#brown trouser problems?

[feyver]

by the way, this is something i've not seen mentioned before but i notice every time.

is he wearing butt pads? or something? forgive me for staring, but i've never thought this looked natural lmaoo. when he's over arthur's shoulder earlier in the ep, you get a pretty good view and its definitely less... pointy. i just can't figure out why they would make him wear something there?

(ep 4x06)

[pedaleceleste]

A collection of Marvin Trilogy doodles I’d post on my Instagram if my followers weren’t already sick of me

These r all disorganised but I do hope they land w the right crowd teehee

[eowynstwin]

clawing at the door

ghoap x reader. jealousy. bisexual soap. bisexual ghost. emotionally constipated ghost. manipulative soap. ghost likes em thick. lightly explicit. MDNI. ao3

When Ghost first sees you and Soap together, his jealousy is hard to parse. He doesn't quite understand what he's feeling.

On the one hand, Occam's Razor. Simple explanations usually prove the truest. Soap is his boy, has been since Las Almas, and you are an interloper in their hard-won dynamic. Ghost does not absorb others into his life lightly, even less so then he allows them to strongarm themselves beneath the mask. He doesn't particularly like people, isn't really fond of their tendency toward abject mortality.

Soap's strong arms are a rare exception. And Ghost has nearly died too many times not to admire a nice round ass when he sees one—the kind that glistens and quivers beneath the weak spray of a communal shower. Some part of him has always kind of supposed the sergeant had been showing off specifically for him, too, when he dropped trousers and moaned like a whore when the hot water started flowing.

The boy certainly dogs his steps like that's the case.

Then, you: showing up on base one day, Soap's hand spread wide and possessive on the small of your back. Jewel-bright eyes following your every move. Blush high and feverish on his boy's cheekbones every time you throw half a smile his way.

So it's envy. So it's a crush, unrequited.

Simple problem, simple solution. Getting over by getting under and all that. There are apps for every heartache, and plenty of hard-bodied gym rats out there tripping over themselves to bottom for a brute like him, who can actually throw them around.

Not two minutes after making his profile (military, six-five, top), likely candidates start filing themselves into his inbox. Some part of his ego is gratified, at least. The influx of taint pics certainly confirms for him that his vanity, in fact, is justified, even if the last thing he wants to see is some random stranger's asshole.

He messages a jacked brunette with brown eyes and dimples, who led instead with a comparatively tame "hey big guy," and lets him pick the bar where they'll meet up.

And it's...fine.

The guy is fine. Equally as attractive in person as on camera, with curly hair and short stubble. He's there before Ghost, and directs an easygoing smile at him when he drops onto a stool at the bar beside him.

He doesn't even question the mask, though his eyes linger on it, half-lidded, the kind of way that suggests he's figuring something out about himself that he hadn't considered before. Not the first time it's happened for Ghost.

The problem with fine is that Ghost can't work up even much of a chub talking to him. The guy has a nasally voice and a friendly attitude that makes Ghost's teeth go numb from the sweetness. When they sequester in the dingy pub bathroom, the guy goes to his knees like an angel, and Ghost's cock actually softens more, thoroughly bored already with the notion of this random guy’s mouth on it.

The problem is, Soap would bust Ghost's balls for this.

Sure, Ghost could get him on his knees. Soap is a good boy, he'll take an order if he's given one. But he's also a fucking brat, and the moment Ghost pulled his cock out Soap would immediately start complaining about it.

Too big, too ugly, not hard enough, and when was the last time Ghost washed that fucking thing? How romantic, LT, making him suck Ghost off in a pub bathroom, hasn't he ever heard of good old-fashioned wooing?

He'd complain, Ghost knows, because he'd want, more than anything, for Ghost to just cut through the bullshit and shove straight down his throat. He'd run his mouth because the only thing he wants Ghost to do is shut him the fuck up, for once, and make him actually work for the praise they both know he's so desperate for.

And Ghost would give it. If Soap earned it. The fight isn't about winning.

This guy isn't putting up a fight. He tries nicely, licks all over the limp-hanging head and pale glans, but Ghost ends up making some excuse—Dad has cancer, Mom died, the usual—and leaving him there still on his knees.

He deletes the apps. He can invest in a fleshlight, and find some porn star another with enough of a resemblance to be functional.

Less of a hassle for everyone involved.

Problem solved.

And then he encounters you again.

You're walking out of the supermarket one night, with two huge bags over your shoulders, digging through your purse out in front of you. He has to stop you with one hand on your shoulder to keep you from running into him.

The evening is warm; your shirt is a thin camisole with little elastic straps. His palm meets your bare skin, and finds it soft and dewy with a little sweat.

You look up, startled, blinking as if caught in a bright light.

"Oh," you say, "Ghost, hello!"

"Bird," he grunts, wondering why he's surprised that you recognize him.

He pulls his hand away, and still feels the imprint of your body heat in its grooves.

"Sorry, I should have been looking," you say, smiling. It's a friendly expression, open and innocent—a daisy's petals spread on a clear day. "Johnny's making beef wellington tonight when he's off duty, so I went and got everything."

Ghost frowns. What kind of boyfriend lets his girl do so much heavy lifting?

He helps you carry the bags to your car. He's jealous, not an asshole. You thank him with a breezy laugh when he closes the hatchback—

"I'm sure Johnny wouldn't mind if you stopped by for dinner," you say, folding your arms across your ribcage. It presses your tits together as you cup your elbows in your hands, pronouncing the line of your cleavage with an uncomfortable eloquence.

"Busy," Ghost says immediately, staring very hard into your eyes. "Thanks."

You shrug, unperturbed. "Anytime. Good night!"

He stands in the carpark for a full five minutes after you drive away. He thinks he can feel his own heartbeat throbbing through the palm he touched you with.

Well, then.

Bereft of any opportunity to get to know you—as if it would even be appropriate—Ghost stalks social media until he finds you through Soap's Instagram. Your account is private, so he sends a follow request, expectations very low that you'd allow someone with a blank sky for a profile picture and only one post on their feed to follow you, "sghostriley" notwithstanding.

But—you do. And suddenly he has a decade of material to peruse, beginning with your last year of secondary school and leading all the way up to present, the most recent photo one of you and Soap at the top of some mountain, grinning at the camera in your hiking gear.

You don't post very many pictures of yourself, he finds. Instead you document interesting food you eat or make, crafts you're working on, nice scenery you caption with variations of "saw this on my walk today :)". It's all very domestic, sweet in a way without being saccharine.

Soft, really. Totally separated from the hard edges of the world he and Soap routinely throw themselves along.

And yet, honest in a way that makes your version of the world feel more like the real one, and his and Soap’s the nightmare.

Ghost hasn't been with a girl—let alone been interested in one—in years. It isn't that the attraction had ever died, exactly. Rather, it simply became so complex, so twisted in on itself and trapped beneath years of grown-over scar tissue, that he'd made an unconscious decision never to confront it. He ignored Price’s stories about his wife’s antics at home, Gaz’s perennial heartbreak after strings of failed dates—

Soap’s lurid bragging about the women he’s taken home from various pubs.

(Were you one of those pub girls?)

So, here it is now, confronting him instead. Reminding him, in a pretty camisole, just how very much it exists.

In the carpark, there’d been a bead of sweat slipping down your neck as you’d waved him goodbye. He finds himself wondering how long it would’ve taken to slide all the way down to the slope of your breast, if he didn’t catch it with his tongue first.

He continues through your Instagram. The majority of your selfies show up, he guesses, after the beginning of your relationship with Soap.

Earlier pictures of you make your discomfort obvious. You don't like the way you look, and it shows in the tension on your face when confronted with a camera lens. But later on, you gain confidence. Your expressions are softer as you show off a new haircut or glasses.

And when the first picture of you with Soap shows up, it's like seeing someone glowing from the inside.

Your head is tucked into the juncture of his shoulder and neck. The smile on your face is soft, small and lovely in how little you're clearly thinking about it.

You're happy.

It floors him. A happy girl, settled into the embrace of a man who’s made her feel that way.

Piece of work, he is. Could ogle another man's ass without shame, but present him with that man’s girl and suddenly it upends his entire sense of self.

Some old cunt psychiatrist would have a field day analyzing him.

Ghost skips the apps and, following in Soap’s footsteps, heads back to the pubs.

It’s worse.

Not that he doesn’t have options sidling up to him, that is. It seems like all he has to do is sit at the bar and wait, and women circle their way into his orbit, not really talking to him but letting him know, simply by hovering, that they’d love for him to talk to them. Batting their lashes, laughing near him seemingly at nothing.

Up to him to make the first move then. It seems to him like the rules haven't changed over his long absence from the dating pool.

Therein lay the snag—Ghost doesn't know how to talk to women. Not that way, the way one says without saying it that he'd like to take her home and bend her over the back of his couch. Say that to a man at the right bar and that was his evening sorted, but Ghost has a feeling that won't play as well among people with cat-shaped brass knuckles on their keychains.

He's not much of a talker, period. Soap yaps enough to fill in his side of the conversation whenever they're in the field. And you...well, he doesn't know about you. Ghost has the uncomfortable feeling that he'd try for you, and fail miserably.

The bartender slides a drink in front of him, distracting him from his agonizing. When Ghost gives him a questioning look, he nods in the direction of a table behind him.

One of the barflies has made the first move.

She winks at him when he raises the glass at her. She’s pretty—her dark makeup makes her eyes look angular and mysterious, and her red dress is tight, thin, and low-cut. Her exposed chest shimmers, as if she dusted some sort of powder across her collarbones before making her way here.

Sparkly and colorful, like a lure on a line. Ready to hook something and pull it in.

(Your camisole had been threadbare and lined with cheap, fraying lace. A favorite of yours, probably, something you wore when you wanted to be comfortable, and didn’t care who thought what about it.)

Ghost notices other men are eyeing the woman, and a couple of them send nasty glares his way. That is, they do before promptly averting their gazes once they see what he looks like.

He can have this, then, if he wants it. He just has to reach out and take it.

He feels your warmth in the palm of his hand again. The breeze of your laugh brushes his cheek with a soft touch.

He sends the woman one of her own drink, drops forty quid on the bar, and leaves without looking back.

Another dinner invite comes his way, this time courtesy of Soap himself.

“She told me she met you at the store,” Soap says, one afternoon when they’re in the changing room. “Really nice of you to help her out, LT.”

“You weren’t there to do it,” Ghost grumbles. Soap has been prancing around shirtless for fifteen minutes, faffing about while Ghost waits for him to leave so he can adjust his erection.

“I didn’t tell her to get everything!” the sergeant protests. “She just went and did it herself.” Then Soap’s eyes go all dreamy and stupid. “She’s grand, isn’t she.”

Ghost grumbles again, something noncommittal.

“Anyway, dinner’s at seven, and I’ll send you the address,” says Soap, pulling a thin t-shirt over his head. Ghosts watches him yank the hem down over his pecs, covering the toned plane of his abs.

Soap winks at him. “See you there, Ghost.”

Ghost grunts.

Soap does, in fact, see him there.

He goes out of resignation. Or maybe with some notion that seeing Soap and you together again will finally vanquish whatever sits on his chest so heavily whenever he thinks of the two of you.

Soap’s the one to answer the door. “There he is, the braw wee bastard!”

“Soap.”

From the looks of it, it’s your flat. It’s nicely decorated without being too over-designed, something warm and comfortable and welcoming. When Ghost steps inside, he’s hit immediately with the smell of seared pancetta and garlic.

The sergeant leads him through the flat. Ghost has a bottle of wine under one arm, having remembered at the last minute he should probably bring something along. You’re in the kitchen, stirring a pot on the stove.

“Hi, Ghost!” you chirp when you look over your shoulder. “Ooh, good, that’s drinks settled. Hope you like bolognese. It’s all I know how to make.”

“S’fine,” Ghost says, which he would say even if bolognese made him violently ill.

“Ach, you can make more than that,” Soap says, retrieving three long-stemmed glasses from a cabinet. “Pour a nice glass of water.”

You snatch the dish towel hanging from the oven handle and give it a snap in the general direction of Soap’s ass. He laughs and dances out of the way.

“There’s a bottle opener in the island drawer, Ghost,” you say cheerfully. You're pretty tonight, in a loose t-shirt and soft-looking joggers. Casual, like you don't have a guest over at all.

Like it's just a night in with your boyfriend.

Ghost pops the cork as Soap sets the glasses down. After he pours, the sergeant delivers a glass to his girlfriend, and there’s a brief moment of quiet as everyone sips and the sauce on the stove bubbles.

It’s all so nice and normal as to make Ghost’s hackles raise just in anticipation, although he knows there’s no reason for it. Truthfully, he almost hadn’t come. The thought of you and Soap, and Soap and you, in the same room, together, a unit, had made his stomach clench up so tight that he though he might not be able to get any food down.

But some part of him needed to come, and see this. Test out Pavlov’s theory, to see if enough negative reinforcement could break him of this borderline manic fixation. If he could associate Soap and you with romantic nausea, and nothing more, maybe he could finally stop jerking off every night to no satisfaction.

Because he had, in fact, found a porn star who looked like Soap. More tattoos, and a buzz cut rather than a mohawk, but Ghost couldn’t be picky.

The real shock had been to find that this proxy often partnered with a girl who looked enough like you to be uncanny. Too skinny, definitely, but in the one video Ghost had watched of them together, he could have sworn, as the lookalike reamed her from behind—

That it was you looking at him over your shoulder.

Looking at Soap. Or, looking at Ghost, behind him.

At that moment in the playback Ghost had come so hard, cock blazing red and raw in his hand, that the notion had liquified a little. So he couldn’t be sure what the thought had originally meant.

He hadn’t been brave enough to watch another.

“This isn’t bad,” Soap says after tasting the wine. “Nothin’ on a good whisky, mind.”

“Don’t neg your lieutenant, Johnny,” you say. “This is good, Ghost, thank you.”

Hearing Johnny fall from your lips so casually threads something uncomfortable between Ghost’s intestines. Uncomfortable, because he likes it.

Had Soap told you to call him that? Or had you decided on it all on your own? Did Soap think of Ghost whenever you said his name? Did he think of you whenever Ghost did?

“Simon’s fine,” he replies.

It escapes him before he even thinks about it. The same way he’d taken his mask off in Las Almas and looked directly at Soap, wondering in some hidden part of himself if the sergeant was impressed.

“That’s a nice name,” you say, swirling the wine in your glass. You take another sip, closing your eyes to savor it, and then, tilting your head like a little bird in thought, you pour a stream of it from the glass into your pasta sauce.

“Suits him, aye?” Soap says, side-eyeing Ghost with amusement. “Right posh name he’s got for a big scary bugger. Hidden depths, him.”

“Yeah, unlike you,” you snark, stirring.

Soap slaps a big hand over his heart. “Ach, lass, you wound me always.”

“Someone has to keep you humble,” you say, grinning. There’s a charming twinkle in your eyes.

“You gonna let ‘er get away with that, sergeant?”

He surprises himself by saying it. But something in the way you and Soap bicker—absent of the usual sugary drivel, as if the two of you have skipped over the honeymoon phase and stuck the landing right into stable commitment—invites him in.

It's magnetic, almost. It seizes the spinning needle in his brain, draws it to a standstill. Evens out the landscape, so he knows where he can go.

“You’re absolutely right, LT,” says Soap, who smacks his lips, sets his wineglass aside, and bum-rushes you.

You shriek as he captures you in both arms, lifting you off the floor and whirling you around—both the spoon in one hand and the glass in the other fling drops of red and white absolutely everywhere. And then you’re giggling as Soap wedges his face between your neck and shoulder and shakes his head like a dog, probably biting down.

Soap growls; a big smile takes over your face, eyes squeezed shut as you laugh breathlessly. The sergeant’s broad, brown forearms have yours pinned up against your chest, pressing your breasts together.

“Not fair, Ghost!” you exclaim as Soap’s growling noises turn into obnoxiously loud kisses. “No pulling rank in my house!”

“Two against one, hen, you’re outnumbered,” Soap counters. “What should we do with this one, eh, LT?”

“See if I ever cook for you two again, is what!” you protest, still grinning with delight. You kick your legs to no effect.

Soap, also grinning, slots his face back into your neck. You giggle again, complaining that it tickles.

Some incomplete circuit finally connects.

Order given. Girlfriend “punished.”

Soap making you laugh because Ghost told him to.

Not one. Not the other. Both.

“Think we can let ‘er off the hook this time,” he says, feeling dazed.

The pictures on your Instagram, with you and Soap together. The both of you, smiling together, wrapped around each other, standing at the top of a mountain and grinning what the two of you get to share.

Soap's hand spread on your back.

“Aye, sir,” Soap says, setting you down. You’re still laughing a little as you go to check the sauce, and Soap finds a towel to clean up the mess he made. Ghost reels in the meanwhile.

There’s an imprint of Soap’s teeth on your neck.

They wouldn’t be there if Ghost hadn’t sicced Soap on you.

He’s still reeling as you begin plating dinner, and Soap sets out the silverware. When everyone sits down to eat, the sergeant tops up everyone’s drinks.

“I hope you like it,” you say to Ghost, setting his plate in front of him. There's a shyness to you, a verity to your concern for his opinion.

“Oh, he will,” Soap says.

He trails the tips of his fingers along the back of your arm as he directs that jewel-blue gaze at Ghost. It's sharper than Ghost has ever noticed before—

“The LT has good taste. Don’t you, Ghost?”

