicide cases, after all.” 

Jungkook then propped himself up, and you decided to give him some space by getting off him and sitting cross-legged at his side. It took Jungkook a moment to gather his thoughts before finally telling you the whole story. 

“Y/N, did you realise why I dragged you away on that day you met that co-worker of yours?” 

“You meant Kisa?” 

“Did you notice anything strange about her?”

“Well, yeah I kind of did. Her demeanour was setting off many red flags in my mind for sure,” you replied. The thought about Kisa once again made you frown; you have been constantly worrying about her since that day.

“I’ll tell you right now that she is one of the girls who had gone missing for the past couple of months.” 

Missing? Is she related to the missing person cases that your brother was dealing with then? 

“The fact that she has reappeared all of a sudden was strange enough, and luckily, I noticed a barcode tattooed right behind her ear.” 

Barcode? What exactly was going on? 

Jungkook noticed how perplexed you were with the whole situation and sighed before continuing with his words. 

“Y/N, I think you do know what happens when someone is tattooed with a barcode on different parts of their body, don’t you?” 

No. It can’t be. You knew exactly what it meant, but you wouldn’t have expected it to happen to someone close to you, let alone to one who has suddenly disappeared from your radar, only for them to reappear out of the blue. 

“No, you don’t mean it.” 

“Come on, Y/N. You know exactly how crime works in Seoul, especially in our district—it’s corrupted, and plenty of cases like this go unnoticed because the culprits can often get away undetected.” 

That can’t be true—you absolutely can’t accept the fact that Kisa was a victim of human trafficking. 

You slowly began to stammer in your speech. “S-So, you basically saved my life back there and then.” 

“If you want to put it that way, I guess I did.” 

This time, Jungkook decided to scooch a little bit closer to you, and the tone in his voice dropped as if he was now whispering what crucial detail he was about to say next. 

“Y/N, why did you think your brother made a deal with me to follow you wherever you go?” 

You decided to break the tension in the air slightly by making a little joke. “I’d like to think it was your idea instead because you have committed to being my stalker.” 

“Calling me a stalker is flat-out rude, Y/N. Especially after all that I have done for you,” he sulked.

You were glad Jungkook could still joke around with you slightly to ease the tension. 

“Fine, to keep me safe then.” 

“That’s one for sure, but also because we made a pact to crack these cold cases together without the superiors in the station knowing a thing about this.” 

Huh. “So you’re a biker detective now?” 

“Yeah, a very cool one at that too. I saved your life not once but twice. Seokjin should give me a pay raise, let’s be honest.” 

“What do you mean you actually suck at your job. You have to have someone’s consent first before you start making out with them, especially in public.” You slightly blushed at that comment. You certainly weren't going to tell him that he took your first kiss away, and you hoped that your surroundings were dark enough so that Jungkook wasn’t able to see clearly that your ears were beginning to look bright red as a tomato right now.

Unfortunately for you, he was a romance fanatic, so obviously, he could tell that you were embarrassed to say all of that. It was his sign to strike back now.

“Oh honey, that kiss was a little extra from your care package that your brother signed you up for. You should be grateful that you get an extra treatment from me.” He took a string of your hair and started twirling around his fingers. 

“….shut up.” You muttered.

Oh god, how much he was enjoying this whole moment right there.

The next thing that happened was that he moved closer again and cupped both of your cheeks with his hands before leaning his forhead against yours. 

“What in the world are you even thinking of doing—”

“Y/N, listen to me closely about what I am about to say next, and I will only say it once.” 

That made all of the embarrassment from earlier die down. Judging from the look in his eyes, you knew things were about to get serious next.

“Another reason why your brother personally asked for me to care for you for the time being was because he knew that something bad was going to happen real soon.” 

“Something bad?” 

“You see, we have been working together on this case for months now. With our thorough investigations, it’s clear that whoever was the mastermind behind all of this may actually be someone we are acquainted with.” 

“Someone much closer to us, that is.”

Your eyes widened upon that last sentence, and you knew this case was far worse than you thought. It was a life-and-death situation if either of you let your guard down. If that was the case, it also meant that you weren’t the only one in danger. 

Bracing yourself, you slowly and reluctantly asked Jungkook something that you hoped it was just yourself thinking way further ahead than you should. 

“S-Seokjin isn't going to die, isn’t he?”

Jungkook didn’t reply, but he stared straight into your eyes. With that, your eyes became teary, and you were on the verge of crying out silently. You knew that Seokjin’s job always evolved around dangerous criminals, and there’s no guarantee that he might come home each day in one piece; he had accepted his fate ever since he took on the badge in the first place. 

But now, with the recent events and how he had placed you under Jungkook’s care, you knew that this was far worse than any of you had encountered before. 

Tears began dripping down your face, and Jungkook lightly brushed his fingers against your cheek to wipe them away. 

“Y/N, from now on, I’m afraid you should stay as far away from your brother as possible. In other words, you’ll be stuck with me for now.” 

“That doesn’t mean that I won’t be seeing him anymore, isn’t it?” You sobbed. 

Jungkook smiled. “Of course not. It is so that both of us can conduct our investigation much more smoothly without outsiders intruding on our plan. I promise you, I won’t let your brother die. That would also mean that the lives of both you siblings are at my outermost top priority now.”

“Why Jungkook? Why would a biker leader like you even associate with us law enforcement? Didn’t you and your people hate us for decades?”

He chuckled before placing a kiss on the top of your forehead. 

“Kim Seokjin saved me and gave me another chance at life. And I am going to return the favour.” 

It has been ten minutes since the both of you were back on the road again. You were trying to take in all of Seoul’s beautiful night views, as you might not see them for a while. 

After calming yourself down at Han River, Jungkook filled you in with everything you needed to know before you both took off back on the road. Based on what your brother and Jungkook have been able to investigate so far, they decided that it was safe to conclude that the mastermind was either someone within the biker community or one of the higher-ups from the police agency. That was precisely why your brother was in a tight situation and was at risk of falling into the hands of the enemy since he was one of the lieutenants and had no control over his superiors. 

It was precisely why Seokjin decided it was best for you to keep a distance from him at the moment, for the fear that you might fall into the hands of the enemy. Hence, giving you to Jungkook for now would mean that you had a higher chance of survival—being a biker meant that Jungkook was able to move around much more freely compared to a detective who was bound by rules that he had to abide by at all times. 

In the meantime, Jungkook has also been on the go trying to figure out who the traitor within the biker’s community was who started all of this. According to the male, he guessed that someone from the detective agency was manipulating and might even be paying the traitor within the biker gang a large sum of money to traffick these young ladies out of the country. Since the bikers usually hunt out late at night, there was no doubt that the victims would have been vulnerable against them and quickly fell into their hands. 

In order to keep you safe, and since Jungkook has practically told you the entire plan, he has no choice but to bring you along on his investigations; as much as he hated that idea and he would much prefer locking you away somewhere where you could lay down low until the whole crime spree is over. 

However, he knew that you would be much safer if you were within his sight range, and he would feel much more comfortable knowing that you were always near him.

He has learnt it the hard way before anyway. 

As you both ride through the night and out away from Seoul, there is this anxious feeling rotten deep within your gut—you are terrified, knowing now that you have finally fallen victim to the dark, corrupted crime world in Seoul. 

With that, your arms wrapped around Jungkook’s waist tightened, and you gently laid your cheeks against his back. You just wished this ride with Jungkook could have happened at a much better time and under better circumstances.

“Damn, Jeon Jungkook. Who knew you’d have a hideout in the middle of nowhere?” 

You were astounded with the entire place. It was located outside of town, and it took the both of you about a two-hour ride to get to this place, which was eventually in the middle of the wilderness. You thought building a simple cabin here was a genius idea because chances of survival were much higher, especially for Jungkook, who lives a dangerous life each day. 

As Jungkook guided and led you up to the steps of his front door, he inserted a key and unlocked the front door within seconds, and your jaw dropped the moment he turned on the lights that lit up the entire cabin. 

“Welcome to my safe space, Y/N.” 

Upon further inspection, you could tell that the entire cabin was built meticulously—from the sturdy timber that formed the walls, the simple yet captivating decor that filled the entire place, and the cosy fireplace that stood right at one of the corners of the living space. The entire place just felt comforting; even a stranger would agree when they stepped into this place in the woods. 

Jungkook noticed you had been slowly moving around the cabin, taking in all its glory. He decided that he wouldn’t be ruining this little moment you have and went straight into the pantry to whip up some hot cocoa for the two of you. 

It all felt too good to be true. You have only seen or read places like this in books or films; never in a million years would you have thought that you would get a chance to reside, let alone step into a place like this at all. It was as if you were living in a dream, and you just wished you could shut off the outside world for a while and relax in this place for as long as possible. 

As you slowly reach the fireplace, you notice how a picture frame sits at the top, depicting a young boy and a girl riding a swing at a park. You could immediately tell how it was Jungkook in that picture, but you had no idea if the young female was his sibling or, perhaps, his past lover, if he ever had one. 

Before you could examine further, you heard a little thump from behind you, and you turned to see Jungkook was back with two warm mugs of freshly made hot cocoa topped with whipped cream and marshmallows. He gently placed them onto the round wooden table he had before moving to the fireplace and threw some chopped wood in before lighting it up with the lighter he kept behind his back pocket. 

You slowly sit on the couch to make yourself comfortable, take one of the mugs, and sip the freshly made drink. It didn’t take long for Jungkook to join you as he sat on the couch on your left.

“I’d like to think I’m such a great host, don’t you think? I expect you to be writing a five-star review of this Airbnb on booking.com after your stay,” he smugged before bringing his mug to his lips. 

“I never knew a biker gang leader like you would have a soft spot for ambience like this.” 

“Hey, bikers aren’t all angsty and dark. You’d think I live for the colour black and own everything in that specific colour?” 

“Don’t look at me like that. Blame the media for painting you guys exactly the way you are.” 

Well, you had a point there. Ever since you met Jungkook, you realised that not all of them seemed as terrible as the public had painted them to be. Even the biker leader is the same as many young adults: desperate to find love and obsessed with shoujo mangas. 

As you took another sip of the cocoa, you gulped the liquid down slowly before enjoying your little silence, listening to the crackling sound from the fireplace as you slowly started to feel your eyelids become heavy. 

It has been a long day; after all, you started by storming into Seokjin’s office at the beginning of the day, trekking through the woods and finding out about the biker’s hideout, going to Han River and eventually here in Jungkook’s cabin. 

From the corners of your eyes, you could see how it would be early morning now—the first tendrils of light painting the sky in hues of a mixture of lavender and indigo, indicating that it would be dawn now. It was probably about five to six in the morning, and that was the last thing you could think of before you eventually fell to your slumber. 

It took Jungkook a few seconds to realise you had fallen asleep as he admired the skies from his cabin window just like you were. When he finally turned to look at your head, bending down with your eyes closed, the mug of now warm cocoa still nestled within your grasp. 

Jungkook smiled at the sight of you resting comfortably like that. It reminded him so much about her. It almost felt bittersweet then, but Jungkook tried his best to get rid of those feelings before things started to get too deep again.

He slowly got up, gently opened up your fingers surrounding the mug, and took it off your hands to place it on the table. He then swooped his hands around your shoulders and under your legs before picking you up bridal style. Trying his best not to make a noise, he slowly brought you into his only bedroom in the cabin, gently laying you down on the comforts of his bed and tucking you into bed with his cosy duvet. 

When he was about to get up from the bed, he felt something wrapping around his pinky before turning to see that it was from you. He couldn’t tell if you had a dream or if it was just by reflex as you wrapped your fingers around his pinky and tugged them close to you. 

Jungkook smiled at the sight of you doing so, and he sat down on the bed again, gently caressing your hair as you fell deeper into your dreamland. 

Y/N. I promise I will protect you at all costs and avoid making the same mistake as before.

The chirping noises were what woke you up from your slumber. You squint your eyes as you slowly open them to reveal the sunlight shining directly into the cabin. You also heard clanking noises coming beyond the closed doors, and you decided it was time to get up to check out whatever it was. 

As you opened the door, your eyes widened, and your jaw dropped as you approached the dining table. It seemed as if Jungkook had made you an entire breakfast meal that looked identical to what you would get from the local diners in town. The man even took the extra step to brew you some hot coffee and placed two little jars filled with white and brown sugar so you could adjust your drink to your desired taste. 

You slowly pulled the chair and sat down before Jungkook turned around from the stovetop, placing a freshly made fried sunny-side egg onto your plate, and that was when you took in what Jungkook was wearing before you eventually burst out into laughter. 

“What was that about? I went the extra mile to make you breakfast.” Jungkook pouted. 

“N-No, it’s not that. I never thought you were a frilly pink floral aprons type of guy.” You had to cover your mouth and fan yourself because you were laughing so hard that breathing was hard by the second. 

“You stop it right there. Someone special made this apron; I will not let you disrespect it.” Jungkook was now pointing at you with his spatula, threatening that he would take your breakfast and eat it himself. 

As you calmed yourself down and apologised, he finally sat beside you while still sulking because of your comment before and started cutting up his bread and sausages on the plate. When Jungkook saw that you had taken your first bite, he couldn’t help but make a sarcastic remark to lighten the mood once again.

“Hurry up and tell me that my cooking skills are top-notch.” He lifted his head high as if he was already praising himself before you even said anything. 

Frankly, it tasted much better than what you had in mind. Who would’ve thought the most feared person in town was also a good cook? The fact that he was able to build this cabin on his own, cared for you, and made you a delicious meal was a bummer that he was still single at this point. 

But since you have teased Jungkook since the beginning, there was no way you would tell him that and continue feeding his delusions. 

“I’m surprised that I did not puke nor have an upset stomach with the initial first bite, to be honest.” 

He narrowed his eyes at you. “You ungrateful little brat.” 

“Thank you, I’ll take that.” You grinned widely at him, making him return you with disgust. 

Surprisingly, breakfast then went by reasonably quickly, and you offered to help clean up the kitchen even when the male insisted that you were his guest and weren’t supposed to do anything while you were there. 

After a little bit of squabbling about cleaning the cabin up, Jungkook heads out the front door, signalling for you to come with him. 

“There’s this place that I think you’ll love, Y/N. Care to hop on for another ride with me?”

“Jeon Jungkook, give me your keys to your cabin right now I’m officially moving in.” 

He giggled as you said that hurriedly before running down to the designated spot he brought you to. As you hopped back onto Jungkook’s bike, he took you along for another drive that only took about five minutes away from his cabin. As you both parked the bike somewhere safe, he guided you to take a step deeper into the woods, where, eventually, you both ended up at a beautiful creek.

A crystal-clear stream burbles along the riverbed, bubbling over the surrounding rocks and branches. There were a couple of stepping stones that scattered across the stream, giving whoever chose to visit to have the opportunity to walk across from one end to the other. A couple of flowers blossomed at the sides of the river, giving the creek a little pop of colour. 

It was a sight to behold. Who would have thought that there was such a place near where Jungkook lived? At this point, you swore that you would label this entire outskirt as paradise, and you wouldn’t mind spending the rest of your life here, away from the capital's bustling streets. 

You slowly made your way to the river, where you stuck one of your hands into the waters, letting the streams of water hit the back of your hand. Jungkook then made his way towards you before bending down to pick up one of the pebbles on the ground, before tossing it across the waters to see it bounce on top of the surface before eventually sinking into the waters. 

“Is there anything that you can’t do, Jeon Jungkook?” You asked as you saw how he was a master at skipping stones, way better than most people could do. 

“I’ve been doing this for decades, Y/N. Of course, I am the master of stone skipping.” He proudly acclaimed before picking another pebble and tossing it across the waters again. 

You couldn’t help but smile at that remark. “So that means you come here often, then?” 

“Used to.” He corrected you. “I haven’t been here in a very long time.” 

“Well, then, I’m grateful that you decided not to gatekeep such a place from me,” you replied, sincerely thanking the man for taking you out of the cabin to come to such a place to relax.

“You’re going to be staying with me for a while; obviously, I have to keep you occupied before you start complaining out of boredom in the cabin.” He stuck out his tongue at you before tossing another pebble. 

“I’m not a kid, Jungkook. I know how to keep myself occupied.” This time, it was your turn to give him a pout. 

“I’m gonna bet on 10,000 korean won that you will be screaming out of frustration by the third day if you were stuck all day in that cabin of mine.” 

“Then I’m sorry to burst your bubble, but I can literally find anything to do to keep myself occupied at all places.” You were now standing up and stood right in front of the man, staring at him as if you were going to start a battle of who would be the first to back down from their words. 

Jungkook smirked at that sight, and it turns him on whenever you get all worked up because of his words. He wasn’t going to back down quickly, so he straightened his posture before firing back at you. 

“Princess, you better buckle up because you have just turned me on, and I want to ruin your ego right now.” 

“Try me then, Jeon Jungkook,” you huffed. 

“Say, can you swim?” 

You snorted. “Of course I can swim, what the hell—”

Before you could even finish your sentence, Jungkook pushed you on your shoulders, and you fell straight into the waters. It took a few seconds before you eventually returned to the surface, wiping off the excess water dripping down your face. 

“Jeon Jungkook! What the actual—”

You were screaming at the top of your lungs, ready to yell and curse your heart out towards the male before you eventually stopped. Your eyes widened at the sight of him taking off his shirt that he was wearing, revealing a well-toned body and rock-solid abs as well as an arm completely filled with tattoos from top to bottom.

He grinned before jumping into the waters and swam right up to you. 

“I knew you would like what you saw with your eyes. I have been waiting for the right time to do it anyway,” he smirked before moving his fingers close to you to pinch your cheeks. 

You quickly slapped his hands away before turning your back towards him, trying to calm your fast heart beating chest down. Instantly, you felt a surge of warmth slowly crawling up to your ears and cheeks, and you quickly rested both your palms on your cheeks, knowing very well that you were now blushing hard.

What is wrong with you, Y/N? 

Before you could even process your thoughts further, you felt a pair of hands resting on your waist before turning your back towards the opposite direction. You have now come face-to-face with the man you were dreading to see, and you quickly turn your head towards the side and face the streaming waters instead. 

You could clearly hear Jungkook’s low chuckle before he rested his fingers underneath your chin, gently turning your face back towards his direction. 

“I found your weakness, princess.”

“Shut up.” 

Your now red-flushed face was making Jungkook laugh while you were slowly losing your mind. All you could think of at the moment was how exactly you would get yourself out of this situation you were in. 

Suddenly, you were brought back to reality as you felt Jungkook’s thumb swipe past your lips slowly, his eyes now focusing on your smudged lips as if he was hungry for it, wanting so desperately to press his lips onto them as he slowly leaned down towards them.

Oh no. Oh no. 

You started to panic; you had no idea what you were supposed to do. Sure, it wasn’t the first time you kissed Jungkook, but your situation was much more different than the first. 

Brace yourselves, Y/N. Just do it. 

That was all that you could think of before closing your eyes tightly. It was now or never, and you surely have no escape. As you slowly waited for his warm, plump lips to land on yours again, it never came as you expected. When you slowly opened your eyelids, you saw Jungkook paused exactly an inch before both lips met. 

Was he in a dilemma? Whether he should do it or not? 

In the end, Jungkook broke off the tension and gave in to wrap his arms around you instead, giving you a tight hug as he rested his head under the crook of your neck. 

What was going on? 

“J-Jungkook…what are you—”

“Let me just stay like this for a while, Y/N.”

As he took in a couple of seconds to relax his body over yours, you slowly snaked your arms around his back and caressed his back slowly, as if that was the right thing that you thought you could do at the moment.

With your touch, he tugged you tighter before eventually speaking his first words since he turned you around to face him. 

“Thank you, Y/N, for trusting me. I promise that I won’t let you down. We’ll catch whoever this mastermind is and place him behind bars for good.” 

You felt reassured, knowing that you will be in good hands for now before reuniting with your brother once the cases have been resolved. 

“Thank you too, Jungkook, for looking out for me and making me feel safe.”

“You slept in an upright position on the couch throughout the whole night?” You questioned the male, thinking that you might have heard something wrong. 

“For the hundredth time, yes I did, Kim Y/N. I have no idea why you are making such a big fuss out of this,” Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck as he closed his eyes in annoyance as if he was tired of going through this whole topic with you again. 

“Well then, I suggest we swap for tonight then. It’s not fair that you have to make yourself suffer especially when you’re the owner of this cabin,” you stated clearly. 

“Have you ever heard of hospitality, Y/N? There’s no way I’m letting my guests sleep uncomfortably while they’re here. I might get a rotten review on booking.com the next day, that’s for sure.” 

However, you weren’t backing down so quickly. “Fine then. Why don't we share the bed for tonight, then?” 

That question made Jungkook spit out the glass of water that he was drinking. He had to cough a few times to ensure the liquid flowed smoothly into his throat. 

“Are you insane? There’s no way I’m sleeping with someone that’s the opposite sex,” he muttered as he continued to pound his chest while seemingly trying to stop the cough.

“Well unfortunately, I insist. I would drag you onto the bed myself if I had to. It’s not like I’m asking you to try anything funny; if you are, you wouldn’t be seeing the light of day anyways,” you stated clearly before pointing into the bedroom.

Jungkook could only let out a deep sigh before caving into your words, knowing that if you both went on and on about this, the sun would rise before any of you would get a proper good night's rest. 

As you both cleaned up and got ready for bed, Jungkook watched as you climbed into the sheets and got yourself comfy before turning towards your left to sleep on your side and face the cabin wall. When he sees that you have stopped squirming, he gently lifts the sheets before doing the same, but facing towards his right so that he is facing the door instead. 

It took him a while to fall asleep, unlike you, who fell into a deep slumber within seconds. He was not used to this after all, having to share a bed with someone; it has been a long time since he has done so, especially when the last person he did this was years ago with her. 

Additionally, what happened down at the creek earlier in the day? Jungkook had no idea why exactly he decided to do what he did, and eventually, he couldn’t bring himself to plant a kiss on your lips and went in for a hug instead. 

Deep down, Jungkook knew something was happening between you two, but he was afraid to commit or even think about the possibilities. After what happened years ago, he promised that he wouldn’t get too close to anyone unless they were the ones who saved his life big time; in this case, it was your brother, Seokjin. 

But now, it seems that Seokjin’s little sibling was also slowly marking a spot in that enclosed heart of his. 

Before Jungkook could even think of anything further, Jungkook slowly drifted off into his own dreamland and fell into a deep sleep like you did. 

Hours had passed, and you both were sleeping peacefully until Jungkook began hearing voices in his head. 

Big brother…big brother…please save me… save me from all of this…please don’t let them take me away…

Big brother…Jungkook…JUNGKOOK OPPA!!

Immediately, Jungkook shot up from his deep slumber and broke out in sweats. Sure, it wasn’t out of the ordinary for him to get nightmares from the past; it was something he was still working on anyway. But it has been a long time since he had the exact scenario played in his mind; it was a curse to him now. 

Jungkook then brought up his fingers to rub his temples, trying his best to calm himself down without waking you, who was still peacefully sleeping on the side. 

All of a sudden, Jungkook’s phone lit up from the nightstand, and he grabbed it lazily while rubbing his eyes to adjust his vision so that he could see clearly what exactly the notification that he had just gotten.

It was as if the nightmare wasn’t enough to ruin his night; the notification was far worse than whatever he had just dreamt of. 

Something that he dreaded would even occur at all throughout this whole investigation process. 

Kim Seokjin: This will be the last time I will be able to contact you for now. Please keep Y/N safe at all costs, and we’ll be in touch as soon as I can.

Seokjin’s POV

It had been two days since you had left the building without Seokjin’s permission. Unfortunately, the meeting lasted way longer than expected, five hours to be exact. Hence, by the time he got back into his dark office where the only source of light was the one ray of moonlight shining through the windows, his heart dropped when he noticed how you were nowhere to be seen. 

Frantically, he skimmed through his entire office to see if you had left any clues behind, for the fear that you had been kidnapped, especially since you were considered to be vulnerable in the mastermind’s eyes, and how both Seokjin and Jungkook suspected that it could be someone from the biker gang or the law enforcement themselves. 

After minutes of scouring the entire room, he eventually made his way to his cabinet beneath his desk, where he could tell that one of them was pulled open and the little note that he stuck out slightly on purpose every time was gone. 

With that, he knew it could only mean one thing: you found the details of Jungkook’s biker gang’s hideout and went there personally to confront the biker leader himself. Swiftly, he took his phone out before hastily sending Jungkook a text. 

Kim Seokjin: My sibling is headed towards your biker’s hideout. Please get there and make sure Y/N is safe at all costs. 

The moment he saw that Jungkook had read his message, he finally fell back onto his chair, letting out a deep sigh of relief. As much as he was afraid that you had ventured into the predators' lair, he knew that as long as you were with Jungkook, you would be safe from any harm or danger, even if he was the biker gang leader himself. 

Hence, while you were under Jungkook’s care for the time being, Seokjin was able to focus on his job and tried cracking all of the clues and codes he had received so far for the missing person’s cases, all while he tried his best maintaining contact with Jungkook to keep each other updated on the case as well as your safety through texting one another. 

Things were going fairly smoothly until another missing person’s case was reported to the station just the night before. When he got to the registered location along with his subordinates, his stomach sank when he realised who had gone missing: your neighbour. 

Seokjin began to panic as it only meant one thing: there was a high possibility that you would be the next target. 

Since that day, Seokjin had worked tirelessly for hours without sleep or proper food. Your life is at stake right now, and he was determined that he was done playing this cat-and-mouse game with the mastermind. With that, Seokjin tried searching for as many clues as possible, even the tiniest detail possible, and he went back to the crime scene himself to thoroughly search through the area once again on his own. 

As if it was a miracle, he eventually discovered a strand of hair near one of the flowerpots on your neighbour’s front porch. He quickly took the evidence he had found and ran straight back towards the lab to get the designated ones in charge to do a quick DNA test from the database to find out who it might be.

After hours of extracting the possible information, it had been concluded that it was impossible to narrow it down to a single person as too many chemicals were found on that single strand of hair follicle. But that did not stop Seokjin from finding the exact match for who it might be. 

Hence, Seokjin went through all of the case files once again, starting from the first case to the most recent, as he laid all of the details out onto his board in his office, writing down all of the necessary information paired along with red strings to help him connect the dots better. He was also going back and forth towards his desktop located on his desk, trying his best to find the right person from the database.

That was when he realised he had limited access to the station’s database. He had never had such issues before, so why had he been blocked? 

At that moment, he knew that his instinct was right and that the law enforcement was hiding something dark from the detectives themselves; perhaps that was why they had an excruciating time trying to gather practically limited information.

Unfortunately for the mastermind who did all of this, Seokjin was actually an expert in computer hacking. Before being promoted to lieutenant, he was a renowned hacker in his division before rising to where he is now. The codes were a little harder to crack, but that doesn't mean it was nearly impossible. 

It took Seokjin about ten minutes to finally hack into the actual database, and he wasted no time trying to match the hair follicle to a concrete DNA from the database itself. Once the system concluded that there was a match, he wasted no time clicking the download button to get the information down and reveal who it was.

Sadly, he wasn’t able to record down who it was as one of the detectives came barging into his office, pointing his loaded gun at him. Seokjin was cornered, and he couldn’t do anything before the detective came over to completely shut off his desktop by pulling out the cords. Instantly, he shoved his gun towards Seokjin’s back and guided him out of his office, guiding him to the actual mastermind of this whole crime spree. 