And with his other hand, he raises his glass to the knowing smirk on his lips.

a/n: I can't use arse, I know it would be more accurate but I just can't I'm sorry

[fox-guardian]

[ID: A digital comic of Celia Ripley and Samama Khalid from The Magnus Protocol. Celia is a taller, slim, Korean woman with pale skin, short black hair, rectangular glasses, gold piercings, and dimples. She is wearing a coat, vest, scarf, trousers, and nice shoes, all in green and dark purple with gold accents. Sam is a shorter, fat, South Asian man with brown skin, short curly black hair, a mustache and small goatee, and black earrings. He is wearing a coat, turtleneck, cardigan, trousers, and nice shoes, all in brown, dark red, and green.

They are standing in a hallway in front of a closed door. Celia is spinning a set of keys, and they are smiling at each other.

Celia: Well, this is me. I had a really good time, Sam. Sam: Yeah, me too! Celia: We should do this again. Sam: Y-Yeah! I'd like that a lot, Celia.

She goes to unlock her door, peeking back to smile at Sam, who is standing awkwardly, looking away. She opens her door with a creak and gives him a shrug.

Celia: Thanks again for walking me home, Sam. I really appreciate it.

She pauses, looking at him with half-lidded eyes. Sam smiles, gesturing about sheepishly. The text as he speaks takes up the next three panels, partly obscured by the two of them and fading towards the bottom.

Sam: OH! Well, you know it was no big deal I just figured you know. It's polite and it gives us more time to talk and it's not always safe out there at night. Not that you can't handle yourself I just you know and I figured company would be nice on the walk back and we were already having so much fun so-

As he talks, Celia calmly steps closer, smiling, lifting her hands up near his face. He notices her hands, looks up at her, and then looks slightly downward towards her lips as she leans closer, his eyes going sparkly. A shadow falls over him as she blocks out the light.

Sam: It's really no.... problem....

She smiles, looking at him with intent and then looks down at his lips. A pink haze appears behind them in the background. She finally tilts her head and kisses him, knocking her glasses askew. The background is all pink with hearts surrounding them. There are two closeups, one of their lips touching and one after they've pulled slightly back, lips glistening and pink sparkles surrounding their faces.

She stands back up, smiling down at him, pink haze fading behind her, before startling slightly. She is still holding his face, slightly squishing his cheeks. His eyes are still shut and he is blushing severely, hair slightly mussed. He opens his eyes, expression vague, with tiny hearts in his eyes and sparkles around him, pink haze remaining behind him, before he suddenly tips back, surrounded by hearts, and giggles "hee-hee". The tail of the speech bubble forms a heart. Celia panics, leaning forward to grab him.

He snaps back, haze gone, with a "POP!" as she pulls him up, and they are chest-to-chest for a moment before Sam pulls back, blushing, looking awkward. He clears his throat before abruptly turning around and walking off.

Sam: OKAY BYE CELIA. (smaller bubble, an aside) Sleep well.

She watches him leave, amused and confused, and chuckles "heh-heh", a couple hearts around her. She waves, heading into her flat as he leaves, embarrassed.

Celia: See you at work Monday, Sam! Sam, in a thought bubble: FUUUUCK

end ID]

~~~~

I FINISHED THE THING YAY please enjoy ripsam being. silly geese <3 after a nice date <3

[whatifyoulivelikethat]

(seven) days a week, m | jjk

pairing(s): jungkook x reader

summary: It only takes seven days (a week) for Jeon Jungkook to get you in his bed to fuck you right. And showing up in weird places. And kissing in the rain. He's crazy. Okay, it's kinda complicated.

warnings: rated M (18+) for language (reader swears a lot); strangers-to-lovers; vague allusions to a loveless childhood and bad parenting (no specifics); JK might be insane and you do tell him that he is; slight crack; fluff; smut (fem reader, fucking with clothes on and off, m and f-receiving oral, light hair pulling, fingering, nipple play, choking, penetrative sex, handjob); non-idol!BTS – persistent!Jungkook x noona, def tsundere!reader lol ft instigator-cupid!Park Jimin setting them up

this directly follows Jung Kook's 'Seven' MV, so make sure to watch it (although I'm sure you've seen it if you wanna read this lmao)

--

monday.

“What? Something on my face?”

You stared at him and he stared back. Wide eyes, slightly parted lips, the look of caught prey and all. You had your hands in front of you, long fingers laced together, elbows on the table. You probably shouldn’t have scowled like that. That was a bit rude, especially to someone you didn’t know well, but this guy had been staring at you all night and barely speaking to you, even when prompted, so you were getting both impatient and annoyed at accepting this invitation.

“You wear… a lot of jewelry,” Jeon Jungkook said out loud, with awe.

You looked down at your hands. Well. The rings, the bracelets, even the earrings on both your ears, all sterling silver or white gold. You had even swapped out the lower lobe piercing for a pair of dangling dice earrings with grey freshwater pearls. You liked the cooler tone to bring some death to your warm-toned skin.

“Yeah. Is that a problem?” Your low voice had an edge of guarded to it.

A quick, nervous head shake. “No. No, it’s cool. I’ve never seen a girl wear so many chunky rings like that. I didn’t think I’d like it either, but then I saw you.”

You opened your mouth to snap out a comeback and then his words hit you.

There was no doubt that Jeon Jungkook was cute. Black-brown hair with a lustrous quality. Bright, expressive dark brown eyes. Slightly rounded cheeks with a distinct jawline. He said he had, and you could see, tattoos and piercings, something you quite liked but not a requirement. Built body, in the way that people where when they were committed to taking care of their physical appearance. Not so much in vanity, but in the way that matched how they felt that they should look in their head. Respect for that. But, in this chance that was what you had expected to be his, Jungkook didn’t taken it.

He looked the part.

Didn’t act it, though.

Black blazer, matching trousers. White t-shirt. Dressy but not too much. To be honest, the outer appearance didn’t matter much to you. It actually mattered the least. You wanted to give him the benefit of the doubt. Really. You were often told that you had too little patience for people, but, come on!

This conversation was awkward.

Hah.

You turned as you sensed a lively presence re-entering your icy atmosphere. Hmph. The actor playing Cupid in the instance. He looked the part too. Baby blue dress shirt with the top buttons undone. Ivory slacks, neatly pressed. Black hair perfectly curled over his forehead, framing an angelic face. Full lips forming an infectious smile that made his eyes disappear as small hands folded away the receipt and tucked his card back into his wallet.

“Ah, the waitress and I had a cute little chat,” flirty Park Jimin chuckled, giving you a little eyebrow wiggle. You rolled your eyes at him. “Did you guys have a nice talk while I was gone?”

“Um…?” Jungkook started, nearly afraid to glance at you for some support.

You gave Jimin a deadpan stare. “You trying to get her number?”

“Me? No, no!” he waved his hands, sitting back down to lean in. “She gave it to me anyway though.”

Figures Park Jimin would introduce you to a guy and also get the number of someone else in the restaurant. You deliberately hadn’t answered Jimin’s question, but he hadn’t noticed.

Jungkook, however, did.

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed him deflate a little and you winced in unease, not sure if you should have avoided it, but at this point the waitress had returned, lashes aflutter and gushing about how they just had to try to fried ice cream and it was on the house, as long as Jimin promised to come back, right? Right?

Jimin promised of course, of course, with a big smile.

You completely ignored him and picked up one of the pieces of fried ice cream – mango, it seemed, by the color – and placed it on one of the small plates before setting it right in front of Jungkook.

He perked up and gave you these big, hopeful eyes.

You didn’t say anything but felt your cheeks flush and your gaze shift, putting on an expression of reluctant apology. After a half second, you bowed your head just a bit, shaking off the moment and serving yourself before serving Jimin.

What?

Damn flirt didn’t even notice.

-

tuesday.

“You didn’t like him?”

“I mean, there’s nothing to like or dislike. He barely said anything. Also, Jimin, I told you, I’m not really a relationship person,” you sighed into your phone, walking quickly to the train station. “I don’t want to give this guy the wrong idea about me. He didn’t really strike me as a fuck-around-and-find-out kinda guy.”

“You said you would change your mind for the right person though.”

Sometimes you thought Jimin argued with you just to argue.

“Yeah, and I don’t even know what kind of person he is because he didn’t say shit,” you barked back to that snippy tone on the other side of the line. Some idiot honked at you and you resisted the urge to flip him the bird. Maybe he wasn’t honking at you. The hanging out the window and catcalling could be to the couple walking next to you.

You highly doubted it.

Also, maybe you just wanted to give someone the middle finger because you couldn’t show Jimin right now how much you deeply appreciated him.

“Jungkookie’s just super shy, but wait a minute and he’ll make you his.”

You rolled your eyes. Damn bad habit that you were forming ever since you became friendly with this mildly infuriating angel. “He’s not making me do anything.”

“I’m telling you; he suits you perfectly. You’re being stubborn and not giving him a chance. Anyway, I gave him your number, so don’t worry!”

“Wait, you did wha–”

The roar of the subway train below cut you off.

“Oop, you’re at the station. You’re breaking up! Can’t hear you, byeeeeeee!”

You twitched as Park Jimin hung up on you.

Asshole.

You pulled your phone away from your ear and pulled up the app to pay for your ticket. Paused for a second. New message, unknown number. Then it was your turn, so you hovered your phone screen, heard the beep, and hurried to the correct train line, finding the one to take you home. It was hectic even now, still within the dregs of rush hour, so you didn’t even think to check for the content of the text until you sat down with a big sigh, somewhat of a fwump with your distressed bomber jacket and baggy cargo pants, both made of thick black fabric. The side of your jacket slid off, exposing your bare shoulder and tight white tank top.

The guy standing about a meter away from you snuck a glance in your direction.

You tucked your tongue in your cheek and yanked your jacket back in place with the hand that was holding your phone. Noticed the screen flash, reminding you of the notification.

Fuck it.

Pressed your thumb and your phone unlocked.

Hey, it’s me. Jeon Jungkook… I wanted to say that I’m sorry about not talking that much last night. I was really nervous because you were so pretty and self-assured. I was so impressed that nothing I could think of seemed like a good thing to say, so I blanked out. I’m very sorry. I hope it is okay for me to text you like this.

An essay.

You paused for so long that you felt your cheeks heat.

The fuck?

You frowned at yourself. For some reason, even though he hadn’t talked much, you could hear the text in your head as if Jungkook was speaking to you directly. Sense the anxiousness in the typed words. See those big eyes gazing right at you with a mixture of curiosity and wonder and what-ifs. You sighed, feeling defeated. It would simply be rude to not reply.

I apologize for being too intimidating.

You sent it before thinking. Aw, shit. That was a bit short, wasn’t it? Damnnit. You saw the sending quadlet of dots spinning slowly, struggling due to you being underground. Fuck. If you sent another message now, it might be out of order and that would just get confusing. And what else could you add? Oh, geez, you didn’t even confirm it was you. The conversation with Park Jimin must have scrambled your egg brains.

The train roared out of the tunnel.

All of a sudden, the message sent and a reply instantly popped up. Actually, a serious of bubbles, rapid-fire like bullets. The confirmation must have lagged.

You’re not intimidating at all! Well… not in a bad way. In a sexy way. I mean, in a good way! In a cool way, like you’re not afraid to say what you wanna say. I really admire that in a person, so I really admire that in you. Sorry, that was weird, wasn’t it? I made things weird… ㅠ.ㅠ

You blinked slowly at the messages. It was pretty clear Jungkook had sat there and pondered over the first message for quite a while and these subsequent ones were stream of consciousness spewing. Honestly, kind of funny. Heh. You could sort of imagine it. Maybe he hadn’t expected you to respond right away. Hm, you wondered if he had hoped you would. He really was trying hard, huh. For what? What was the reason?

You tucked your tongue in your cheek and responded anyway.

Oh, you’re definitely weird, but you never know. I might like that. What’s the outfit of the day, Jeon Jungkook?

Were you fishing for a photo? Of course. He would probably scramble to put on a good outfit to impress you. To your surprise, the downloading image icon popped up instantaneously, spinning, spinning. You tilted your head, surprised at the prompt obedience. He must have snapped a pic right away when you asked. It was taking time to load though. You saw some people getting off the train and looked up, checking the stop. Oh, yours was next.

You took care not to look directly at anyone around you, keeping your sling bag in your lap.

Then you looked down to the inquisitive dark brown eyes of Jeon Jungkook with messy black hair and a black leather jacket. White t-shirt. It was a selfie, so you couldn’t see the pants. It was something borderline vain about the angle, but also a seek of approval in that parted mouth, silver ring and stud dotting the edge of the right side, flash of white teeth and slight bite of the left side revealing a small mole at the center underneath his lower lip.

You twitched.

Bold, wasn’t he?

You weren’t sure if you liked it – well, you didn’t mind it, you just weren’t sure if you like-liked it, what was he trying to play at here, trying to get your heart to beat fast or something, hmph – and you clutched your phone pointedly, your rings clacking as you prepped your fingers to type back… something, be honest here… and your fingers wavered.

Shaking a little.

You let out a breath you hadn’t known you had been holding.

Oh, the pants are blue jeans, but I’m out right now so there’s no mirror to show you.

You heard your stop being called and stood up automatically, filing behind other people getting ready to step off, the train slowing down, everything slowing down, finding yourself staring at Jungkook’s expression in the photo, why were you staring, shifting your eyes quickly, then back, it wasn’t like Jeon Jungkook could see you, ugh, this was so annoying.

Do you want to see? I can take another photo when I get home.

You let out a frustrated exhale that no one else around you could understand. Maybe not even those closest to you would get it. But you knew what it meant, and knowing also frustrated you.

Being self-aware was a bitch.

You finally sent your answer.

I much prefer this look on you than the blazer. Is this your normal fashion style?

You had worn a flowing white blouse and floaty black skirt the night before at dinner, but it was not your typical style. Well, it was, but it was one of your work outfits since you had come straight from the office. Something you wore to not get in trouble with the dress code and knowing you would have to meet up with people later. Sometimes you were a little riskier if you were feeling frisky, but Jimin had told you to look nice for the friend he was introducing you to.

But maybe it would have been better to look more you.

Then again, the restaurant was pretty high end. They might not have let you in.

Oh. Yeah. Hahaha, I wore the blazer because Jimin-ssi told me to look nice for you. I guess this is street-style? I don’t know… I’m not fashionable, I only wear what I think is cool or comfy. What about you?

You strode out of the train and briskly walked to the elevator, muscle memory already knowing where to go, typing back. Pausing when you saw the vending machine. A green tea would be nice right now.

You veered off course and headed to stand in line.

I think my friends would describe my style as dark and strong. They’re always telling me I should dress more feminine or at least in less black, but one of my core traits is not listening to shit people say. And swearing.

You tapped your card and made your selection. Waited out the whirr and clunk. Didn’t pay much attention to the world around you. It was a typical day, people passing by, no warning feelings. And, besides, your phone was much more interesting right now.

You did not just think that.

You scowled at your reflection in the glass of the vending machine before picking up your drink.

I hope I get to see you sometime soon so I can appreciate it. :)

You raised an eyebrow at your phone as you ticked open the can and started walking again, taking a crisp sip. It was slightly irritating that he was better at flirting over text than in person. Or maybe it had just been the circumstance. Come to think of it, it would have been weird if he did with Jimin right there, although you were sure Jimin wanted to be there to witness whatever unfolded. The awkwardness was probably just as entertaining to him as it would be if Jungkook had been more forward.

Hmph.

What was more irritating was that you weren’t instantly annoyed by it.

Hmmmmph.

Are you saying you aren’t intimidated by me, Jeon Jungkook?

You hurried home, following the streetlights, breathless, not because you were running, but because you wanted to be home so you could be alone with…

I’m saying I like feeling your effect on me in person.

Him.

-

wednesday.

The next time you saw Jeon Jungkook, you were groaning and setting your forehead on the edge of washing machine, screaming internally. Would have banged it against the metal if you weren’t going to lose a substantial number of brain cells. You were going to pay cash because you wouldn’t get that card surcharge if you did but, of course, of course you had accidentally shorted yourself and pocketed the wrong amount.

Fuck!

Now you were already at the laundromat. Walk back home and lug your shit to and back to get the right amount? Or just forget it and pay the extra charge? You had already put the detergent in. Fuckity fuck fuck. Technically you could go home, it wasn’t that far, but, ugh, it was extra annoying today because you had slept late and now you were grumpily doing your life responsibilities. Come back a different day? No, you had specifically told yourself to get off your ass and get that pile washed. Damnnit, if you hadn’t slept late and scrambled your egg brains, this wouldn’t have happened!

But you had been talking to Jeon Jungkook.

Ending the conversation had been more difficult than you expected. You gritted your teeth, feeling stupid for pulling such a teenage move. Still young, huh? Young and stupid.

Grr.

You heard the metal slide of the money drawer being closed and then an approval ping!

You jumped back, freaked out at the thing you hadn’t done, and then snapped your head to the sudden presence next to you. Dark blue jeans with giant holes at the knees. Gray hoodie sliding off a built right shoulder. White ribbed tank top. Messy black hair. A piercing, no, two on the right side of open lips.

Big, round, dark brown eyes.

You noticed he was wearing a few silver rings himself.

“Um… hi? I noticed you were short a little so I just…” Jeon Jungkook trailed off, giving you a hopeful look.

You gawked at him.

“What are you doing here?”

Ouch. A little too snappy. Jungkook faltered, those peepers shifting. “Ah… well…”

You bit your tongue and reeled it back. “Sorry. I didn’t expect to see you, is all. Obviously, you came here to wash your clothes like everyone else.”

He reached up and scratched the back of his head nervously. Wait. Why was he looking at you like that?

“W-Well, actually… Jimin-ssi told me you normally come here on Wednesdays to do laundry and I was nearby so I figured., maybe, I’d just check if you were here…”

You stared at him.

“You’re stalking me?”

“N-No!” Jungkook sputtered, waving his hands frantically even though you hadn’t raised your voice.

There was a bristle to your tone though. Indignation and frigidity you couldn’t hide. You frowned, narrowing your eyes, cornering him with your gaze. There were only a few people on this slow day, which was why you picked Wednesday to do laundry, but all the patrons had AirPods or other earbuds in, busying themselves with their shoving of clothing in and out of the washers and dryers. No one was going to interrupt anyway.

Not their business.

“I… I…”

“And how did you recognize me anyway? My head was down,” you remembered, advancing on him, and Jungkook took a step back, swallowing hard. Your outfit was baggy too, dark denim jacket and jeans, the tight black tank hidden by the bulk.

“I couldn’t forget how beautiful your hair is,” he mumbled out quickly, looking a little too mesmerized by your fierceness. Forget that. “And your hands were on the edge of the washer. Your rings. The star chain bracelet you wear. I…”

He was fixated on your collarbones and the thin black choker around your neck.

Or lower.

“Oi! My face is up here,” you hissed, snaping your fingers and making him jerk his head. He had stopped backing up though. You pointed at him, somewhat rudely. Actually, very rudely, but whatever. “What do you mean, check if I was here? And who told you? That idiot. I’ll kill him.”

And why was Jungkook looking at you like that?

Like he thought you were hot when angry.

He better stop that shit because you were losing your irate demeanor for some fuckin’ reason.

“I texted you almost all night. That wasn’t enough?” you half-growled, half whispered.

A tiny head shake.

Ah, shit.

You deliberately did not think that was cute.

“I liked it so much that I…” Oh no, oh no, not that honest tremble and deep gaze into your eyes. “I was hoping I could talk to you again, in person, more bravely this time.”

You opened your mouth to sink in that verbal bite and nothing came out.

The entire laundromat could flood right now and you wouldn’t even notice because you were staring at Jeon Jungkook and wondering if this audacity was freaking annoying or freaking impressive. Not this damn guy within two days leaving you speechless. Well… actually, no, never mind the technicalities.

“Are you even thinking before you do things?” you grumbled, not yet backing down.

Jungkook stuck his hands in his hoodie pockets suddenly. Hm? Nervous and shaking? You couldn’t tell, but you watched him closely, observing his body language, your eyes following those lines.

“Mmmm…” He bit the left side of his lower lip. “No?”

You strongly resisted the urge to roll your eyes.

Shy smile greeting you, accompanying the lip bite.

“I’m just listening to my heart.”

Now you visibly cringed. “Don’t say stuff like that.” Looking away slightly, somehow unable to meet those honest eyes.

“Why? You don’t like it?” Genuinely curious.

“You don’t mean it.” He did mean it and you could see that he meant it but you did not want to admit that you knew that he meant it. Yeah. “You barely know me. We only talked over text.”

“But you gave me thoughtful, frank answers. I don’t believe that you were being dishonest,” Jungkook protested, following you over to the tables a few steps away from the washing machines. You dragged your laundry bag with you and kept your voice down.

“I told you, I’m a straightforward an honest person. I won’t lie to you. And I won’t hesitate to cut you off if you lie to me,” you reminded him.

He nodded. You wanted to shake him and yell at him to stop giving you those eyes. “So I just decided to do what I wanted to.”

You cocked your head at him in disbelief. “You didn’t think you went too far?”

What was with that mischievous smile? “I’m the all-in type.”

You let out a puff of air.

“Also, you haven’t told me directly that you don’t like it,” Jungkook pointed out, leaning toward you, smiling.

You gave him a deadpan stare. “You don’t get me,” you said back flatly.

Those dark brown orbs sparkled. “That’s okay. I don’t have to get you to think you’re cool, clever, and stunning.”

Your eyebrow twitched.

“And why do you say that? Because you see how people look at me? Because you enjoyed my useless facts and tangents last night? Because you think with your dick?” You added the last question with bite, leaning forward too, having enough of this, not really him but…

The fact that you didn’t want to tell him to fuck right off.

Silence.

Jungkook was staring into your eyes.

“The shape of your eyes is so… perfect.”

You felt your ears heat.

He raised a finger and traced the air right in front of your left eye, the scent of his clean cologne drifting in your direction. “The way they sharpen in the inner corner, like a bird of prey… And your irises are so dark and striking…”

You grabbed his finger out of the air.

“Don’t be… weird.”

Why did you pause? Hello? No way you’re being like this over this guy right now.

You pointedly pulled his hand down, pinning it to the table. “Pay attention.”

Jungkook was giving you this dreamy, hazy expression. “Huh? What were you saying?”

You narrowed your eyes. “You can’t even listen.”

He leaned in closer and you caught a whiff of that delicious cologne again. “Sorry. I will. Say it again, please. I’ll listen carefully.”

The fuck were you saying again? The lights of the old laundromat flickered but you barely noticed. A common occurrence in these ol’ mom-and-pop places. And, besides, you were staring at this determined, patient smile and mentally shoving down those butterflies that you definitely weren’t feeling, nope, violently compacting those distracting internalizations into a tiny, windowless box.

“You don’t seem very good at listening,” you finally said, tight and even.

“I am,” he insisted softly. “I promise.”

“I’m too much for you.”

Or was Jungkook too much for you?

“I’m offering all of me,” he whispered to the shared air between you and him. “It might not be enough so I’ll be to work hard and do my best.”