Before this happened, Seokjin had typed out a message scheduled to be sent to Jungkook if anything were to happen to him. It turns out his instinct was right, and he was slowly counting down the seconds in his heart before the time was up, and he felt his mobile vibrate in his back pocket, signalling that the message had been sent. 

As he stepped into the elevator with the detective, still pointing his gun at his back, he turned around before smiling. 

It’s up to you now, Jungkook.

Jungkook’s POV 

“Report what exactly you have found so far, lads.” 

“Certainly, boss!” The young man cleared his throat before setting up the live footage on the laptop and turning it towards his boss’s directions. “It was pretty faint, but you could see the unknown person in the camera drugging the female worker before bagging her up and dragging her body away and out from the factory.” 

Jungkook narrowed his eyes as he leaned forward to try his best to make out who was on the screen, but since the crime occurred late at night. There wasn’t enough light penetrating through the facility; it was merely impossible to identify clearly who the hooded criminal was. 

But Jungkook wouldn’t give up quickly, so he leaned backwards on his chair before clasping his hands and bringing them close to his face. 

“Judging from the victims from the recent cases, it seemed as if they have been targeting this specific factory more often as of late. There has to be a pattern going on here,” Jungkook suggested. 

Upon hearing those words from the biker’s leader, the gang member scratched his head before responding. “With that, boss, what are you trying to propose…?” 

“I’m saying that they will strike there again, that’s for sure.” 

“O-Oh, of course! Well, I will go get the rest of the lads ready—”

“No, you stay put till I give you boys further instructions,” Jungkook firmly decided. 

“B-But, boss, what are you planning to do?”

“I’m going to check the place on my own first before letting any of you step in there. I’m not going to risk all of your lives like that.” 

The young lad knew how dangerous the whole situation was at hand. Quite frankly, he was one of the lads who often kept Jungkook updated with all of the security footage that was happening around town since he was one of the bikers who had a talent for hacking into all of Seoul’s security systems without having the law enforcement notice his doing, of course. 

But he knew that the boss was risking his own life by heading towards the location alone. In the worst-case scenario, Jungkook could even get seriously injured or worse. Furthermore, he knew that Jungkook’s words were absolute, and no one had ever been able to change his mind once he made a decision. 

With that, the hacker placed his hands together in front of him, slightly bending his head down before obeying Jungkook’s orders.

“Very well, boss. We will await your next instructions then.”

As Jungkook picked up his speed and rode his bike back to the cabin, the only thing that lingered in his mind was how he would explain the change of plans to you. He would’ve never thought that he might have to intervene and head towards the location himself to gather information this soon, or rather, he was hoping that Seokjin could do it since he was a detective, after all. 

But now that Seokjin is out of reach, Jungkook had no choice but to take up the job to prevent anyone, especially his comrades, from getting hurt or potentially losing their lives in that targetted location without getting a green flag from someone higher up first. 

Another reason that he was a bit stressed out about the current situation was that it was time for him to talk to you about it; it was time for you both to make a move, and he knew that he couldn’t keep you in the dark forever, as much as he just wanted to tuck you away in this cabin of his and just stayed put and safe there while he and your brother resolved all of this messed up crime spree that was happening in the district. 

It was also because that was the exact factory that you worked at. That could only mean that the chances that you may or may not be the next target were higher than they had expected. 

After those train of thoughts, he finally arrived back at the cabin, and he tried his best to maintain his composure before turning the doorknob to open up the doors and calling out loud for you. 

That was only until you didn’t respond that he began to panic. 

“Y/N? Y/N, are you there?”

Jungkook tried his best to maintain his calm while going from room to room, calling out for you. When he had finally searched the entire cabin and that you were nowhere to be found, that was when he felt a sink in his stomach, and he was about to go insane any moment now. 

He was now screaming at the top of his lungs for you while running around frantically, even as he stepped out of the cabin and walked down the steps to circle the woods nearby. 

“Y/N! Y/N! Please respond to me! Where are you?!”

His heartbeat was pounding much louder and faster with each second, and he was close to shitting his pants at the moment. An instant regret filled his guts, and he wished he could’ve turned by time so that it would’ve knocked some sense into him that he shouldn’t have left you alone in the cabin, especially when both of your lives were at stake. 

He wasn’t going to repeat the same mistake as he had done before. There was no way he would let history repeat itself, not under his watch.

Y/N! Y/N! WHERE ARE YOU!!!!

Suddenly, he heard a faint grunt from a distance, a little bit towards his left. An unexpected fog clouded the air, making it hard for him to see whoever was slowly coming in his direction. 

With his instinct, Jungkook quickly pulled out his handgun that he tucked away beneath his leather jacket, quickly loaded the gun and aimed it towards the shadow approaching him. 

Just as he was about to pull the trigger, the shadow emerged from the fog, and that was when he finally made out that it was the person he had been longing to find. 

“Jungkook! You’re back!” You smiled while carrying a box filled with freshly picked fruits in your arms. 

Jungkook then slowly lowered down the gun and stared at you blankly. To ease the tension and awkwardness, you decided to speak up whatever was on your mind for now.

“O-Oh! Sorry, I know I should’ve stayed put, but like I said, I know how to keep myself occupied. I decided to go for a little walk around, and that’s when I saw this little peach tree growing near the little creak you brought me to the other day. I just so remembered this one peach dessert I used to make when I was a kid, and I thought we could use some desserts—”

Before you could finish your sentence, Jungkook wrapped his arms around you tightly, making you drop the box of fruits towards the ground. You were stunned by his sudden actions as he said nothing, and you could hear him sobbing for once as he buried his neck into the crook of your neck. 

Jungkook knew that things were starting to get into his head, and he needed to tell you the truth now, especially with the events that have happened within the past 24 hours, and how he needed to tell you about his recent findings. 

And also about the nightmare he had last night.

There was no point in hiding anymore. Eventually, you would have to know anyways. 

Y/N’s POV

“You look like a stray rabbit, Mr Jeon,” you teased half-jokingly, but the other half was also concerned about his appearance. It was how he sat across from you, slumped onto his couch, and looked defeated. It was obvious that something had been bothering him, especially when you knew he had a nightmare last night, but you weren’t going to say anything unless he would tell you all about it himself. 

But given the current situation, the way he looked for you so frantically, and hell, even aimed a gun at you (not on purpose, of course), something has gone wrong, and you needed to know. 

You gently stood up and walked over to sit cross-legged on the ground, gently placing one of your hands onto his that was resting on his thigh, slowly caressing them to help ease the frown on his face. 

“Jungkook, talk to me about it. I promise your secrets are safe with me,” you gently reassured him, hoping he would finally speak out about whatever had been hindering his mind since the day before. 

With that, he slowly opened his eyes to look down at you; he could tell that you were desperate to get answers, and this time, you wouldn’t take a single loophole in your books. Slowly, he sat back up and leaned forward as he stared at you, giving you his full attention.

“There have been some major updates in the missing person cases, Y/N.” 

“Okay, so we’ll go from there—”

“But before that, I think you need to know about my past, especially why I said your brother has given me another chance in life and why I took on this offer in the first place.” 

You gulped upon hearing that. It was finally time for you to know precisely what the pact they made behind your back was, and you could finally learn more about Jungkook and your brother's secret life. 

“Remember when you walked into my cabin on the first day? You went straight ahead to the fireplace and had a little good look at the picture frame situated above it?”

“Y-Yeah? Was that your childhood friend or something?” 

“That was…” He paused for a moment before finishing up his sentence. “My little sister.” 

Now, that was something new to you. Nobody has ever heard that the biker gang leader would have a younger sibling or sibling. Most people have assumed that he had only been an only child and was probably abandoned from a young age due to his upbringing and reputation in the district. 

But Jungkook was here to tell you the truth and to turn those assumptions down. “Regardless of how the public sees who I am, I had a pretty happy childhood. We were a family of four; our days were filled with happiness as we resided in a small village out of town. It wasn’t until my father received a promotion at his job that he decided to bring all of us up to Seoul, hoping for a better life.” 

Jungkook cleared his throat before he continued with his story. “It was a miracle when my father came home one day telling us he was offered a job at the local police station; neither of us could’ve believed it then. It started off simple: he was just an ordinary security guard at the huge facility until he showed his superiors that he was far more capable than that, and he eventually rose to the ranks of becoming an actual detective.” 

“In other words, your father was my brother’s senior then,” you added, making Jungkook return to you with a smile.

“Precisely. Years passed, and my sister followed his footsteps, eventually joining the academy and becoming a rookie detective under my father’s supervision. Meanwhile, I’ve decided to stay back and help my mother at her local pastry shop down the road from the station since she needed some assistance anyway. At the same time, I started building this wooden cabin, with the thought of creating a little place where we family could escape to during our free time.” 

You scooched closer, and your hands around his tightened slightly, trying to find the right words to ask the main question. “W-What happened then?” 

His eyes immediately fell to the floor, and his tone suddenly went down an octave, indicating that whatever he would say next would be pretty heavy to register. “My father was sent abroad on a mission, but he unfortunately lost his life in the line. Upon hearing that, my mother died with a broken heart.” 

“Jungkook, my deepest condolences…” you mumbled. 

“You want to know what’s even crazier, Y/N? That wasn’t the worst thing I’ve ever had to go through. It was my sister.” 

You could see that his eyes began to water, and he was trying his best to hold back any outburst of emotions that he might have. Naturally, his hands found yours and held them tight, and you return the favour by placing another hand of yours on top of his. 

“There’s only a sole purpose for me in joining the biker gang: to keep my family safe.”

“In what way, Jungkook?” You questioned, not really linking on how a biker member could help the detectives when both occupations are the total opposite. 

“I’m pretty sure you know by now about how dark and corrupted the crimes in Seoul are behind the scenes, and there are certain places that are off-limits no matter how far up the ranks you are.” 

“So that’s when you come in then.” 

“Exactly. Even if it’s the smallest thing I can do for them, I would take it.”

“Huh. Very contradicting to your biker image that the public is aware of.” 

“Hey, I need to look good for everyone okay. You never know. I’m pretty sure I have a fanbase somewhere in town admiring my good looks,” he smugged while lifting his head up high. You were glad he could still joke around and was still the Jungkook you had known despite all the recent hardships. 

“God, I hope your fanbase will have enough to fund themselves. Supporting someone when they do not get anything in return is sad.” 

Jungkook was annoyed at your teasing and immediately pinched your cheeks and pulled them slightly. “You take that back, I will have you know that I am one of the most good-looking people the district has ever seen in years.” 

“I will have you know that you are wrong because my brother Seokjin is a hundred times better than you!” You spat back while holding his hand, almost breaking your cheeks apart. 

The pinching then slowly died down as Jungkook slowly regained his composure. “Speaking about Seokjin, that’s where the next story comes in.”  

As Jungkook slowly pulled his hand away, you cupped that side of your cheek with your hands, mentally cursing the guy and saying that you would surely get back to him once this whole storytelling session was over. 

“I’m sure you are aware of the infamous case that one of the detectives from the station was the mastermind behind a series of kidnapping cases that happened in our district five years ago?” 

Oh, that. 

It was one of the cases that truly shook the nation down to its core; who would’ve thought that one of the detectives, especially from the elite squad, would have been monitoring and kidnapping young children around the area? What was more unpleasant about the case was that he had a few subordinates to help fulfill his fantasies, and they so happened to be a handful of the detectives themselves as well; some even used to be close buddies with your brother. 

It truly was a traumatising event that happened in your district’s history, and nobody wished such a case would ever happen again. 

“Y-Yeah…it was something my brother wished he could erase from his memory for good. It has impacted him in the worst way possible. Frankly, I wouldn’t want to see him go through such times ever again,” you commented. 

“Well, Y/N. I feel the same way, too. Just like how badly it has played a part in your brother’s life, it also did for me.” 

“How exactly did you even drag yourself into the situation?” 

He sighed. “Not by my own will, Y/N. It was because of my sister,” he squeezed your hands, and he chose his words carefully next, perhaps needing a bit of your strength to finally touch on the topic he has been avoiding for the longest time. 

“My sister was part of the cold case squad at the time, and it just so happened that she was the only female detective in the team. She would work tirelessly day and night, trying her best to dig through each possible available data, even the ones that were off-limits to most detectives. Little did she know that the mastermind himself was closely monitoring every movement that she had made, and she became a victim herself.” 

“Jungkook…” you slowly caressed his hand, wanting to take him into your embrace right now. 

“Fast forward to the day when she finally emerged from the shadows, Seokjin and I found ourselves in a standoff against the mastermind, holding my sister hostage on the rooftops of the police station. And god, Y/N. No words could describe how I felt the moment I laid my eyes upon my sister then, of how dishevelled and disoriented she had become.” 

A single tear drop fell from the corners of his eyes unto your hands, and your heart broke at that sight. Jungkook had always portrayed how tough he was as if nothing in this world could ruin him to the point of breaking down, at least not in front of someone. He must’ve carried on this trauma for a long time, one that would continue to haunt him for the rest of his life. 

“Your brother did not have the guts to shoot at his supervisor, so I did the favour for him instead. The bullet penetrated through his skull, and it was an instant death for him. My sister then lay on the ground, screaming at the top of her lungs, pushing and kicking everyone that came close to her. Not even I could do anything to help save her then,” he sobbed and choked on his own words. 

“So, my brother came to your rescue then?” You quietly asked. 

He sniffled. “He did. Killing a police officer is a huge crime, and naturally, I was placed behind bars. But your brother fought relentlessly, and I was pardoned and eventually released from prison.” 

“That’s my brother for you.” You smiled, thankful he was still the same brother you had grown to love and admire despite the recent events between you two. 

“But it came with a price, Y/N.” 

“And what was it?” 

“In return for getting me out of prison, Seokjin would take my sister’s wellbeing into his own hands. So he placed her under a facility that would care and possibly help her recover, but I was not to know about the location and to ever meet with her ever again.” 

Your heart sank upon hearing that. It would kill you to know that you have to be separated from your sibling for good, and you don’t think you could ever live the same way as you’ve done before knowing that. 

Immediately, you jumped into Jungkook’s arms, giving him a tight embrace while tears streamed down your face. 

“I’m so sorry, Jungkook. I’m so sorry that we detectives have failed you. We should’ve been the ones protecting the civilians, not breaking them apart physically and mentally.” You sunk your cheek into his neck; you wished there was something that you could’ve done to ease his pain or even bring his only happiness back to him. 

Jungkook said nothing but return the embrace to you. He did the same by resting his chin upon your shoulders, slowly moving to the point you felt his lips slightly brushed against your neck as he took in all of your scent. 

Neither of you said anything for at least a good ten minutes, and you both were fine staying that way. You knew that it had taken a massive leap of faith for Jungkook to address his biggest and darkest nightmare finally, and you were grateful that he had decided to trust you enough to talk to you about all of this. 

Eventually, you found yourselves both snuggled on the couch, just admiring the fireplace while cuddling one another. Jungkook lay gently on your chest while you constantly ran your fingers through his soft black hair, making him slowly drift off into dreamland. It was obvious that Jungkook hadn’t had the best of sleep lately because he easily slept within your arms for a couple of hours, not to be awakened so easily. 

And that was fine by you. You have begun to feel that you both were more than just acquaintances. However, you weren’t sure if Jungkook returned the same feelings for you, but your subconsciousness tells you that whatever happened back at the creek, he must’ve felt something, too. It doesn’t matter if it was the same way as you did; you were more than glad that you had found a place within him.

As you slowly admired his sleeping face, you were now more than determined to put an end to this nightmare the district had been struggling with for months. 

This time, let me return the favour, Jungkook.

The strong wind was constantly hitting your face as you grabbed Jungkook tightly while he sped on his bike. It had been a few days since, and you finally had Jungkook to fill you in with the latest news he had when he finally regained himself. 

To say that you were beyond shock was an understatement when you found out that the mastermind was targeting the young ladies at the factory you worked at, and that was how Kisa disappeared and became a pawn in their twisted games. 

But that also meant one thing: you’re the next target, and they have had their eyes on you for a while now. 

You were terrified, that was for sure, but you decided that you wouldn’t tell them to do as they please anymore. As long as you both stick together, you know that you will crack the case open and put a stop to this spree of kidnappings. 

It’s all for the victims and Seokjin.

Even for you, Jeon Jungkook. 

As you finally made your way towards the factory, you quickly armed yourselves before stepping into the facility, all while Jungkook held you close next to him.

It was eerily quiet, and no sign of a human being was in sight. It was unusual how abnormal the whole situation felt; it was as if the entire building had been abandoned. 

Or was it?

In the distance, you quietly alerted Jungkook of how a faint light had caught your attention, and you could tell it had led to the systems room. Someone was in there, and you have a good guess that they might have been using the building to communicate for a while now. 

Giving each other a nod, you both slowly crept towards the room; that was when you felt a metal object pressed onto your skull. You finally came to a halt while Jungkook slowly disappeared down the hallway, not noticing that you had left his side.

“Now that’s a good little kitten, don’t you think? You have saved me the trouble of looking for you, Kim Y/N.” 

God, he knew your name. 

You chuckled. “What do you want from us? What do you possibly gain from kidnapping these young ladies?” 

“Oh sweetheart, don’t you know that money is everything in this day and age? Given how we have lived in poverty for so long, it wouldn’t hurt to earn that extra cash and big bucks, no matter how dangerous the situation can be, don’t you think?” 

“You have no sense of morals, then. Treating these young ladies as objects and pawns to your games,” you fired back. 

The man then slowly pushed the metal object that was situated on your skull further deeper as he slowly loaded it, to which you knew that you were now held at gunpoint. 

“Now sweetheart, let me tell you a little something about us. We are predators, and we hunt for prey like you.” 

Now, this seems awfully familiar. 

“I’m afraid that once predators have gotten our eyes on a target, we will not let them go that easily. We are slowly going to devour you up, leaving no traces behind. If you think you could stop us, then I’m afraid you’re wrong, princess. We’re experts in our field of work; we are not to be found that easily even if you were the best of the best detectives in town because that is our nature.” 

That phrase, it’s similar to Jungkook’s—

“Never in a million years would I have known that you’ve stooped so low, Seunghak.” 

That voice! 

Immediately, the both of you noticed how a badly beaten up individual was thrown in front of you, and your eyes widened upon what you have seen. Slowly, an individual emerged from the shadows, and it was Jungkook, walking towards you both while aiming the gun at the person behind you.

“Why, hello, dear boss. Or should I say, former boss,” he taunted, smacking his lips as if things had just gotten far more interesting now. 

“Damn, Seunghak. I didn’t know you were the type to switch lanes that quickly. It seems like the biker life wasn’t good enough for you, then,” Jungkook smiled dauntingly, and you gulped upon that sight. He was back to being the biker gang leader that the entire district was afraid of; you could even tell how the man behind you flinched a little as he began to shiver slightly with the gun still placed on your skull. 

“Can you blame me, though? When you get a plate full of gold in front of you, I’ll do whatever it takes if that means I will have more than enough to spend the rest of my life at ease,” he fired back while beginning to laugh menacingly.

“Besides, what do we do with these ladies in captivity? Oh god, I have been having the best of my life rather than being stuck in the biker's den.”

Instantly, Jungkook's face darkened upon hearing what Seunghak said, and you could feel as if he was shooting daggers through his eyes at his former comrade.

“You are absolutely sick in the head.” 

“And what if I am? I am living the best life possible, and there’s nothing you can do to convince me to return!” He screamed before pushing the gun to the point that you felt that the metal was going to pierce through your skull any moment now. 

Slowly, Jungkook started taking a few steps closer while he elicited a low chuckle. “You think you have a place left in my biker gang? You are much better off dead rather than coming back, Seunghak.” 

Immediately, a loud clatter was heard coming from both sides, accompanied by a volume of grunts, before the male began panicking. 

“W-What’s going on?” 

Finally, Jungkook stopped right merely inched away from you both, and he aimed the gun towards his former comrade’s face. 

“If you think I’ve come unprepared, then that means you are a hundred years too early even to accept the dirty ass pot of gold that was placed so easily in front of your plate.”

Instantly, Jungkook pulled the trigger, and the bullet penetrated the man’s abdomen, causing him to let out an ear-splitting scream as he tumbled and fell onto the ground, pressing onto his wound to ease the bleeding. 

Unfortunately, Jungkook wasn’t going to let him off so quickly, as he fired another bullet into his arms, causing the male to lay down helplessly. At the same time, Jungkook hovered above him, resting his gun upon Seunghak’s cheeks. 

“You’re going to be a dear and tell me who exactly employed you and your boys before I shoot another bullet into your skull, which would kill you off instantly, young man.”

It seemed that the male wouldn’t give up easily as he spat back onto Jungkook’s face. 

“As if I would tell you easily who is the mastermind behind all of this…no matter what happens to us…not of us are going to tell a single soul about it…our lips are sealed shut—”

A loud bang was heard throughout the entire facility, and you slowly opened your eyes to see that the male was long gone now, having a bullet penetrated his skull. 

Jungkook slowly got up from the male, dusting his knees while he was at it. 

“You scumbags have no reason to live in this world then.” 

As he turned to face you again, you couldn’t help but slowly take a few steps back, as if you weren’t sure if you would want to deal with the current state Jungkook was in. Sure, you trusted him, but it was truly the first time you had seen him like this.

Far worse than how he confronted you back at his base. 

This was the true so-called “devil” that people were terrified of, and this was what Jungkook was truly capable of. 

Jungkook didn’t say a word as he walked towards you before muttering a few words. 

“Let’s get going and continue to search the place for clues.” 

“O-Okay…” you replied. 

As you both made your way down past the hallways, Jungkook occasionally stopped giving his subordinates further orders or even asking about the current situation throughout the facility. He had given them instructions way beforehand, and the whole place was now under the bikers' control. 

Since you knew it probably wouldn’t be a good time to disturb nor provoke Jungkook in his current state, you figured it would’ve been a good time to check out the control room situated just a little bit towards your right. 

You slowly turned your head to see that Jungkook was engaged in the conversation before you slowly crept away and headed straight towards the room while leaving the door open so that that was an indirect way of letting him know that you were here and doing fine on your own. 

You quickly took in the sight upon you as you took in the dozens of computer screens that hovered above you and how multiple files and USB drives were plugged into the systems, meaning that whoever was here before had been lurking in this place for a while. 

Since your brother was an expert hacker, you naturally followed his footsteps as you got him to teach you all about computers when you were young. In other words, you could consider yourself a little computer geek, and you knew your way around the codes and the systems. 

As you sat down on the chair and began typing away, you could easily hack into the system to find out the dozens of confidential information stored there. Sure enough, you were able to dig through the files and find valuable information about the kidnappings—who the victims were, their way of communication to pass around information, and who was the sole mastermind that commanded Seunghak and his team. 

However, it seemed that it wouldn’t be as easy to determine who exactly was the accurate mastermind as they used an untraceable ID and alias; or rather, they actually communicated through ciphertexts. 

You mentally cursed at yourself for not taking an interest in this particular method of communication back then when your brother taught you briefly. You have always brushed it off, saying you were not made to understand this specific method and always preferred a more accessible way out. 

You were then back to square one again. To find out who was behind that so-called alias and ID, you needed to crack the algorithm and ciphertext to move on. 

Just as all hope is lost, a new message suddenly appears on the screen, and you squint your eyes as you try to read what exactly it holds. When you finally understood what was written, your eyes widened, leaving you stunned for a minute. 

This…this is—

“Y/N!!! GET OUT OF THERE!!!”

Before you were able to make sense of the whole situation, Jungkook immediately jumped in front of you before you eventually heard a gunshot resonate in the air and eventually a siren followed as you tried your best to catch hold of Jungkook in your arms, followed by a swarm of bikers filling the control room.

Jungkook had no idea how long he had been passed out since then, and he was slowly trying his best to open up his eyelids tightly glued shut together as the light shone through his vision. 

When he finally did, he realised that he was back in this cabin and was lying down on the couch he tried his best to sit up before he felt an excruciating pain that sent shockwaves throughout his whole body.

“I wouldn’t move if I were you.” 

Jungkook jerked his head to the side to see that you had returned with a first aid box and a bowl of water with a cloth draped before you slowly sat on the couch with him. You took the fabric into your hands before dipping it into the bowl of water, squeezing off the excess liquid before you started wiping off any dirt or blood that was left on his bare chest. 

Neither of you said a word, or rather, none of you knew the right words to say at the moment. Jungkook noticed how red and puffy your eyes were, and he knew immediately that you must’ve been crying for god knows how long. 

He definitely felt partly guilty for that, but another part of him didn’t know why he did just that, jumping in front of you to save you from the henchmen instead of taking him out with his gun from behind. 

His thoughts were a mess; he no longer knew what he felt. As he quietly observed the way you took care of him, his heart began to ache, and he couldn’t help but gently place one of his hands on your cheeks, rubbing the little area where he saw that there was a slit mark; you probably have gotten injured yourself while he was out. 

That gesture stopped you as you lifted your head to look at him straight in the eyes. Unlike back at the factory, his eyes were filled with mystery again, not the dark, scary one he portrayed as the biker’s gang leader. It felt as if the scene back during the creak was repeating itself. 

“J-Jungkook…I…” you stammered before you eventually felt his soft lips against yours. 

The kiss was gentle and bittersweet, and Jungkook did not hesitate to slowly move his lips against yours, showering you with plenty of kisses and savouring the taste of your lips. Your body immediately shut down from that, and you finally eased yourself to return the favour, moving yours against his as you both kissed each other breathlessly. 

His kiss sent shockwaves to your entire body, making you want this moment to last for as long as possible. He gently lifted your face slightly with the hand resting on your cheek, intending to kiss you deeper. That was when you decided to close your eyes and let him take full control of the situation. 

As you both finally broke apart to take a few deep breaths, Jungkook rested his forehead against yours, just like he did before at the creak. 

It was time, you figured, to finally ask him what you both truly are. 

“Jungkook…what…what made you finally do it?” You panted. 

He paused briefly before giving you an answer you did not expect. “Do I have you say more than that? I’m pretty sure it’s what you have in mind, Y/N.” 

You were now trying your best to hold back the tears forming at the corners of your eyes. “W-What made you finally feel that way, Jungkook?”

“I…I don’t even know myself, Y/N. In the beginning, I’ve only seen you as a younger sibling that I would protect at all costs because I do not want to repeat the same mistake as I have done to my biological sister. But as we spent more time together, there was just something that I felt within me that made me realise that maybe you’re more than just a sibling to me n5ow.” 

Jungkook gently lifted your head once more before giving you a little peck on the lips again. “One thing is for sure now: I would protect you at all costs, even if it means I must sacrifice myself. I’m not doing this as a favour to your brother anymore; I’m doing this because you mean a lot to me.” 

With those words, you couldn’t help but smile for the first time in a while before responding to the man himself. “Well, you’re going to have to do a lot of explaining to my brother, then.” 

“Yeah. Frankly, I hate the thought of having to go through that phase. But if it’s you, I’d do anything to get that approval from Mr Kim himself.” He winked. 

“Ew. Gross.” 

“Admit it, you like the thought of us being together and a thing in the near future.” 

“You better hold your horses before I shove this fabric down your throat.” 