What was he so earnest for? You hesitated, the edges to your hard demeanor softening. You didn’t want to trust stuff like this. It was so easy to get burned and you wanted to be the one to do the burning. And how could you trust people? Even you didn’t say everything out loud. Some things you could say and some you couldn’t say. It was too much trouble to believe in someone.

You had never received unburdened kindness when you were younger.

“We’re not on the same page.”

Jungkook tilted his head. “Aren’t we? But you’re reading me easily and I’m doing my best to learn about you too.”

Your shoulders released the tension. “Don’t pretend with me. It’s clear you’re a relationship kind of guy. And, while I’m not against them, I can’t deliver the same kind of devotion you are willing to give. Can’t you see that?” You removed your hand from his, not realizing it was still there.

His fingertip traced a line on the back of your hand.

Sparks raced along the base of your head.

You remained stern, feeling heavy and hot in your clothes.

“Why do you say that? You don’t think you’re loyal?” he asked very sincerely.

Your eyes narrowed. “Of course, I am. If I like you in that way and you asked me to bury a body, I’d already be digging the grave. But I’m not a flowers-and-chocolate kind of girl. That’s not how I show affection.”

You had no idea how far your clothes were in the cycle. The whole world could crash down and you would still be staring at Jungkook and his body language. His shoulders slouched a little more so he could look up at you with those pleading eyes.

Inhale still in your throat.

“Then, do you not like me?”

Say something.

But you didn’t say anything at all, gazing down at Jeon Jungkook and wondering why you couldn’t get through his thick skull that you were a bad decision. Honestly? Honestly, fine, it was because you grew up with parents that never liked each other nor their kids. Honestly, it was because you grew up too fast and with too much independence to not see the filthiness of the world. Honestly, it was because you saw the finicky innate nature of humanity of never devoting themselves to anything, much less anyone, and why would they?

People were crazy.

Call it personal experience.

You sighed.

“Jungkook, I’m not gonna lie to you. I fuck before I care about anybody. I’m only living to get my pleasure and not take care of anyone, okay? I’m barely keeping my own head together. I’m blunt. I don’t need or want romantic gestures. I just want dick. There. I’m not a good person.”

He was smiling.

Aw, shit.

“I must be favored to know you.”

You twitched, tucking your tongue in your cheek to avoid scowling, which was pretty much scowling anyway, so you failed spectacularly.

“Also, you haven’t said you don’t like me,” Jungkook pointed out. Infuriatingly. “Because it’s not true and you don’t lie. Right?” He said your name with a little too much sweetness and knowing.

You yanked your hand out of his and shoved his hard, muscular chest. He bounced back, grinning a little too happily. You told yourself to hate it and you didn’t. Fuck. “What are you even still doing here? Gonna fold my clothes for me or something?”

The energy at being offered a household chore was disturbing. “Oh! I can! I’m very good at doing laundry. And washing dishes. And cleaning. I like doing that stuff.”

“Sure, you do,” you puffed sarcastically,

“I do,” Jungkook insisted, coming around the table. “And I’m good at it.”

You scrutinized him up a down. “Yeah? Because you don’t know where else to put all that energy of yours?”

His lips parted but all he did was gawk at you. Oop. Right on the money. You were liking this expression a little too much. Maybe it was time to lower these walls a bit. After all, it didn’t seem like Jungkook was going to go away any time soon. He was pretty harmless anyway.

“I could drain you in a night,” you chuckled, smirking.

The tips of his ears were getting red at your lowered tone.

“You think you could keep up?”

-

thursday.

Ugh, it was one of those days that fuckin’ suuuucked.

Woke up late and had to rush to get dressed and bounce, then got to work and some shit was going down about missing documents and people moving papers they shouldn’t have, forcing you to play manager because everyone else had no goddamn spine to fix anything. This department would be a disaster without you. To top it all off, you had people stalling, keeping an irrelevant conversation going, leading you on a wild goose chase with no funny honking – turns out the documents were in some random copier right behind you, for fuck’s sake – and you had a very strong inkling it was because of what you looked like.

Which was fine.

Unless you were actually trying to do your job.

Then, one of your side dishes you had brought for lunch had gone off, so you ended up slightly less full than you wanted to be, and you forgot your jacket at work, leaving it hanging on the back of your chair in your rush to leave, and the train halted several stations before your stop because there was some emergency maintenance or some shit.

Fuckity fuck.

It wouldn’t be so annoying it if wasn’t so windy, but it was and you were wearing a sheer sweater with splashes of jewel-toned colors and a longline black sports bra under it – you had worn your jacket half-zipped until your boss had left in the middle of the day and your co-workers didn’t care how you looked, the dress code was stupid anyway – and black jeans, mid-rise. The rules were more about being covered up rather than being professionally dressed.

The job was primarily sitting at a desk and sorting documents, did it matter how you looked?

Or maybe you just broke the rules a little because you were a rebel.

Your stomach growled angrily and you told it to shut the fuck up.

You stood on the corner halfway between work and home, debating on whether or not to do some damage. The problem was you didn’t have any of the usual bad habits most people had. You didn’t drink, so getting stupid drunk and getting thrown out of the noraebang was out of the question. Also, you couldn’t sing. But, anyway, you barely took medicine, let alone know where or how to procure the illegal fun stuff, so that was also out. You didn’t have a sweet tooth either so you couldn’t down a whole cake with gusto, although that sounded like a great way to go.

You sulked.

You had an addiction, but you just stared at the names in your phone and felt guilty. Guilty! For what? For some guy you met literally less than four days ago? Ugh, no, this couldn’t be you right now. Seriously? Seriously? You crossed and stalked up the block, not yet deciding what to do so you kept walking until you figured it out during this internal battle. You had to keep this guy at a distance. Okay, yes, you could admit you liked him.

And that was the problem.

If you didn’t really like him, you could just fuck him and establish those hard boundaries. No issue. You had been in love before but that was a long time ago and ultimately you ended it because it wasn’t right and you weren’t good enough to be devoted to.

You breathed out hard, the unease spilling out of your insides.

It was definitely easier to not expect anything from anyone. You had spent a lot of life not having and, ultimately, not needing to rely on others, both out of necessity and simply having too much to work on by yourself. Years of fighting off bitterness that you had always tasted, years of letting go of important moments realizing that supposedly important people in your life would never be there for them, years of lashing out and becoming the shadow of the abuse you endured. Eye for an eye and all that. Keep the cycle going, until you had that moment in the eye of the storm to get hit by lightning and realize that this wasn’t right.

It wasn’t any particular thing.

Just finally accepting the creeping self-awareness that you had been miserable and were making other people miserable on purpose because you tore them open and took their hearts to find yours.

Metaphorically, duh.

So now you sort of did this martyr shit of being there for people when you could and not asking for anything back. Especially not a relationship. Intimate to heal a heart and then give it away, which totally worked if they weren’t into you, just into what you could do.

You didn’t really feel it yourself but you did get sex out of it.

Bad addiction, yeah.

Your phone vibrated in your pocket.

You ignored it.

Stepped into a chicken place and stood in line, feeling the weight of your world on your shoulders. You brain tried to reason with you that it was Jeon Jungkook’s own fault if he got hurt. He was the one who chose to spend all that time sitting at the laundromat with you talking about random shit. Your favorite video game – Persona 5, excelling in your top three most important things about a video game: music score, gameplay, and art style. Your favorite American rapper – Ludacris and the way he could rhyme the weirdest words. Your favorite movie genre – surrealist psychedelic drug movies, which earned you a confused head tilt. You had asked Jungkook what he liked. Mood lamps. Singing. Watching cooking videos on YouTube.

Had asked him if he believed in soulmates.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket as you ordered at the kiosk and paid.

You don’t think I could have met you in another life?

You stood with the other waiting patrons, ignoring everybody and your phone thrumming against your hip, thinking about last night.

I probably broke your heart.

Thinking about that smile with two piercings and a lip mole. That smile didn’t trust your answer at all.

Maybe the universe is giving me another chance to make up for my past mistakes. I can’t give up.

You made a face at past Jungkook’s answer, too taken aback all those hours ago to scowl properly. Maybe you had been too tired. Too worn down by his earnest nonsense to fight it properly at that moment. Your hand hovered over you hip, wondering if you should check it. Then dropped.

What, did you need to see him every day or something?

Your name was called and you stepped up to receive your order.

Oh, fuck, you miss him.

You yanked your phone out of your pocket and stared at it as you walked out of the restaurant, only to get plopped by a fat raindrop on the lit-up screen. You looked up to the gray sky and let out a hiss.

“Are you fucking kidding me?!”

You turned around and sat down, grumbling as rain poured down and you replied to Jungkook’s texts.

Stupid.

Not him. Just you.

-

friday.

“What are you trying so hard for?” you snapped.

“Why aren’t you trying hard enough?” Jeon Jungkook shot back.

It was going really well.

Clearly.

You let out a hiss and flicked your hands as if you were trying to physically get rid of his reply. Argh, this… man! The thundering rain was pouring down, down, and you were both standing under a bus stop with no intention of taking the bus. You bit back the volume of your sudden anger. There was no need to yell anyway. No one was coming out in the thick of this monsoon.

Only you and crazy-ass Jeon Jungkook.

Switched tactics. "And what makes you think your virgin ass–"

"I'm not a virgin!"

"You are here!"

And you jammed two fingers into that very muscular chest, right next to the left side of his sternum. Too fast to be stopped. The shove actually made him stumble. Or maybe it was the utter shock of the verbal and physical double jab combined with the deep growl that your voice had suddenly become. His racer jacket and black hair were slick with rain. Half of his white t-shirt soaked. Even the front of his blue jeans drenched.

You panted hard after your outburst, the anger draining away all in a flash of lightning.

Jungkook stared at you with stricken eyes.

The rain pelted down, down, beating into the silence.

“How did you know?” he breathed out.

You didn’t but somehow you did, feeling something inside of you break. Not afraid of the world. Never, never again. No, afraid of what you could do, afraid of breaking something this pure, because you broke your first love too and that past guilt still lingered. Not that you thought Jungkook loved you. He couldn’t This was only the fifth day of him knowing you.

The fuck is going on?

“I see your type all the time,” you sighed, your damp hair all over your face. “Looking for light in black holes instead of stars.” The rain had slipped off your black leather jacket. Your cropped band shirt wasn’t wet, but your black cargo pants were sodden knees down.

This coldness, however, didn’t come from the rain.

“You really should stop. For your own good.”

You looked away from him, feeling as if your own words had pierced bullet holes into your walls. Dark sky, never-ending rain, cars struggling to drive, people running with umbrellas and ponchos, arms huddled close to their bodies, and here you were just standing here in the rain, the world acting out your mind. How nice. You thought you had come to terms with everything, but obviously not. Somehow once you saw Jungkook again, once you felt his presence again, the pull was even stronger and the storm was even more intense and the worst part was that you didn’t want to leave.

You heard Jungkook’s soft, silvery voice through the gray rain.

“Why are you blaming yourself for shit that hasn’t even happened yet?”

You turned your head to look into those pleading brown eyes.

Lightning shot across the sky.

Thunder followed seconds after, eating up the night.

“W… What?”

He shook his head, dripping water.

“You haven’t hurt me. You don’t mean to, either.”

That smile, his hand extended, the inked snake on his wrist showing.

You stared at Jeon Jungkook with droplets beading on your skin but those goosebumps weren’t from the weather. Jerked your head away. What is with this gentleness? How could he know anything? He couldn’t know anything. He was just an airhead who watched too many dramas and made others believe that they could be real.

“Noona?”

You whipped your head to Jungkook, shocked at his use of the honorific. He only used it when Jimin was at the meal. Afterwards, the conversations had been clearly directed at you. Not completely informal speech, but sometimes you slipped and he did too. You never corrected him because, well.

You slapped his hand away.

Nothing was going to happen.

You closed the distance and grabbed his head, pressing your lips to his shaking ones.

It was going to be terrible. Cold. Wet. Acidic from the lingering feelings. There was no way that this kiss could be anything else with this setting.

This was real life.

Not a story.

Your hands cupped his cheeks and you sunk into his kiss. The hard edge of his jewelry and the softness of his breath, caught by your mouth, your eyes already screwed shut, nothing to do but feel, feel the way he instantly pressed back and set his hands on your elbows, pulling you closer, shuddering as your forearms pressed to his chest. A weird feeling, like two fires melting together, prickling racing across your skin, no, deeper, past your ribs and into your heart.

The storm raged on.

You snapped out of the kiss, nose to nose, water trickling in places it shouldn’t, over your eyelashes and down your neck, feeling fingers graze across your elbows. Slipping under the leather. Droplets soaking into your shirt and then warm hands lingering at the curve of your exposed waist.

Tracing your lines.

“Fuck,” you muttered.

And you kissed Jeon Jungkook again.

-

saturday.

No, you didn’t take him home. You’re reckless, yeah.

But you knew how that would go.

Not that Jungkook didn’t try. Maybe you would have done it, if you weren’t the equivalent of wet cat and equally torrenting emotions. His hands around your waist, pulling you closer, heat blossoming between layers of rain-drenched clothing, kiss after kiss, your hands in his hair, tangling those dark waves into wilderness, getting more and more breathless, heady with a feeling you knew but didn’t want to believe in.

For someone who hated lying, you sure enjoyed lying to yourself.

You had reasons.

How could this time be different if it was just following the same trajectory that you always followed?

You had to pry yourself from him, lips tingling, tongue curling, feeling your blood course through your veins and your heartbeat as loud as thunder, opening your eyes to his blissed-out expression, his own eyes still closed, pressing his lips together to savor your taste.

Damn.

You had wanted to tell him to stop it, stop it with all this falling, you were being dragged down by his vibe, clothes feeling heavy, desperate to be stripped away, but you kept your hands along the sides of his head, your exhale escaping but giving you away like a bad con artist.

Those shimmering dark eyes had opened, following Jungkook’s smile.

“You’re a great kisser, noona.”

His hands stayed on your waist, drumming his fingertips on your skin, tangible kisses creating invisible but no less real electricity.

You scoffed, corner of your lips rising.

“Shut up.”

Tendrils of his black-brown hair clung to his forehead. The rain drummed but it had lessened a bit. You had looked back to his eyes, defeated.

“Shut up so I don’t miss you more.”

One last, drawn-out kiss, tongue to tongue and you had broken from him, warning him sternly.

“Don’t follow me.”

Ran all the way home, face burning, not even feeling the rain even though it was still falling.

Now, present time, you sat at this boring farewell party in some fancy hotel with the sun blaring outside. Figures the nice weather would come out when you would have to stuff yourself in a fitted blazer dress and pretend to care about your boss’s boss retiring. Black, of course. For the formal occasion. Sadly, no one was dying except this old coot’s career.

Maybe you were a little salty that you couldn’t retire yet.

You looked down at your phone, which was on silent, noticing you had a new message.

ㅎ.ㅎ

O… Okay. Whatever that face was supposed to mean. You didn’t even bother to answer. Couldn’t, anyway, forced to plaster on a mildly interested expression as your boss gave a speech that you zoned out of. There were multiple large circular tables in the hotel ballroom. Outside the ballroom was an outdoor area with the buffet. Everyone had served themselves before sitting down, but, first, a few words.

A few was turning out to be too many and your salmon was getting cold.

Employees had been allowed to bring plus ones. Wives and husbands. There were a few empty seats, and a few significant others popped in mid-speech, trying to be quiet and politely bowing in apology. Of course, they weren’t required to be on time, having other obligations and such.

You twitched.

Was that why this was dragging on? So everyone could eat at once? For fuck’s sake, who cared if they were late. Then you noticed your boss’s wife stepping in, looking pretty and put-together in a forest green high-necked dress, holding the small hand of a kid in a lopsided children’s tuxedo with an equally confused expression.

Oh.

Come on.

You suddenly felt a disturbance in the Force.

“Excuse me. Sorry, sorry.”

You whipped your head around to see Jeon Jungkook in a black pinstripe suit cha-cha sliding in the empty chair next to you, picking up your black velvet purse and holding it out to you with a grin that made his large, dark brown eyes light up.

You gawked at him.

“Hey. Sorry I’m late.” He added your name politely and with affection, smooth as butter, criminal undercover. Even the honorific, oh, shit.

The blood drained out of your face and you tried not to think about how your co-workers sitting at the table were staring at you and him like you both had three heads. Of course, no one was supposed to be talking, so no one asked questions yet, but that was definitely going to start the second your boss was finished with his sentence.

You took your purse without another word and glared at Jungkook with such fire that you hoped he burned alive at the spot. Oh, this could turn into a murder and a funeral real fucking fast. All he did was give you those shining big peepers that made you want to strangle him. In an unsexy way.

For now.

You leaned over as the clapping started. He caught on and delicately leaned over, offering his ear to your lips.

“The fuck are you doing?”

Jungkook turned his head so only you could hear his whisper.

“I was nearby, so I figured…?”

You stared at him, plumb slack-jawed at this audacity.

He closed the distance and gently kissed your cheek. You ticked your head almost robotically, piercing eyes following his playful ones, and now you wondered if Jeon Jungkook was truly not right in the head or perfect for you.

Well.

You weren’t right in the head either.

You did text him earlier this morning that you needed to come to this party at this hotel to send off this important retiree. If you missed this, then it would have reflected poorly on you, especially when you wanted to keep your job, so, yes, it was part of the reason why you had not attempted to convince Jungkook to sleep over – not that he needed any convincing whatsoever – and the other reason was to get enough sleep so you could tolerate socializing. Did you think Jungkook was gonna finesse his way into the seat next to you? Hell no. Did you think he was gonna dress smartly and with his black hair parted neatly in the center, fuckin’ black tie pressed and collar pinned? Fuck, no.

Did you think you would like it?

No!

“How did you get them to let you in?” you hissed under your breath.

Jungkook was clapping like a seal because everyone else was. A champagne bottle was being popped. He looked systematically impressed and awed. Amazing acting. “I just said I was with you.” Glanced at you and grinned, the silver piercings on his lip gleaming. A hoop and a stud. “Aren’t I, noona?”

The urge to growl at him to shut the fuck up was silenced by your brain reminding you to be safe-for-work.

You felt a poke at your sleeve. Your co-worker sitting at your left, bleach-blond and with the curiosity of a child. Full of sudden comments and questions too, just like a kid.

“Oh, oh! You never mentioned anything about a boyfriend!” Because you didn’t have one until right now, apparently. “So handsome!” Yes, he was. You had taste. “How did you meet?” Circumstances beyond your control.

“Through a… friend.”

That was a very generous word for instigator Park Jimin.

Jungkook poked his head past you and waved. “Hi! Nice to meet you.” He was using you as a shield to avoid directly interacting with these people he didn’t know. Just chiming in with polite nods as you introduced him to the table and sitting back to let you have this uninvited spotlight that was burning you like the sun did to vampires.

Pretty close, in all honesty.

“Aw, what a sweet guy. It’s nice to meet you too. I didn’t think your type was so young and cute.”

You almost made a face of distaste. “You thought my type was old and ugly?” Oop, there goes your sharp tongue.

“Nooo.” You tried not to flinch at the playful slap of your arm. “More mature, maybe? But this is better. You don’t have to be so serious. Look at his smile! I bet that’s what drew you in.”

You glanced at Jungkook and he appropriately smiled big at the right time. Somehow, he had obtained a plate of steak. How, you didn’t care. You narrowed your eyes just a sliver. Jungkook did not stop smiling but there was at least an iota of fear in those big brown eyes. Speaking of vampire, maybe you should suck the life out of him because he was being too fuckin’ much.