“Wow, aren’t you a scary one?” 

You both broke into laughter with that conversation. It has been a while since you both have bickered like that, and you missed this mischievous side of him.

“Well, mister. We’ll have to wait a couple of days for you to be completed healed before we hit the road again.” You announced as you finally stood up from the couch.

“Give me a day to rest up, and then we’ll leave.” 

“Jeon Jungkook, there’s no way you’re healing up within a day with that bullet wound in your abdomen.” 

“If I say one day, it means one day,” he deadpanned. 

“You can’t be serious,” you argued back. 

“One day.”

“No.”

“Yes.” 

You sighed. “We will determine that after 24 hours, then.” 

Jungkook smiled as he laid back down on the couch. “Well, now that’s settled, we could go through the strategy planning tomorrow. For now, I think it’s time for us to get into bed together—”

“You’re not touching me in my sleep.”

“Oh come on, we kissed, so what’s the matter?” He pouted. 

“We’re not at that stage yet.” 

“Pretty please with a cherry on top?” He begged.

“Absolutely not.”

Miraculously, it took only a day for Jungkook to be entirely healed as he drove down the streets, heading back to the capital. You swore that this man was built differently from all of you, and he was a monster at that, able to heal so quickly with a wound that would typically take at least a week or two. 

He was definitely feeling a lot better after a good night's rest, and you guided him into the fireplace before telling him the details you had found back in the systems room. Jungkook’s eyes widened as he heard about your findings, and never would he have thought that you both would be able to receive that critical information to finally pinpoint who was the exact mastermind behind all of this. 

After hearing your thoughts and suggestions, the both of you quickly took off to one of his nearest hideouts, where he would often meet up with his closer subordinates to inform them about the current plan. After a whole night of planning, all of you were now on the road heading back into the city.

When you finally catch a glimpse of the police station from afar, bittersweet feelings immediately form within you as you know that there would be the last destination to be able to crack the cold case open. You hope that Seokjin is somewhere hidden within the facility since you last saw him. 

As all the bikes began pulling up nearby, Jungkook gave the lads further instructions on infiltrating the building without being detected by the guards. Their mission was to find out where exactly the victims were kept away and to avoid conflict with any detectives that came their way. 

Based on the information you found at the factory, you insisted that it would be best to confront the mastermind since you have gotten a pretty good hunch on who they are and where they might be residing too. But Jungkook insisted that he was going to stay close to you as much as he could, and he was not going to risk your life once more. 

It took a bit of convincing back and forth, but you finally managed to persuade him to stay nearby but undetected, fearing that the mastermind might flee if they had a sense that you did not come alone to meet them.

So here you were, pressing the exact button that would eventually lead you to the top floor of the building, staring straight into the screen above the lift that indicated that you were slowly going up each second. Your hands began shaking against your own will, fearing that you were finally going to meet your worst nightmare, one that has kept you awake and separated from your own family and friends for weeks. 

As you shut your eyes to take a deep breath, you were instantly cut off from your train of thoughts when you felt someone grab onto your hands and intertwine their fingers with yours. When you opened your eyes and turned your head to the side, you could see that Jungkook was just as nervous as you were, linking his hands with yours. 

It must’ve been hard for Jungkook as well; he was also dealing with his struggles when he was with you. But he has never failed to let it get to them to the point that it made him lose all hope and sanity. Perhaps it must have been fate that you were there with him, and you were able to give him a bit of strength and company to deal with all of this. 

Your grip tightened against his, and you looked into his eyes. “Jungkook…”

“It’ll be over soon, Y/N. I’m sure of it. No civilians should ever experience this nightmare ever again. We’re going to break the chain of history and not let it repeat itself once again,” Jungkook said confidently, and he was determined that it was time to make a change in Seoul’s dark history of crimes and corruption. 

As the doors to the lift opened, you slowly stepped out of the lift and let go of Jungkook’s grip and looked at him once more before walking to where you were supposed to be headed. For the last time, you both communicated by looking into each other’s eyes; Jungkook promised you that he would be nearby and that you didn’t have to worry as he would keep you safe. 

With a nod from you, the doors to the lift eventually began to close, and you constantly kept your eyes glued on Jungkook before the doors were glued shut. 

Turning your heel towards the opposite direction, you slowly walked along the corridors, passing by multiple rooms before reaching the one at the furthest end. You read the door sign carefully before confirming that you were at the right place. 

Slowly, you lifted up your hands to gently knock on the door before it slowly opened on its own. With a gulp, you stepped in and peered your head through the room. It was dark, and the only light shining into the room was the moonlight from the windows. 

When you were fully physically in the room, the doors behind you suddenly slammed shut again, sending a sense of nervousness throughout your entire body. You had to remind yourself constantly that as long as you can get through this last spurt, everything will finally be revealed, and it will be a chapter closed. 

You could sense that you weren’t alone in this room and that someone was lurking in the shadows. Taking this as your chance to confront them, you finally gathered the courage to speak up to whoever was in here with you. 

“It seems that your time of reign has abruptly ended. It wasn’t easy trying to track you down for months; given your position, it must’ve been really easy to get hold of the young ladies into your care. You surely are a brave individual who was willing to take the risk,” you announced aloud but were again met with silence. 

But you didn’t come here to give up quickly, so you decided to press on. “Say, haven’t you stooped down so low, using your detective position to claim these young women for your benefit? Wasn’t your wife good enough for you? Why resort to kidnapping and eventually trafficking these young ladies for your good?”

Come on, Y/N. Just a little bit more. 

“You even went to seek help from the biker gang. Are you that desperate? Especially when you have sworn that you hate them to the core and would never associate with the likes of them.” 

“Don’t you think so, Uncle Kim?” 

With that last sentence, the room felt much more silent than it already was before you eventually heard footsteps coming before you, finally revealing to the man that you have been trying your best to get him out of the shadows. 

“I’m beyond impressed, Y/N. You are just as smart as your brother; you could easily pull off as a detective for the station.” 

It has been a while since you have seen your uncle. He was the deputy chief of the Seoul Metropolitan Police Department and was often away to deal with heavy and pressing matters requiring him to stay stuck in this office all day or even fly out of the country to do so.

He also took your brother in and gave him a chance as a detective after seeing his extraordinary talent with computers and hacking. After your parents passed, he was the one who has been raising you both just as his children, and he was finally able to let loose a bit once you both entered adulthood. 

He often visits during celebrations as much as he can despite his busy schedule, and you both have always admired him for what he has done to serve the country. He was considered the nation’s hero, after all.

But it seems that not all good things last for long, especially when you receive that concrete evidence and message back in the systems room from your very own brother, revealing who the mastermind is.

Why exactly did he choose to do all of this? Your very own uncle, the nation’s hero, to be behind all of the kidnappings that have happened for the past several months. It would be impossible to convince the public that this was the reality that everyone has been living in; that is why it is up to you now to publicly reveal and gain concrete evidence to stop his spree of crimes.

“My dear little Y/N, how exactly did you even crack the code? I was certain that you couldn’t decrypt ciphertexts.” 

So, that was why he used it as a primary method of communicating with the bikers. 

“Well, I’m afraid you have made a fatal mistake. I may not be able to read ciphertexts, but I sure can read morse code.” 

“What?” 

You chuckled. “You may have kept my brother hidden away somewhere, but so long as he is within the facility and was one of the top hackers in the station, he would certainly find a way to hack through the systems throughout the district and even out of town, keeping in a close contact with us.” 

“Just as expected from my niece, I shouldn’t have underestimated what you both were capable of,” he laughed. 

Unbeknownst to you, you eventually balled your fists up, and you were on the verge of wanting to throw a punch straight into his face despite being family by blood. However, you tried your best to hold yourself back, you have to get concrete evidence first and foremost. 

“Why, Uncle Kim? Why would a successful detective like you do such a thing? Why live a double life?” You asked and pleaded a little to see if he had any sense of remorse left in him. 

But your efforts were wasted. 

“Oh, Y/N. You have no idea how cruel our world can truly be. It doesn’t matter how high your status can be; the city of Seoul will forever remain dark and corrupt behind the scenes, whether you like it or not. In this world that we will live in, it’s like a tug-of-war, Y/N. If you don’t take a step further, then the younger and weaklings will eventually catch up, and we don’t want that to happen, do we?” 

Your uncle then stepped closer to you and began slowly circling around you. 

“There are only two groups of people in the world; either you choose to be strong or stay behind with the weak. It’s a cruel world that we live in, Y/N. When the opportunity comes, take it even if there’s the slightest opening to becoming the strong elite. Take it and do not spare a glance back, even if it means you must ditch your old life behind. You might even need to sacrifice some things or people to realise those goals.” 

“B-But that doesn’t imply why you would turn to crime to achieve those goals, Uncle Kim,” you commented. 

He sighed. “I’m afraid you are still too young to realise it then. Those girls should be lucky that they are still alive. I haven’t even gotten to the good part yet.” 

Your blood was now boiling, and you were on the verge of genuinely slapping or hitting some sense into your uncle, even though you knew that it would probably be effortless. You just needed to hurt him, make him suffer for all that he has done to all of those young women, even to your friend, Kisa. 

Before you finally shut your eyes, you had to ask him one last question before you were going to reach behind your back pocket for the knife that you had stored away.

“Let me then ask you this, Uncle Kim. What happened five years ago when a detective was responsible for kidnapping young children across the district. Was that your doing as well?” 

In your gut, you already knew what the actual answer would be. But at least you still needed to hear it directly from his mouth. 

“Ah, Minhwan? It was truly a tragedy that he lost his life easily then. He was just a step closer to kidnapping his tenth victim.” 

God, you felt sick to the stomach. He truly was a heartless individual; all of the years of putting up a favourable face in front of his family eventually broke down, revealing who he truly is in front of you now. 

You couldn’t care less if he was your uncle anymore; all you knew was that he was going to hell, and you so desperately wanted to end his life here and then—

“So it was you who made my sister suffer the way she did.” 

That voice! Jungkook!

You quickly jerked your head behind to see that Jungkook was now aiming his gun directly at your uncle, but before you could even process further, you were immediately pulled into your uncle’s embrace. He immediately took out his gun from his holster and rested it on your temple. 

“My, if it isn’t the biker gang leader himself! You surely have grown since the last time I’ve seen you.” 

“Never in a million years would I have thought that the chief detective would have been monitoring and guiding the underworld for several years. It would surely be a huge hit in the newspapers and eventually across the globe,” Jungkook taunted. 

“That would be nice, but I’m afraid you both won’t live through the next sunrise to see it happen because I will be eliminating you both right here and now, starting with Y/N,” he pushed the gun further to the point that it began to hurt. You could tell that one wrong move from either of you would result in a bullet within the two of you. 

You both have to think quickly and strategically before executing the next move. 

“What makes you think you can outsmart me, young man? You’re from the biker gang, for goodness sake!” Your uncle began raising his voice and was now engaged in the conversation with Jungkook. 

That was when you looked into Jungkook’s eyes, and you could tell he was trying to tell you something. 

It was as if he meant…

Trust me, Y/N. 

“It is because I’m the biker gang’s leader, Mr Chief. Hence, I can and will outsmart you here right now.” 

With that one last word, Jungkook loaded his gun and pulled the trigger, aiming straight at your legs. The bullet barely grazed through your skin, and you immediately fell onto your knees, which made your uncle stunned. 

“Hey! Hey! Y/N! Get up! Get up now!”

In the midst of his panic, Jungkook quickly stepped in and took his hand onto his back before propelling his body forward, slamming him onto the ground. He quickly used his knee to keep him in place. He used his hands to push the chief’s head to the ground while the other held both hands towards his back. 

“Y-You think you’re going to get away with this? You’re a hundred years too fast…” the chief grunted. 

“Actually, I think you might as well start digging your grave now, dear uncle.” 

Immediately, all of you looked towards the front door entrance where the voice was coming from, and your eyes widened upon who you had just seen. 

“Seokjin!!!” You screamed out loud; tears might even start falling from the corners of your eyes. 

“Hello, uncle. Missed me?” 

“H-How did you get out from there? There’s absolutely no way—”

“Well, I have my ways. And unfortunately for you, I hacked into the station system, so your computer right there on your desk was recording everything that you said towards both my sibling and the biker gang’s leader; I may have also shared the recording with the local radio stations, so everyone heard it live and in real timing too,” Seokjin announced as he was twirling the USB drive in his hands. 

“Why you little scumbag!!” He screamed before Jungkook gathered his strength to push him down again. 

“I think the scumbag here is you, dear uncle. I’m sure the FBI would be delighted to interrogate the heck out of you and give you the rightful punishment you need.”

“What? The FBI?” He questioned. 

“You actually think I came here unprepared? The FBI has officially raided the entire building, taking the hostages to safety and caught your little gremlins, escorting them to prison at this very moment as we speak.” 

Seokjin took a few steps closer before eventually bending down to face his uncle.

“I’m sorry, but your reign of terror ends here and now.”

It had been a year since that fateful incident. Getting things back to normal surely took a lot of time and effort. 

Thanks to Seokjin and the FBI, they have taken your uncle away and placed him behind bars, even at a high security one at that. Throughout the gruelling interrogation that they have had, it seems that your uncle was part of more twisted crimes than what the public was aware of, and he was sentenced to life imprisonment at that, with no chance of parole. 

As for the victims, they were all returned safely to their own families after recovering at the hospital for a while. Thanks to the staff's generosity, the victims were given more than enough care and treatment for them to eventually return to their usual selves.

The Seoul Metropolitan Police Department needed some time to regain the public's trust. To tackle that issue, the officials elected your brother Jacob to take over the chief position and oversee the whole process of rebuilding the entire police department. It definitely wasn’t an easy task and was undoubtedly a huge burden for Seokjin, but he did not complain and rather took on the role easily. 

The factory that you used to work in was abolished as the police themselves continued to dig through more uncovered dark secrets that lay below the factory grounds. For the safety and well-being of the public, all authorities have agreed that it would be best to tear the place down, leaving behind a chapter. 

But that did not mean that all workers there met a bad fate. Through the help from the public and the authorities, everyone was given a chance to work at a much better and safer workplace. 

As weeks passed, you scored through all your exams and eventually graduated from university. You were now on the road to becoming a full-fledged journalist, currently undergoing probation under the famous company The Seoul Daily Magazine. You have been enjoying your time here, meeting amazing colleagues and having a healthier work-life balance. 

As for Jungkook, he decided to return to his biker gang, further leading the upcoming lads to take over the higher positions within their hierarchy. However, it was thanks to the latest kidnapping cases that the public realised that the bikers themselves weren’t rebellious nor posed a threat to society. They have begun to put their trust in the bikers themselves, and they would often be seen hanging out together in town daily. 

Seokjin has granted a special position for Jungkook in the police department, encouraging the male to join forces as their previous one worked out splendidly. According to your brother, Jungkook just smiled and turned down the offer, saying that the bikers are one big family and would stick by them until the end. 

You smiled as you remembered all of those moments of how Jungkook had always shared about his lads from the gang, and naturally, you decided to visit them often whenever you got to hop onto Jungkook’s bike; you both were finally a couple now anyway. 

It wasn’t until the digital clock that was situated right on your table started to go off that you realised that it was finally time for you to get off work. You quickly jumped up from your chair, giving yourself a little stretch before packing your things away hurriedly. 

“Oh, someone’s leaving early today, huh?” One of your co-workers peeked through your cubicle and teased. 

“Someone’s got a dinner date tonight, a very romantic one at that, too,” another one chimed in. 

“It’s nothing, you guys, we’re just having a normal dinner,” you reassured, but clearly your co-workers didn’t believe you in the slightest bit. 

“I bet they’re going to finally do it tonight.”

“What?! How can you say that?! I bet they’re going to propose instead.” 

“Nothing is going to happen, okay? Now, I’m off. I’ll see you next Monday!” 

You quickly clocked out before running down the steps down to the lobby. You were too excited and couldn’t wait for the elevator to reach your floor. Once you finally saw your boyfriend leaning against one of the pillars outside your company, you quickly dashed towards the automatic doors before finally stopping right in front of him.

He was in his usual black leather jacket and cargo pants, but his hair was much longer now, so it covered his eyes if he decided not to part them. But you loved this new look on him, much better when his hair was shorter a year ago.

“Like what you see, sweetheart?” 

“Hmph, don’t get too full of yourself. You barely did just the minimum,” you commented before linking your arms with his as you both walked towards the restaurant that Jungkook had booked for the night. 

“Come on, I styled myself just for tonight. You might as well give me some compliments,” he whined. 

“I’ll consider it if you order something that I have been craving to eat for a while,” you stuck your tongue out at him. 

“How should I know what you’re craving for the day?” 

“You’re the boyfriend; you should’ve done your research.” 

“Mean.” 

“I spit the facts.” 

You both burst out into laughter after that; you truly enjoyed every moment with this guy, even if you were just bickering over the tiniest detail possible. It was when you both went silent for a while, admiring the Christmas lights and decorations that lit up the entire city. You both finally stopped at the huge Christmas tree in the middle of town, admiring its beauty for a while before heading to the restaurant just a little bit behind the decor. 

“Say, didn’t you mention that I would be your biggest mistake when I first picked you up back at the factory?” 

“Oh…that.” 

“Yeah, that. What am I to you now, princess?” He looked at you with pleading eyes; he was back at trying to get your compliments since he failed the last one.

You sighed before tilting your head towards his direction before planting a soft peck on his lips. 

“You were the best mistake that has ever happened to me.”

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[jungkookstatts]

Cherry Flavored

[Summary]: Your biker boyfriend takes you on a joyride.

[Theme]: Established realtionship!AU, Biker!JK

[Rating]: 18+, explicit content, oral (f receiving), spitting, dom!JK, riding, creampie, spanking

[Word Count]: 5,498

[A/N]: The biker verse has come to me in the new year. So has covid. But biker fantasies heal me. Enjoy! (P.s. thinking of doing a Tae fic soon??)

“Just, hold onto me,” Jungkook smiles. It’s a toothy grin, one that would usually send butterflies of affection straight to your tummy. His lip piercings shine like the metal around his fingers and ears, catching the midnight glow of the street lamps against them.

“There’s no seat belt,” you exhale.

“Of course,” he laughs a little. Brown hairs fall over his forehead with the soft force of his voice. You’re too nervous to move them out of the way like you usually would right now. “It’s a motorcycle, baby. I’m your seat belt.”

You laugh in disbelief.

“Kook, I’m not sure—” you begin, but he stops you. Cold hands cup your cheeks, his nose inches from yours. You can smell cherries on his breath, left over from the cherry flavored lollipop he bought from one of the gum ball machines at the entrance of the diner you just ate at.

“Baby,” he kisses your lips once. “I’m not going to let anything happen to you, you know that.”

You exhale against his lips, knowing his words are true. But still, your mind can’t help but evaluate all the “what ifs”.

“I’ll go slow,” he smiles softly. “No games.”

“Promise?” You search his eyes. You know he isn’t lying. He’d never play with your safety like that. He loves you too much. Such an over protective boyfriend. A big teddy bear at heart despite the piercings, tattoos, and loud motorcycle he has to his name. He’d never do anything to harm you.

“I promise,” he kisses you again. “Do you trust me?”

“Yes,” you exhale. The boy smiles again. It shoves your nervous butterflies away and briefly replaces them with those affectionate butterflies you missed dearly.

“Good,” he kisses you deeper this time. You feel his pillowy lips against yours, sliding between your lips like they were made to be there. You almost grab his jaw to keep him against you. But he cuts the kiss short. The taste of cherries is left on your lips when he pulls away and grabs the spare helmet off the back of his bike.

“Put this on,” he hands it to you. It’s black and glossy and twice the size of your head. But you slide it on anyways, looking at your boyfriend through the tinted glasses of the helmet.

“How do I look?” You ask him.

Jungkook’s heart nearly flips. Who would have thought you’d be so cute with a helmet on? He did. You just confirmed it.

“Cold,” he settles with. Pulling of his biker jacket, he puts it over your shoulders. It’s night, and the air will only get colder once he starts riding. The jacket will provide extra protection if you fall, too. It’s thick exterior and interior act as a buffer against any surface. He doesn’t have a spare, but he’d risk himself for you on any occasion.

You slide the bulky sleeves up your arms, feeling slightly uncomfortable by the unfamiliar garment. It doesn’t really feel like a proper jacket, too stiff and thick to have on unless you were riding. 

“Now, the key is to just lean,” he puts his own helmet over his head, trying to refocus. You watch his tattooed fingers grasp the handle of the left side of his bike after he walks over to it. “And hold onto me. Tight.”

He swings a leg over his bike, situating himself. Cocking his head to the side, he signals to you to come over. You do as you’re told. 

With timid hands, you tightly hold onto his shoulder and hike yourself over his bike. It wobbles, and your heart skips a couple beats at the thought of falling. But Jungkook is calm, and you feel slightly reassured knowing he trusts the bike won’t do as you thought it would.

“H-How tight?” You ask, wrapping your arms around his waist. The softness of his t-shirt makes you feel better. Rather, the feeling of his body underneath your fingertips does. It’s soft and warm, but you feel the ridges of his abs as you test the tightness of your grip.

“Tighter,” he asks. You do.

He shakes his head. You see a wrinkle in his eye, knowing he’s smiling behind his helmet. With his rough hands, he grabs your own, tightening them himself around his waist.

“For dear life, Y/n,” he rubs your hands soothingly afterward. 

You nod, doing as he says. A raspy chuckle leaves his lips at the tightness of your grip. He pulls his biker gloves and his keys out of his pocket before putting them on. With a twist of his key, the bike comes to life with a loud roar, and you somehow grip him tighter. He wishes you could see the blush he has going on right now. It’s worthy of a few lines of humiliation you like to throw at him whenever he’s feeling flustered by you. 

“You ready?” He double checks.

You take a deep breath, telling him yes, which prompts him to lean the bike to the side and kick up the kickstand. He leans forward a little, and you move with him. With a flick of his wrist, you’re moving with him on his bike.

You feel the adrenaline pumping through your veins. The bike is moving! You’re gripping his t-shirt, probably some of his skin underneath, too, holding on for dear life like he instructed. 

“Kook!” You inhale, weary of the already fast approaching speed. Little do you know he’s barely made it to the local street speed limit.

“Trust me,” he tells you surely.

Looking at the sureness of his hands on the steering, the steadiness of his pace, you decide it’s time you really do. This is Jungkook. He wouldn’t let you backpack unless he knew he was sure enough to handle you as one, unless he knew you’d be safe with him as a rider. He’s been training for this moment. Never proposing the idea until recently, and you knew it was because he finally felt ready to be trusted with your safety.

You’re still a little nervous, but you’ve transferred most of that into your arms and hands. You hold onto him, wrapping your arms fully around his waist, leaning into his back as you let him guide you through the night. He’s guided you through many things in life. Your first tattoo, your first New Years kiss. Your first true love. You trust him with your soul. You love him with all of it, too.

Under his helmet, Jungkook smiles with content when you wrap your hands around him. You’re trusting him. He feels the weight of responsibility. But moreover, the excitement of showing you something he loves. Of showing someone he loves something he loves to do. Riding through the night with wind going against him. The motor of his bike propelling him forward as he rides under the stars. How he’s dreamed of taking you on one of his joyrides. Something in him knew you would like it. 

He goes faster, not daring to enter the highway on your first ride without your permission. But he goes through the local roads, hitting the exact speed of the speed limit given to him. Not going a unit over the number on the signs. You giggle when you realize, knowing the boy you hold onto usually does go a little over, even in the car. But the fact fills you with warmth that he wouldn’t dare play games with speed right now. Not with you on his back. 

After a certain point, you reach a red light, and he puts a foot on the ground to stabilize the bike at the stop.

“How do you like it?” He turns his head slightly to check in with you.

“I love it,” you smile. “I love you.”

His big heart skips, and he looks back at the time on the cross walk to see if he has enough time to kiss you silly from your confession. But you give him no time.

“You can go faster,” you scooch closer to him.

“You sure?” He looks back at you again. The red reflection of the light still beams on his helmet.

You nod. “Take me on the highway, Kook.”

Suddenly, the light turns green.

“Okay,” he shakes his head in disbelief. A small laugh erupts through his chest. When did you get so dauntless? “Better hold on, then.”

You squeal, doing as he says when he accelerates forward. He’s faster this time, still stable and not at all reckless. But the wind catches your clothes enough to know he’s going to do as promised.

The laughs that erupt from your body when he hits the highway is enough to solidify that he’s so totally going to kiss you so silly tonight. Maybe all night, if you’ll let him. 

He stays in the slow lane, going the minimum speed the highway gives, and yet you’re screaming joy and laughing relief out of your lungs as he guides you through the night. Just you and your biker boyfriend.

You trust him enough to take one hand away, letting your fingertips feel the wind of this summer night. But it’s interrupted after a while when Jungkook’s hand returns your own his waist. He pats the top of your palm a few times, telling you to behave, and you do. You hold him tighter, if that’s possible. Scooching closer to him as he finishes the ride off the highway.

The streets start to look familiar, the houses and street names ringing bells in your head. You’re sad to end the ride, honestly. Especially when he pulls up to his townhome, sliding into the parking spot right in front of it all a little too soon.

With steady hands, you sit up from your leaned position, still holding his waist, as he turns off the bike. Jungkook pulls off his helmet, brown messy hair falling around his ears from the release of the protective gear. There’s a bit of sweat forming at the base of his hairline, and you almost went to kiss it if it weren’t for your helmet. Before you can take it off, the man is already standing up, positioning himself in front of you to pull it off himself. You swing your leg around the bike, leaning your feet against the pavement as you stay seated. He stares down at you, tall and handsome as he awaits your approval.

“Well?” He tugs his lips upward. The piercings on his eyebrow dance as he raises it.

“I loved it,” you candor. “I kind of want to suck your cock right now.”

He laughs, crinkled nose and all. That nose nudges with yours when he kisses you. It’s slower than the pecks from before, when he was coaxing you into the joyride with him.

“That much?” He laughs. Those rough hands of his help you stand, the reminder of chest against yours only makes your heart flutter more. “Should have taken you sooner, then.”

“It was perfect, Kook,” you hold his jaw. “I really loved it.”

He looks at the stars in your eyes. The overwhelming presence of you in his biker jacket, holding his spare helmet in one hand and his jaw in the other. God, could you be any more perfect? He doesn’t know what to do with himself.

So he leans into you, holding the back of your neck as he sears his lips onto yours. He’s still cherry flavored, and you can taste it surely when he dips his tongue into your mouth. You envelope it warmly, kissing him with all the love you have. Except you wish you could feel more of him, have his skin against yours. You want the hand that holds his helmet to hold your waist. For your own hand that holds his spare to run through his hair. You want to be on his lap, to look at him from above, sweaty hair and brown eyes. 

He seems to read your mind, detaching your lips only slightly when he whispers against them, “Do you want to go in?”

You nod, watching him smile knowingly. It’s one of those smiles he gives when he’s shy, when he feels bashful and is receiving more attention than he’s used to. It’s one of his cutest smiles to-date. The desire to jump his bones is stronger than it’s been all night.

You follow him as he walks up to the door. He takes your helmet from his hand and balances it on his finger like he does with his own. The key turns, and the smell of his apartment fills your lungs. It smells like him. Like man, but better. A strange thing to think about, as you never associated “man” with smelling good. But he does, somehow. He smells like home. 

You follow in suit, taking your shoes off as he does the same when hooking your helmets on his biking rack next to his door. You lock it for him, and he smiles back at you in a quick thanks.

Quickly, you tread in front of him, becoming taller as you leave him in the shoe divot in front of the door.

“So does this mean you’ll let me take you on a few of my joyrides, then?” he asks you.

“You can take me on all of them if you want to,” you promise.

He comes up to you, destroying the height confidence you had from before when he steps up from the shoe divot.

“I love you,” he cups your jaw with both of his hands this time. Puffy lips connect with yours, they’re hot and slightly damp, firmly kissing you. Passion presses your back against the wall, his frame engulfing your body in love and lust as he kisses you. You can only return the favor, sliding your hands up his clothed chest. He breaks his grasp on your jaw when your hands slide around his neck, prompting him to replace his hands underneath your thighs instead. With no effort at all, as if you weigh a feather in his strong arms, he lifts you around his waist.

The new angle allows you to kiss him deeper, your hand securing around his neck and shoulder. Big hands hold your waist and back. He walks with you, messing around through his apartment, taking you to his bedroom by pure muscle memory as he’s too distracted by the smell your clothes against his skin to focus on anything else. 

For a second, his hand leaves your back to push open his door. The lamp on his bedside table is still on, something he forgot to turn off when he left to meet you at the diner with your friend and her date earlier.

Gently, almost as if you were made of glass, he lays you on his sheets. You still have his biker jacket on, and he swears it’s never looked better on anyone else.

“Biker looks good on you,” he says, admiring you from above.

“Want me to leave it on?” You suggest, an eyebrow raise up at him.

You visibly see his cheeks turn red, and you have your answer before he can even say it. 

“You don’t have to,” he denies. But you’re already sliding it off, taking your shirt and bra underneath before bringing the jacket over your shoulder again and zipping it up halfway.

He looks at you, bewildered and so terribly infatuated before he hides his face in his palm and groans. He’s so unbelievably flustered and he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“You’re going to kill me, Y/n,” he muffles in his hand. 

You almost say something, but he’s already trapping your frame underneath his, searing his lips onto the skin of your neck. He bites and sucks at your skin, marking you in his purple and blue love bites. You can’t get enough, tilting your head for more, which he gladly gives you.

You pant lustfully in response when he hits your sweet spot. His lips are delicate at first when he comes across the territory he’s memorized so well. But you know better than to think that he’d stay that way. Not when he knows how it causes you to slide your hands in his hair and pull at his scalp in the way he likes best. Not when he knows you’ll react with the breathy moans he loves so much that flow from your lips at the slightest kiss. So he does just that, feeling your back arch into his chest and your fingers tangle in his hair when he plays with your pleasure. 

“Jungkook,” you flutter. His lips feel so good, like they were made to make you feel like this. 

He kisses down your neck, coming to the base of the zipper you left done halfway up the jacket. Slowly, he unzips it, watching the fabric part ways as gravity takes it to the sides of the bed. The jacket doesn’t completely reveal your breasts though, so he takes matters into his own hands and cups them from underneath.

His stare makes you feel shy, and you inhale sharply when his thumbs brush over your nipples slightly. The reaction makes you even more shy, and you cover your mouth with the back of your hand to hide the small moans that leave your mouth.

“So pretty,” he looks up at you. 

You tug at the rim of his t-shirt, begging him to take it off as you lay open chested below him. He only chuckles at the realization, seeing that he’s still fully clothed, way too preoccupied with you to take care of himself.

He does as you ask and more, tugging off his t-shirt and his jeans, leaving him in only his boxers. You feel a wave of slick come through your panties at the sight. Tattoos and muscles stare back at you. You try to ignore the halfy he’s sporting in his boxers, a pure reminder of the activities you wanted to give to him as a thank you for taking you for a ride on his bike.

But he’s quick to turn you down when you sit up to do just that, hiking his fingers under your pants and sliding them down along with your underwear. He throws them somewhere on his floor, falling to his knees to admire you.

“Oh honey,” he marvels at the sight, sliding a slender finger gently up your folds. “You’re soaked.”

You whimper against the back of your hand.

“I-I wanted to suck you off,” you protest, placing a hand on his wrist. Not because you necessarily want him to stop, but because you were scared about how good his touch feels already. “As a thank you.”

“What for, baby?” He stops playing with you, his spare hand cups your thigh. Soothingly, his thumb rubs against your skin, waiting for your answer. 

“For letting me ride with you,” you respond.

“You don’t need me to thank me for that, sweetheart,” he smiles gently. “I’d allow you to ride with me any time you want. I need to thank you for trusting me enough to want to,” he takes your hand in his. Those big doe eyes capture yours, asking for permission with stars in his eyes. “Will you let me?”

Fuck, will this man be the end of you. Of course you will, you’re basically leaking infront of his face.

You nod, and he shyly smiles again. The hand that had previously slipped up your folds springs to life again. This time, it circles your entrance gently, causing you to whimper into your skin. Hot lips envelope your clit, his tongue playing with you softly.

“K-Kook,” you gasp at the feeling. He only hums, his eyes closing when he applies more pressure into your leaking heat. The vibrations from his moans against your clit cause you to arch your back, your head falling back against the sheets when his fingers play in tandem with his tongue. They tempt over your cunt, circling your hole and gathering your juices just enough to make you go crazy.

He detaches his mouth for a brief moment, his lips covered in your heat, red with lust, as he watches you squirm when he replaces his thumb with his tongue over your clit. His mouth always does wonders, but something about his thumb against that ball of nerves makes you clutch onto your orgasm for dear life. It’s firm against you, not too harsh, but just enough to make you feel all of it when he circles it slowly underneath his thumb. Jungkook pulls your hips closer to the edge of the bed, completely in control as you let him thank you. He watches you carefully as he inserts a finger into your aching pussy, seeing how you gasp and grab onto his wrist. But he’s stronger than you, and you’re fully aware of that. You also don’t want him to stop—your grasping onto him a mere reaction for support.

“Does that feel good, baby?” He asks you. He’s so gentle, always so cautious at first. You know at one point he’ll become a sex demon and ram you into the sheets. But he’s being a sweetheart right now, wanting to coax an orgasm or two out of you first. He does it right.

“Mhm,” you solidify. Your answer is weak, too taken over by the sliding of his finger against your walls. 

“Do you want my mouth?” He asks. You know he’s asking permission, well too aware that the combo is a recipe for an orgasm.

“Y-yes, please,” you give it to him.

He chuckles at your polite response, although it takes over his desire in ways that he’s struggling to control. You’re just so sweet to him, always so perfect in every way. He couldn’t ask for anything more. You’re perfect. And you’re his. 

He replaces his thumb with his mouth again, this time moving faster than before. His pace quickens, and he adds another finger to your dripping cunt. The feeling makes you dig your fingers into his hair, pressing him against your pussy. It gets him high, moaning against your cunt shyly as he curls his fingers against your g-spot.

“Jungkook, m’ gonna cum,” you whine into air. Both your hands secure his head on your mound, as if he’d leave before you finish.

He feels you clench around his fingers, so damn tight his cock twitches in his boxers embarrassingly. But he ignores it, taking his mouth off your cunt to give you his thumb again. The change makes you arch your back, the coil in your tummy slowly unraveling beneath him.

“There you go,” he coaxes you. “Good girl.” 

You gush at the nickname. White heat flows around his fingers, and he replaces them with his tongue as you finish against his lips. The sensation is almost too much, your over sensitivity making you whimper and close your thighs around his head to stop him.

“K-Koo,” you whine. “Sensitive.”

He finishes up at your request, swallowing your release sweetly. He leaves you gently to stand up, tossing his boxers somewhere on the floor. You’re left to catch your breath, an arm over your eyes as you gasp into the air of his bedroom. Only when you feel his familiar frame tower over you again do you look up. You’re met with a sweaty man with wet lips and a lovestuck smile plastered on his features.

“You okay?” He kisses your forehead.

“Mm,” is all you have the strength to say.

You feel his thumb pry your mouth open.

“Open for me,” he asks you anyways. You mewl when you see him gathering spit in his mouth. He transfers it to you rudely, and you feel you might just cum again from the sheer force of it. He’s so hot, you feel overwhelmed.

You feel it enough to gain the strength to flip him over when he’s off guard, straddling his hips with his biker jacket on your shoulders.

“What’s this?” He grabs your waist. God, you look so good in his clothes.

“Let me give you a ride this time, Kookie,” you suggest.

He swears he’s never heard anything hotter in his life. It makes his dick leak with precum, your suggestion paired with his favorite girl in his favorite jacket ontop of him.

Your soft hands lay on his chest for support as you lift up your hips. He helps you, grabbing your waist with his big hands. You grab his cock, so big and just for you, lining it up with your wet cunt. You slide it in with a small gasp of your lips, and you swear you see his eyes roll back slightly at the feeling.

“Oh,” you softly gasp as he fills you up. The stretch is so good from this angle, filling every inch of your walls up to the brim. You feel all of him, and he can feel all of you, too. You know it with the way he grips your hips, telling you to give him a minute when you reach the base.

You give him just that, before you test the waters again and start a pace. 

“Fuck,” he tilts his head back. You riding him is an entirely different sensation, his thighs slack and your ass bouncing on his cock as you use him for pleasure. You feel so good, you always feel so good. So perfect for him. 

“Koo,” you mewl as your hands plant for support just below his rib cage. Your hips move perfectly, bouncing on his cock like it’s your day job. It’s exhausting, but it feels too good to stop. You won’t until it’s too much, until you can’t do it anymore.

You see why Jungkook likes to be on top most the time. The view from this angle is sickening. You see the sweat coming down from his scalp and neck. It begs to make entry into his forehead, and you hope at one point it does. Brown hair flops and lays over his skin and the sheets blow him. His Adams apple bobs every time he moans and swallows. You see every scar, mole, and blush this man presents to you. You feel entirely privileged that he is all yours.

He catches you staring, his big hands that you love so much cup your thighs on either side of his hips.

You feel sweaty in his jacket, already knowing it probably smells like sex and sweat already. You feel flush from the heat, and he seems to take note, coming up to hug around your waist with one arm and push off the jacket with the other. His legs dangle over the edge of the bed, supporting you on his lap as the jacket falls to the floor.

“So pretty,” he hums against your lips. His cock throbs inside of you, and you beg for friction, pushing your knees against the mattress and sliding up and down ontop of him again. “You like this, huh? You like fucking my cock?”

“Yes,” you whine against his neck. You feel like a horny teenager, unable to get enough of the man beneath you.

“So needy, baby,” he helps your pace with his hands on your hips. It’s quicker, making you dig your fingers into his scalp as you moan against his neck. “You like riding me? Tell me which one you like to ride more, my bike or my cock. Hm?”

“Y-You,” you respond almost immediately. But he doesn’t seem to like your answer, his hand landing a harsh slap against your ass that causes you to dig your nails into his shoulder.

“I can’t hear you, baby,” he kisses your neck.

You somehow muster the strength to face him again, your hips changing direction slightly to rock back and forth against him. It makes your cheeks feel numb and your fingers tingly, his dick pressing against your g-spot so delicately.

You nudge your nose against his, his cherry flavored lips ever so slightly touching yours.

“You,” you repeat. “I like to ride you more than anything.”

That seems to do it for him, your short ride of dominance ended as his lips take you over. He kisses you until he’s got you in your back again, his body obsessed with your own.

“So perfect for me,” he kisses you. “Let me fuck you good, yeah? My perfect baby.”

You can only nod, ready to come back to your throne as pillow princess. Your boyfriend takes your thighs, hiking them up around his back before he rams into you.

He fucks you like he’s in heat, needy and overwhelmed. His tip hits you in all the right places, causing you to arch your back into his chest. You scratch at his tattoos, chanting his name against his neck as he makes you feel good over and over again.

“J-Jungkook,” you gasp. You try to say your words, but you’re hit with euphoria with every thrust he delivers into your body. “Koo, I-“

“I know, baby,” he shushes you, a kiss to your cheek. “Just cum for me, hm?” He suggests.

“C-Close,” you tell him. The man seems to know your body more than you know it yourself, his lips reattaching to your sweet spot so delicately, it doesn’t match up at all with the way his hips piston into you. “Jungkook,” you gasp when he sucks there. The familiar feeling in the pit of your stomach returns, and you feel warm throughout your entire body.

With his hair in your face, lips on your neck, and hands caging your body beneath his, you tighten around his cock, unraveling for the second time underneath the man above you.

You feel him twitch, knowing he’s not that far behind you. He moans so sweetly against your neck when you tighten around him, his hips losing rhythm as you cum on his dick.

“Sso tight,” he groans against your neck. “I-Is inside okay?”

“Y-Yes,” you sigh against his ear. You’re so fucked out, so obsessed with him. You really don’t know if there’s a request out of his cherry lips you can deny.

“Oh, ah—“ he grips the sheets, balling them up in his fists. “M’ gonna cum.”

You simply run your hand through his hair, gripping it strongly as he thrusts harshly inside you. It overstimulates you, and you pant his name against his scalp as his seed spills out of you in hot, thick ropes. His moans are like music to your ears. So breathy and sweet. You swear you’ve never heard anything more lovely in your life.

The two of you calm down, your sweaty bodies absolutely filthy with summer night air, the smell of motorcycle exhaust, sex, sweat, and cum. It starts to make you cringe after a while. Ever the attentive one, your boyfriend notices and comes up from his place by your neck.

He gives you a soft smile before pecking your lips gently.

“I’ll start the shower,” he offers, pecking your lips again.

You let him leave you for a few seconds. Feeling cold and bare, you get up and search for your clothes. But you’re unable to find them, probably kicked somewhere underneath the bed. You only see Jungkook’s t-shirt and his jacket from before. So you slide the t-shirt over your head, feeling giddy again with the smell of him engulfing your senses.

With sore legs and an aching core, you walk over to the bathroom, hugging your man from behind like you did on his bike just an hour ago.

“This is my favorite part,” you start, holding him tighter.

“Hugging me?” He asks.

“Mhm,” you confirm.

You feel him laugh a bit in your arms, turning around in them only to poke at your frown.

“I like to hold you close. Especially when you go fast suddenly and I get a little scared,” you look up at him.

The shower mist fills up the mirror, and the heat lulls you into the feeling of sleepiness his aftercare always gives you.

“I never want to scare you,” he kisses your forehead. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” you lean into his palm, his hand holding your face close as he kisses your swollen lips softly.

“Now, let’s get you cleaned up,” he cups your hips.

You open your eyes, watching him eye the shirt you’re wearing.

“Seriously, baby, you gotta stop wearing my clothes,” he slides his t-shirt over your head. “It’s doing things to me.”

“Maybe tomorrow I’ll wear your biker suit then,” you wiggle your eyebrows.

“Now that would murder me.”

***

[End. Do not copy. Original work of @jungkookstatts , 2024]

[slmjaeyuns]

⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ jake sim fics that make my heart go pitter patter⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

beautiful pieces of art written for my most beautiful boy

~~ a new, updated fic rec list for the boy who owns my heart because i be reading okay, y’all *cries*

part one / first jake fic rec list here!!

warning: there are suggestive themes/smut that may be embedded throughout the fluff and angst fics as well)! please dni if that makes you uncomfortable!! (jake x afab reader/gn reader) minors dni, please‼️

‧₊˚❀༉‧₊˚.

all time favourites ♡

fics contain a combination of genres including fluff, angst, suggestiveness, smut)

♡ rule number 1: don’t fall in love

♡ kiwi and layla

♡ hold me like you always do

♡ 14 steps to a better you

♡ pocky

♡ always

♡ monkey bars (part one)

♡ roman holiday

♡ to all my firsts with you

special ending

♡ you are in love

♡ the set up

♡ midnight rain (back to you)

fluff ❀

❀ cupid

❀ classmate au

❀ chapsticks

❀ 6:17am

❀ our kimchi

❀ sim jaeyun - the one with things that happen in your friendship

❀ i find my paradise

❀ strawberries and cigarettes

❀ that’s how you get the girl

❀ good girl

❀ go ahead*

❀ 21:14*

*ps: my potterhead self (who happens to be a slytherin) was squealing and kicking my feet reading these two likeeeee eeeeeeepp

❀ wait, date?

❀ try again

❀ sunday mornings

❀ 8:30pm

❀ speak now

❀ home = you

❀ in another universe

❀ care and love

❀ is that seat (=are you) taken?

angst ☽

☽ cupid’s mistake

☽ was this shirt always so big?

☽ can you please come over

☽ i’m low on gas and you need a jacket

☽ wish you back

suggestive/smut ☁︎

☁︎ body on me

☁︎ grateful sinners

☁︎ cruel summer

☁︎ two best friends in a room

☁︎ dying to drive but you can’t find the keys

☁︎ coffee and mathematical physics

☁︎ tease

☁︎ how jake kisses you

☁︎ bestfriendsbrother!jake drabble

☁︎ the taste of you

☁︎ he’s yours, but am i?

☁︎ silly competitions

☁︎ prove it

☁︎ focus

☁︎ fwb!jake

☁︎ can i kiss you?

☁︎ take me away

☁︎ forgotten consequences

☁︎ brand new moves

☁︎ help you out

☁︎ addict

☁︎ talk me down

☁︎ for old times sake

☁︎ get off that stupid game

[halcyone-of-the-sea]

Blood-Stained Wool Spun At Midnight (I)

AU MASTERLIST || PART II

PAIRING: Werewolf!Ghost x F!Tailor!Reader (Set in Van Helsing Era/Aesthetic)

WORDCOUNT: 7.7k

WARNINGS: Blood, intense gore, angst, mutilation, violence, death, being hunted, reference to unwanted attention from a man, 1890s period standards for men/women, religious references, etc.

*I do not give others permission to translate and/or re-publish my works on this or any other platform*

“Miriam?” Your voice carries over the open street, one of the two small steps leading into your nonexistent front yard firm under your feet. Across the way and one house to the left, your older neighbor, Miriam, readies her horse for you—kept behind the paddock door of her attached single-stall stable. Men and women shuffle past along the cobblestone, clopping hooves and tipping soft caps. Giggles and gloved fingers. 

The city is lively today, and you’ll be glad to be out of it for the better part of the morning.

You brush down the front of your shirtwaist, patting at the pleating along the front before folding your shawl across your shoulders; hiking it farther into your high-collared garment. 

“Miriam!” You call again, shuffling down that last step and trying to shove yourself farther into the crowd. Keeping your black skirt close to you, you sigh long and pray the pouch at your side will stay away from the hands of pickpockets—a tailor gets off well enough, but every penny was worth it. One setback could ruin you.

Which was the reason you were now making your way into the country on your neighbor's horse. 

Miriam glances up from where she fiddles with the bridle strap, her head mixed in with the masses. You smile, raising a hand far above the sea as men sneer down at you, hearing the tinkling bells of her laughter. 

You make it to her and Whistlejacket the Thoroughbred as you huff, rubbing your gloved hands together before the clicking sound of your heeled shoes can catch up to your ears.

“By the Lord, it’s chilly, Love,” Miriam utters, patting the horse as you softly rub the animal's neck. Black ears twitch to you, chestnut eyes soft and pliable. You smile before replying with a chuckle. 

“And the chill won’t stop Mrs. Ida from having my hide for that wool-lined cycling jacket, unfortunately.” 

“Ah,” Miriam scoffs, “Mrs. Ida. I’d tell that one to mind her manners to the fine lady who makes her husband's waistcoats.” 

“She always asks for them a size small,” you hum, rummaging through your satchel to make sure you have the money you need for the wool that’ll go inside the order. “One with more of a brain would say she was trying to say something.” 

Your eyes glimmer as you send your neighbor a glance. Miriam slides you a cheesy look.

“‘More of a brain’, the girl says,” she mutters as you laugh brightly. “A wonder you’ve not found a husband yet.”

You ignore the comment, sliding down Whistlejacket’s side to slip your foot into the stirrup, huffing at the beast’s size before shimmying up with all the grace of a young hooligan. Panting on the saddle, both legs over one side on account of your skirt, you take a breath and happen to glance at the dark house that borders Miriams.

“Miriam?” The words escape you in a moment of curiosity. “Pray tell…is Mr. Riley back from his trip to London yet?”

Mr. Riley—Simon as you know him to be called by only a whispered passing. It was apparent with your little…interest in him. It wasn’t a carnal interest, no, God forbid, it was a hesitant need to understand him. 

You’d never sown nor mended so many clothes than to his own collection. 

Frock coats, waistcoats, shirts, ties, and trousers all—ripped to shreds before being placed on your counter like it didn’t matter a smidge. And those deep brown eyes of his…endless; seemingly incapable of human emotion above the tight layer of silk that the man wears up to his nose. There was something strange going on with Mr. Riley, and you were determined to figure it out, but he was also quite alluring to you in a simpler sense. 

You liked how he spoke to you.

“London?” Miriam asks, putting a hand to her wrinkling chin. “My, was that where he was off to—how do you hear about these things, Girl?”

You clear your throat, putting back on your smile. “Oh, never mind that. I was just curious, see.”

Whistlejacket’s feet shuffle from under you, the tall beast’s strength seen through his broad neck and well-bred attitude. Miriam’s husband had been a carriage driver, and when he died, the widow had taken Whistlejacket into her care as the only living family she had. 

You rub at his neck again, and the horse nods his head up and down, knickering. 

“You’ll take care of the old fellow, then?” The question is layered, anyone going through the forest to the farmer’s fields knows that the shadows grow long. 

Knows what can hunt you. 

You glance at the woman, nodding firmly. “And bring you back your share for taking the lovely creature out.” 

With that you’re out, taking the reins in your hands before easing Whistlejacket into a walk and entering the flow of traffic; waving a hand behind you in goodbye. Miriam calls on the smoggy wind.

“D-don’t stray from the path, Love!” 

A path wouldn’t save you from the Ghost.

—

It is the year 1897, and beasts live here. 

They roam in the dark corners and the forgotten alleys of every city and street—silent, unseen. Waiting to strike with white fangs or sharp claws; a snarl or a whisper. Vampires, demons, specters lost to time…Werewolves. 

Nowhere was safe, and so, the world had to adapt. 

As Whistlejacket’s hooves meet the slowly depleting cobblestone of the outer city, the clink of the metal bit dances in your ears; your face roves back and forth through the fields, those far in between houses. In your bag, you have more than just money. 

Holy water, a crucifix, and, of course, a knife made of pure silver. When in doubt, silver was always the safest bet.

But the forest…the forest was unpredictable. 

You breathe slowly as it comes into view hours later, those creaking branches and the breeze that speaks to you—in your head, you hear the plea. Or the threat. 

Turn back. 

The both of you stop only a foot from the treeline. Whistlejacket knickers, feet shuffling. Your hand finds his hide, rubbing soothing circles as your lips thin. 

“Easy,” you whisper, but nothing could be farther from easy. Your fingers brush through the horse's hair as he moves his head, hooves taking a step back. “Easy.”

The blackness of this forest is unnatural—the others in the city and town go around it; a four-day trip. You didn’t have four days. Like a moth to a dark altar flame, the oblivion takes you in and the forest expands in your view the longer you stare into it, down that path of overgrown grass and gravel. Rocks and twigs. 

With one hand you grab at your shawl and pull it closer to your neck, holding the reins lightly as your fingers twitch around them with the other. 

“Easy,” you say for a third time, quickly looking away from the path and clearing your throat. 

Clicking your tongue, your boots tap Whistlejacket’s side and after a puff from his large nostrils, the animal ambles forward, far slower than he had before but still moving nonetheless. Your hesitance bleeds into him, and you know the horse's senses are far better than your own.

But you were stubborn—you’d come too far to go back now, and if you wanted to be home by supper you had to buy the wool you needed and leave as quickly as possible. Going through this forest would take up most of that time. 

The trees enshroud you, and in their brimstone grip, they reach with gnarled fingers like a leering phantom. You lean to the side to avoid one branch, feeling it pull at your shaul slightly; trying to grab at you, it seemed. This place would devour you whole, but you were less scared of the general aura and more of the fabled monster that patrols this place. 

The Ghost.

Whistlejacket is unsure of this, despite the journeys you’d both been on. It always worried you how such a large carriage animal could still get so nervous after years of desensitization—the horse didn’t flinch at the yells from the city; or the howl of mutts at midnight. But this brimstone forest made him shiver under you like a child in the cold.

As you speak to him lowly, your hand reaches into your satchel and grasps that tiny silver blade, attaching it to your cinched belt as your skirt sways in a dead breeze. A chilled puff of air falls from your lips, though there is no coldness in these standing sentinels—it is a dead-like atmosphere. Every pound of your heart can be heard. 

“You know, old fellow,” Whistlejacket’s ear twitches back to you, but his eyes do not leave the path. You spare a tense chuckle. “I’ve half the sense to tell Mrs. Ida to shove that wool lining right up her—”

Something sharp echoes far off into the trees and you pull on the reins with a tight breath. 

Whistlejacket squeals, trying to bolt, but you keep a strong hand on him—eyes flashing from one dark void to the next in between the trees as his hooves dance. Your head bobs with every jerk of his legs, yet you barely notice it. 

A twig? You ask, heart hammering. No, no that sounded like an entire tree getting snapped in half.

Eyes glancing over your shoulder, you look back down the road and find the tiny speck of light that signifies the exit of this place, the last glimmer of home. With a heavy look around, you close your eyes and shake your head. 

Mrs. Ida was…something else…but she was one of your best clients for all her abhorrent behaviors—money was tight as of currently, and the woman’s husband was incredibly rich due to his practice as a physician. This wool was needed not only for the jacket but for your shop upkeep and the price of fabrics, needles, and threads. This wool was an investment you couldn’t miss.

“Whistlejacket,” you click your tongue but the animal snorts and shakes his head, backing up. “Whistlejacket!” Your voice carries despite not even being above a hard whisper. 

“I promise you, when we get to the farm I’ll let you eat all of the sugar cubes you want—my treat.” Your hand finds the space between his ears and below his skull, the soft black mane twisting in your fingers. “Nothing’s going to happen.”

Your eyes are half-narrowed. 

That wasn’t a twig.

Monster Hunting was a booming profession—and many took to it out of glory or need for coin. Those hunters had been in and out of this forest for short generations, trying futilely to catch what was rumored to lurk here before they got ripped to shreds like their fathers had. 

The Ghost. 

Some say he stands over nine feet tall; and has fangs that are bigger than a man’s palm—claws like butcher knives. Blackened and dead is his brain, cruel and maniacal. 

The Werewolf’s heart is chained to hell, and his soul to Satan. He is cursed ever to walk like a beast and feast on human flesh while in his wolf-skin and out of it. 

A ghost.

The Ghost.

You close your eyes tightly, trying not to imagine the stench of blood or the injuries you’d seen those hunters bore—being dragged back into the city screaming and wailing in pain. Arms and legs ripped clean off, never to be found. Most never came back at all.

“Please, Whistlejacket,” you plead, bumping your forehead into his neck. Whispering into his skin, you take a deep breath. “We need to go on. Quickly. We can’t stop here.”

Stopping was making a bigger target on your back—letting your scent linger in the stale air. 

With one last whinny, his fast flinching feet, the horse pushes forward as you click your tongue again; faster and more uneasy. But you didn’t slow him, no, if Whistlejacket was going to speed up, you were completely fine with that.