“Well, he was persistent to put it lightly. Might as well give him the chance to win me over.”

Jungkook beamed like a billion-kilowatt lightbulb. Or a crystal chandelier. It depended if you wanted to say the light came from his white teeth or sparkling eyeballs.

Fuckity fuck.

You wanted to rub your temples but refrained.

You would never recover from this.

“Are you mad at me?” Jungkook asked you later.

Oh, now he wondered if you’re mad. You didn’t even look at him, dragging him away from the crowd by the elbow. Hopefully you had stayed long enough but there had been so many of the same questions that you were either getting dizzy or murderous. Hm. Why not both?

“I’m not mad at you,” you muttered.

“You kinda sound mad.”

“I’m not mad but I’m gonna get mad if you keep saying I am,” you warned. “Don’t start a self-fulfilling prophecy.”

“A what?”

“Where did you park?”

His voice became small even though he was right next to you. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have done that.”

The sun was blaring down on the open parking lot, it was annoyingly humid, you were socially drained, and this, not this. You spun abruptly, too much crashing down too fast, flinging Jungkook’s arm from you.

“No,” you hissed out. “No. Don’t you dare take it back. You wanna be crazy and drive me crazy, fine, do it, keep doing it, don’t stop, but own up. I’ve got enough push-and-pull jammed into my head and I don’t need you adding to it.”

It was so easy to simply give in to the rising anger, but you found yourself locked into Jungkook’s wide, taken-back eyes, drowning in them, deeper than the ocean, seeing how rueful he was.

“Don’t do that to me,” you sighed.

At least your voice didn’t crack. You didn’t want to be angry anyway.

You raised your hand to cup his cheek but paused, not knowing anymore what was what. Always been so sure until the world started getting flipped upside down by Jeon Jungkook. You always knew all of the things to do to make someone interested, all the things to say to make them swoon, and now you didn’t know anything at all because this guy showed up and jumped right in, not even caring about the damages, the fine print, or the past that lingered.

Why are you blaming yourself for shit that hasn’t even happened yet?

Jungkook leaned forward and completed the curve of his cheek into your hollow palm, now looking at you eye-to-eye with a curious expression.

The corner of your lips curved upwards.

You leaned forward, saying your next words very seriously.

“You. Are. Crazy.”

-

sunday.

You sat against the window, waiting for the document to print out.

No one was in the office. You had rolled over here out of sheer boredom, looking up at the gray-blue sky and watching shafts of sunlight phase in and out. Overtime to prepare documents for Monday. You hadn’t bothered to follow dress code, but there was a breeze today, so you wore brown plaid trousers and an old vintage t-shirt with the sleeves cut off. The faded album cover of Papa Roach’s Infest. Your oversized black leather jacket was on the back of your office chair once again.

You spun in your chair, the print job long done.

Thought back on the week.

Day one, awkward dinner and the start of a rollercoaster.

Day two, clutching your phone and waiting for replies due to the spotty service of the subway.

Day three, washing machines and dryers and long conversations.

Day four, shitty day with a nice ending to more texts. Better service too.

Day five, cold rain and warm lips.

Day six, surprise! You have a boyfriend and everybody knows!

You got up and wandered to the copier. Stacked everything up and clipped the right parts together, setting it on your boss’s desk. Glanced at the time at your computer. The blank screensaver abruptly appeared, showing you your blurred reflection.

Your fingertips lingered on your chest, the soft, worn fabric of the shirt reminding you of night after tumultuous night of the past. Time that made you, you. Scars you made by holding on too tightly to pain others gave you. The thought of scars in others that you started and they held on to. Repenting, in a way, healing the hearts that came in your path with intimacy and the passion you were afraid to show Jeon Jungkook because what if, what if…

What if it actually matched well?

“You,” Park Jimin had said to you months ago, “You need someone who thinks of you as their whole world.”

“I don’t want that.”

“You don’t want it. But you need it.”

You didn’t have Park-Jimin-being-right on this year’s bingo card, fuck.

You clocked out and collected your stuff, turning off the lights as you left the office, black boots the only solid sound around you, pulling out your phone to check the address one more time.

“Why are you wearing clothes?” you asked accusingly.

“Um…?”

You gripped the sides of the denim jacket and yanked it off his shoulders, pinning Jeon Jungkook’s arms to his sides. He immediately yelped but you silenced him by stepping through the door and pulling him to you by the button placket, tracing the edge of his open lips with your tongue.

“W-Wait, noona, the d-door…”

“I don’t care.”

Kissed him, deeply.

That now familiar scent, closer, slipping your tongue between his lips, succumbing to the flutters. In, out, feeling him collapse under you and moan in his throat, hard body stumbling into yours, hand haphazardly smacking the edge of the door.

It closed behind you.

You rolled your body into his, closer than close with too many layers in between, tangling his arms in his own jacket, swallowing his gasp and feeling him wiggle determinedly to free his hands and then they were on your face, strong fingers fanning out over your jaw, his jacket falling to the floor, hungrily following your tongue and lips with his own.

Something addicting about the addition of metal to those soft mouth.

This was your forte, the ability to make fantasies come true, and you took it seriously, throwing your bag onto the table by the door and shedding the protective layer of leather. Pressed chest to chest, holding his head and tracing his lips, slow fucking them, running your fingertips over the curve of his ears and making him shiver, noting the three hoops along his left ear.

Pressed your hands down his chest, over the smooth ribbed white tank molding to his muscular torso, down, down, kissing past his lips, to that mole underneath, down his chin, his head tipping back, your name drifting above your head as you kissed down his neck, the sharp clean scent of his cologne getting stronger.

“I thought… we were… o-oh, g-going out…”

“I’m gonna fuck you,” you breathed into his collarbones, hot and low, nicking his skin with your teeth and making him shiver. “Right now. Tonight. Maybe tomorrow too.” Undid the button of his jeans with some effort, yanking him towards you again and molding your hips to his, thighs to hard thighs, and that stiffness wasn’t only a sturdy zipper. “Tuesday as well. Fuck it.”

“The whole week,” Jungkook gasped as you unzipped his charcoal jeans.

“Yeah, good, you’re keeping up,” you murmured and grabbed his head again, catching a fistful of his black hair, kissing him hard with your other palm pressed to his hardness. Your tongue tracing the edge of his lips, breathing into his mouth and swallowing Jungkook’s wanton moan, intoxicated by the moment.

You pulled back just to yank your shirt over your head, tossing it to the floor.

It took longer for it to float down than for you to get on your knees.

“Woah…!”

Hooked your fingers on the elastic waistband of his Calvin Kleins and tugged them down, exhaling over that thick length that popped out. He smelled clean, like he had just showered, and you half-smiled, approving, closing the distance to curl your tongue around hard taut skin.

“Ooooh… fuuuuuuuck…”

Tightly taking control, using only your tongue to scoop around his girth and flick against his balls. Kisses, licks, flutters of breath, all of it, sensation after sensation, layering on the heat, adding sweetness to the obscene, his twitching cock hitting your cheek as you pressed kisses to his balls.

“Let me show you something,” you hummed and swallowed his pride.

Jungkook gasped so loud that his hands shot up to his mouth, fingers laced over his moan, one inked arm and one tan one, tilting his head back as your lips closed around him, softly, your tongue cupping the head, caressing the underside, the slit, letting him throb against wet muscle. Pushed him up to the roof of your mouth and slowly, in and out, rubbing the base of the head against your lips every time you ascended, fanning your fingers over his crotch to hold the base and cup his balls in between your index and thumb. Steady and consistent, sucking him off with deliberate precision.

You had a lot of fancy skills to show off but, for this first time, might as well give him the stripped-down version.

Heh.

So you blew Jungkook at his front door in your bra and pants with his clothes half-on and struggling to breathe.

“A-Ah, so s-soft… and so tight… h-how…”

You didn’t speed up. Didn’t put in more force. Used your whole torso, not just your head and neck, to avoid strain, holding his hips to take him deeper but at the same pace, letting the orgasm build with his heart rate, running your thumbs over his balls, a gentle caress, closing your eyes to savor it. Hard and twitching, but you didn’t let him disturb what you had going on, extending out the minutes, saturating every second with flowing, unavoidable bliss.

What?

You could match his vibe with your kind of romance.

You heard Jungkook’s pitch hike and the muscles under your fingers all tensed up. You spared a look upwards, but he wasn’t looking at you, shoving his hands into his messy black hair, displaying his prominent triceps, and moaning to the ceiling, dragging his bangs over his eyes.

“Oh my God, I’m cumming, fuuuuck…!”

You pillowed your tongue around the head and his salty orgasm flooded your mouth, spilling out and down your throat, but you cupped what you could and coated the sensitive head, pleased to hear Jungkook’s shudder and whimper of ecstasy, gripping his hair and pulling. The close-fitted nature of his tank top left nothing to the imagination, the aftershock rippling up his chest, even his hardened nipples poking against the fabric.

You swallowed.

Jungkook moaned and his head fell back again, his eyes probably rolled back.

Gotta finish him off right.

You licked around him carefully, cleaning him off and keeping him hard.

“You…”

Cocked an eyebrow as you shifted your eyes up, his cock buried in your throat, pulsing your muscles around his length. His chin was on his chest, wayward dark curls hanging down, shaking wide eyes watching you with fascination, his shaking voice full of awe.

“You know… how porn calls it a mouth-pussy? I really thought that shit was fake and sounded stupid, but… you have a mouth-pussy.”

You blinked at him and tried not to snort out in laughter.

You just raised both eyebrows and flicked his balls with your tongue. A few seconds later, you pulled back and countered with, “Really? Mouth-pussy? That’s how you show gratitude for the best suck of your life?”

“B-But it’s true!”

You shook you head and waved a hand at him.

“Clothes. Off.”

Every hour, every minute, every second.

Full of sex.

Jungkook wasn’t lying. He wasn’t a virgin. He was a little too good at fingering to be a virgin. Well, you hadn’t had his dick yet but it was pretty obvious with the slow circles on your clit and the kissing of your collarbones. Clothes didn’t even make it to the bedroom. Most of them were left by the door. Your shoulder blades and ass touching the bed, his other hand along your back and tracing your spine as he kissed across your breasts, shyly shifting his gaze back to your face to constantly check if you were enjoying it, not quite confident that he was making your heart flutter. You smirked back at him, taking his hand and pressing his fingers to your wet slit, pushing them in yourself.

He breathed out with you, watching your face as the pleasure snaked out from your core.

Two of them, taking it slow, but you shook your head and pressed his down, your hard nipple against his lips, and he followed your lead, faster, harder, your inner walls clenching around him, sighing deeply as the pleasure flowed, soft licks and tracing tongue. You let him have it, the slower, more romantic pace, spreading your fingers over his sheets and thrusting into his hand, adding to the pleasure, and Jungkook’s eyes glittered, kissing from one nipple to another with a smile.

“Harder?”

“And faster,” you agreed, licking the air between you and him.

Hey, you weren’t a virgin either and you liked it rough.

He kissed you first, entranced by your tongue, harder, faster, your hips following his hand, entangled in this beat, and then it was back to your nipples, kissing sucking, sparks of sensuality over your skin, your hands diving into his hair. Heat. Roughness. Passion, catching your breath and your head falling back, inhaling his scent and the clean sheets, the orgasm flooding through you, delicately forming his name with your lips.

“Ah, Jungkook…”

You didn’t let it stop there though.

His hand moved to pull out and you clutched his wrist and pushed him back in, your nail catching his ring finger, collecting it too, gasping at the added fullness, and you pulled his left hand out from under your back.

Jungkook watched you curiously as your rode his right hand and turned his left, thumb down.

You fitted it around your neck and positioned it correctly, grinning devilishly at him.

He got the hint.

Slightly unsure at first but you built his confidence, comfortably laying back on his bed and spreading out your fingers, moaning softly for him, rocking your hips into his hand, climbing to the high again, stronger his time. His fingers pressed inwards and you breathed out, savoring the choking, the way time slowed down, the way the sensations heightened, your spine arching, low gasp like heavy smoke, immortalizing the moment in his memory, black pupils blown out in those beautiful dark eyes, leaning forward to run his tongue over your nipples.

Your fingers curled into the sheets, thrusting into his fingers harder.

Lids heavy, drowning in the pleasure, his tongue, his hands, the way he looked at you like you were his whole world, the tension between you and him, sweet and intense and overwhelming, just perfect, your exhale only a thin wisp now, closing your eyes and moaning to the ceiling as you came.

It was a hard, thundering pulse, much more powerful than before, your shivering pussy gripping his fingers and your hips bucking. Thighs snapping closed, whining as you felt the hardness of his tattooed forearm, your head snapping to the side the second he released you, the rushing blood knocking you down and making your nerves sing, strong flinches across your arms and torso. Gasping to catch your breath.

Wasn’t his first time choking, but maybe the first time he got really turned on by it, because Jungkook was ogling you like a three-star Michelin meal.

It was like that all night.

From the first time he entered you, one condom wrapper the start of many, biting the left side of his lip and shuddering – “H-How are you so tight…? I just f-fingered you – oooh!” – and you wrapped around him tightly, smirking a little too smugly, one arm around his neck and one leg on his shoulder. Your fingers petaled around the base of his head, cupping him in the flower of your touch. Your thigh against his hard chest still trembling from your kisses. You angled your hips and he slipped in deeper, groaning in disbelief, his brows furrowing at you.

“H-Hey!”

Your tongue pocketed in the side of your smirk and you fucked him right.

“Gah!”

Jungkook, too, fucked you right.

You lead the pace so he could bring the force of his hips. Ah, fuck, right there, like that, and you let him know, the cries tumbling out and mixing with his, rushing wave after wave pressing into you, filling you with his girth and his power. You brought the intensity, the flint to his flame, the break in his pride and Jungkook was looking down at you, shoulders flexed, jaw tight and eyes hazy, clear emotion swirling within them and you saw your own gaze fixated on him, wanting him more than you wanted the sex.

Oh.

Shit.

You gasped and dug your nails into his scalp, grasping the pillow and throwing your head back, not expecting the suddenness of your high, injected into your heartbeat and pushing all the air out of your lungs, veins ablaze with heat as your core clenched, inner walls throbbing all around him. Jungkook groaned, biting his lower lip and thrusting hard, the small mole underneath shaking just as hard as his shoulders, but he couldn’t hold back any longer, squeezing his eyes shut, muffled scream as he came, his head falling back, two tones the start of an ongoing, wanton melody.

“Holy… fuck…”

Well, more like unholy fuck but you didn’t correct him.

You kind of expected him to pull out and leave, but instead his head snapped back and he dived down, catching your lips and dripping sweat on you, making you both laugh. Kiss after kiss, all over your face, and you could barely sputter out – “Oi, you’re sweaty!” – but he didn’t care, kissing all over your cheeks and down your neck, your chest, slurping at your nipples, you narrowed your eyes at that but those playful eyes just sparkled with deviousness, trailing down, down.

Slowing.

Jungkook pressed his lips to your waist, looking up at you.

Your heart thundered against your chest and sparks danced over your skin.

Somehow at ease.

“What?”

You smiled down at him.

“I don’t ever want to leave your side.”

Your lips parted to give him a snappy comeback, yeah, well, I gotta go to work, but nothing came out.

Jungkook grinned, his whole face lighting up and dove between your legs, biting and kissing the inside of your thighs, attacking them with his menacing mouth.

“Hey! Oi! I’m sensitive, f-fuck!”

Even planting a fat wet kiss on your clit for good measure.

“Ah!”

Shoving his tongue in your pussy.

“YO!”

You gawked at his audacity, twisting away from him. Infuriatingly, he followed, scrambling for your ass.

“There was just a condom in there!”

“Ah, who cares,” said the one that clearly didn’t. “Kiss me.”

“Hell no!”

After cleaning up and pinning him down on his own bed and thoroughly scolding him, somehow you ended up making out with Jungkook and his fingers were in your pussy again. It sounded very wet and squishy down there, probably because you showed Jungkook just now much you liked kisses under your earlobe. His tongue against your skin, teeth nicking, sucking hard and making you moan and grind on his hand, pressing against his chest.

“Sit on my face,” he whispered in your ear.

Which was know you ended up grasping his headboard and his tongue between your legs, the piercing pressed against the left side of the outer lips. You kept your weight on your knees, but Jungkook grabbed your ass and tipped your hips at a different angle, your clit right on his tongue, his nose against your crotch.

“Fuuuuck, you smell so good…”

You could barely hear him but you felt him speak, gasping at the strange sensation of hot breath and swiping tongue, his lips wrapping around your most sensitive nerves. He had a much softer tongue, but there was consistency there and plenty of gusto. It helped, actually, to have his hands gripping your thighs, adding the amplifying pleasure of restraint. You rode his face, matching the movement of his tongue. One of your hands left the headboard. Trapped your nipples between your fingers and pulled at them, making Jungkook’s eyes go wide and watch eagerly, licking and sucking harder.

Layered and intricate, full of sensation and emotion, gazing down at him and smirking as the sparks turned into lightning and you soaked his face, shivering, tipping forward at the flinches of climax, swearing under your thin breath, panting, snapped tension draining you and wetly sticking to his lips, his tongue, his cheeks.

He shoved his tongue into your quivering pussy and you sucked in a breath, feeling your inner walls pulsate around his curling muscle, his low, gravelly moan filling what little air there was between his mouth and you, his satisfaction vibrating through your body and mixing with your afterglow.

You slid down his chest and kissed him again, tasting your subtle sweet-sour on his slick lips.

He wanted you to jack him off hard and fast, the fingers of your other hand splayed out over his chest, forgetting about anything else, time only a construct, your phones discarded by the door, and here, in this bed, there was only Jungkook and you, his cock pulsing in your grip, your foxy expression to his desperate one, his eyes rolling back in the intensity, biting down hard on the left side of his lip, the small mole underneath shaking in anticipation, the tendons of his neck popping out.

You raised your free hand and gently stroked his cheek with your knuckle as you punished his cock.

His lower lip popped out of his mouth and he groaned, rough and breathless.

“A-Ah, fuck!”

A hot stream of liquid dripping down the back of your hand, drenching you and him in the strong scent of sex. Thick and potent, and you leaned forward and kissed him deeply, tightly holding his jerking cock and squeezing it all out of him.

“You’re amazing,” Jungkook panted, even after getting up – once again – to attempt to clean up your collective mess.

“Mhm,” you hummed, sitting beside him. He was radiating heat. “I was never worried about that.”

“Hah… You’re… You’re crazy…”

You had obtained your phone and just now sent a message to your boss that you would be taking a sick day on Monday. You have plenty of those. “Speak for yourself.”

“I mean, you’re like… um… uh, oh! A semen demon…”

“What?”

You almost threw your phone in laughter. Actually, you couldn’t even hear Jungkook’s explanation for what the hell he meant by semen demon because you were laughing too hard, barely able to breathe. There wasn’t a normal explanation anyway – how could there be? – and you kept inelegantly snorting afterward at inappropriate times. Jungkook, for his part, seemed proud for making you laugh so much.

“You look so beautiful laughing.”

Your response was quick, immediate, and lighthearted.

“Shut up.”

He snuggled his still too warm head into the crook of your shoulder.

“Will you stay?”

You gave him a look and then showed him the sent text message on your phone. There was something special and perfect about the smile that lit up his face, clearly showing his devotion and clearly seeing yours.

“Yeah, I’ll stay.”

Jungkook skipped work too. Both of you ended up sleeping in.

--

masterpost

[midnightarcheress]

woke up wanting to write something with my pretty boy kyle and this was born.

cw: nsfw. f!reader. gaz obsessing over the pretty college girl by his side. implied future stalking ig? unedited. part one | part two

someone catches Kyle’s attention on the plane.

his legs are on the verge of cramping and his breath is ragged, running to board his connection flight at the last call. after falling off a helicopter twice in the last operations, he developed an uneasiness of flying, no matter the aircraft, preferring taking the train over being miles up in the air, even if it triples the travel. but this time, he just wanted to get home the fastest way possible for a much-needed night of sleep in his own bed, instead of the barely cushioned military-issued mattress.