Moving again, you loose a sigh from your lips. 

There were many dark stories living here, some too heavy to tell aloud, even—one specifically was the tale that you’d overheard in your shop while helping Mr. Riley fix a large hole in his waistcoat. 

Riding along the path, you guide your steed down a small indent, blinking at the images your mind conjures up. 

Mr. Riley had been far quieter that day than in the recent past, and you thought perhaps he was beginning to warm to you after a few long months of silence and clipped business talk. That day, though, you had your doubts. 

Mr. Moore and Mr. Hill were coming in to inquire about the state of their overalls, working-class both and eager to have their second pair of articles fixed. Mr. Riley had been there first, and thus, you’d been talking to him for the better part of ten minutes.

“Mr. Riley,” you’d explained, holding his black silk waistcoat in your hands while opening and closing your lips. “I…I really must begin by asking how exactly you manage to do this to your clothes. In good faith, I half-believe you have a habit of getting into bar fights with a knife-wielding fiend in your free time.”

Brown eyes had stared at you above that cloth of his, soft cap on his head protecting blond tendrils of hair. Scars peel at his skin, old and pale. 

You’d never been afraid of him, despite his large frame and his intimidating muscle—the gruff aggressiveness of his tone. It was strange, but you had a feeling he would never do anything nefarious…perhaps his morals shone through far better than his conversational abilities.

“Can you fix it or not?” He grunts in question, hands in his pockets. Eyelids blink at you slowly, long lashes caressing flesh. 

You roll your eyes. “What kind of question is that? Of course, I can.”

In that intermission of silence, you’d heard the words from the men behind Mr. Riley—missing the spark of amusement that had coated those brown orbs as they watched you. 

“Did you ‘ere, then, Mr. Hill?” A sharp, hurried whisper. Your eyes blink at the two as the man ahead of you slightly shifts his shoulders, tilting his head to the side to stare behind him. “There’s been killin' in the East district—they’re callin’ the ‘unters in, see.”

“Hunters?” Mr. Moore huffs. “They’ll not make a smidge of a difference now. I’ve heard about it—they say the Ghost slunk in from the Forest and ripped the man to pieces.”

“Aye! They found pieces of flesh hangin’ off the shop signs. Like he’d been put through a machine, I hear. Half a jaw was left in the street, an eye leading into the trees, and…and…”

“Gentleman,” you call, oblivious to how Mr. Riley is as tense as a rope, eyes small and tight on the two men. He barely breathes. 

The two look to you as if being caught by their mothers. You frown. “Time and place.”

“Sorry, Ma’am.”

“M’sorry, Miss, lost myself.” You smile through a sigh and turn back to Mr. Riley. 

“Well, now then, I…” He quickly walks to the door, boots heavy and knee-length frock coat swishing as he pushes open the barrier and slips through. You gape, confused for a moment. By the time you think about opening your mouth again, you can already see him entering his own house across the street and pulling the door closed firmly.

The curtains close. Black night leaking out around the illumination of the oiled street lamps. It was the news in the morning that called to the true horror that you’d overheard in your shop. 

Mr. Lambert was never your favorite patron, in fact, you’d call him a creep at best—insistent on marriage to you and a hazard, considering that your home was connected to your shop. He knew exactly where you lived and when to use your time in his less-than-pure favor. 

Mr. Riley had been a natural deterrent in recent months, but what really struck you was that the brown-eyed man had managed to show up exactly when you needed him regarding Mr. Lambert. The small silver bell above your door rang his arrival whenever the other was trying to lean over your counter, smiling sweetly at you as if you were a prize to him and his leering eyes. 

Mr. Lambert would instantly straighten, tense, and dart away with a metaphorical tail between his legs while shooting nasty glances. 

But you’d never imagined him to be dead.

You’d never imagined his body to be hung from the trees that border the forest like a trophy—the Ghost had dragged him out of his home, the door busted off its hinges, and the inside all but demolished by fighting bodies. Neighbors said they’d heard howls on the wind; yowling and wet snarls like a rabid dog. 

Mr. Lambert was mutilated. Unrecognizable mass of flesh and hair, bone seen through shredded skin and tongue lulling from a ripped-off jaw. One eye and a branch through his toro to hold him up.

Now halfway through the forest, in the densest bit of trees, you can’t help but imagine becoming just like him.

You hadn’t spoken besides to reassure Whistlejacket, yet the fact was that you couldn't even reassure yourself—like a child, you cling to the animal below you and try to ignore the murmurs. Your shawl had been pulled up and over your head, creating a sound barrier for you that truly did nothing to help. 

Looking slightly to the side at a large and moss-layered boulder beside the path, you shiver not from the cold. 

“Maybe I should have just waited the four days…” Your whisper leaked out, and it seemed a sin to break the silence that had been layered here. 

A shadow filters past the side of your eyes, a silent motion atop the boulder that you think perhaps is a crow. You pull at your shawl to show your face a bit more, turning your head upward. 

Atop the stone is not a bird—it is not an animal of natural birth or of sound mind. It is a beast of ancient rites and white-fanged dreams; left here among the living in a sick game of predator and prey. 

You don’t register that it’s really there, the Ghost, until its blackened form stands to its full height, great shaggy fur under the remains of clothes scraps, and muzzle curled to show off fangs and pink gums. There are his ears, atop that head; they point to the sky before flinching back to staple themselves to its elongated skull. Long hands that scrape the stone below it near the claws that dig into the rock until they make long scratches. 

Like a demon made flesh, this Werewolf was the epitome of nightmares. So strangely human and monster at the same time. 

Eyes like a burial mound. 

You stare in numb horror, gloved hands steadily tightening over the leather reigns until your knuckles pop. Whistlejacket does not yet know the beast is here, glaring into your soul and branding it; taking a large step closer to the edge of the boulder as the moss flakes under his egregious large paw-pads. 

A low rumble is all it takes, those pupils small and beady, from within the breast of the Ghost’s expansive chest. Whistlejacket’s nose sniffs the air, his head turning and already tense. 

The horse screams like a dying banshee, spine curling and legs kicking out. He bucks as the Werewolf snarls through a loud howl, all four limbs connected to the stone and roaring. Your back slams into the ground as you’re tossed off Whistlejacket, your mouth releasing a scream to join the rest of the noises that echo off the foliage. 

Crashing into the path, your neighbor's horse disappears with one last high-pitched squeal into the darkness as you feel your bones rattle at the connection to your spine. Tumbling down a slight hill, you quickly get your skirts in order before scrambling to your feet with pain brimming in your scraped skin. Looking back to the boulder, your pounding heart rampages. 

But the Ghost isn’t even there. 

“Oh, Lord Almighty,” you whisper, backing up multiple steps. “Oh, Lord.” 

The blade is missing from your belt—you don’t know where you’ve dropped it in the fall and that might just be the death of you. Mr. Lambert’s story infects you; the other hunters.

You frantically look at that mighty stone, up and down, while skittering backward. 

Where did it go? 

Panting, you only stop when you hit the firm frame behind you, a large tree trunk of fur, and a hard chest that you sink into. You freeze—eyes wide and unblinking. A thin squeak exits your mouth, and a reverberating call purrs over your vertebra, making you shiver with fear. 

Minutes draw before you gather the courage to delicately turn your head upward.

Those eyes meet yours again, small and coated over with rage; pale fangs so close to your forehead they’re like ivory with dripping saliva. One drop hits your flesh, but you fail to register it. 

Those eyes. 

Up close you’re completely stolen by them, sucked in and whisked away as a bride, this mixture of dark wood and earth. Brown so rich you’d never seen something like it…or…or had you?

Incredibly, in between your panic, something sparks you as being familiar in a way you can’t quite place in this state. 

The Ghost is gargantuanly large, so much so that he bends his spine to lean over your entire body and growl down at you, the sound starting in his gut and expanding up to his throat. The fur around his neck is so thick it’s like the mane of an exotic cat, ironically, as tufts of hair are on the tips of his ears. 

You stare and try to memorize the look in his eyes as clawed hands come up at your sides, horrifyingly human with long fingers; five-pointed except for the fact that the skin is blacked like hide. Sweating, you shake before your lips start talking for you, as they usually do. 

“I do hope I’m not intruding, Kind Ghost.”

The beast halts his slow entrapment, right ear twitching forward at your voice. He doesn’t blink, and his mouth does not close. 

“I…I only wished for safe passage.” Internally you wonder if you’d lost your mind—if it had broken in this moment of hysterics. Your voice is far more steady than it should be. “I must get to the other side of the forest, you see. Urgently. I have business that must be settled. Though,” you add quickly, tone cracking for a moment. “Though, I knew not how to contact you to ask.”

The Werewolf’s heart can be felt on your back, a deep thum of pulsing power and raw death. It watches, its mouth twitching a smidge more closed and lungs rising. Its feral heat leaks through your clothes into your flesh. 

A furred hand connects with your hip and you squawk as you’re shoved to the ground very suddenly, thrown to the side onto the grass with only your palms to catch you. You’re flipped over, those same claws slamming beside your head before you can push back up and try to run. But there could be no running. Like a moth to flame the Ghost would hunt you down until there was nothing left of you but bloodied carnage. 

You throw up your hands in front of your face, the great form splayed over you and a sniffing nose digging into your stomach. There is a low whine of a hungry maw as the shaggy head moves up and around. Like a human, the Werewolf’s hand grabs at your wrist, pinning it down to the ground as the other digs into the earth, dragging it up like a farmer’s plough. 

 “H-hey!” You shout, pushing with your free fingers at the muzzle—in sound mind, you’d never even think to do such a thing. “Get off of me!” 

You should have been terrified, and maybe you were, but you’d gone past the point of knowing it. This beast was leering over you like Mr. Lambert, but far more dangerous and…and…

“Are you smelling me?!” Your angry voice makes his dark eyes snap to yours, and in an instant, you’re staring up his muzzle, body splayed out below him. 

You shutter.

“Eh…Just don't…rip anything, would you?” You were talking to a Werewolf as if he was capable of higher understanding in this form—as if still human. Voice small, you thin your lips and feel sweat run your eyebrow ridge, heart pitter-pattering. 

Why were you still alive?

The snout resumes, running along your shoulder and finally stopping at your neck with a pass of the Ghost’s tongue over his lips. You close your eyes tight.

This was it, you think. Of course, you’d be the one to lose the only blade that could let you actually damage this monster, the silver glinting in your mind as you curse yourself violently. You feel the puff of his vile breath on your neck, his claws peeling at your shirt collar slowly back. 

Your breath hitches, fingers winding through the fur below your grip, but the confusion breeds with the horror. The sensation of his soft fur wasn’t unpleasant—in fact, it was perhaps the finest material you’d ever handled. While it wasn’t the time for this, your occupation was impossible to ignore…this texture was far better than any silk.

But he’s stopped moving entirely. Lids fluttering, you open your eyes slowly, afraid but addled at the inaction. 

Brown side-eyes you closely, fangs dripping next to the meat of your neck and parted to show a lulling tongue. The beast purrs as you stare, looming with enough mass to block the sun and moving that muzzle closer to your pulse. In an act of pure desperation and womanly instinct at the sight, you snap out your leg and, not hesitating a moment longer as the animal’s tongue meets your flesh, you send your shoe straight in between the monster's legs.

A sharp yowl makes your ears ring, but you slip out from under the Ghost as it banks back, snarling and yapping before it rights itself with a shake and rabid hunger. The look from before is gone—but you’re already through the trees by the time the enraged hunting cry makes your neck hairs rise. 

Guttural, savage, and devoid of humanity. 

On the path you find your blade, and you snatch it as you gather your skirt in the opposite hand and dash away. To where, you have to tell yourself, you do not know. But it’s human nature to run, to sprint until your throat tastes like blood and your stomach rolls with bile—all of that can be tolerated if for the simple promise of survival. 

So run you did. 

Faster and harder than you ever had in your life, you sprinted into the brimstone trees and the dead thorns, not looking over your shoulder at the noises of snarls and breaking tree trunks; claws through the earth, and the primal howl of a hunt. Your throat is raw and scraping, clothes thoroughly ruined as you crash through a thorn bush while cutting up your arms and legs in tiny streaks of crimson. 

Droplets make a path behind you, a path, and a scent to tell you by. But with how the Ghost had been smelling you too deeply, you doubted it would be long before he tracked you down to finish the job.

You lose a shoe in the mad dash, lungs heaving and whimpering from the sudden absence of sounds entirely—as if the beast had disappeared into thin air. Still, you don’t brave a glace behind as you take turns and bends in the earth at random, running deeper and deeper into the foliage. 

Bloodied and running out of strength as you hop a small stream, yelping when you slip and bash your wrist into the ground, you had never wished for Whistlejacket more. All you could hope was that the horse was making his way out the other side of this hellscape. 

You never should have come through here.

Tears stain your eyes, blurring the edges as you manage to run into a small clearing, head whipping back and forth from one area to another. Every turn was the same—every tree similar! 

But the house was different. 

No more than a hut, really, it was stone and had a thatched roof, nestled in a field of black flowers and wisps of dead grass. The door was opened, but the ground was torn up by claw marks—spanning up the sides and near a broken widow.

You rush to it without a blink, and just as you make it to the threshold, you grab the thick oak door with your torn gloves. Turning, you find him across the open glade. 

Air is shoved from your lungs as you wheeze, the black shadow in the tree line. Brown eyes burn past flesh and bone—beady. Twitching lips and high-pointed ankles with rising fur. It was like a statue. Not even moving; barely breathing as it…watches. 

What had happened to the snarling—the howling hunt?

Had…had he been behind you the entire time?

You whip the door closed and frantically slam the bolt in place, the blade brought to your side and shaking in your tight hold as you back up quickly. 

“Oh, Miriam, damn you, you’re always right.” You gasp, back hitting the edge of a table. “Curse me for never listening.” 

Your neighbor had expressed worries the day before your departure, but you’d been stubborn as always—wool, you said you needed. Just enough for a coat. It was nothing; nothing that should have led to this. 

You feel like passing out, bile rising into your throat before you swallow it back down and breathe in quick heaves. 

But the door didn’t cave in, and no great monster barreled through to eat you up and pin you into a tree branch. The house settled, the minutes dragged on…

…and nothing happened. 

Your heart slowly goes back to a hesitant normal, like a mouse after being chased by a hawk; a lamb by a wolf. Standing up straighter with blood saturating your clothes, the uneven strides of your shoe-less foot mean little to you as your form slinks to the broken window. You don’t feel the pain in your cuts—the sweat or dirt—before you bend down and hiss at the stretching flesh.

Knees knocking on the floor, you peek above the sill slowly, eyes wide open and tiny pupils quivering. 

“Why didn’t it come into the glade?” You ask yourself, seeing the large shadow in the far-off coverage of the dropping leaves. A steadily dying sun. You weren’t making it back home tonight. “Why is it staying away—it knows I’m in here.”

Surely it wouldn’t let you live? 

Your brows tighten, swearing there are eyes looking back at you through the kaleidoscope reflections of the glass. You duck down, vibrating as your vision runs across the strange hut.

One room, it only held a table, a tiny desk, a trunk, and a bed. A fireplace with no logs. Dust lived in the corners, and candles that were unlit were melted in plates and cups all around your view—score of them as if the dark was something the owner feared vehemently. 

This would be your sanctuary for the night. 

“Do Werewolves not come upon hallow ground?” Your voice bounces off the stone. “Was this a priest's hut?”

If there was a church nearby in this damned place, that would truly be the best scenario. Churches held hunters more often than not. 

Standing, you walk the space, feet aching as the adrenaline wears off and it all sets in. You place your blade into your belt, but your fingers never leave the pommel. First, you go to the desk, picking through letters and thin papers. 

Blinking, you pass them over in favor of the journal, the one next to the hastily thrown down quill—the spilled ink. 

Your hand touches the leather and flips it open, ears peeled for any noise from outside. The drawings come into focus quite quickly. 

Diagrams and intense study fill your brain, images of the Ghost sketched so lifelike that you flinch back and physically recoil until you gather your bearings. 

“I don’t suppose this would be of any help,” you utter with a frown. “Will it tell me how to make silver bullets? Give me a revolver?” 

Shaking your head, you close the journal before the faded name on the cover register—you walk away slowly before you halt. 

"Simon Riley."

Your heart tightens and those brown orbs come back to you. It’s like your mind expands in a millisecond.

Simon Riley and his frequent trips out of the city. Simon Riley and his shredded clothes exactly like the ones that the beast wears. Simon Riley and his silent, black, soul. His secrets.

“No,” you try to convince yourself, chuckling as your panic spikes. Every interaction whizzes past with surety. “No, that’s not possible. I couldn't have been that inept when he was right in front of me.” 

Anger pierces you, and all sense leaves. You know it to be true, know it to be the reality even if you'd just put the pieces together yourself. This was too perfect that God himself must have come down and laid it out for you to find.

In a moment of raw rage, you stomp to the door—hand snapping to the bolt and reaming it back. The outside chill makes you growl, but you exit the hut nonetheless. It was like a spit in your face.

“Simon Riley!” You scream into the air, hand in fists. “Get your arse out here and explain to me why I’ve been fixing your fucking clothes while you’ve been galivanting around the bloody forest!” 

Call you insane, but seeing your work constantly ruined made you more mad than being chased like an animal, especially if this animal had no intention of killing you. He'd had the option, but he hadn't.

That only serves to make you even more angry.

Your finger points into the tree line. “I spend my God-given time to make them perfect for you, and this is how you repay me?” A rustling from the bush to your left. You snarl and turn to find the upright form as it blinks at you, muzzle closed and ears forward. It steps out into the grass with one paw before you brandish your blade at it.

The Werewolf freezes, a low warning growl rumbling in his chest.

“I’m going to rip that damn fur from your body and teach you what it’s like to have your practice insulted, you twat.” Those eyes don’t stray, just like they never had in your shop. 

Yet there was a more primal tint to them—more wild, unrestrained. Aggressive. 

The monster stalks forward with slow and heavy steps, walking up to you until it can once more stare you down. You take down a shaky breath and press your knife into his abdomen as fur encompasses your field of view. 

Your confidence wavers.

“D-don’t you know it’s rude to chase down a lady in her travel shoes?” 

A snarl grinds itself out in cut intervals as if he were trying to speak to you, snapping fangs and tilting head. You have somewhat of an idea of what it means.

“I’m not apologizing for kicking you in the balls, Mr. Riley. You deserved it.” You lower the knife from his abdomen. 

A nose pushes itself into your neck again before you shove him off with a curse. He doesn’t even flinch before he tries once more.

“Would you quit it?!” You yell, scoffing. “What in the devil is wrong with you?” 

It was like he was trying to rub his head all over you—as if nothing but a dog scenting a bone.

Isn’t he? Your lips thinned. It wasn’t foreign to think he wasn’t in the right state like this. Of course, he wasn’t. Mr. Riley would never act like this, even with how often you saw each other.

Lord, you didn’t even know if he liked you that much, but judging by whatever this is, it happened to be quite a bit. You huff and push him back with a scene of finality, slithering backwards into the hut before slamming the door. 

There’s a low grumble from outside, the barrier shaking as a large paw presses on it with immense force. 

“No!” You order, pulse running. “No—you figure yourself out first! I’m not letting you in like that.” 

The sudden enraged roar is so loud the broken window shakes. It makes your veins quiver under your skin. But there's a heavy slam of leaving feet moments later, the sound of screeching trees as branches are bent back. 

You pause and stand straighter after a long minute. Your lungs inhale.

“It listens better than the man,” you breathe, feeling weak. Bravery was tiring. 

Yet, there was still the problem of the dead.

Simon Riley was the Ghost—a Werewolf. He’d killed people, many, many people in these trees. 

You grab at your neck softly, the scent of earth and blood stuck under your fingertips, infecting your very soul. 

“...So why didn’t he kill me?”

—

You helped yourself to the clothes in Mr. Riley’s trunk, taking what you could find and slipping into it for bed. It was nothing more than a large undershirt and pants, but you wouldn’t be the one complaining. Luck was back on your side, as you also found a small package of bandages and matches. 

Lighting the candles one by one, afterward, you did what you could for your wounds. You weren’t keen on traveling to find water to clean them out, so, for now, a wrapping would have to do. 

The beast patrolled the glade. 

You’d hear him occasionally bend by the door, shadowing along the crack before there was a tapping of claws on stone and a huff of hot breath. He’d always leave you unaccosted, a smacking of gums and licking of chops heard through the cracked window before the dog darts away. 

Where fear had been previously, curiosity starkly remained at the forefront. 

“Simon Riley,” you mutter, sitting on the edge of his bed after that same event that had happened not an hour earlier. And the same an hour before that. Clockwork. 

A wolf stalking his hunting grounds, making sure all is where it’s supposed to be.

He smells you in here. 

“It’s too damn late for this,” you huff, rubbing at your face. Ideally, you’d like a bath and a hot meal, but there was no supper here. No food at all, really. 

You plop down into the feather pillow, face nuzzling into the deep scent that you remember smelling from Mr. Riley as he came into your tailor’s shop. This was demented—unholy action. 

If this were a different woman in this bed, she might be praying to her God for some salvation, an angel to come down and whisk her away. But the thought is like a stake in your heart. 

If there were a different woman in this bed…would she even be breathing as you were?

You shiver and burrow deeper into the covers, pulling them up to your chin. For whatever reason, Simon Riley, the Ghost, had stayed his fangs from your supple flesh; now you weren’t even sure that when he was leaning over you he had any intention to hurt you at all. He had seemed like he was…waiting for something.

Simon Riley, your neighbor. 

Your neighbor the Werewolf. 

You groan and hold yourself in the candle-light, unsure. You’d heard the tales—the murders. Mr. Lambert. Those countless hunters mutilated. Like a child, you pull sparse memories that bring it all to light.

Mr. Riley was quite the gentleman when you happened to catch him. 

There was never a time when you had to carry in your own fabric shipments—he was always outside to grab them before you could get one hand on the carriage compartment; it all seemed like lifting a feather. You’d speak to him about his day and his trips to the bigger cities that he always frequented. 

He’d told you it was because of his business, and you’d refrained from asking what exactly it was that allowed him to purchase such exquisite clothes—or even how they always ended up ruined. 

As your eyes flutter in this bed full of long black hair, you sigh and listen to the howls from far off in the distance; shivering.

“Where do you need ‘em, then?” The accent was aggressive, yes, but the tone was casual. You smile over at Mr. Riley and see the large trunk in his hands as the carriage leaves outside. 

“I don’t know,” you tease, “But I think you look quite dashing being such a ready and willing neighbor, Sir.” 

“That it?” He raises an eyebrow, but no expression slashes his visible face. To even get that was something to celebrate. 

You raise a hand and wave him behind your counter, chuckling. 

“I jest, Mr. Riley. Right back here the same as always.” He wordlessly ambles forward, feet heavy upon your wooden floors. 

You smell the scent of fresh earth as he passes, and your fingers twitch at your sides. Clearing your throat, you ask easily as the man strangely flinches as he brushes your arm, eyes flicking just a smidge wider. 

“Any more travels this month, then? I am a bit curious to hear about where you’ll be off to this time.” 

“London,” is a swift answer. Brown eyes glance at you as the trunk is set down with a puff of breath in the space below the shelves. “Ever been?”

You shrug. 

“No, unfortunately.” Simon stands to his full height, hands finding the insides of his pockets. You should be hesitant of his stature—his great shoulders—but you find it suits him. He tilts his head at you, his cap off today to let his wisps of hair collect at his temple. “You?”

Mr. Riley grunts, feet shifting. 

“Quite a few.” He blinks slowly. “Not missin’ much. Bloody filthy.” 

You laugh and tilt your head down, staring at the floor for a moment as your cheeks heat up. “I’ll have to take your word for it.” 

Simon puffs a sound of amusement, looking you up and down. He stares at your waist before he hums. 

“That a new one?” You look down at your corset above your blouse, putting a hand above the embroidery and nodding earnestly, touched that he’d seen it. Mr. Riley was far more in tune with his surroundings than others. 

“Yes, had a horrible time with the designs—I’m not quite sure I like it yet.” 

“It’s nice.” The man seems just as surprised about his quick outburst as you do, wide eyes meeting each other to connect with bare emotion. 

It’s a long pause that leaves you stuttering, your heart skipping a beat as your flesh burns with brimming affection. Simon grunts tensely and darts his eyes away to stare hard at the counter behind you.

“Well, I…” you tilt your head, beaming through a soft chuckle. “Thank you, Mr. Riley. That’s high praise coming from you.” 

“It’s nothing.” He takes his leave, firmly moving past you and shifting his body to make sure he doesn’t accidentally run into you. “Wear whatever you want, won’t make a difference… You’ll still be lovely.” 

Before you can gape into the expanse of his back at the blunt compliment, he’s already out of the door with a whisper. You watch him cross the street from the window and see him climb his steps, sucking down a shaky breath. 

An embarrassing giggle meets air. 

The man far across the street pauses in front of his door, gloved hand outstretched. He stays there for a hint of a moment, and you swear he turns his head to space you a tiny glance over his shoulder. 

Suddenly feeling as if you’d gotten caught, though you don’t know why, you squeak and hurry away into the back room. 

You wake up to the sound of the door opening. 

Drowsy and fatigued, your ears twitch to the sound of low groans and clipped growls—thick curses that would make any mother go shy that slip in and out of your reality. 

You should be afraid.

Footsteps stumble in, the thick closing and bolting of the door eching. Candles flicker through your eyelids, and you make a low noise in your throat as your face scrunches. 

All sound ceases. 

So quiet that death himself would vacate the area, your brain catches the end of a set of surprised footsteps coming to the bed and a sudden low exclamation of, “Bloody fucking hell.”

It all fades in and out, glimmering and glinting. 

A swift cleaning of the objects in his possession, organization, and fixing—moving papers. Feet stop at every other minute, and eyes burn into your face from above the covers. 

His fingers pull back at fabric, seeing the clothes you wear, the ones that he needs as of currently. 

A deep chuckle encircles you; your sleep deepens. Those same fingers, like a plague of slumber, travel up your bandaged arms and twitch along your shoulder—moving up until they come to the pulse at your neck. They add pressure and a breathless grunt is expelled as you tilt your head farther up. 

That touch is moved to your chin, moving it back down to hide your flesh from that brown gaze before a heavy sigh brushes over you. The covers are all at once pulled farther up along your form. 

The shadow disappears, and with it, it takes the extra blanket from the end of the bed, harshly grunting as the fabric is shuffled around and wrapped. A tiny mutter.

“You have a fuckin’ horrible habit of complicating things.” 

You sleep on, and, if you were conscious enough to realize it, you would have felt the gaze on you for the remainder of the night from the table—watching, barely blinking above the heavy press of eyes. 

Silent, if only for the soft breaths taken and no sooner exhaled on long, even, airways. 

As if not but a dog that watches the moon under starlight; the gentle sight of snow falling outside of the den. 

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[suengmi]

- the ways stray kids show their love and affection

genre: fluff/romance, nonidol!au, gn!reader warnings: mentions of making out, nakedness? idk lol

anyways this is just major soft hours, one of my moots said i should do this i can't remember who it was pls lmk if it was you asljdls also unedited

♡ masterlist / pls reblog if you liked! it helps a lot ♡

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ bang chan

sweet kisses all over your face to wake you up, pressing his nose into the crook of your neck and gently nibbling you. “i’m bored wake up babe.” grunts when you ignore him. ends up pulling the sheets back so your naked body is exposed to the cold. “that’s what you get.” gets salty but then feels bad, covering you up again, then he really wakes you up. back hugs when you’re cooking for him. whining whenever you don’t pay attention to him, tugging at the edge of your shirt. sulks when you say you’re busy. doesn’t give a fuck about how clingy he is, but he knows you love it. holds your hand a little too hard when you’re walking together. kiss attacks always!!

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ lee know

stops you from crossing the street until he’s checked it. “stupid, look next time.” beats you twice in a board game but sees that you're sad that you’re not that good at it, but fails the third time just to see you smile and gloat about beating him. he loves seeing you happy, even if he has to purposely fail. leaves you notes everywhere, maybe just ‘i love yous’ mixed in with ‘i know you’ll forget this so don’t.’ text messages asking if you’ve eaten, and then getting mad and sending food to your door if you haven’t. swiftly kisses to the forehead aggressively saying you ‘deserve it’ but sounds like a threat. ‘you know i love you yeah?’ more aggressive kisses. ‘i won’t stop until you say you love me!!’

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ changbin

little wrestling matches on the couch, telling you that you’re silly for even trying. pulls you by the back of your hair if you’re not paying attention to him. “i left you the last piece of food.” always, always saves you the last piece no matter what it is. picks you up and throws you around, pretending he’s going to eat you bc apparently he’s a monster. but says you taste good so he doesn’t mind eating you. more wrestles. whenever you’re sad, he always cheers you up and never fails to make you laugh. does his trot impression of some old korean songs, full performance with your glitter jacket on that doesn’t fit him. ‘you still love me now? you better.’ knows you love being engulfed by him, so 90% of the time he is the big spoon. when he's feeling really romantic, he'll do a little picnic at the beach. always making sure it was at sunset because he knew it was your favourite time of the day.

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ jisung

midnight trips to get take out, sitting in the car until 2am with both of your feet on the dashboard. ‘remember that time!’ always reminiscing about how you first met, nearly choking on your fries when you recall. kisses in the car, kisses in the house, kisses in the shower, kisses in the dark. ‘babe but i want it.’ chucks a tanty when you don’t buy him things. pouts and folds his arms. ‘if you loved me you would!’ holds the cuff of your jumper, mostly walking behind you whenever you go somewhere because he feels safe. morning calls, but especially night calls. he doesn’t care how you look at the end of the day, he just wants to see you and tell you he loves you. hiding himself in your jumper and saying there is enough room for two (when there isn't.)

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ hyunjin

taking you to art galleries, standing behind you with his head resting on yours. ends up putting his hands into your pockets from behind, cutely leading you around from the back. with hyunjin it’s not always words, sometimes it’s just his actions. he pushes your hair out of your face or tucks it behind your hair. mostly, he does your hair for you. always making sure your hair was out of your face because it annoyed you. brings you tea and sits with you if you’re studying or drawing or even watching tv, rubs your thigh gently to let you know that he doesn’t want to distract you, just shows you he wants to be with you. rubs your belly if you feel bloated and talks to it. 'you better stop being bloated or... i'll do something. idk what.' art dates!! always drawing together, even if you're shit he encourages you to keep going

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ seungmin

gently slips his fingers into yours without saying anything but smiling to himself when he sees you blush, he kind of loves that he makes you nervous. always taking the chance to make your cheeks tint pink. showers with seungmin, always washing your body and shampooing your hair for you, wet kisses in between. sometimes he’d gently press his nose on your naked skin, enjoying your scent but never admitting it. ‘it’s comforting’ he’d say in defence, ignoring you for the rest of the night. guiding you with his hand on your lower back, making sure you were safe no matter where you were. kisses to the forehead, the back of the hand, the back of your knees. seungmin doesn’t say it much, but he does love you. he shows it through everything else, knowing those words have such a weight to them.

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ felix

‘are you gonna cook!?’ jumping up and down when you say yes, annoying you the whole time you’re cooking or baking. ‘is it done? i can’t wait to eat it!!’ eats half of the food before it’s even cooked because he says it’s ‘too good.’ little play fights that would begin from felix nibbling at your fingers and then at your thighs. ‘little gremlin’ you’d end up joking, rolling around on the floor, bodies all over each other, which would end in a heated make out session and clothes far gone. he’d send you random texts, of random things. ‘hey i saw this flower, it's cute, yeah?’ ‘this potato looks like you. it’s too cute to eat T-T’ ‘you think i could eat 11 hot dogs in two minutes? hmm maybe.’ 

⋆｡˚☽˚｡⋆ jeongin

blowing raspberries on your tummy and holding you down. sometimes uses your foot as a telephone. ‘yes hello stinky foot line how can i stink you today?’ proceeds to try and hold your foot with his. 'shut up i can do it!!' probably be super sarcastic, mocking you when you tried to be cute with whatever you were saying. karaoke together, always singing out of pitch but though he’s laughing, encourages you to be more confident because he loves seeing you enjoy yourself. watches you sometimes, just admiring you but instantly whips his head around to pretend he wasn’t, head banging into something hanging from the wall. ‘mind your business’ he’d joke, walking away suspiciously.

♡ taglist: @blankdyean @l3visbby @daddyjoonchua @ipegchangbin @abcdefgiwsmcty ♡

[ask-midnight-jacket]

So uh, how you holding up there, Lupin?

Needless to say, he is not doing well!

[loopspoop]

When Lupin is recovering and has his more lucid moments on his pain meds, he gets really sentimental, sappy, and flirty as hell. The only thing is it’s more earnest “I love you” flirting than his portrayed “let’s do freaky shit” flirting.

When it gets aimed toward Jigen he actually freaks Tf out. Because nobody is established yet and he feels like it’s just Lupin being goofy and doped up and he doesn’t ACTUALLY think any of that about any of them besides Fujiko. Sure, the guy is a little fruity, but he couldn’t be fruity about any of them (Jigen, you dense idiot)

So when Lupin inevitably tells him how much he actually means to him, Jigen panics. And he shuts himself away from Lupin for a while, which benefits nobody because everyone else is a bit pissy about it, Lupin misses him and thinks he did something wrong, and Jigen feels like everything is wrong and he’s being pulled in only to get dropped once Lupin isn’t high anymore

But the thing is that the “I love you” flirting is earnest. It’s his actual flirting. The “let’s get freaky” flirting can be earnest of course too, but he REALLY means it when he tells them how much they mean to him. It gets complicated. They need to have a talk

[merakiui]

crow & goat in courtship.

yandere!rollo flamme x (female) reader cw: yandere, nsfw, unhealthy behaviors/relationship, dub-con, coercion, religious symbolism/imagery, mentions of pregnancy, implied breeding kink, obsession, alcohol/intoxication, slight codependency, non-consensual touching/groping, au in which you attend classes at nbc instead of nrc under rollo's supervision note - the crow is always on call.

i. “but each person is tempted when they are dragged away by their own evil desire and enticed. then, after desire has conceived, it gives birth to sin; and sin, when it is full-grown, gives birth to death” (james 1:14-15).

Rollo answers on the third ring.

He always does—claims it’s polite to answer after three chimes just as it’s right to knock thrice before entering a residence. He’s stubborn in his ways, a crow bound by routine, only ever doing things in threes. Habitual to a fault, strictly so. You are similar in that regard; you find solace in the familiarity of predictable patterns. The relief that stems from knowing what will come next—in being prepared for all manner of events even if you haven’t yet reached the first.

But then you also like fun, and the best sort of fun is often had with a disregard for habit. Disorder and spontaneity. Throwing all caution to the wind. Trusting in the arms of the crow who will catch you, the carefree goat, when you fall.

“Good evening,” he mutters into the phone, his voice sounding so close despite the distance between you and him. “It’s rather late. Is there a specific reason you’re calling?”

“Rollo! Hey! Hiii,” you drawl, grinning like a fool. You stagger through the door into the chilly, starless night, your heels slipping on cracked, frozen pavement. “Whoa!” You stumble against the railing with a carefree giggle. “Almost lost my footing!”

There’s a stalling silence on his end. And then, with a deep inhale, he asks evenly, “Have you gone out?”

“Mm. Yeah. Went out to celebrate with some friends.”

“Some friends?”

“Like one or two…or a whole house full of ’em.”

“(Name).”

“What?” When he doesn’t reply, you laugh. Not because it’s humorous or embarrassing, but to merely fill the silent gap. “What? Roro, you’re sho stern. Don’t lecture me!”

“So you’ve been drinking.”

“What?! No!” With an offended scoff, you shake your head even though he’s not here to witness it. “You know NBC’s no-booze rule. I’m not gonna get caught—won’t get caught.”

“You slurred your speech and called me ‘Roro’—both in the same sentence, mind you.”

“So what? Rollo, Roro. Tomato, potato.”

“It’s to-may-to, to-mah-to. And—” he exhales an exhausted breath— “Never mind. That’s besides the point. Why, pray tell, have you called me at midnight?”

“Why’re you up at midnight?”

“I could ask the same of you.”

“Not fair! I asked first!”

“Not quite.” There’s a smile in his voice when he speaks next. “If I were to visit your room right now—knock on the door and wait there—would you let me in?”

“Yeaaah,” you start to say, only to catch yourself halfway in the trap. “No!”

“No?”

“No…thank you. No visitors tonight. S’late and I gotta study for tomorrow’s exam.”

“And a party will somehow aid in that endeavor? (Name), you do realize you’ve spun one too many lies and now you’re woefully entangled.”

“Less poetry and more picking me up.”

“Ah, so that’s what this is about.”  

“Rollo, please be nice,” you whine, your lips twisting into a pout. “S’cold and I didn’t bring a jacket and I’m kinda-maybe-sorta a little…”

“A little…?” he encourages, and you can just envision that self-satisfied smirk of his.

“A little-drunk-but-also-not-really-drunk-but-also-totally-drunk,” you hastily admit in a string of syllables. Snowfall swirls around you, and you grasp the bannister to prevent yourself from falling over. “Oh, it’s snowing.”

“I can see perfectly clear from my window. Beautiful, is it not?”

“So stop being an obtuse dick and come get me before I freeze!”

“Should that come to pass, you may just rival the Righteous Judge at the entrance. I’ll be sure to polish you every month.”

“I’m gonna kill you. I’m gonna poison your coffee and watch you drink it, and then we’ll see who’s stiffer than a statue. It’ll be you—in death, y’know!”

“Will you now?”

“If you don’t pick me up, yeah!”

There’s the distinct sound of shuffling. You hear crisp pages turning and then a book closing before the rustling of fabrics invades your keen ears. You picture your responsible friend pacing around his room as he dresses himself for the weather.

“Very well,” he says after a moment, ever the composed gentleman. “Send me the address.”

“You’re the best. Love you lots. Thank you! Thank you!” You press your lips together to mimic obnoxious kissing sounds, which elicits a huff of amusement from him. “It’s not a far walk. Promise.”

“Stay on the phone with me. I’ll be there shortly. And don’t go anywhere.”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“You do realize sneaking out is against the rules, yes?”

“Aaand here comes the lecture. Gimme a break. Can’t a girl celebrate her birthday in peace?”

You drag your hand over your mouth and wipe sticky wine residue away. In the process, you smear black lipstick. Dark like night, like a crow’s inky feathers, it leaves your once-flawless appearance in disarray.

��There are much better ways to celebrate. Did I not say I’d take you into town this weekend and we could celebrate then?”

“That’s so far from now.”

“It’s three days away, (Name).”

“Still too far.”

“Don’t expect me to provide cover if you get caught.”

“And you can just leave campus whenever you please?”

“This is different.”

“Yeah?” You giggle into the speaker, warm and fuzzy and endlessly entertained. It’s enough of a distraction to keep winter from seeping into your marrow. “How so?”

“This is official Student Council business.”

“Really?” you ask with an impressed whistle. 

“Indeed. On account of my being President, it’s only natural I punish students who conduct themselves poorly. Shall we review your list of infractions and decide on a suitable penalty together?”

“I’d rather we not.”

“Oh, but I insist. Perhaps our discussion and the cold will sober you and teach you a valuable lesson about integrity.”

With an exaggerated sigh, you lower onto the step to await his arrival. The icy stone digs harshly into your rear, which is hardly covered by your too-short dress. It’s definitely not fingertip length or weather-appropriate. You shiver and stuff your hand into the pocket of your cropped sweater. You should take shelter inside, where it’s plenty cozy and inviting, but your inflated pride disagrees. Retreating to the warmth after you’ve already bid farewell would be foolish. At least, that’s what the alcohol in your system is telling you.

So the goat endures the cold, for it knows that that is all that awaits it as the crow closes in.

“Yeah, yeah. I’m an academic criminal. Get on with it, President Flamme.”

“Let’s see. You’ve disobeyed campus curfew, snuck out on a school night, attended a party when your grades could use improvement, neglected your studies, drank carelessly, called the one person who can and will punish you for this and the aforementioned…”

The sound of crunching snow pierces the air then, and you look up in time to see Rollo approaching. He’s dressed in a long woolen overcoat with a scarf twined around his throat and a hat pulled down over his ears. He smirks at you from where he stands on the pavement, cutting the call and sliding his phone into his pocket. Tilting his head at you, he pulls another coat from under his arm and offers it to you.

“And you’re dressed for your death.”

“Okay, that one’s personal.”

Rolling your eyes, you rise on unsteady legs. He meets you at the stairs, climbing two of them to help you into the coat. It’s an embrace more welcoming than that of a lover’s, so soft and comfortable that it immediately rejuvenates your weary skeleton. It smells like Rollo, too—like coffee and weathered pages in an old book. You hum your approval, snuggling into the fluffy fabric. He’s plopping his hat on your head next, tugging it so far down that you almost slip on the slick stoop. Like he always has, ever since he first met you, he catches you. 

“Hello to you, too.”

You blink back at him. “Yeah, thanks. I owe you.”

“Let me see your hands.”

He takes them in his, runs his thumbs over the tops, and then procures mittens from his pockets. You watch him slide both over your hands, rubbing them together briefly to generate heat at a faster rate. Your body sways, gaze unfocused. He’s just about to unwind his scarf from his shoulders when you reach out to stop him.

“I’m good. This is enough.”

“You’ll catch your death—”

“And you won’t in just a coat and scarf? At least let me give you your hat back.”

He shakes his head, holding his hand up in objection. “You’ve been out in this weather longer. It’s only fair. But, really, did you have to wait out here? Couldn’t you have gone inside?”

“My pride’s on the line.”

Rollo’s unamused stare cuts through you. “You won’t have much pride left if you’re encased in ice.”

“Then we’d best get moving. Campus awaits!”

You wrap your arm around him, clinging out of instinct. Rollo peers at the proximity, his lips upturned in a covert half-smile, and his arm snakes slowly around your waist in return. You don’t notice this, for you’re too busy dragging your feet through the snow while he acts as a helpful crutch, stable in a way you just aren’t. Not right now, at least.

But then the goat is never stable enough to survive the inevitable—the swift, sacrificial blade that befalls and beheads, leaving gory spatters to run red and visceral in the wake of the end.

You’ve never known, and you never will. How could you when he’s been nothing but cordial? A clean slate. Admirable guidance. A helpful friend. Your only friend.

The crow descends in three knocks. He lets himself in regardless of whether you wish to have him as a guest. He is unwanted and feared, the very foundation of death and destruction, and he has set his beady eyes on you—the goat.

It’s common knowledge that you cannot pray away the crow. He persists, as always, quiet even when his wings beat against his sleek, feathered body like the loudest war drums. And the caw—the dreadful caw! It’s a most disturbing cry, one that pierces through the dark like jarring slivers of light in shadow. Or a butcher’s blade through flesh, sawing through sinew to get to brilliant bone beneath. The hoarse call of Death’s crows—they circle in a murder, swooping down to meet you as harbingers of malevolence.

Rollo has always strived to lead a virtuous existence defined by a rigidly righteous moral compass. In the gloomy pits of misery and hatred, where he festers in a bundle of tar-colored feathers, he does not hope for sunshine. He no longer knows the uplifting ebullience of life’s greatest miracles. Because there is no miracle in death or tragedy. Because there is no happiness to be found in a doomed hand, every card showcasing Death and its many forms. Not for him. Never for him.

But then, amidst the despair and despondency, each all-consuming, a goat fell into his lap.

A divine offering to the crow, who is so far from divinity himself, can only mean one thing. It is neither conciliatory nor a reward.

It is a sacrifice.

But then the City of Flowers adores its goats—reveres them for all that they are. Goats are cherished, not sacrificed. But to drag a nameless, magicless goat from the grounds of its far-off, inconceivable pasture—is that not the cruelest form of sacrifice? To drop this goat into the equitable embrace of the crow—is that not the sweetest gift? Generous yet unfair. Plucked right from the folds of another heaven.

The mortal coil can be callous, which is precisely why the crow is permitted to exist in impartiality. Death does not care for who you were in life and who you will be in the next, and the crow only ever oversees finales. Never beginnings. Much like a deity does not care for what good you can do if you do not first adore them in copious adequacy.

The crow carries with him a most fearsome knell—the chime of judgment, to be delivered right on time like an execution staged for noon.

All throughout life, you can plan for the crow and all that he shall deliver, and still you will never be fully prepared to greet him. He brings misfortune bundled in baskets woven from the bones of sacrifices past. In holy scripture, it is the goat who is punished most often—who is slaughtered at the altar, who is arranged as peace to quell the torrential fury of the deity, who is made to suffer at the hands of those hoping to avoid damnation or godly wrath, who is meant to shoulder the blame when no one else wants to. Favors have been bought with the blood of the goat, its head nestled amidst verdant grasses, pure forevermore even when it is dyed carmine. It appeases and pleases.

So it’s just—religiously so—that the crow takes the goat for himself, strips it bare, and proves to the prying eyes in heaven that the greatest sin is more than lustful temptation.

For the crow—for Rollo—the heaviest sin, a vile, cursed burden from his very first breath—it is existence itself.

And only the blood of a pure goat can wash away such filth—can cleanse what has been rotting within. The goat can make a garden out of the crow—bring life and love to its barren insides regardless of however fleeting its presence may be. It is within this garden—within the softest, fertile soil—where the crow shall sow the most special seeds.

You cross the bridge with Rollo, your laughter filling the cloudy sky as you recall all manner of amusing stories from the past few hours. Drinking games paired with drunken gossip. Delicious wines and snacks. A party with an energy so lively it could rival the city’s annual festivals. Even though he doesn’t seem outwardly pleased to hear any of it, he listens well and occasionally stops to steady you before you can topple over the railing into the water below. Your heels clack against smooth, frosted stone, and the wind whips at your face, each snowflake biting and vicious. Noble Bell’s vast campus waits just beyond the wrought iron gate, standing proud and backdropped by the night.

“You think anyone’s up?” you ask, curling your fingers into his arm as he guides you through.

Rollo eases the gate shut. “They might if they hear you. It would be best to keep quiet.”

You pantomime zipping your lips and discarding a nonexistent key. He quirks a small smile at that and then hurries you along. Nights are always peaceful at Noble Bell. The halls are desolate and quiet, devoid of all signs of student life. Your and Rollo’s shoes click in unison as you walk through the hall and past the courtyard. You gaze at the arched openings, counting each one as they become fainter with the growing distance.

Your breath materializes in front of you when you sigh. “I’m so sleepy. I wanna go to bed for a thousand years.”

“You’ll miss your exam if you do that,” he chides, tutting. “And every other exam that will follow.”

“That’s the point!” Your voice bounces off the walls, returning to you in a reverberating echo. Cringing under Rollo’s disapproving glower, you speak softer. “Oops. Sorry.”

“Just how much have you had to drink? You can hardly walk straight without leaning on me for support.” He narrows his eyes, his lecherous gaze crawling down to your bare legs. “Not that I mind…”

His words don’t reach you, for they’re swallowed in a howling gale as it sweeps across the courtyard. You spy the dormitories then, each one looking more like gingerbread covered in confectioners’ sugar instead of buildings dusted with snow. Your eyelids droop while you cross the distance to reach your designated building, your every movement feeling slower than molten molasses, and by the time you’re actually inside the dorm—Rollo’s shushed you more than once—you’re yearning for the warmth of your bed.

So it’s bewildering when, rather than your own room, you stop at Rollo’s instead.

He opens the door and steps inside with you in tow. You keep your mouth shut, too tipsy to think coherently. After he clicks the lamp on, which leaves the room awash in soft shades of amber, he shrugs his coat off, draping it over a nearby chair. You drag yourself over to his bed and flop down, squeezing your eyes shut to block out both the light and your spinning surroundings. Rollo doesn’t say anything, but you hear him shuffling about his room, crossing to close and lock the door before walking back towards you. The mattress dips under his weight, and you feel nimble fingers working to undo the buttons on your coat.

“Can I sleep here tonight?” you ask, cracking your eyes open just as he’s pulling the coat from your person.

Rollo folds it neatly and sets it aside. “You’re practically melting into my bed already. It would be quite the undertaking to make the walk back to your room at this hour.”

“So considerate,” you tease, grinning up at him. Sleep stretches your expression into something dazed, and you yawn loudly. “Then I’m gonna sleep here. Wake me up before class.”

You almost drift off, but those frigid fingers are moving to tug you out of your sweater next. They crawl across your bare shoulders like a spider on a web.

“You really are something,” he marvels, glancing at your body sprawled beneath him. “To brave the cold in such thin material…”

“Stupid choice. I know.”

“It appears we’re in agreement.”

“Shut up,” you snap back with a weak laugh. “You’re no better, showing up so cozy and then giving everything to me.”

Rollo memorizes the way the form-fitting dress hugs your figure. He inhales a shaky breath and brings his hands back to his sides. Your chest is right here. So close. So frustratingly close.

He can’t indulge. He really shouldn’t. It’s unbecoming to show such unfair favorability when he’s meant to remain impartial. Death should not lust for the beauty of life because it only knows endings—or the beginnings of ghostly eternity. The crow should not allow himself to be swept up in tumultuous temptation.

And the goat is the only friend he’s known—the only one who understands the crow, if only by a few meager slivers. But someday the goat will know.

Rollo swallows his inhibitions, beating his urges away with a stick. He’s not one for rash decisions; he’s meticulous and thoughtful. He would never take such a risk—would never nosedive into a crude confession. He’s plotted it in his diary, but it’s never come to fruition. He restrains himself because he must. Because it’s the polite and proper thing to do when caught up in courtship. Because if he opens his torso and allows you to poke around inside, you’ll find that he is not the friend you’ve known for all these months.

He is a fiend, devilishly so, wearing the hide of a goat to put the real one at ease.

Warring with rationality, he slides away from you and intends to recover at his desk. He’ll scrawl all of the things he wishes to do to you in there and that will be enough. That will help clear his head of the intoxicating fog that settles whenever he’s with you in private. But then he’s reaching to untie the canopy draped over his bed, each corner undone within seconds. The sheer curtains fall in thin layers, confining the both of you to this island in the middle of a barren sea. It’s darker in here, dimly lit by the faint glow of the lamp outside.

You blink up at him, owlish.

“You…” He stops himself, shakes his head, and turns away. Hastily, he fishes his handkerchief from his pocket. With this enclosed propinquity, he can smell your perfume. It’s spiced and flowery—alluring and adorable all at once—and it assaults both his nose and mind. “You should sleep. It’s late.”

This is for the best. The crow is only meant to look after the goat, remain unaffected even in the face of lustful, fateful sacrifice.

But you’re here. You’re splayed like a spill, perfectly imperfect, and your shoulders are a canvas coveting kisses. He clutches his handkerchief in a white-knuckled fist.

“Mm, okay. Night…”

“Yes… Yes, good night,” he mumbles, lowering his handkerchief. He swallows thickly.

This is for the best.

But even though he thinks this, his arm is stretching out. Closer. Closer. So close, until his hand is hovering just above your chest. He’s so close.

When will he ever have another chance as fortuitous as this?

His hand closes around your breast and he squeezes it experimentally. It’s soft when his fingers dig in gently, depressing with the pressure of his digits. Rollo’s green hues flick to your face. Your eyes are shut, and soft snores slip from your parted lips. He glimpses your chest again and, with the utmost care, slides your dress down to free your breasts. They’re mostly bare, save for the heart-shaped pasties covering your nipples. Rollo heaves a disbelieving sigh.

“Promiscuous,” he mutters, plucking the edge of the first adhesive and peeling it away to reveal the perky nipple beneath. You look so soft, so clean, so pure… What was he even worried about? No one’s had you before. He’s sure of it.

He’s about to remove the other heart when your voice freezes him.

“What…are you doing?”

He holds your gaze. It’s tense for a moment, unspoken accusations brewing between the both of you.

“A massage,” he blurts, but there isn’t a hint of haste in his tone. He suspected this outcome when he chose to traverse the line of right and wrong—and ultimately sided with the former. Because to him it’s right, even if it’s wrong. He knows what will soon follow: disgust and detestation.

Instead, you giggle. It’s sleepy and silly-sounding, but it’s also light and lively.

You catch his hand in yours and drag it back to your chest. “If you wanted to touch, just ask,” you murmur, your words slurring. “Nothin’ wrong with it.”

You’re not just perfect and pure. You’re everything.

Yes, it’s the alcohol blurring your brain and the intimacy of being trapped in a quiet, comfortable space such as this one that allows you to desire him. Would it be the same if you were sober? He can’t quite say, but he doesn’t wish to know. This is enough. This is paradise.

He kneads slow, steady motions into your breast, and you watch from where you’re lying on the bed. His other hand slithers between your legs to search for your clothed clit. Your breath hitches just as his fingers brush it, and he presses in, rubbing with his index. Your arm falls over your face, and your chest rises with every breath.

“How does it feel?” he asks, rolling your nipple between chilly digits.

“Not enough,” you bemoan, curling your fingers into a fist. “S’not enough…”

“How fascinating. I suppose cheap wine truly does turn you into a pute.”

“No… Was definitely expensive. The fancy kind.”

“Was it now?” He circles your clit, predatory and shark-like, his eyes alight with glee. “You say that, but look at the state it’s left you in. Utterly disheveled.”

“That’s because of—” you gasp, your voice rising in pitch— “because of you…”

His heart hammers in his chest, a resounding, pounding melody.

The City of Flowers treasures its goats, and the crow loves his fiercely even though he shouldn’t.

“Did you enjoy drinking yourself foolish and indulging in debauchery?” His fingers dance along your inner thigh, hooking around the hem of your underwear. “Was it a fun celebration?”

You lower your arm to glare halfheartedly at him. “Someone sounds jealous.”

“More so disappointed, mon chou chou,” he coos, sugary, sickeningly sweet. “Someone could have taken advantage of you. Someone could have tainted you with magic.” His lip curls up into a nasty sneer. It lingers for a moment before fading into something calm. He gazes at you, oddly tender. “That didn’t happen, though, yes?”

You shake your head and flinch when he drags your panties down. Dewy strings of your slick come away with it, and you shudder at your newfound nudity. He hums approvingly and drags his finger through the wet patch staining your panties. Driven by libertine compulsion, he stretches viscous strands of your essence between two fingers.