he hopped on the plane and made his way through the corridor, gaze fixed on the numbers under the luggage rack, attentively looking for his spot. he stopped by row thirteen, eyes darting between the number and the woman on the window seat. i could’ve sworn i marked that one when i booked? Kyle checks the boarding ticket again – row 13, seat A. it’s the right seat, why is there someone on it? 

an annoyed sigh escapes his lips, gathering the energy to speak up and reclaim his rightfully bought seat. the problem is, he gets ultimately struck when the seat-thief notices him standing and turns to face him. wide eyes meet his brown ones, immediately softening at the sight of your tempting glossy lips and delicate fingers pushing a lock of hair behind your ear. pretty little thing.

“i’m sorry, is this your seat? it was empty on the first flight,” you say, an apologetic tone in your voice as you frantically close the book on your lap and shove it in a bag, “i’ll move back for you–”

“it’s alright, keep it.” he interrupts, throwing his carry-on in the rack and taking the empty middle spot beside you. he smirks at your appreciative nod and watches you settling again on the backrest, buckling the seatbelt at the shining signal hovering your heads and paying extra attention to the flight attendant announcements, even when no one around seems to care. sweet girl, so considerate to everyone.

the plane starts speeding on the runway, and from his peripheral he views your squeezed eyes and nearly white fingers gripping the armrest, breathing quickening during the gravity push of the take off. it takes a moment for you to release your tight grasp and exhale, making his hand twitch with an urge to soothe you, tell you that you’re safe.

he shakes the sensation and leans his head back, focusing on the one thing he can do to pass the time – sleep. but he can’t keep his gaze out of you, glancing to his left whenever you make a movement, no matter how small. the rapid keyboard tapping guides his irises to your laptop screen, catching a few words in a sea of what for him sounds like an alien language. DNA strand? allele? locus mutation?

he sneaks a look through your figure and his eyes land on the familiar blue logo on your hoodie, the same one he always sees on the walk from the market to his flat. uni a couple blocks from me. do you live on campus? or nearby? that neighborhood is awful at night, full of old blokes searching the pubs for a quick fuck with a naive college girl. but you seem smart, not the type to fall for their tricks, right?

the harder he tries to avoid your presence, the more you make yourself known, almost making him feel like it’s on purpose. the way your plump lips wrap on the water bottle, slight drop scaping on the corner and trailing down your neck, your flowery perfume filling his nostrils when you shift on your seat to remove the top layer of your clothing, exposing the low-cut blouse underneath and the soft roundness of your tits. is that for me, sweet girl? need a break from studying so hard? the sudden tightness of his trousers brings him back to his senses, stirring the thought out of his brain. 

keep it cool, Garrick, he repeats over and over in his mind, ignoring the tent forming on his lap and praying to whatever god is out there that you won’t see it, even while standing up and brushing your legs on his knees to get to the corridor due the cramped space. however, he doesn’t miss how the guy by his side shamelessly ogles your cleavage when you step past him, making his blood boil and his fists clench – like he wasn’t doing the same exact thing minutes before.

while you're away, he glances at your screen again, noticing the constant message notifications from the contact ‘Marcus - DO NOT ANSWER’. already looking bad for you, mate. curiosity takes hold of him and he starts reading the texts, silently chuckling at the guy’s pathetic attempts to get your attention. what did he do to earn a cold shoulder, sweetheart? did he hurt you? didn’t he pay enough attention to you? i bet he couldn’t even fuck you the way you deserve. 

he keeps skimming the messages until the grin tugging on the corners of his mouth fades into a frown when he reads ‘you’re gonna regret leaving me’. now, who’s this prick? think you’ll get away with threatening my girl?

his body stiffens when you come back, eyes darting back to the small telly in front of him when your hand brushes on his thigh while sitting once again. he hears your irritated huff when you skim through the messages, shutting the laptop with near violence. i can take care of him for you, love. you won’t have to deal with that by yourself anymore. 

the pilot’s muffled voice coming through the speakers and announcing the landing shortens his daydreams about getting rid of Marcus. it would be a great way to keep himself busy while on leave, making sure to do it fast and secretly, of course, just to protect his sweet little thing. poor guy wouldn’t even know what hit him.

the pressure change on his ear is the telltale sign of the aircraft lowering its altitude, landing gear out to hit the lane and brake the machine. he turns to the side, watching again your knitted eyebrows and how your nails dig into the seat. this time he doesn’t contain himself and his hand gently lingers over yours, the softness of it sending lightning strikes over his body and almost making him cum instantly. 

your glinting eyes find his face with a grateful gaze, lips mouthing a sugary thank you when the plane finally stops. he helps you take your handbag out of the rack with ease, using the situation to flaunt his muscles. i can even pick you up, darling. would love to feel your pretty thighs around my waist. you wouldn’t have to walk a day in your life. 

his eyes follow the sway of your hips through the airport, heart almost bursting when you wave goodbye and flash him a timid smile. you think that’s the last time you’ll see him, he thinks this is just the beginning. a name and university? he’s used to finding people with even less information. see you soon, sweet girl.

[miley1442111]

Hi sorry to bother you but can you make a spencer reid x reader with the mute!reader and he helping her with everything.

Thank you so much sorry to bother you.

this is so cute! I did some research but I am nowhere near well-versed enough to know everything so please someone tell me if i've made a mistake !!!

mutism- s.reid

a/n: intended for fem reader, but as always imagine what you like:)))))))))

summary: how you and spencer met, the first time spencer heard you speak, and a look into your life together :)

pairing: spencer reid x mute! reader

warnings: none

You were mute. You knew sign language and could talk to specific people on very specific occasions. You’d had it since you were diagnosed at 4 years old and it truthfully wasn’t the end of the world, but it did suck to not have had a date at the age of 22. Not that you weren’t beautiful, not that people hadn’t tried, you just… didn’t speak. 

But, CalTech was amazing, you were a biology student and you loved it. You could just lock in, ignoring the world around you and spend time in the lab for hours on end. Though, you couldn’t exactly investigate the growth rate of organisms in a crowded college bar. 

“I’m getting another drink!” Your very drunk friend shouted over the voices in the bar. You nodded your head, staring down at your half-empty drink as you sighed. You wanted to be anywhere that wasn’t here, at this stupid bar. Your friend, Maria, was a party-animal. You two had been dorm mates for the last 3 years and she had started learning sign language from the first week. She’d brought you into her friend group, allowing you a group of about 7 girls who all had your back. 

Well, they usually had your back, just not while they were all drunk and hooking up with their partners in the bathrooms or in their dorms, which is what all of them were doing right now. 

A tall and lanky boy sat beside you on your left and your body went rigid, silently begging him to not try and talk to you. 

“Spencer, come on!” One of his rowdy friends shouted. Spencer. Spencer was very cute. He had long-enough hair, brown trousers with a tie and shirt on. He looked far too overdressed for a simple college bar and you smiled. 

He was more than cute, he was gorgeous. You were shocked you’d never seen him modelling.

“No, I’m tired,” he laughed at his friend. “Go dance without me!” His friend gave up, walking off to a group of equally lanky and nerdy boys, all attempting to dance. 

Another man sat on your right, the seat where Maria had sat and you were instantly filled with anxiety again. Maria was nowhere to be seen and there were two men beside you, either of them could easily start trying to talk to you and what would you do? Just write it down on a napkin? On your phone? 

You hadn’t had this problem in a very long time. 

“So, you come here often?” The guy on your right asked, a soft smile on his face. He seemed to be the typical frat boy, kind of asshole-y but nicer than others you’d met. You tried to ignore him, pulling out your phone and texting Maria, saying you were going home instead of staying out longer, but he persisted. “What’s your name?”

—---------------------------------------------------------------------------- Spencer had been attempting to make conversation with you all year. He knew you were the smartest in your class, since he and your professor were friends and he often read over your papers. He thought you had the most beautiful mind, he didn’t even care what you looked like, he just wanted to know you. 

But, he had found out what you looked like from your photo online and he fell harder. You were gorgeous, smart, and interesting. He also knew you were mute. Back in your first year at college most people had just assumed that you were rude or too prideful to speak to certain people, and that you were getting special treatment from teachers by them letting you not present your projects. This meant your facilitators had to make an announcement to most of your classes, explaining why you didn’t speak. He saw your face one day as your professor explained to the class that you were mute, you looked so embarrassed and ashamed and he felt his heartbreak. He'd been embarrassed of his intelligence his whole life (but trust me, he knew that these were VERY different things) and he felt an uncertain connection to you. 

“She’s my girlfriend,” he tried to sound intimidating to the guy but he knew he wasn’t exactly a beefy 6 '2 frat boy.

The frat boy got the message. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

You felt sick, Spencer was speaking for you and all of it could’ve gone to shit if that frat boy hadn’t gotten the hint. You quickly got up, looked at Spencer and signed ‘thank you’ and practically ran through the door, just wanting to get back to your dorm, 

“Umm, wait!” Spencer followed you out to the car park and you turned to face him, feeling hot under his gaze despite the cold, dark night around you both. “I’m S-Spencer, sorry if that was really weird but I wanted him to l-leave you alone, I-I know who you are a-and… yeah.”

He knew who you were? You looked at him confused. 

“Professor Monk! I help with his corrections sometimes, I’ve read your papers, they’re really good,” he smiled. “C-can I get your number or something?” Something like panic flashed over his features, clearly shocked at his own words. 

You took out your phone and wrote out “I seriously doubt I’d be much fun, I don’t talk,” you showed it to him, and he chuckled. 

“I know sign language,” He smiled and your heart swelled. You didn’t know it now, but on your wedding day, he would admit that it was a very big lie. 

You held out your hand for his phone and he handed it over, you punched in your number and that was the start of your beautiful love story. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

Through your life together, Spencer was always there for you, there to calm you down, speak for you, be there for you, and to love you.

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

The first night he heard you speak was a year and half into your relationship, it was purely accidental on your part, genuinely comfortable enough to just speak and you did. 

“You’re so funny,” you quietly said between his and your own laughter. His own smile grew, while your face heated. 

“You spoke,” he observed, holding you from behind, his taller figure engulfing yours. “You have a nice voice.”

You whispered a meek “thank you” and he could’ve sworn that his heart grew three sizes. He didn’t want to push you, he just kissed you on the cheek and continued on with his cooking while he internally freaked out. Despite being together so long, you still found ways to fluster and surprise him. The majority of the time, he spent feeling like a schoolboy with how smitten he was with you. 

—----------------------------------------------------------------------------

So, you knew Spencer would always have your back, always love you, and always care.

He promised you so on your wedding day.

—-------------------------------------------------------------------------

criminal minds masterlist :)

navigation for my blog :) (criminal minds, marvel, top gun, obx+)

[jarofstyles]

Lush

Hello my ducklings! Since we have been getting a lot of questions about our Patreon and what is included, we decided to give you guys peeks into the series we have exclusively on there. This is Lush, escort y/n x dark businessman H. There will be some twists and turns in this one, hot smut, a fake relationship and a possessive and slightly obsessive dark H- our favorite. This series will only be on Patreon but this is the first part to give you a taste!

Check out our Patreon for access to Lush and our other exclusive series + 100+ exclusive writings.

Warnings- escorting, mention of homelessness and money struggles, daddy kink etc

WC- 2.9k

-----

Y/N knew her job, and she did it well.

Sit still, look pretty. Perched on her favorite client’s lap, his strong thigh covered in a trouser that matched the blazer that probably cost more than she’d made in the last 3 months, she sipped her champagne quietly and ‘let the men talk.’

Harry Styles was an enigma. He had popped up a few weeks ago, bringing her to a dinner after a debriefing in a lux hotel in one of the bigger hotels on the Vegas strip. The window had overlooked it all, a penthouse that seemed to be used quite frequently considering the fridge had been stocked and he had socks stuffed in a drawer that she’d used later that night.

“I need you to sit on my lap, keep me company.” He had said plainly. The man was intimidating. Broad and tall, soft brown hair swept back and off his forehead. Stubble shadowing his face and over his lip, his features were sharp and his eyes a little harsh, but she could whole heartedly admit that he was the most attractive client she’d ever had. Being a year in after escaping a situation that was still haunting her nightmares, she had been eager to accept the higher paying and well vetted job she had, thank god, stumbled into. It wasn’t conventional, no, but nothing really was in Vegas.

“I can do that.” She replied, hands folded in her lap. He stood before her as she had sat on the couch, looking up at him as he spoke. “Is that all we’re doing in our time together?” To put it in a nicer way of asking. She could have bluntly asked if he was going to want sex, but she did try to at least have a little decorum- until the situation granted the freedom of it. It wasn’t uncommon for her and she was safe, tested, and generally did enjoy sex- but it was a job. This time, however, would probably be enjoyed more than she had in the past. A real attraction to the man would be helpful in many parts of making this more enjoyable.

“Who said that?” He rose a brow, looking down at her. It was a smoldering look but she couldn’t find it in herself to look away as he got closer and tilted her chin up. “I intend to take everything you’ll offer. I’d suggest canceling your plans for tomorrow.” She didn’t have to ask why. It was clear this man intended to fuck her, and fuck her well.

Spoiler- he did.  Harry had, for all intents and purposes, rocked her shit. So when she found his name on her books twice the next week, she hadn’t complained. She’d been excited, actually, considering she’d been able to feel the sting of her ass when she’d sat in the Lyft the next morning to take her to her apartment. Another good thing about him, she found as she looked in her purse, was that he tipped extremely well. More than was deserved, if she was being honest, but the one time the girl brought it up he had shoved another hundred dollar bill into the waistband of her sleep shorts and sent her on her way.

It had become known to her that he specifically requested her. If she wasn’t available, he’d offer more money than the other client was paying- and her Madam had no problem with that, considering it upped her cut. She found herself with him 3 times this week, frequenting clubs and drowning out business talk as his large hand splayed across her waist and the other hand held a sweaty amber colored liquor on the rocks. Much to many of her friends and client’s surprise, Y/N didn’t drink much. She stuck to lighter things, champagne and rosé, and kept to a one to two drink maximum. She preferred keeping a clear head when on the job and honestly? Drinking wasn’t her thing. A buzz was nice, but anything past that meant a headache in the morning. She wasn’t a morning person to begin with.

This meeting was going past its normal time, making her wonder what was being said. If she was being frank- Y/N didn’t do much listening in his meetings. It felt like they were talking in code, another language, and she couldn’t be assed to listen about imports and exports and blah, blah, blah. Her brain was happy to sit and be warm on a handsome man’s lap, observing the dance floor. Dancing used to be so fun, something she’d always loved to do as a child. Now she didn’t get to do as much, even though she’d wished she could. Club dancing was far different than her normal type but if she was on the balcony of the most VIP of the VIP sections, she was going to take her people watching to the next level.

“Y’alright?” His raspy voice breathed over her ear, not taking his eyes off the men who were talking amongst themselves. “I know it’s late. We can go back soon.” While Harry wasn’t the most warm and fuzzy person, he did respect her time. He was a little scary, truthfully, and she didn’t want to upset him. He hadn’t done anything wrong. He was respectful and kind to her, he spoiled her with tips and orgasms, and she had no complaints. If staying out a bit later than he had said was the least of her worries besides his scowling, she was golden.

“I’m okay.” She smiled. “People watching. Sorry, I’m not paying attention. Dunno what half of the stuff you’re talking about means.”

Y/N had no reality of what he did. No clue. She was too afraid to google him. To ruin the illusion she had of him in her head. He passed the background test and signed the heavy contract that came with hiring her, so he wasn’t about to harm her or anything- and from what she’s learned in Vegas, sometimes you’re better off not knowing. There was a lot of shady business practices that went on. It was legitimately upset her if he was a bad person outside of the law, so she decided not to go searching for answers she possibly didn’t want to find.

“That’s good.” He murmured, pressing a private kiss underneath her ear. “Don’t worry about it. S’nothing interesting anyways. Got t’keep up appearances.” His voice dropped. “Would much rather be between your thighs. Missed this body while I was away.”

And, Oh. It made her hot, a nervous giggle leaving her throat as the words tickled against her ear. Harry had gone away on a business trip, he’d prefaced it because he had been gone 4 day. He’d prescheduled to meet her on the day he came back. Her stomach did a swoop in her body as the cool hand that held his glass deposited it on the table, finding her thigh and squeezing over it. “You did?”

She had to wonder if he was buttering her up, but the thought was dispelled because Harry didn’t need to do that. He had always been a bit blunt and she liked that about him. Less sweet talk that he didn’t mean. What he said made sense- complimenting her body and her mouth and appearance, what she did for him, but he never went too far and said things he didn’t mean. So she believed him when he nodded, slipping his hand further up her dress and making her swallow thickly. He’d given her pretty lingerie he’d bought from wherever he went, the buttery silk laying against her body under the dress that hugged her figure. Red, he said, because she was a little devil between the sheets. “I did. Got t’bring you with me next time.”

Some girls did that. Y/N wasn’t even sure what the rate would be for a trip, but the idea appealed to her. “You sure you can afford it?” She whispered back, a playful tilt to her lips. Obviously he could. He was by far the wealthiest man she had in her books, evident by the liquor he ordered, the watches he wore and the cars the drove in. It was arousing to her, if she was being honest. When she settled down one day, the one thing she really wanted was financial stability. Maybe that sounded shallow, but with her history with no money and being a little jaded, it made sense to her.

“Can afford that, and a shopping spree for you while I do business.” He brushed his cool fingertips against her slightly damp panties. Harry didn’t smile often, but when he did? It was a smirk. A hot, arrogant little smirk that she should probably be annoyed by, but wasn’t. “Need to get you out of here, though. Have something I want to talk to you about before I sink you down on my cock.” His fingers retreated after a gentle brush to find them wet, moving to her leg as he began to wrap up the meeting. People would listen, even if they weren’t finished- he just had that way about him.

—--

Y/N had no clue what, exactly, he wanted to talk to her about. They’d had some nice conversations so far about a plethora of things. Movies, books, restaurants, some morals. But it wasn’t too deep. Both of them had seen it for what it was, even if they had impeccable sexual chemistry. She didn’t know the man all that well, only what was told to her and what he had divulged- and knowing the man had a sweet tooth didn’t account for much. So it was slightly intimidating when he asked her to meet him in the living room of the suite as he put away his watch and jacket.

What could he possibly have to talk to her about? Her brain was coming up with nothing.

“C’mere.” He sat himself down on the couch, offering his lap back up to her. It wasn’t something she did in private unless his hands were down her panties or she was riding him, but she decided to go for it. Her heels kicked off to the side, she sat herself back in the familiar way. It had taken her off guard, but his hand took her own and she watched as he flipped it over, thumbing over her ring finger. “I need to ask you a favor. A proposition.” He murmured, calculating eyes going back to her face. “And you can say no, if you want. I’ll understand.” Of course, this made her alarm bells ring but there was little time to panic. Considering he was a very get to the point man, he did exactly that. “I’d like for you to quit your current job and pretend to be my fiance.”