Your eyes find his deceitful greens once more. Silence sparks between the both of you, quickly broken by your exhalation. Rollo kneels before you, taking in the sight of you as your face wavers through the stages of consideration. Upon arriving at your conclusion, you sit up slightly and shuck your dress over your head. And then you’re lying back, shaking your panties from off your ankle, and wrapping your legs around his waist to draw him in closer. 

You grin, coquettish. “Why not search for yourself if you’re so worried, Mr. Student Council President?”

There’s no turning back. Not that he ever would. Not when the goat’s given him the signal. The blade doesn’t fall, but he does.

And this is better than dreams and erotica. This is real.

He surges forward to fit his lips against yours. Sloppy and inexperienced, he molds himself to your body. You tug him against you, your hands working to undress him. Clothes and shoes are cast aside between open-mouthed kisses, torn off half-buttoned and ripped away from soles. You breathe him in, gasping into his mouth. Translucent strings of saliva connect your mouths when you part, soon broken when you lean in for a chaste peck.

“You’re okay,” he says, the words practically bleeding onto your own tongue with how close he is. “Still as pure as the day I first met you.”

“That’s a good thing, right?”

“The best thing.”

His third and fourth fingers prod at the depths of your pussy, pressing inwards. Shallow at first. He watches your face unblinkingly, burning every pleasured contortion into his brain, and slides his thumb along your clit. Your breathing staggers, coming in quick huffs, and you grab at the bedsheets to steady yourself. Rollo works you open on those fingers, curling and scissoring in equal measure. The slick squelches join in the salacious symphony you’re currently producing. Every sigh and groan come together in perfect harmony. You’re a heavenly harp, and he’s plucking your strings like an expert musician.

“Tonight is unforgivable,” he adds, and you blink through blissful tears to view him. “Folly is the worst distraction.”

“Then be stupid with me,” you joke, running your hands over his shoulders. He’s so cold. “Warm yourself with me.”

And he will because he’s always wanted to. He’s desired it. Craved it. Coveted it. Thought of nothing else for days and days, each delusion so cyclical it often felt tangible.

“You’re beautiful,” he whispers, sliding his other hand up your hip and towards your rib. He traces the path of where it lies beneath layers of flesh before pressing down to feel it. “So beautiful…”

Your hand glides into his, fingers twining like silken thread around a spool. A lopsided smile lifts your lips, and you preen under him. “Yeah? Am I really?”

“I wouldn’t lie about the obvious…” Your walls hug his fingers tighter then, and a shiver electrifies your nerves. He hums again, quite pleased. “Oh, did you like that?”

“I did. Very much.”

Lashes fluttering against your cheekbones, your head thrown back in ecstasy ever-mounting, you render him ensorcelled. Like a prized Renaissance nude, a goat laid to sacrifice in the crow’s nest, you are beatific. Divinely so.

“Allow me to reiterate then.” He hastens his pace, pumping his fingers relentlessly. You tamp down a shameless moan. “You’re exquisitely beddable. A work of art. Enchanting. Une belle femme.”

You’re nearing the edge—very gradually, but not quite—and so it’s devastating when he slips his fingers out, each one thoroughly coated in you. They shimmer in the dim light, reminding you of where they had previously been.

“Put it back in,” you beg with wide, glossy eyes. “C’mon… Please don’t stop now. Was so close. So close and—”

Your complaints are curbed when you follow his hand as it moves to wrap around his half-hard cock. He strokes himself thrice, using your slick as lube, until his cock is curving up against his stomach. You stare at him; he stares right back.

And then you realize he intends to go all the way.

“Wait, Rol…lo… S’not my safe day,” you say, shifting away. Whether impatiently or anxiously, he can’t tell, but he can certainly guess. Your world spins once, a dizzying blur, before it promptly clears. In the very center of your vision, as he’s always been, Rollo remains. “S’not safe…”

He smiles, the corners of his eyes crinkling with levity. “I know.”

He’s kept track, dutiful like always.

You attempt to crawl out from under him, but he stops you. Your stomach churns.

“I’ll pull out in time,” he promises, rubbing soothing circles into your plush hips.

Even with the alcohol still buzzing through your system, you aren’t convinced. “N-No, really, we should stop here…”

“You’ll feel so good. Come now, aren’t we nearly there already?”

Rollo lifts your legs onto his shoulders. You squirm with more determination this time, but his fingers dig into your thighs. With a startled squeak, you sink into the mattress, cowed into submission.

“We… We can’t.”

“Why not?” The smooth, soft head of his cock prods curiously at your pussy.

You chew your lip, admitting in a meek tone, “I… I could get p-pregnant…”

“Pregnant,” he parrots, tasting the word as if it’s a delicacy he has yet to sample. His cock twitches. “Pregnant…”

“So… So that’s why…”

“Do you not want children?”

“I… Well… Now is kinda…”

He presses onwards, sinking in slowly. Your breath hitches; your heart stumbles. The intrusion is not entirely unwanted, for your slick, snug walls cling to his shape, and you almost give in to bodily inclination. But it doesn’t feel right. You’re scared. No matter how naturally your body reacts, you don’t want this.

“Rollo, wait—”

“It would be a wonderful thing—to see you rounded with my children.” Rollo props himself on either side of you, his body pinned to yours in sinful, sweaty connection. He exhales a deep breath, restraining himself as he pushes deeper. Patience is a virtue, after all. Your expression tightens with discomfort, and so he peppers your face with placatory kisses. “To see you grow in and—mmh—out of the most flattering maternity wear. To behold every change that blesses this beautiful body of yours… To see you swell with my love, filthy as it may be. Ah, but pregnancy is just as messy… Nevertheless, it shall be a special bond for us—a sacred vow, if you will. We are connected here—” he punctuates this point by slotting the rest of his length inside, and your legs involuntarily close around him to keep him there— “and soon here when life develops within.”

One hand splays across your stomach to pat it with fondness. You choke on your helpless whimper when he rocks his hips once, experimenting with the movement. It’s awkward, but it reminds you that he’s inside. So close to your womb that in just a few more thrusts he might—

“No… No, please… Rollo, you have to—oh—have to pull out. Please pull out. Don’t wanna get pregnant…”

“Oh, but you would be so beautiful.” He breathes you in, savoring sex and floral fragrance. “If I’m allowed one miracle—just one for all the anguish I’ve endured—let it be this.”

You know not of what anguish he speaks, for he’s never verbalized it, but even so it can’t possibly be so agonizing that it would warrant such invasion.

The vise-like hold your velvety walls have on his cock is deliciously addictive. He groans while he ruts into you, his eyelids fluttering. He could be animalistic and cruel in his movements—ravish you as if the world is faced with annihilation and this is his final hour—but instead he settles for exploratory leisure. His hand fits into yours and he squeezes it gently. A feeble protest builds in your throat and so he swallows it with a hungry kiss, his mouth molding against yours.

Your nails dig into his shoulders when he draws back and slides in again, filling you deeper than before. You breathe between kisses, panting and licking into his mouth in even intervals. He does much the same, anchored to you in a way that is both temporary and yet so permanent.

The world narrows down to this single sliver of space, enclosed in a canopy. And in it, laid bare and fertile, the goat is sacrificed to the crow. Death cannot reach either one here. There is only the promise of new life, thrust upon the goat all at once.

You don’t have the willpower to object, for you’ve already found yourself entrapped, so instead you cry. Tears track down your cheeks; your mascara runs with it. Ruined. So, too, is your pitch-black lipstick, smeared along the edges of your lips and printed onto Rollo’s porcelain skin.

Rollo’s hips stutter to a halt and he holds you against him when he spills thick and hot inside. Nothing is wasted; it’s all emptied deep within. If you’re lucky, it won’t take. But if some mischievous fertility goddess has cursed you, you’ll wake nauseous in the coming weeks.

If you have anything worth praying for, it’s the former.

The both of you are panting in the aftermath, but only one is coming down from his glorious high. You remain unsatisfied, your peak not yet breached. Rollo rolls his hips once more for good measure before easing out. You crumple into the wrinkled sheets, frigid and still as a statue. Carved empty and hollow, yet stuffed with sin.

The crow has come. Though this time the gift of tragedy is something between boon and curse.

— — —

The curtains are drawn to let in sunlight. It filters in through frosted glass, each pane stamped with snow, and it blinds you the moment you try to open your eyes. You twist and turn in bed, feeling heavy with hangover. A splitting ache cracks your head in half, and you groan loudly.

“Fuckin’ hell,” you hiss, digging the heels of your palms into your eyes. “This sucks…”

You force yourself to wake after two more minutes of rolling around. Groaning once more, you sit up in bed. The canopy has been tied back in place, and when you glance sidelong at Rollo’s desk you notice something. A glass of water and a plate are waiting for you, seeming more enticing by the second. You throw the covers off, realize you’re nude seconds later, and promptly snatch them back. They’re wrapped around you like a comforting cloak. You stagger out of bed to check the contents. Two croissants, a single orange, a dollop of strawberry marmalade, and two tablets are arranged on the plate.

Hangover medicine, you realize, lifting one up to scrutinize it.

You peer around the room. It’s empty. And then you see the clock. It’s a little past noon.

“Oh,” you mumble, lowering into the chair. You clutch the blanket closer. “Rollo must be in class.”

Amidst the piercing migraine, which you quickly resolve by throwing your head back to swallow both tablets in a single gulp of water, two things occur to you. You’re in Rollo’s room. Naked. In Rollo’s room. Surely you must have spent the night after you returned from the party. Why are you naked?

But more importantly…

“Shit! My exam!” The excitement doesn’t help your current state, and you slouch in your seat, even more exhausted than before. “I completely missed it… Rollo’s gonna kill me.”

You scrub the sleep from your eyes and reach for a croissant, content with giving up. You don’t want to endure the walk of shame from Rollo’s room to yours. If anyone were to catch you, they’d certainly be left wondering.

As you nibble on the croissant, admiring the way Rollo’s arranged the contents of his room, you spot the edge of something beneath the plate. Perplexed, you push it aside to reveal a note. Penned in Rollo’s effortlessly pretty script, it reads:

I’ll forgive your transgression just this once if you’ll forgive mine. For now, get some rest. I’ve left breakfast here. Stay for however long you’d like.

You scowl at his attempt of ‘breakfast,’ and your stomach rumbles in dissatisfaction.

“Right?” you say to your stomach, clicking your tongue. “If anything, this is hardly a snack.”

But you’re grateful for his efforts. He cares. He always has. From the very first day you found yourself in this world, he cared.

While you peel the orange, pondering foggy recollections of last night, you begin to realize just how sticky you feel. As if someone’s slobbered all over you and left it to dry. The feeling persists between your thighs.

You pause momentarily, overcome with an uncanny sense of panic as you piece the puzzle together. The still-forming picture does not look good.

“Shit…” you whisper, haunted with a fragmented timeline. “What the hell did we do last night?”

You know. The deep, dark part of your brain knows, but you don’t want to confront it. Because Rollo wouldn’t, right? He couldn’t. He’s always done what’s best for you, so he wouldn’t.

Right?

[megistusdiary]

pooks please write something vampire!arlecchino au x fem!reader plsplsplspls im having a brainrot. the plot is your choice you can do anything i just need vampire arlecchino.

if you do that ill give you a kiss pls 😞🙏

i see vampire arlecchino has caught on.

let's see what i can cook up 😁

it got kinda long and boring, but i like writing pointless dialogue. what can i say?

vampire arlecchino ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･

dom!vampire arlecchino x sub!fem reader

warnings: smut (mdni), wlw content, vampire arle, biting, blood, fingering, size kink, established relationship

you gently knocked your knuckles against the dark, elegant wood door of arlecchino's office. your ears strained for her soft 'come in' through the wood, slowly turning the knob to enter her office.

arlecchino was busy at her desk, piles of paperwork covering the surface. you closed the door quietly behind you, pulling your robe tighter over your body as you approached her.

she looked good like this, you found, very good. her hair was slicked back, a few strands escaping and framing her face.

her jacket was gone, and her traditional uniform was traded out for a long sleeve collared shirt. she left it half-unbuttoned, showing off the valley of her breasts, sleeves rolled up to her elbows as she concentrated on her work.

she glanced up at you, deep red irises finding yours. "you came." she hums.

"you called." is your response as you approach her desk, leaning over it to look at her papers. "i was waiting for you to come to bed. i thought you would've put everything aside for the night by now."

you knew she didn't need to sleep, or, at least not as long as you did. it was a common occurrence for her to work late into the night, joining you long past midnight in bed.

unfortunately, it seemed tonight was one of those nights she couldn't find it in her to set her work aside. not even for you, despite how the notion wounded you. you were at least grateful she called upon you, unable to sleep without her in bed next to you.

she scooted her chair out, patting her thigh for you. like a little puppy, you gingerly pranced to her side, situating yourself in her lap, turning to face her.

your eyes found hers, trained on her papers. her face carried a hint of exhaustion, slight bags forming under her eyes, skin paler than usual.

"how long has it been since you fed?" you suddenly ask.

it seems just the thought of blood has her hand faltering, nearly ruining the elegant signature on the paper in front of her. "why do you ask?"

you frown at her, leaning up to gently cup her face. "why won't you answer me?" your voice is sweet and gentle, causing her to set her pen down, opting to hold your hips instead.

she pulls your body to kneel over her lap, facing her. "despite how i would prefer to deny it, nothing seems to satisfy me these days. not since i drank from you."

your face heats up at the thought. "you mean to say that you won't feed unless it's me? but what if something happens to me? or i am suddenly anemic-"

"i will do everything in my power to keep you safe. you're more than a bloodbank to me. i'd sooner starve myself than drain you, doll." she cuts you off. "besides, i am perfectly capable of feeding infrequently." she pauses.

"you don't have to starve yourself on my account." you shrug your robe off one shoulder, baring your skin for her. "please?" your voice was so soft and sweet, and her jaw clenched at how you tempted her.

"you are the devil in disguise, doll." she mumbles to herself, pinching the bridge of her nose. "is it that you want me fed, or you want me to fuck you properly?"

your face heats up immediately. "what? no! i- i just...i..."

she tuts, shaking her head. "you're lucky i already decided to be done for the evening the moment you walked into my office." she pushes your robe gently further down, untying it to reveal the tiny silk nightgown beneath. "i hope you are not too fond of this piece, but i'll buy you a replacement."

she leans down and licks a strip up your neck, sharp fangs teasing you and leaving scratches. you shivered against her, bracing for the pain. you were surprised, however, when she decided to indulge you.

a hand snuck its way up the hem of your nightgown, teasing your thigh before pressing a fingerpad to your clothed clit. she felt you writhe on her lap, rubbing delicate little circles while she lapped at the crook of your neck.

"hold still." she warned, sinking her fangs into you eagerly, slipping her fingers under your panties to keep you placated.

her eyes fluttered shut at your little noises, stuck bouncing between pleasure and pain as she rubbed your bare clit.

blood seeped out of the puncture wounds, dripping down and staining the silk nightgown. you were too far gone to care, though, head tipped back as her fingers prodded at your pussy.

she collected your slick just as eagerly as she drank from your neck. using the wetness on her fingers, she eased one in gently, allowing you time to adjust.

even though your brain was fuzzy, you noted the way she trimmed her nails down, specifically to play with you. her other hand remained untouched, sharp nails digging into your skin as she kept you pressed tightly to her larger frame.

her fingers were longer than yours, always reaching deeper spots, stretching you out further as she pressed another into you. the little whines and whimpers you made had her groaning into your neck.

the hungry look in her eyes had disappeared, replaced by lust as she detached from your neck, licking over the wounds to close them.

"that's what i was missing..." she sighs, licking over her blood-coated fangs, leaning in to press a kiss to your lips. your nose wrinkled at the taste of your blood, and she chuckled lowly.

her fingers crooked deeper inside of you, moving faster as her thumb rubbed into your clit. "be a good doll, and cum for me." she urged, enjoying the way your whines rose in pitch as you approached your high.

soon enough, you were spilling your slick over her fingers, head falling back at how she helped you ride it out.

small trails of blood still escaped from the wounds on your neck, prompting her to lick the blood up, dragging her tongue up your jaw messily. "good girl." she praised, feeling the way your smaller body rested against her own, melting into her.

[mercurygguk]

freaky deaky · jjk (m)

⤷ summary; being a worldwide superstar can be overwhelming at times – luckily he has you to help him get his frustrations out.

pairing; idol!jungkook x f. reader

rating; 18+

word count; 4.7k

genre/au; fwb au / idol au, smut/angsty and fluff if you squint

warnings; making out, swearing, fingering, oral (f. receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, nipple play, slight choking, aftercare <3

author’s note; been wanting to write something like this for a while so here you go – i hope you like it !! slightly inspired by ‘freaky deaky’ by tyga & doja cat

ps. ignore my typos, i was speed writing this kskdls

let me know what you think – don’t be a silent reader, thanks <3

Jungkook is well aware that he should be heading home, get into bed and sleep for a whole day. He has barely slept for a whole week, the nerves and excitement for his upcoming concert too overwhelming. It was simply impossible to calm down enough to fall asleep.

However, he’s headed in the opposite direction of his own penthouse apartment. Instead of his own home, he finds himself in a quieter part of the city, the buildings in this area much smaller than the skyscraper he lives in himself. It's past midnight, a few houses are still lit up but it seems most people have turned in for the night.

There’s a yellow hue in the window on the second floor of the small house he pulls up to. The roaring of his bike is loud in this part of town late at night but he can’t bring himself to care about anyone else – there’s only one person on his mind as he turns off his motorbike.

As he gets off his bike, he glances around him to see if there’s anyone who might spot him; a scandal with the media isn’t what he needs right now. When the coast is clear, he removes his helmet and makes his way to the front door, knocking on it a few times. His teeth are chewing his bottom lip as he waits in silence, staring at his feet while listening for the sounds of footsteps on the other side.

Half a minute later, the door opens. He looks up from his stomper boots, the most beautiful eyes he’s ever seen meeting his. There’s a possible chance he just felt his heart skip a beat at the sight. 

You smile at him, opening the door wider for him, silently inviting him inside. 

His eyes never leave yours as he steps inside, closing the door behind him and locking it. You’re wearing your pajamas – a flimsy top that doesn’t do much to cover your bare breasts underneath and loose, small shorts paired with a pair of fuzzy socks to keep your feet warm. You watch him with impatient eyes as he puts his helmet down, kicks off his stompers and unzips his biker jacket. He’s impatient too, too impatient to even greet you. Instead he opts for the next best thing; kissing you.

A soft whimper leaves you the moment his mouth connects with yours, the sound going straight to Jungkook’s cock, blood rushing to the tip. The kisses are eager, hungry and rushed, probably bruising too. He pushes you backwards, pinning you against the wall. Goosebumps rise upon his skin as your hands slide into his black strands of hair, your hips buck against him. A low groan escapes his lips as his hands roam your body, sliding over your curves and underneath your flimsy pajamas top.

The sounds of moans and whimpers tumbles from your mouth as his mouth moves from your lips to your jaw and further on to your neck, open-mouthed kisses being left against your skin. His hands cup your breasts underneath your top, thumbs brushing over your already hardened nipples.

“How was the show?” You breathlessly ask him.

“Not important right now,” he manages to say between the kisses he’s showering you with. “Just need you.”

You whimper at his words as he bends to pick you up, wrapping your legs around his waist, hands on your ass to support you. His mouth returns to yours, tongues meeting with wet, lewd sounds as he makes his way upstairs with you in his arms. He knows the path to your bedroom too well at this point – it might be a sign that he’s at your place way too often but he can’t find it in him to care or contemplate what that might mean.

“Feels like I’ve been waiting forever for you to get here,” you admit as you enter your bedroom. 

Jungkook grins against your mouth, a soft chuckle leaving him as he puts you down on your bed. You watch as he stays by the edge of the bed, looking at you with those big, dark eyes that hold the galaxy in them. Goosebumps rise in the wake of his hands as he slides them from the top of your thighs and down to your knees, giving them a soft squeeze. He fixes you with a slight smirk, a playful glint in his eyes.

“You missed me that much?”

Flustered, you groan softly and avert your eyes to the ceiling. Jungkook can’t help but laugh at your reaction to his teasing question, getting rid of his biker jacket and t-shirt before crawling onto the bed, hovering over you. He gently grabs your chin, forcing you to look at him again. You’re glaring at him, a soft glare that makes his heart tingle in ways he didn’t know it could.

“Don’t worry, baby,” he quietly tells you, “I missed you too.”

The words leave him before he can think about the meaning behind them. He barely catches the way your face softens at his confession as he dips down and connects his lips to yours again, slipping his tongue past them to intertwine it with yours. You moan against his mouth, arms sliding around his neck to pull him down, as close to you as possible.

“Kook,” you moan his name against his lips as you feel one of his hands slipping between your legs, fingers pushing the flimsy fabric of your shorts to the side. His fingers touch your wet core instantly, your arousal coating his fingers. He groans against your mouth when he realizes you’re not wearing panties. “Please–”

“No panties, huh?” He muses, lifting his head just enough to watch the way your face twists in pleasure as his fingers slip between your folds, running up and down to collect more of your wetness. “You made yourself ready for me, mhm?  

You nod, your back arching and a whine leaving you as he sinks a finger into you, thumb pressing down on your clit at the same time. Your pussy sucks his finger in, your walls tight around it as he pumps it in and out. You’re already panting beneath him and he has barely done anything to you. He smirks, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of your mouth.

“Such a good girl,” he rasps before sliding down. You feel his breath brush over your skin as he moves down your body, tingles shooting through your body as he leaves occasional kisses on your skin.

Cold air hits your core as he tugs your shorts down, causing another round of goosebumps to rise upon your skin. He throws them over his shoulder, a soft thud reaches his ears as they hit the floor. A shaky sigh leaves you as he leans down, face leveling with your core. Jungkook smiles to himself as he watches your pussy clench, your folds glistening as he reaches up with his fingers, spreading them apart.

“Been thinking about eating this pretty pussy of yours all day, baby.”

The words fall from Jungkook's lips before he can stop them, feeling his heart freeze over for a second in fear of how that might have sounded to you. He feels relieved when all you do is whimper in response, core clenching around nothing, inviting Jungkook to come closer.

“Could barely focus at rehearsals…”

He wets his lips, leaning closer, his breath brushing your bare core as he hovers right above where you want him the most. You whine his name impatiently, desperate to feel his mouth on you.

“What was that, ____?” Jungkook hums, lifting his head to look up at you. You shudder, another round of goosebumps rising upon your skin when he leaves a gentle kiss right above your clit, the action teasing and torture all in one.

“Want your mouth.. please,” you whimper, fists gripping the sheets tightly.

Jungkook smiles, kissing your inner thighs softly before throwing your legs over his shoulders and tugging you closer by a tight grip on your hips. You yelp in surprise, a surprised gasp leaving you as Jungkook’s lips latch onto your clit, sucking roughly.

“Oh- god!”

Your hands dig into his black, curly hair, your fingertips tightening around his dark strands as he licks and slurps up your arousal, coating his tongue with it and swallowing it. He moans against you, the sound sending vibrations through your whole body, causing you to arch your back and digging your heels into his back.

Jungkook knows exactly how to eat you out, how to pleasure you to make you cum within minutes – his tongue sucking and flicking your clit is one of the safest and most effective ways to make sure you reach your high every time. He’s spent months learning everything about your body; what to do to make you cum quickly, where to kiss you to cause a shiver to run down your spine, where to touch you in order to have you pleading for more. 

He knows it all and it’s to his advantage as he sucks harshly on your clit, earning a whimpering whiny moan from you as your back arches off the bed once again, your chest rising and falling in pants of air as your orgasm sneaks up on you. He watches from between your legs, his mouth still working on your pussy as you reach your high – your brows furrowed together as you bite into your bottom lip, the orgasm rippling through you and causing your hips to jerk against his mouth, thighs trembling.

“Fuck, fuck, fuck-”

The word leaves your lips repeatedly as you cum on his tongue, your juices seeping out of your pretty, perfect pussy; sweet and delicious on his taste buds.

“Oh my god… please fuck me, Kook-“

Jungkook swallows every drop of your orgasm, humming and moaning as he does so, the sound of your pleads for him to fuck you going straight to his hard cock. It’s straining against his jeans as he leaves a kiss right above your slit before moving up to hover over you. He smirks softly at you, tongue poking out to lick away the bit of your arousal that’s sitting at the corner of his mouth.

You let out a soft groan of arousal, hands reaching up to grab him by the nape of his neck to pull him down for a kiss. Jungkook grunts against your mouth as your other hand reaches down to cup his bulge through his jeans, giving him a soft squeeze. Jungkook is breathing heavily against your lips, pulling away just enough to meet your eyes. You whine at the lack of his lips on yours, giving his cock another squeeze. He grins mischievously at the desperate sounds you let out.

“You want my cock, baby?” He hums, slightly breathless because of your touch.

His pride grows as you instantly nod, a soft ‘please’ leaving your pretty lips as you lift your head to kiss him again. Jungkook welcomes your kiss, groaning against your lips. He reaches down to undo his jeans before covering your hand with his, guiding it inside his pants, silently urging you to touch him through his boxers instead. You obey, receiving a low ‘fuck’ from Jungkook as he moves his mouth to your neck again, kissing and nippling at your skin.

“Want me to fill this pretty, sensitive pussy of yours, hm?”

Jungkook growls the words in your ear as he finds your core again, fingertips teasing your wet and glistening folds. You whimper underneath him, goosebumps rising on your skin as he teases your clit with his thumb, the bundle of nerves sensitive from your orgasm just a few minutes ago.

“Yes.. want your cock so bad, Kook-”

Jungkook tuts, the lack of a certain word not going unnoticed.

“Yes what?”

“Yes, please-“

His lips curl into a smile as you obey in an instant, needy and desperate for his cock, to be filled to the brim and spread wide open for him to devour as he pleases. 

Jungkook removes his fingers from your heat, sitting up on his knees between your legs to look down at you. As if magnets connect the two of you, you follow and sit up, hands supporting you behind you as you look up at him; beautiful, intriguing eyes that are heavy-lidded and dazed as you stare at him.

Jungkook’s hand reaches out to cup your chin, tilting your head up as his eyes roam your face and down the expanse of your body. His eyes zoom in on your glistening pussy, clenching and throbbing in need of his cock. He smiles to himself as his eyes move further up, noticing the way your nipples are hard underneath your flimsy pajamas top, evident underneath the thin fabric and making his cock twitch in his boxers.

God, he needs to be buried deep within you right this second or he’ll lose his mind.

“On your hands and knees, princess,” he demands, thumb running over your bottom lip before he retracts his hand from your face. His soft and gentle touch causes you to take a few seconds to register what he said, your brain not catching up until he speaks again. “Now.”

He watches in amusement as you realize what he said, face twisting in arousal as you do as told and get on all fours in front of him, your back facing him. Jungkook’s smile widens into a smirk as you place your feet on either side of his knees, positioning yourself perfectly for him. 

“Pretty girl,” he hums as he reaches for your ass, grabbing two good handfuls of your flesh before giving it a squeeze, spreading your cheeks apart to reveal your holes; one of them wet and glistening with arousal practically dripping from it, the other tight and small, still untouched by Jungkook after all these months.

“Kook…” you impatiently whine, arching your back and pushing your ass closer to him, glancing at him over your shoulder. He looks so good – unbelievably sexy with his dark black hair and lip ring, tattoos covering one of his arms and hands.

Jungkook is biting his bottom lip as he continues to play with your ass cheeks, unable to keep himself from collecting a pit of spit before letting it drop to your hole, a surprised gasp leaving you as he runs his thumb over it, spreading it out in a circling motion. You let out a shaky breath, a delicate whimper escaping you as you press your chest to the mattress, ass in the air as he continues to circle your tight hole with his thumb.

“Would you let me fuck this tight little ass one day?” He suddenly asks, voice low and deep as he moves his gaze to watch you. The way your brows knit together and lips part in pleasure as he keeps on circling his thumb around your hole has his cock turning painfully hard in his boxers. “Hm? Would you?”

“Fuck- god, yes..” you moan, breathless voice and uneven breathing as you revel in the feeling of his slow and attentive touch.

“Yeah? You’d let me fuck you however I want?”

You nod vigorously and whimper, “yes.. would let you do whatever you want, Kook.. ah-“

Jungkook swears under his breath, the thought of fucking your ass making his cock twitch uncontrollably in his boxers. Unable to hold back any longer, he reaches down to pull his cock out from the right confinements of his boxers, fisting his length in slow, prolonged strokes as he guides his tip closer to your folds.

He huffs out a proud chuckle as you jerk and yelp in surprise when he presses his tip between your folds, prodding at your entrance teasingly. You whine impatiently, hands tightly gripping the sheets as you push back in an attempt to make his cock slip inside of you.

“So fucking needy,” Jungkook rasps, his words a growl in his throat as he rubs his tip up and down between your folds before slipping inside of you, pushing deeper in the slowest thrust he can muster. You moan delicately as he groans in pleasure. Your walls engulf him, sucking him in deeper and fitting just perfectly around his cock. “Fuck, you were made for my cock, princess-“

You let out a relieved, fucked out moan as he bottoms out, back arching as his hands slide over your ass cheeks and down to you waist. His fingertips dig into your flesh as he watches himself pull out and slide right back inside, lips parted as he settles into a slow, torturous rhythm.

“Ohh.. fuck- your cock feels so good,” you moan, moving back against him meeting his thrusts halfway.

“Yeah?” Jungkook grits as he uses his grip on your hips to pull you back on his cock, fucking deeply into you with every thrust, his tip hitting your cervix over and over. “You love being filled and stretched out, hm?”

“Y-Yes..” Your words are laced with a breathless moan, breathing ragged and following every thrust of his hips. The lewd sounds of skin slapping against skin fills the room every time your ass slams against his thighs. Your moans turn higher in octave as he picks up the pace of his hips. “Love it so much, Kook-”

Jungkook groans at your words, loving how your pussy just fits him, how easy it is for him to slip in and out again in smooth thrusts, his length rubbing against your walls over and over again. In need of your mouth on his, Jungkook slides his hands up the expanse of your back, pushing the fabric of your pajamas top up. He pulls it over your head, getting rid of it before closing his hands around your throat to pull you up. Your back stays arched, ass continuously slamming back against him as he tilts your head back by his grip on our throat. You whimper, becoming immensely wetter the moment Jungkook catches your lips with his own, his tongue melting with yours instantly. 

“You take my cock so fucking well..” Jungkook growls against your mouth, slipping one of his hands underneath your body to grip your breast, giving it a tight squeeze before pinching your already hardened nipple. A sudden feeling of possessiveness fills him as you moan his name, walls clenching around his length every time he buries himself in you. “My good girl-”

Jungkook is too caught up in the feeling of your pussy to even think twice about how his slightly possessive tone might have sounded in your ears. He can’t find it in him to care or worry about it as his thrusts turn slower yet harder, slamming into you over and over. He moans against your mouth, his hand on your breast sliding down to your clit to rub it in circles. 

“Wanna feel you cum around me, baby- can you do that for me?”

Another whimper escapes you as you weakly nod, eyes rolling to the back of your head as he rubs your clit in a circular motion, the bundle of nerves sensitive as hell, chills filling your skin as another orgasm sneaks up on you fast. Jungkook feels it all, the way your walls start to clench and unclench around him, how your breathing turns heavier than it already was, your moans becoming whiny whimpers as you near your high.

“Cum all over my cock, ____,” Jungkook growls, his lips now brushing the shell of your ear. “Let me feel it- come on…”

“Fuck- ah, Jungkook!”

“That’s it, baby- shit..”

Jungkook lets out a groan as you finally cum around him, the sound reverberating into your ear and sending chills down your spine. He continues to fuck into your perfect pussy, hitting deeply over and over again as he slams into you through your orgasm. You whine in sensitivity as he lets go of your throat, pushing you into the mattress, hands back on your waist as he chases his own orgasm.

“Gonna cum so hard, baby- gonna fill your pretty little pussy until it overflows..” he grunts as he slams into you, his thighs slapping against your ass as you whimper underneath him. One of your hands reaches behind you to grab his forearm, nails digging into his skin as his thrusts turn brutal and definitely leaving bruises for you to deal with tomorrow. Jungkook grits and swears under his breath as his hips stutter, his high sneaking a hold of him and pulling him under, tingles of his orgasm running through him as he fucks into you with a few more hard slaps before stilling inside of you. “Fuck-”

“Oh my god-” You moan as he slams into you one last time before stilling, the swear word he lets out in a growling tone sending a shiver down your spine.

Spurts of his orgasm fills you, white and warm cum painting your walls as he empties himself deeply inside of you. He’s breathing heavily as he grinds into you, riding out your highs. One of his hands supports himself on the mattress next to your head, tattooed hand gripping the sheets tightly as he tries to control his uneven breathing. Silence surrounds you as you come down, your hearts beating wildly in your chests and bodies buzzing with the aftershocks of your orgasms.

Jungkook isn’t sure what to say as he pulls out of you, hissing softly as his cock slowly turns soft the moment it’s freed from your tight walls. Your arousal and cum mixed with his own coats his silky shaft, glistening in the yellow hue of your bedside lamp. Jungkook leans down to leave a soft kiss on your shoulder, his free hand sliding up and down the side of your torso in a caressing stroke. There’s an unfamiliar feeling filling his chest as he lingers above you, leaving another soft kiss to your skin before removing himself from you entirely.

You stay lying on the bed as he makes his way to the ensuite bathroom you have. Out of routine and growing habit, he grabs a small hand-towel from your cabinet under the sink. He wets it with lukewarm water, his gaze on you through the mirror. You haven’t moved since he got off the bed and you’re definitely more quiet than usual. Jungkook lets out a frustrated sigh as he cleans himself up before wringing the towel under the water once again and returning to you.

“Hey..” He softly calls to capture your attention, gently tapping the back of your thigh to urge you to turn around. For some reason, he’s holding his breath, not sure what to expect when you face him. Jungkook feels his heart sink into his stomach as he watches you roll onto your back, eyes briefly meeting his for a split second before they shift to the ceiling instead, obviously avoiding his gaze. Not entirely sure what to do or say, Jungkook cautiously places a hand on your thigh to gently spread your legs so he can clean you up after making a mess between your legs.

He watches you intently as he starts cleaning you up. You let out a shaky breath as he touches your sensitive core with the damp towel. He wants to say something but he’s not quite sure what you want to hear right now or what he wants to say himself. He knows something has changed between you lately, especially from Jungkook’s side but he knows it will only cause more trouble than anything else.

“You okay?” He decides to ask instead as he finishes cleaning up his mess, an urge to make sure nothing is wrong overwhelming him because it feels like something might be exactly that – wrong.

“We should talk.”

Your voice is soft as you speak up. He stays quiet as you close your thighs and pull your sheets up to cover yourself, the sight of your beautiful naked body disappearing from his vision. He sits down on the edge of the bed and stares at you for a moment, chewing his bottom lip as nerves fill him.

“What’s on your mind?” He asks, his voice careful and quiet.

You shrug, frowning faintly as your eyes focus on nothing in particular for a second before returning to meet his, “you…”

Jungkook feels his heart melt at your answer yet it keeps beating harshly in his chest.

“Us…” You trail off, still frowning. “What we are and what we could be.”

“Could be?”

Jungkook can’t help but repeat your last words, intrigued by them and also very scared of what you might mean by them.

You nod, “yeah, you know… if you weren’t who you are.”

His heart sinks for the second time tonight, laying at the very bottom of his stomach with cracks in it because you sound so fragile as you admit what’s on your mind, as you talk about what you and him could be if the circumstances were different – if he wasn’t Jungkook of BTS but just Jeon Jungkook from Busan.

“Do you think that maybe… we’re wasting each other’s time?” You ask him, voice so small and careful he fears it might crack in a second.

Your question catches him off guard. 

When he rode his bike here, he didn’t think you’d end up in the middle of a deep conversation like this but here you are, talking about what you could possibly be if he wasn’t who he is, talking about how you might be wasting each other’s time by seeing each other, by being exclusive and only fucking each other, by having an arrangement with no strings attached.

Jungkook doesn’t feel like he’s wasted his time by being with you; in fact, you’ve probably made life a tiny bit easier and more normal for Jungkook. Being a worldwide superstar can be overwhelming and frustrating from time to time but he knows a night with you will remove every single hardship he comes across.

“No,” he finally says, shaking his head. “I don’t think we’re wasting each other’s time.”

“No?”

Jungkook shakes his head again, offering you a half smile along with a hand, silently asking you to come closer. You take his hand without hesitation, the gesture causing Jungkook’s heart to skip a beat. His smile grows a bit as he tugs you closer, pulling you into his lap, arms wrapping around your waist. Warmth spreads in his chest as you cuddle into him, your own arms snaking around his torso.

“This… arrangement of ours has been one of the few good things in my life lately,” Jungkook admits, his hands roaming your naked back, fingertips playing with the ends of your hair as he brushes his lips over the skin of your shoulder.

You lift your head to look at him, frowning at his words. “Is everything okay? Are you okay?”

The evident concern on your features has Jungkook smiling as he reaches up to tug a strand of hair behind your ear. He nods, “yeah, everything’s fine, I’m fine.”

“Jungkook…” You gently say his name, eyes shifting between his, “are you not happy?”

“I am,” he tells you, “it’s just… sometimes a life like mine can be kind of hectic.”

“I’m sorry,” you frown as you wrap your arms around his neck, fingers playing with his hair.

“It all gets better whenever I'm here though… with you.”

Jungkook watches your frown turn into a small and shy smile, the sight making his heart flutter. You’re so beautiful, he can’t stop looking at you, a constant urge to kiss you filling his body whenever he’s around you.

“You treat me like me, like Jungkook,” he admits, “and not like Jungkook of BTS.”

You shrug, smiling as your eyes shift from his eyes to his lips and back again. “Well, you are just Jungkook to me. You’re human like the rest of us, aren’t you?”

He smiles and nods, “yeah.”

“There’s no reason for me to kiss your butt and boost your ego,” you giggle softly, the sound sending butterflies flying in Jungkook’s entire body. He cocks an eyebrow at your words, smirking softly.

“And why’s that?”

You lean in closer, lips ghosting his. Jungkook’s arms tighten around your waist as you press your chest flush against his.

“Because I already have you right where I want you.”

[bluemantics]

here’s a list of all my fics! i won’t be able to post and reblog much since I’m traveling the next week and a half, so I’ll compile all my works here in the meantime :-)

will also update this list as i write more!

klance:

midnight snacks don't exist in space

G | 1.7K | RP/BP dynamics

There are no rules about eating at 3:00 AM if you're in the far reaches of the universe.

In a bright kitchen while the team is asleep, Lance and Keith find each other, as they always do.

Why We Fight

T | 5.7K | truth-telling au

With the Rebels in need of resources, the team ventures to a planet known for its raw materials in hope that they'll join the coalition. Here's the thing: they need to prove that they can be trusted by telling the truth about why they fight.

Lance finds this more difficult to voice than the others. Unfortunately (thankfully), Keith has returned from the Blade and is more than willing to listen.

"This is bigger than any of us alone."

A Keith By Any Other Name

T | 8.2K | coffee shop rom-com AU

Lance McClain was dared to hit on Keith. Keith thought that’d be the first and last time they’d meet. However, Lance keeps coming back, charming Keith with his jokes and charisma.

Here’s the catch: Keith refuses to tell Lance his real name.

“I’m not telling you my name unless you order and move on.” Keith pointed to the register screen.

“Alright, I’ll do a cappuccino.” Lance pulled out his wallet from his jacket pocket and slid his card over to Keith. “Now will you tell me your name?”

“My name is Yorak.” Keith passed the card back to Lance, who looked shocked at that answer, his eyebrows raised to his hairline. Keith was beginning to realize how dramatic Lance could be.

“Really?!” Lance demanded. He looked pityingly at Keith, and irritation welled up in his gut.

“No!” Keith rolled his eyes.

“You’re the worst,” Lance huffed.

a billion light years from here

T | 8.5K | post-canon fix-it

Keith and Lance reconnect over letters. Through their writing, Keith learns to open up, and Lance learns what a home is.

"For all the game I talked on the castleship about missing home, now that I’m back on my family farm, I kind of feel like there’s something missing. Like, even surrounded by all of the juniberry flowers Allura gave us, and even with my parents, I still feel lonely. Or restless."

Or: A post s-8 fix-it AU told entirely through letters between Lance and Keith, both sent and unsent.

out of my head

G | 1.2K | high school au

Keith didn’t even want to watch the spring musical auditions. Forced by Pidge to accompany them, he finds himself surprised at the talent of a particular actor. He also finds himself surprised by his own response. 

OR:

Lance is ridiculously good at singing and Keith is a lovable, impulsive jock.

baptism by fire

T | 1.5K | canon-compliant angst

Prompt: write a private scene between two characters with no dialogue, of just them two alone.

Lance just witnessed the unthinkable. Keith offers his company in wake of the tragedy.

kiribaku:

unstoppably, immovably, unbreakably you

G | 651 | canon-compliant

A character study.

An unstoppable force meets an immovable object.

Katsuki Bakugou’s hand implodes against Eijirou Kirishima’s arm; a flurry of sparks surround them with a sound that rings between his skull.

This is something he knows how to do well. With every blow that Katsuki unleashes, he feels Kirishima retaliate with more, responding like a dance to his every movement. Katsuki is a fine-tuned instrument of destruction, every muscle on his body worked with the intention of winning.

as always please let me know what u think thru asks & comments on ao3!! ill answer asks between travel, but im going to frequently be in spotty service.

[callmedaleelah]

— Pinnacle [ tsukishima kei university au series ]

— look at this idiotic fool that you made me ; cherish every seconds you have cause you never know when it’ll turn upside down

author’s notes : no mention of (y/n), written in second person pov, semi alternative universe, timeskip!tsukishima, college life, not proofread, english is not my first language

[ masterlist ] | [ ask daleelah go to box box 🐭 ]

The night stretches long and silent, cloaking your room in a stillness that feels both comforting and stifling. You've been lying there for hours, staring at the white ceiling, tracing invisible patterns with your eyes, trying to will yourself to sleep. But the quiet isn't enough to lull you into rest. Your thoughts keep drifting back to the dinner, the awkward exchanges, the warmth in Tsukishima's gaze that you can't seem to shake.

You roll over in bed, pulling your blanket tighter around your shoulders, your pink pajamas soft against your skin, but they offer no comfort tonight. The room feels empty now that your parents are gone, their voices and presence lingering only in your memory. It’s strange, this quiet solitude—something you used to cherish before all these new feelings started creeping into your heart.

Your phone buzzes on the nightstand, the bright screen cutting through the darkness. You grab it, blinking to adjust your eyes, and frown when you see the name on the screen.

Tsukishima ; You still up?

Your heart skips a beat, confusion mingling with curiosity. It’s late—much too late for him to be messaging you, especially after saying goodbye to your parents just hours ago. Without thinking, your fingers move swiftly across the screen.

Yeah, why?

His reply comes almost instantly, making your pulse quicken: I’m outside the building. Can you meet me here?

You sit up abruptly, the blanket pooling around your waist as your mind tries to process what he just said. Outside? At this hour? You rub your eyes and glance at the clock—it’s almost midnight. What could he possibly want? For a second, you consider ignoring it, but curiosity gets the better of you.

Throwing the blanket off, you slip your feet into your slippers and grab your student ID before rushing out of your room, your footsteps muffled by the carpeted hallway. The dormitory feels eerily quiet, the soft hum of the heating system the only sound accompanying you as you reach the entrance. The cold air hits you the moment you step outside, and you shiver, cursing yourself for not grabbing a jacket.

Then you see him. Tsukishima, standing just outside the entrance, bathed in the dim glow of the streetlights. He’s wearing his usual hoodie, hands buried deep in his pockets, his head tilted slightly as he waits for you. His tall frame is relaxed, yet there’s an intensity in the way he looks at you that makes your breath catch in your throat.

“What are you doing here?” you ask, your voice a little breathless from both the cold and the sudden rush of adrenaline. You cross your arms over your chest, trying to retain some warmth.

Tsukishima’s eyes scan you from head to toe, lingering for a second on your pajamas before meeting your gaze. “It’s cold out here,” he says simply, his voice steady, but there’s an undertone you can’t quite place.

You blink, confused. “Yeah, I know. It’s almost midnight. Why—?”

“And yet you didn’t wear a hoodie before heading out?” He cuts you off, his eyes narrowing slightly as if your lack of common sense is somehow personal to him.

Your mouth opens and closes, flustered by his bluntness. “I—I didn’t think I’d need one. I didn’t plan on staying outside long,” you mumble, suddenly feeling exposed under his sharp gaze.

Tsukishima sighs, the sound filled with mild exasperation, but before you can protest, he’s already unzipping his hoodie. The fabric rustles softly in the quiet night as he drapes it over your shoulders, his hands brushing against your arms as he adjusts it on you. The warmth from his hoodie seeps into your skin, and you’re enveloped in the faint scent of him—clean, slightly musky, with a hint of something fresh and familiar.

You stand there, frozen, as Tsukishima takes it a step further and zips up the hoodie for you, his fingers lingering on the zipper for a beat too long before he steps back. His silence feels like a command, one you don’t dare disobey.

He doesn't say anything, but the way his eyes linger on you makes your heart race. It’s as if he’s silently telling you to wear it—no arguments. You swallow, nodding slightly, unsure of how to respond.

“Come on.” His voice is softer now, as he reaches for your hand, the warmth of his palm sending a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold. He tugs you gently, guiding you toward his car parked a few feet away.

You follow, too stunned to speak, your mind still reeling from the sudden shift in his demeanor. The wind whips through the open space, biting at your cheeks and making your hair whip around your face. Tsukishima, always composed, doesn’t flinch from the cold, his steps measured and steady as he opens the passenger door for you.

You hesitate for a second, looking at him with wide eyes, but he merely raises an eyebrow, silently urging you to get in. You comply, sliding into the seat as he shuts the door behind you with a quiet click. The interior of his car is warm, a stark contrast to the frigid air outside. You watch as he walks around to the back seat, retrieving something before climbing into the driver’s seat beside you.

When he sits down, there’s a small bakery box in his hands. You tilt your head, confused again, until he opens it to reveal two chocolate muffins, each with a small candle sticking out of the top.

Your mouth drops open slightly. “What…?”

“You didn’t get to eat your cake at dinner,” he explains, his voice casual as he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a lighter. “So I brought you something.”

You stare at the muffins, your chest tightening with a mixture of surprise and something else you can’t quite name. “You…did this for me?”

He lights the candles one by one, the soft glow illuminating his face as he nods. “Your mom isn’t around, so you can eat this without her knowing, right?”

His words make you laugh, a light, breathless sound that escapes before you can stop it. Tears prick at the corners of your eyes, but you blink them away quickly, smiling at him through the soft haze of candlelight.

“You didn’t have to do this,” you whisper, your voice catching in your throat as the weight of his gesture sinks in.

Tsukishima shrugs, his lips curving into the faintest hint of a smile. “Make a wish.”

You stare at him for a moment, your heart swelling with gratitude and something deeper, something you’re not quite ready to name. Then, closing your eyes, you take a deep breath and make a wish, blowing out the candles as the soft flames flicker and die.

When you open your eyes, Tsukishima is watching you, his expression unreadable, but there’s a softness in his gaze that makes your chest tighten all over again. And in that quiet, intimate moment, surrounded by the warmth of his hoodie and the dim glow of the candles, you realize something: you’re no longer alone in the dark.

The warm glow from the streetlamp outside cast a gentle light into the car, highlighting the small, cozy space you shared with Tsukishima. You reached into the box with a soft smile, pulling out the first muffin and holding it toward him.

“Here’s the first one for you,” you teased lightly, eyes sparkling. “You get to eat first ‘cause you’re special.”

Tsukishima raised an eyebrow, his lips curving into a teasing smirk. “I do?” He placed a hand over his chest dramatically. “Well, thank you, I’m honored.”

You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh at his playful response. That sweet laugh—the one that always escaped when you felt at ease, when it was just the two of you. You took a bite of your muffin, the flavor melting in your mouth. “Oh wow, this is so good. Where did you get these?”

Tsukishima hummed in acknowledgment, swallowing his bite before answering. “You won’t be able to get these again,” he began, his tone casual but hinting at something more thoughtful, “I found a random cake shop still open late—“

“All for me?” You interrupted him, grinning cheekily as you leaned in a little closer, the air between you becoming more playful, yet intimate.

Tsukishima sighed softly, shaking his head with a small smile. “Yeah… all for you.”

The silence that followed was comfortable, the kind of silence that felt like a warm blanket draped over the two of you. As you ate your muffins, you exchanged small, shy glances, and each look seemed to speak louder than words could. There was something special in the air tonight—something you both felt but weren’t quite ready to address.

Just as you were about to take another bite, Tsukishima’s voice dropped to a low whisper, catching you by surprise. “Have I told you this before?” he began, his gaze softening as he looked at you, “you have a really beautiful smile.”

You froze, your heart skipping a beat as his words hung in the air. His eyes held a sincerity that made your chest tighten. You blinked, feeling your cheeks flush. “No, you haven’t… but thanks,” you replied shyly, your fingers nervously playing with the muffin wrapper. “You… you have a really nice smile too,” you added, your voice barely audible as you glanced at him bashfully.

Without realizing it, the space between you had slowly diminished. His presence felt closer, warmer, as if the barrier that had always been there had quietly melted away. You couldn’t help but admire the way his glasses framed his face, how his soft eyelashes cast delicate shadows across his skin. His nose scrunched slightly, his brow furrowed in that usual way when he was concentrating, yet somehow, you’d never noticed before how undeniably handsome he was.

Before you could fully process your thoughts, Tsukishima’s hand gently reached out. His fingers brushed a strand of hair behind your ear with a tenderness that made your heart race. The pad of his thumb softly caressed your cheek, and your breath caught in your throat at the sudden contact.

“Happy birthday,” he whispered, his voice barely a breath but carrying so much warmth, so much meaning.

Your lips curled into a soft smile as you leaned into his touch, closing your eyes for a brief moment, savoring the simple happiness that bubbled in your chest. You had never felt this kind of joy before, a joy that was soft and warm, that made you feel completely seen—like you mattered in ways you hadn’t realized until this very moment.

Then, Tsukishima handed you another small box. You blinked, confused at first, before your curiosity took over. “What’s this?” you asked, a mix of excitement and surprise coloring your voice.

He gave you a lopsided grin. “Your present—obviously,” he said with his usual teasing edge, though there was a softness to his tone now, an almost shy undertone.

You opened the box, and inside was a delicate bracelet. Its design was simple yet elegant, a perfect reflection of your style. You gasped, eyes widening as you stared at it, then back at him. “No way, seriously?” You covered your mouth with your hand in disbelief, your heart swelling with joy.

Tsukishima chuckled softly, his fingers gently taking the bracelet from the box as he clasped it around your wrist. His touch was light, but the simple action sent a jolt of warmth through you. “Do you like it?” he asked, his voice quieter now, almost vulnerable.

“I love it!” you exclaimed, your excitement overflowing as you reached out and squeezed his hand without thinking. “Thank you so much.”

He didn’t say anything, just smiled—a rare, genuine smile that made your heart skip a beat. And in that moment, your gaze locked with his, and the world seemed to shrink down to just the two of you. The silence between you was no longer awkward or empty—it was filled with something unspoken but deeply understood.

Your fingers, almost on their own, intertwined with his. You squeezed his hand gently, feeling the nervous energy building inside you, but it wasn’t the kind of nervousness that made you uneasy. It was the kind that made you feel alive, like something important was about to happen.

You opened your mouth, the words slipping out before you could stop them. “I like you,” you whispered, the confession hanging in the air between you. Your voice trembled slightly as you continued, feeling your heart pound against your chest. “I don’t know when it started, but… you always make me feel seen. I… I really like you, Tsukishima. I can’t stop thinking about you, and sometimes I feel like my heart’s going to burst because it’s all just too much. I—”

You stopped abruptly, noticing the subtle shift in his expression. His teasing smile had vanished, replaced by something unreadable. Slowly, he pulled away from you, retreating back into his seat, his gaze now fixed on the windshield. The warmth that had filled the car moments ago suddenly felt cold, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable.

Your heart dropped, and you blinked rapidly to push away the sting of tears. “I… I’m sorry,” you stammered, your voice barely above a whisper. “I shouldn’t have said that. You don’t have to say anything. I—”

You swallowed hard, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. The awkwardness hung thick in the air, suffocating your chest. You glanced at him, hoping for any response, but Tsukishima remained silent, staring out of the window.

Feeling a sharp pang of rejection, you hastily removed his hoodie, folding it neatly before opening the car door. “Thanks for tonight,” you murmured, your voice wavering. “I—really appreciated it.”

Before he could respond, you stepped out of the car and shut the door, your legs carrying you swiftly back to the dorm. Tears blurred your vision as you reached the building, your heart aching with every step.

By the time you reached your room, your heart felt heavy, and the thoughts spiraled in your mind. You threw yourself onto the bed, burying your face in the pillow.

“Stupid, stupid, stupid,” you muttered to yourself, replaying the events of the night over and over again. All this time, you thought you had seen something in his actions—the compliments, the gentle moments, the way he seemed to go out of his way to help you. But now… you weren’t so sure.

Was it all in your head? Was Tsukishima just being kind, and you had misread the signs? You weren’t sure of anything anymore, except for one thing: your heart ached with every beat.

The dorm room felt colder than usual as you curled into a tight ball on your bed, hugging your knees close to your chest. The bracelet on your wrist shimmered faintly under the low light of your lamp, reminding you of the bittersweet memory that had unfolded just moments ago. Your confession replayed in your mind—over and over again—each repetition twisting your heart a little tighter.

You squeezed your eyes shut, trying to push away the embarrassment that bubbled up inside you. Tsukishima’s silence, his sudden retreat, it all played like a bad dream. And now, you weren’t even sure if you could face him again.

Burying your face into the pillow, you let out a frustrated groan, “Why did I say that? Why now?”

But no matter how many times you questioned it, the truth remained: you liked him. There was no denying it anymore, no pretending that your feelings weren’t there. They were real, and they had spilled out of you like water breaking through a dam.

Maybe you should’ve waited. Maybe you should’ve held back a little longer, but then, how much longer could you have gone pretending that your heart didn’t skip a beat every time he smiled at you?

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