The bomb was dropped. Why, exactly, a man of his caliber needed a fake fiance? She had not a fucking clue. Harry continued, her face slack in shock. He took that into account, it seemed. “I like you. You’re polite, know how to behave in public. Gorgeous little thing. You’re intelligent, you’re quick, and you understand how to keep to yourself. That’s a very valuable thing to me.” His thumb resumed rubbing her ring finger. “We have incredible sex. You fulfill and exceed my needs, and I’m satisfied with sex for once in my life.” Y/N let him do whatever he wanted and thoroughly enjoyed it. There was no faking it with them. Their chemistry crackled in the air when it shifted. There was no doubting that. “My family has been pressuring me to settle down. I have no time to properly date, nor the desire to.” He sure as fuck wasn’t the type to go on dating apps, and the dating pool he was around was a lot of vapid people with money hungry libidos. At least he would know Y/N was there for money and there would be no confusion between them. “I enjoy your company. It isn’t traditional nor conventional, but I’d provide for you. I will deposit your average monthly income in your own bank account and give you a card to my own. I’d pay for your rent while you stay with me, and you’d have free time to do as you please. Whatever hobbies you’d like. Horse riding, art, reading, I don’t care what it is if you like it.”

Her head was swimming. What the fuck? She’d heard of men falling in love with escorts, sure, but this seemed… More transactional. For some reason, it made her feel a little more comfortable. He wasn’t proclaiming love after barely knowing her. He knew how it went and that she needed to be provided for. “Like a sugar baby?” She blurted out.

“Not particularly. My fiance in title. You’ve been introduced as my girl to everyone already, so it isn’t a difficult sell to anyone but my family. We’d announce our engagement, I’ll bring you to London to meet them, let it run it’s course.” His eyes bore into hers. “I don’t want you with anyone else while you’re mine. I’ll be the only one you sleep with, and vice versa. I don’t want you to split your time between me and anyone else. I’m asking for devotion, which is a lot. But I’d like it to be you.”

“Why?” Y/N knew he had explained it but it was still confusing. “I know what you’ve said but… surely theres other people that you’d want to ask? I’m just an escort you’ve been seeing for a little while. I mean.. The sex is great, don’t get me wrong.” And she was extremely attracted to him and his energy, but… “I’m not in my escort mode all the time. I don’t want to be working 24/7. I’m not as docile while off the clock.” She wasn’t about to get put into 24/7 smile and nod territory. It was fine when it was an outing, or even a night, but she did have a personality she quite liked outside of it.

“I wouldn’t expect you to be agreeable all the time. In fact, I’d like to see you fight me a little.” Harry’s smirk returned. “Makes the sex hotter. But…” he returned to his business face. “I chose you because we get along. I don’t like a lot of people. I may pretend I do, but it’s difficult for me to find people who don’t make me irritated. You’re… interesting to me.” It wasn’t the answer she expected, no, but still. She had more questions.

“So what about after it’s all done and over with? I’ll end up on the streets, homeless again because I know Madam isn’t going to just let me back on her lists.” She crossed her arms, not realizing what she’d said. Harry caught it, pocketing it for later. It didn’t sit right that she had been on the streets at all, but that wasn’t a topic he could broach right now. He didn’t have the right to ask yet.

“I will make sure you’re set after this is done.” He promised. “I will have all of your expenses covered while you’re with me. Nails, hair, food, clothing, hobbies. You’ll be making your pay and then some every week and not touching it. And if it ends early, I will payout an extra mil. Does that sound reasonable?” He rose an eyebrow. “I’ve got the paperwork with me, but you can sit on it if you want.”

“How long can I sit on it for?” It took everything in her to not bite at her nails. The one thing the acrylics were good for was curbing that habit. “It’s not a no, but I’d like to look at the contract and have a lawyer look over it before I agree to anything.” As young as she may seem, she wasn’t stupid. This would be a perfect way to take advantage of her. While she didn't have that feeling from him, she’d be dumb not to protect herself.

She didn’t expect the smile from him, but it made her heart beat a bit faster as he brought her hand up to kiss it. “Smart fuckin’ girl you are.” He laughed. “Good. That works with me. I hope you do sign it, though.” His eyes darkened a bit. Harry wasn’t good at sharing and the idea of this pretty thing belonging to him, in essence, made his dick twitch. “I’d love to take you with me to Italy and see you on my yacht. Maybe fuck you on it. Think you’d really love that.”

Y/N had a feeling she would, too. The idea of being with one man, a man she so far enjoyed despite a bit of arrogance and intimidation, was appealing after a year here. But she needed to cover her own ass before sinking into something too good to be true. “I would.” Her nails moved from his hand to card through his soft hair. “I’d love that. But I think you should focus on tonight, hm?” Her legs opened a little, and she guided his hand back to where it had been previously. “Take a look at the pretty things you’ve already got, Daddy.”

[the-fiction-witch]

I Like Him

Media - House Of The Dragon Character - Oscar Tully Couple - Oscar X Reader Reader - (OC) Jaerra Targaryen [Daughter of Daemon Targaryen & Rhea Royce] Rating - 12 Word Count - 1121

Requested -

Hello Miss Witch! Can I request an Oscar Tully story in your “Boys Yet To Have Books” please? The reader is a Targaryen (probably just the same age as him and named Jaerra) and has a he-dragon, she flew to Harrenhal to accompany Daemon and then met Oscar and just some cute interactions between them that grew into something. It’s up to how you will write it and can have lots of parts too because I will love it either way. I hope you read this request. Thank you! <33

The dark echos of Harrenhal seem to sicken Daemon the longer he remains, food seems to turn to ashes in his mouth, wine soured, his mind a mess of his own failings and falls.

“I’m surrounded, by witches, and idiots.” He sighed to himself,

Suddenly a familiar sound echoes through Harrenhal’s half-melted halls, the sound of a dragon's triumphant cry. Which caused Daemon to perk up and move quickly for the first time in months. He headed out to the courtyard part of him hopeful to see Syrax across the sky, or perhaps even MoonDancer.

But a deep blue dragon with shimmering white scales fluttered down onto the grass,

“Iēdar lilagon…” he sighed, He approached the dragon glaring down at its rider, “Why did she send you?”

“Because you're causing chaos on your own,” Jaerra answered as she climbed down from her dragon, wearing her tall boots and grey washed-out leather trousers, a deep blue jacket with a high low skirt and dragon clasps down her chest, her long Targaryen blonde hair with a single dark brown streak by her face knotted up into a tight braid.

“I already have enough to deal with,” He sighed,

“Hence why I’m here.” She said pulling off her leather gloves and walking past him, “You’ve been causing enough problems around here, so she thought I’d be best to come. Plus everyone else is far too busy to be your babysitter.”

“Busy!” He said as he followed her,

“Her grace is busy, planning wars and alliances,”

“And what does she think I’ve been doing!”

She rolled her eyes and continued, “Jacaerys is defending his claim at her side -”

“Baela and Rheana?”

“Baela is beside her betrothal, as she should be. Rheana is with Aegon and Viserys in the Vale.”

He sighed, “I’d have taken Corlys before you.”

“He is of far to high priority.” She glared, “You get me. If you’d have been more careful I wouldn’t be needed and I could be patrolling.”

“So that’s what she’s got you doing? Patrolling?”

“Ravens are slow, men even slower. Dragonback is the best way to get sights of our lands and the movements on them.” She explained, “Speaking of which, the riverlords are here.”

“They haven’t-”

“They haven’t arrived yet but they will in an hour, I flew over them.” She answered before she went inside,

“...Fucking-” He sighed following her, “We have an hour, time to change into a gown for the Riverland lords.”

“Alright,” She shrugged, “Off you go, to get dressed.” She glared,

“I meant you.”

“Seems a waste of my time.” she sighed, “We are at war, gowns seem pointless at this point,”

“You are … so much of your mother,” He barked,

She chuckled, “Is that meant to insult me?” She smiled, “I’d rather be a spitting image of my mother… than anything like you.” she spat, “Now let's get this sorted out before we all end up on spikes in Kings Landing.”

Daemon sat at the head of the table in Harrenhalls Grand chamber, Jaerra to his side with two seats between them, as in walked the Lord of the river lands. Jaerra raised an eyebrow given this was not the man from the many lords she saw from Dragonback whom she expected to be the lord. Lord Oscar Tully made his way in dressed in his fine amour, curls messy from his helmet. He simply nodded as a greeting to Daemon and his eyes flicked to Jaerra, he did a double take but focused his eyes forward.

“My condolences on the passing of your grandser.” Daemon spoke, “But the crown congratulates you on your ascension to the head of your house. And Lord Paramount of the Riverlands” He explained, “Truly Glorious well done,”

“I did nothing,” Oscar answered,

“Nevertheless, you are here which is the important thing.” Daemon nodded,

“You were quick enough to dismiss me before.”

“You were of no significance to me then.”

Jaerra sighed, rolling her eyes a little.

“Now. I shall have my great host you have a decision to make.” Daemon stood from his chair mostly to avoid the eyes of Jaerra, “Presume it is clear to you which is the right one.”

“You will forgive me, your grace… I am green. In this sort of matter. As you so kindly point out, but it does seem to me that you’ve made rather a mess here.” Oscar explained making sure to meet Daemon's eyes as he walked around him, “Countenancing barbarities in the queen's name.”

Jaerra choked back a small laugh but made no secret of her smile, as she rested her feet on the table,

“Who’s side are you on?” Daemon glared the boy down,

“... The river lands are held together by oaths.” Oscar nodded, “House Tully swore on oath to King Viserys Targaryen, We recognize the authority of the named heir Queen Rhaenyra Targaryen… And your own as her king consort.”

“Good.” Daemon nodded, “Then we should go to face your vassals and you shall call your banners to war,”

“That might be difficult my king,”

“Well… I was told they would come to heal When house tully declared it’s allegiance.”

“That… may be the case,” Oscar nodded, “But it is yet to be seen that they will heed my authority, as young as it is.”

“You are no older than my daughter.” Daemon chuckled as his eyes met Jaerra,

“... I’d further follow her than you.”

“Power and control don’t have an age. Merely a mindset.” Jaerra smiled,

Oscar nodded to her, “And there is another problem… they all hate you.” he turned back to Daemon,

“Everyone hates him.” Jaerra spoke up again, “Never stopped him before.”

“I don’t need their love, I need their swords.” Daemon glared,

The two in a deep moment of staring before the door opened,

“You’re grace, My lord, the river lords await. I fear we cannot delay them any longer.”

“Of course,” Daemon nodded, “Come along lord Oscar,”

Oscar nodded and walked out hand on his sword,

“You too.” He demanded to Jaerra,

She sighed setting her feet down on the stone floor and made her way out the door, but turned around as she passed Daemon walking backwards out the door, “I like him.”

“You would.” he glared, forcing her out with him.  

[loverickyys]

. ݁𖦹₊ ⊹ Professor Hanbin!

minors dni (answering an ask by anon, can't include it unfortunately!)

- frankly speaking you were not a bad student. always able to keep up with the burden of assignments in uni but it all changed when your psychology professor had to leave mid semester, a younger professor coming in to substitute him.

- you never thought the new professor will turn out to be so hot that from being a top scorer your grades will plummet so badly, all due to him of course.

- don't get it wrong, hanbin is a great teacher. he listens well, he never discourages anyone, helping everyone around with his ever pure and angelic smile. in your eyes he is literally an epitome of gorgeous.

- and that's where the problem starts. he is so hot and pretty that all you can do is stare at awe, blushing when he smiles back at you so beautifully or your stomach exploding in butterflies when he bends down slightly against you to help you with a question.

- no wonder all you think about before, during and after his class is him. your head is filled with him. hanbin, hanbin, hanbin cluttering in your mind even at a glance of him.

- exam season comes and you fail badly. (who else can be blamed other than your sexy professor of course). while distributing the results hanbin's eyebrows furrow with disappointment as he asks you to stay back after the class to have a chat. the sadness from the awful result already vanishing as your heart beats with excitement getting to spend some time alone with him.

- "i wouldn't lie to you. i am pretty disappointed, you were among the top students earlier the semester. makes me wonder if my teaching methods are not helpful to you. do you need any help, you can always ask me." hanbin sighs, leaning back on his desk with you standing in front of him. the class is empty and only the soft music he plays during the sessions can be heard in the background. he looks displeased and confused, staring at you for some reason.

- you look in his deep black eyes. he is looking even sexier today, wearing a white shirt, left unbuttoned to show his tattoos, brown trousers that fit make his thighs look delectable and glasses sitting at the bridge of his nose.

- "it's not my fault professor, you are always distracting me." you smile a little, a weird confidence overtaking you (probably directed by the horniness you feel looking at him) as you stand up straighter coming on his eye level. hand moving slowly to pop open a button of your pink blouse to show some cleavage.

- hanbin gulps slightly seeing your movements, eyes not so shyly going to your boobs. "i am not sure what you mean by that. and if it's what i am thinking it is, i'll have to say that is highly inappropriate of you." he tries to fight back. he has now rolled up the sleeves oh shirt, hand flying to open another of his shirt's button as if to mimic your actions.

- you know he is clearly not backing away. pushing yourself more you lean towards him, palm coming in contact with his chest, your index finger tracing the lines of his tattoo. "and what are you going to do hanbin, report me? you want this too, accept it."

- there is a glint of surprise in hanbin's eyes but he regains his composure almost immediately. smirking as he grabs your chin pulling you closer, lips inches away from you. his arm wraps strongly around your waist, trapping you in his hold. "what do you want? just say it" he scoffs and let's go of you leaving you a little frustrated with the want to connect your lips together and taste him. your thighs rub uncomfortably, panties sticking due to how wet it feels underneath your white skirt.

- "i want you to pass me in this exam" you cross your hands across your chest. hanbin chuckles darkly, eyes now filled with lust. "and why would I do love?" he smiles at you, taking off his glasses and putting them on the desk. "because if you do i'll let you use me as your personal cumslut, professor"

- he doesn't need to be told twice, picking you up immediately, nails digging in your thighs as you yelp and hold on to his shoulders. he throws you on his desk not caring about the mess he is making. "you really shouldn't be talking like that you know?" he grabs you by the neck pulling you in for a messy and rough kiss, tongue sliding in your mouth instantly. your hands tug at his hair pulling him closer and closer while his pry your legs open, now standing between them.

- you let go to catch your breath, a string of saliva between you both as hanbin attaches his lips to your neck, nibbling and sucking harshly. you moan at the sensation and feel one of his hands sneakingly going inside your skirt and underwear. his fingers excitedly rub circles at your clothed core and he slips his index inside your hole, hooking it up and teasing your sweet spot. "fuck i- hanbin i-" you groan out as he fingers you slowly. "cat got your tongue now huh?" he teases you adding another finger.

- the way his fingers move in and out of you and the added pleasure of his mouth marking your neck and collarbone has you cumming in no time. he helps you ride the orgasm, cooing at how pretty you look practically screaming his name. he pulls out his fingers to pop them in his mouth, groaning in satisfaction at your taste before taking them out and pushing them in your mouth for you to suck on.

- you suck on his fingers delicately then instantly drop on you knees to return the favor. looking up at hanbin as he stares at you with pure lust and awe in his eyes. "let me help you professor" you give him an innocent smile and unzip his trousers. there is a patch on his boxers, cock begging to be freed from its confinements. you palm him gently as he grabs your hand. "don't be a tease now love" he says and you follow his orders, pulling his boxers down with the trousers. cock slapping at his stomach, tip red leaking with precum. it looks pretty just like he does all the time. your mouth waters as you lick a big stripe from the top to the bottom of his cock, sucking the tip lightly.

- hanbin grunts when you take him fully, mouth wrapped around him and hands playing with his balls. your tongue swirls around his cock, loving his taste. "you are such a whore, aren't you love" he groans in pleasure fingers tugging your head as he starts to fuck your mouth. you moan around him, the degradation making you rub your thighs together. you take whatever he gives you, now speeding up as tears well in your eyes, spit gathering at your chin.

- hanbin cums with a low groan, eyes blown, shirt all messed up, not letting your mouth leave his cock for one bit. when he is done he lets go off your hair and pulls you back. you still sit on the floor diligently, opening your mouth to show him you have swallowed everything. he smiles, his whisper dimples showing at his cheeks, "such a good girl, my little cumslut. consider your grades up love." you smile back at him, never been more satisfied.

(Had to repost because my account likes to get on my nerves sometimes :)

[paddymoonstruck]

Pairings: Charles Leclerc x Nepo!OC

Summary: here !!!

Next Chapter

Notes: It’s here! Hope you like it. Please feel free to share your thoughts in the comment section. Let me know if you want to be added on the tag list!

In the midst of the bustling crowd, the whispers of the cool wind blew past Sofina’s figure. Her honey brown locks cascades down her back, jostling the perfected curls on her head. She produced a well-mannered smile at the cluster of people beginning to narrow down her walkway as they approached her path. Their collective voices sync achingly in her ears as the volume increased in a rapid pace.

She bowed her head, an attempt to conceal the mischievous smirk plastered on her face. Her fingers adjusted the sunglasses shielding her eyes from the blinding flashes of the cameras pointing at her face.

“See, this is why I don’t particularly like arriving with you.”

Behind her shades, she gave a sidelong glance to her company. She tilted her head up to meet his gaze. His lips thinned, brows furrowed at the earnest as he scratched the back of his neck.

“I don’t see a problem,” She shrugged, a whimsical tone carried in her voice.

Joris looked at her, a scowl decorating his lips. He gave her a once over, deepening the lines on his forehead as he observed the aching differences of their attire.

Sofina graced the paddock in a white oxford button up, cream-colored wool blend high waisted trousers that was secured by a leather belt and a pair of flats and a watch that certainly cost as much as his house. Her whole ensemble mercilessly trampled on the white tee and light washed jeans he’d probably bought in a thrift store.

“We agreed to dress casual,” Joris sighed, shaking his head but the slight simper on his lips betrayed his expression. “You said you’d follow this time.”

“This is casual!” Sofina argued, smirk growing every passing minute of this conversation. She knew it wasn’t.

On Joris’s part, he should’ve known better. Sofina was the daughter of a prominent business magnate. She was a part of a family far beyond their wildest imagination. Exuding the confidence and prestige she naturally had was an aura no common man could possibly learn.

“I look like your driver.” He droned.

“Nonsense, you look dashing!” She assured, nudging his brooding stature. “And besides, my driver is somewhere over . . . there,” Raising her palm, she pointed to their intended destination.

Sofina smiled victoriously as she noticed his quiet relent, hooking her arm around his and proceeding to drag him through the mix of bodies despite his protests. They ignored the media’s shouts for attention as they weaved their way towards the obnoxiously bright red infrastructure that was otherwise known as the Ferrari motorhome.

Upon their arrival in the motorhome, they were immediately greeted by the roaming staff in the lobby.

The first to come near was the French Team Principal of Ferrari, Frederic Vasseur with his usual jolly smile.

“Sofina! What a pleasant surprise!” He gushed, lengthening his hand for her to shake.

The brunette returned his infectious delight, baring a kind smile of her own and taking his hand. “Surely it’s not that much of a shock that I’m here, Fred,” She jokingly tutted.

To which the Frenchman bellowed out a hearty laugh. “Of course not! I just was not expecting you to be so early. Everybody’s just warming up, you see.”

Sofina hummed, looking around the room. It was indeed a latish time for her to be here. In contract to the countless media outlets fussing about outside, Ferrari’s motorhome maintained a tranquil commodious space.

The clank of her shoes echoed through the air as it hit the marbled ground. Strolling further inside, she has yet to spot the one she was looking for.

“Charles is getting ready in his driver’s room,” Fred supplied as if having read her mind. “He will be out shortly. Feel free to have a seat in the lounge.”

Sofina nodded, flashing Fred a grateful smile before he went on to do his job.

She went ahead and sat down on one of the red polyester armchair while Joris settled in a duplicate just across her.

After a several minutes of endlessly replying to company emails and submitting “between life and death” documents to her father, the faint squeaking of sneakers finally broke the cycle.

Sofina instantly glanced up from her torturous tasks to be greeted by a certain emerald eyed, Monegasque.

“Charlie!” She beamed at him, standing up with her arms already reaching for him.

Charles’s dimples pop out from the corners of his mouth at the greeting. He happily granted the excited girl’s request, elongating his arms around her waist.

He chuckled as her antsy limbs encircled his neck, never-minding the constricting grip she has on them. Bending down, he allowed her an easier access that was suppressed by their differences in height.

She gasped as she pulled away, sending Charles into a frenzy at the sudden reaction. He searched her eyes for answers but was only given a cutting glare.

“Have you been eating well?” She interrogated, voice low but filled with nothing but concern. “You look thinner than when I last saw you . . .”

Charles raised an eyebrow, corner of his lips twitching at her exaggerated statement. “We saw each other last week.”

“And?” She asked, genuinely confused by his utterance.

Charles laid his palms on both sides of her face, blaring out her displeasure with the mission to smooth out the distress on her.

“Ow!” She hissed, swatting away his arm as pain seared in her cheek from his the ministrations of his fingertips.

“I’m fine, bébé,” He assured, bitting his lip to prevent the further growth of his smirk. “You know training in the first week is the most crucial. It’s normal to lose weight.”

“By this much?” She scoffed, motioning to his face. His cheeks were hollower, making his cheekbones more prominent and the thinning of his face were generally noticeable.

Charles tried to ward away her worries, placing a soft peck on her cheek before shifting his attention to Joris.

Sofina watched them engage in pleasantries, Joris mentioning how dressed up Sofina was. She merely stifled a laugh at the scandalize look that resurfaced on his features once more at the topic.

“Oh come on,” Charles quipped, eyes traveling from her feet to the top of her head. “She looks fantastic,” He winked, “You look very beautiful,”

Sofina gave him a thumbs up at his specification, amused by his antics.

“What do you need now? More money? A cheque? A car?” She raised a finger up to silence his mirthful face. “My soul?”

His bubbly exterior exploded into a fit of hysterics at the reference she used. Sofina introduced him the hit reality show Keeping Up With The Kardashians when the pandemic started. It was her insistent persuasion that ultimately led them to binge watching every episode until they’ve had to wait for the newest one.

Joris rolled his eyes at the giggling pair, waiting for them to collect themselves. Sofina caught his eyes and began to explain. “It’s Khloe Kardashian.”

Truthfully, he didn’t gain any knowledge from the vague clarification. Nonetheless, he nodded.

“Do you need anything?” Charles faced Sofina.

“Aside from today’s testing results, not really.” She concluded, tapping at her phone to check her duties. “Sorry I wasn’t here for first and second day. I was drowning in paperwork.”

Charles omitted a sound of sympathy. Now that he was paying attention to her face, the dark circles under her eyes were more visible, matching the exhausted sigh that passed her lips.

“Did something happen?” He queried, gliding his fingers through the disarrayed curls from when she was sitting down.

She shook her head. “No, not exactly. But you know— I can handle it.” A buzz blossomed on her chest as the warmth of Charles’s palm radiated on her cheek.

Charles inhaled deeply, adjusting to the shift of the atmosphere. Instead of adding to the heavy pressure, he decided to change the subject.

“The car’s doing great,” He chided, hand falling onto her shoulder. “Ferrari finished on a high on both days. . .”

Sofina managed a smile, bobbing her head at the news she already knew. The information should have brought her more joy than what she was currently feeling but for some reason, a churning sensation struck her in the pit of her stomach.

“. . . Maybe even faster than Redbull?”

The claim got her to look up at Charles. A sheepish simper on his lips. Sofina couldn’t resist the amused huff hold hostage in her throat.

“With all improvements made, it’s a relief you’re more comfortable in the car than last year,” Her affirmation was met with a consensus from Charles and Joris.

Whenever Sofina was consumed by the sudden reminder of her intense duties, this was a place she often ran to. Ran to hide from the ridiculous demands of her supposedly unproblematic life.

With them, the biting tension of having to continuously prove herself didn’t exist in the here. It was without a doubt, easier to be. Especially in the eyes of whom knew her best.

Sofina met Charles’s eye. His emerald spheres dancing with a molten rays of the Bahrain sunlight. She would never tire of staring at them. The absurd amount of beguiling enchantment his eyes hold should be dubbed as illegal. If one were to stop and take a moment to admire he—

“GOOD MORNING, LADIES AND GENTLEMEN!”

The sonorous voice from the speakers woke Sofina’s consciousness from her trance. She swiftly blinked away the dolly lopsided smile stuck on her face, tearing her gaze away from Charles. She bore the boundless embarrassment in regards the drawn out time she spent gawking at him.

“You— you get out there and uh—” She cleared her throat, avoiding his teasing eyes. “—Do your best—Charles!” She squirmed, a hand shoving at his shoulder as he got into her face, trying to catch her adorably flaming cheeks.

Charles aired out a laugh at the deathly glare she sent his way, admiring the futile attempt to hide her blushing face from him.

“I’ll see you later?” He declared, soft and gentle.

“Of course.” She wheeled her eyes, struggling to keep her smirk in bay as she saw to giddy look in his face.

With one last peck on the cheek and a wave for Joris, he turned and went on his way to the garage.

The tremulous sigh she released nearly collapsed her lung. Another year of Formula One, and owning most of Ferrari’s sponsorship held a great weight on Sofina’s shoulders. The pillars of her chosen empire were bound to fall with one wrong move. Proving her father right was the last thing she wanted and she’d hate for all of this to be blown in a million pieces because of what her father referred to as her incapability to be a firm leader.

Alas, heavy is the head that wears the crown and so is the heart that weighs it down.

Tag-list: @seairsunset @mindflay3r @tangointhequango @bwormie @eugene-emt-roe @herondalism @comfortzonequeen @weekendlusting @nomie-11 @i-ship-bullshit-2020 @cc13723things @charlesgirl16 @namgification @charizznorizz @missenclod @outerudeth

[moni-logues]

Up All Night

Pairing: JK x reader

Genre: smut/pwp, neighbours/enemies-to-well, not really lovers, not even really fuckers lmao

Word count: 5.8k

Summary: You've moved into a nice, new apartment but there's just one problem: your noisy neighbour with the voice of an angel who insists on doing karaoke in the small hours. You decide it's about time to tell him off and get a whole lot more than you bargained for.

Content: oral sex (f. receiving), protected sex (well... sort of... you'll see!), dom!JK, slight bratty reader, bit of spanking, bit of biting, overstimulation, alcohol consumption

A/N: JK said middle of the night karaoke (again!) so here we are (again!) lmao. Originally written for M @here2bbtstrash. Not edited for reposting.

* * *

The previous tenant of your new apartment had assured you that there were no issues with the apartment, the landlord, the building, the management company, or the neighbours. It was peaceful, quiet, they had said. They were clearly lying.

You pull the pillow off your head and huff, frowning into the darkness of your bedroom. You check the clock: 2am. 2am. Who does karaoke at 2am on a Wednesday?! You put the pillow back over your face and scream into it; you can’t hear it yourself over the noise of your next-door neighbour’s wailing and warbling. This has been going on long enough.

He has no set pattern, no set routine, it seems, so it’s not even as if you can plan your life around it. At weekends, you don’t mind; people can do what they like at the weekend; you’re not immune to fun! And, truth be told, he has a nice voice; at least he can actually sing well. But cranking up the karaoke machine at midnight on a weeknight is pushing it. And you’re at your limit. You’re supposed to be sleeping but your heart is hammering as anger floods your system, blood roaring in your ears, your patience so worn, it’s transparent.

It’s almost project deadline time which means a) there is more work to do than there has ever been because, obviously, everyone is running behind and no one is ready and b) very important meetings with the clients to explain why you’re behind and how, actually, it’s fine and ok and you are all good at your jobs even though nothing is ready. It would be stressful and exhausting on 8-hours a night, but you were scraping through with three or four thanks to your pop-star wannabe neighbour.

Silence. Has he stopped? Is it over?

A new song starts. The single thread with which you had been hanging on snaps and you sit bolt upright in bed. Something has to be done.

You run a hand through your hair, put on a top and some trousers, and take a deep breath before stomping out of your apartment to stand at the door of the apartment to the right. You can still hear him out here.

You thump on the door, four heavy-handed, side-fisted thumps. No answer. You try again, harder and more this time. No answer. You consider going back to your apartment for a pair of boots to try to kick the door (or kick the door in, either way) when it finally swings back.

“Oh,” is what comes out. Your brain has fallen out of your ears.

You hadn’t given much thought to what your neighbour might look like; it certainly hadn’t occurred to you that he might look like that: all tall and dark and handsome, with those huge, brown eyes, and... and... see-through pyjamas. You bite your lip as he looks at you, confused but friendly; you still dimly remember why you had been knocking at his door in the middle of the night but, somehow, you can’t get your mouth to move.

“Are you ok?” he asks, brows creasing in concern. His pink tongue pokes briefly out of his lips as he sucks his lip ring into his mouth and you are transfixed. Your poor brain is scrambling to try to get you to say anything when all your body’s attention is somewhere far south of that. You gulp.

“You are loud,” you say and groan internally at yourself. Get a grip!!! He’s just a man! He’s a man who’s keeping you up! He’s a man you came here to tell off!

Yeah, but he’s a man that looks like that.

Your eyes move from his mouth to his hands, still holding his karaoke mic. Little tattoos on his hand, bigger tattoos moving up his arm, his muscled, well-defined arm. Your heart skips a beat when you imagine that hand around your throat and that beat is taken up with a throb in your core.

“Uh, oh, the karaoke? Is it too loud?”

“Yes,” you answer weakly, your voice disappearing as he scrunches up his nose and ruffles the hair at the back of his head, bashful. You wish you had thought to put on underwear beneath your pyjamas; your nipples are hard, all too visible underneath the pale vest and you can feel your arousal between your legs. You cross one foot in front of the other and squeeze your thighs together.

You’re ashamed of yourself, honestly. You came to tell him to knock it off and put a sock in it and shut the fuck up because some people (clearly not him) have real jobs that require them to get up early in the mornings and use their brains which, in turn, require a good night’s sleep and yet, here you are, a mindless, gawping hole with cum for brains and one, singular thought resounding in your head.

“Oh, I’m really sorry. I didn’t know you’d be able to hear it. I guess it is kind of late...”

“Yeah, it’s late,” you say, able only to echo what’s already been said, not daring to say more lest that thought escape out of your mouth while your brain is unavailable.

“I’m sorry, yeah, I’ll turn it down; I’ll try to be quieter next time!” His smile is glorious; he glows and you can only bask in it.

When you don’t leave, he falters.

“Um, do-.. C-… I-… Is there something else?”

Yes, there is, your brain says to you. Yes, I want to put my mouth all over your body. Yes, I want to make you sing my name. Yes, I want to fuck you and make you cum so hard, you actually shut the fuck up. Your eyes rove his body hungrily, unsupervised by your mushy brain, and when you finally meet his gaze, the look on his face is different.

The cute, baby-faced, little cherub is gone and his eyes look darker now. He raises an eyebrow at you and you swallow a whimper.

“Do you want to come in?” he asks.

You don’t respond but he moves backwards and you follow, letting him shut the door behind you. You stand awkwardly as he goes to the kitchen and gets out two shot glasses and a bottle of soju. He opens it, pours the shots and slides one along the counter in your direction.

You’re surprised, a little unsure, but you take it and down it and he refills the glass.

“I’m Jungkook, by the way.” He raises his glass at you and takes another shot.

You tell him your name and drain your glass, moving further into the room. It’s dim, main lights off, a standing lamp in the corner, one on a corner table, and a colourful, swirling lamp casting rainbows across the walls, across Jungkook’s face, across his body... There’s a mattress on the living room floor and it’s incongruent enough that it slightly shakes you from your stupor.

“Does this apartment not have a bedroom?” you ask.

Jungkook giggles, scrunching up his nose again and he sighs.

“It does. I just... also have a mattress in here...”

You don’t ask why. You don’t think you need to.

“It’s not like that,” he says, as if reading your mind. “I just... like to lie down and the sofa isn’t comfortable really, especially if I fall asleep on it. It just- I don’t know, it made sense to me.”

“You’re kind of weird, right?”

He laughs, surprised, and then shrugs.

“I don’t know. I guess. Maybe? Is that bad?”

You shake your head and move closer, putting your empty glass down next to his. He refills them both and this time, you clink them together and he holds your gaze as you sink them.

The soju has rounded your edges and you have completely forgotten your anger, forgotten your anxiety about work, forgotten about everything else outside of these four walls. It’s just you and Jungkook – that guy that you have been ranting and raving about since you moved into this apartment a few weeks ago, that guy you hated, that guy you were going to give what for... that guy with his hand on your arm, that guy moving closer to you, so close you have to tip your head back to see his face.

“Did you really come to complain about the noise?” he asks, his voice quiet and low. His hand moves to your hip, gently fingering the waistband of your trousers.

“Yes,” you whisper back, your mouth dry, adrenaline and alcohol buzzing through your system.

“Is that all?”

His face is so close to yours now; he nudges your nose with his and you can just barely feel his lips hovering over yours. You intend to close your eyes for just a second, just a second to catch your breath, but he whips it from you, closing the minute distance between you, his lips on yours, so soft, so sweet.

Your body responds before your mind has registered what’s happened. One hand rakes through his hair, the other gripping his arm; he pulls your whole body closer, wrapping an arm around you, holding you tight. He has your bottom lip in his teeth, letting go to slip his tongue into your mouth. He moans and you’re suddenly brought to your senses. You jump back and shake your head.

“No, wait, no! I did actually come here to complain about the noise! That is all! That is all! I didn’t even know who you were or what you looked like when I knocked on the door.”

Jungkook chuckles darkly.

“Yeah that much was pretty clear.”

“What does that mean?”

“I saw your face when I opened the door. Not much good at poker, are you?”

He grins and you want to hate him again but he’s so cute even when he’s being smug and condescending.

“Is this how you get away with it?” you ask. “You just look like that and people let you do whatever you want, is that how it works?”

He looks taken aback, almost offended.

“What do you mean? Get away with what?”

“With this!” You fling an arm out towards the karaoke machine and gesture with the other to the microphone sitting on the kitchen counter. “It’s 2am, Jungkook! On a Wednesday! And you’re screaming into a microphone! Who does that?!”

You’re relieved that your anger is back. He is heady and intoxicating and the anger is refreshing – not to mention that getting dicked down by him will do absolutely nothing to solve the actual problem at hand.

“I didn’t know you could hear it!” He’s raising his voice now, too. “No one has ever complained before!”

“Yeah! Because you look like that!”

“What is that supposed to mean?!”

“It means my brain dribbled out of my ears the second I saw you and I forgot that I fucking hate you-!”

“You can’t hate me! You don’t know me!”

“I know you enough! I know your favourite songs! And I know that I can’t fucking sleep because of you! So, I got out of bed to come over here and tell you to just fucking shut the fuck up, and then you opened the door and you’re so ridiculously good-looking that I forgot! I fucking forgot that I’m livid with you!”

“Well, I can’t help what I look like. It’s not my fault you’re attracted to me.”

“If you were a normal person who didn’t go karaoke in the middle of the night then I may never have met you, so it might not be your fault that you look like that but it’s definitely your fault that I had to find out about it.”

“So, you’d rather have never met me?” He moves closer to you again, looking down at you, licking his lips, catching the bottom one in his teeth. “Really?”

You can’t say yes. You can’t say no. You want him to just take you, to shatter the tension between you and fuck you into next week. You can’t tell him that... Can you?

“I didn’t say that, exactly,” you respond, your voice thick, your heart trapped in your throat.

“Then what are you saying?” His body is close against yours now, his hands on your skin beneath your top, sending sparks flying, a shiver down your spine as he presses his lips to your jaw.

“For fuck’s sake, Jungkook,” you growl. “You can’t just fuck your way out of this.”

“No? Can I at least try?”

He pushes his hips against you and he’s hard. He kisses your neck, licking and sucking, drawing tiny gasping breaths from your reluctant mouth. As one hand moves around and he gently pinches your nipple, you moan.

“Fine, fine,” you answer. “But this had better be really good.”

He pulls back and grins, raising his eyebrows at you.

“Oh I’m not worried about that.”

He slips his hands down and lifts you suddenly, carrying you with apparent ease to the mattress on the floor. Then they’re immediately at the waistband of your trousers, pulling them down your legs, throwing them across the room.

“You’re going to fuck me on the floor? Don’t I deserve better than that?” you ask, resting on your hands.

He looks up at you, his hands on your ankles. He tugs quickly and you fall back with a light squeal. You raise your head and he’s crawling over you, his eyes black.

“I’ll fuck you on the actual floor if you’re not careful,” he warns, voice low and steady, sending a spark straight to your core.

“Is that right?”

You know that he could rip you in half without breaking a sweat but you don’t want to make it easy for him. He chuckles and rolls his eyes, shaking his head so that his hair falls forward and tickles your face.

“Are you always such a brat?”

He takes your jaw in his hand, resting his full weight on the other, and grips it tightly. He considers you for a moment: your pupils wide, mouth open, breathing heavy. Then he loosens his grips, strokes a thumb over your cheek.

“Why don’t you try being a good girl?”

“Fuck you.”

His hand snakes to your neck, wraps around your throat.

“Is this ok?” he asks quietly and you nod fervently.

“Then why don’t you try saying that again.” The difference in his voice sends more arousal pooling at the crux of your legs. He’s commanding, authoritative, in charge. You’re already aching, desperate for him.

“F-”

As you go to speak, his hand squeezes hard on your throat, cutting you off. His eyes bore into yours and he lets go.

“Sorry, what was that?”

As you open your mouth to reply, he squeezes again. You kick your legs and squirm beneath him even after he lets go. He lowers his face to yours and kisses your cheek, whispering in your ear.

“Are you ok?”

“Yes, yes, please.”

His hand squeezes once more then lets go your throat and travels down your torso. He kneels back and hooks the hem of your vest under his thumbs.

“If you’re a good girl,” he tells you, lifting your top over your head and discarding it, “Then I’ll be good to you...” He presses kisses against your throat and chest and he sucks a nipple into his mouth, swirling it with his tongue and you can’t stop your hips bucking below him. Releasing you with a pop, he continues. “But if you insist on being a brat...” He kneels up and gives a swift, sharp slap to your pussy. You gasp and his face switches back, cute and open and concerned; he mouths the question ‘are you ok? Is this ok?’ and you nod, nod, nod.

“Yes, yes, please.” Like a doll with a ring-pull in her back, it’s all you can say.

“So tell me,” and it’s authoritative Jungkook back again, “Are you going to be good or are you going to be a brat?”

He sits and waits for your answer, slowing unbuttoning his shirt, keeping his eyes on you. You don’t know the answer. You just know you want him, desperately; the need in your centre is so strong, it’s almost painful; your walls are fluttering, clenching around nothing; arousal almost pouring out of you onto this stupid mattress on the floor. You’re shameless with desire. You’ll do anything, anything to have him inside you.

“I asked you a question. Are you going to be a good girl or are you going to be a brat? Don’t make me ask a third time.” His voice is sharp and he stands to take off his trousers and boxers.

“Fuck,” you gasp when he’s finally naked, his prick standing proud before him. Your mouth waters and your pussy floods at the sight. “Good, good, I’ll be good, I’ll be good.” The words tumble from your mouth in a rush and you sit up, about to get to your knees when he pushes you back down. “I’ll be good, I swear,” you whisper. “Just please-”

“Please what, princess?” He’s sweet now, indulgent, his lips back on your neck as his fingers trail down your stomach.

“Please touch me.”

“Touch you? Oh, but I am touching you. Look-” He gestures with his free hand to where his other dances his fingers across your stomach. Kneeling, he pulls your legs apart, settling them over his legs, stroking your thighs.

“No,” you whine, rolling your hips as if there is anything there to roll them against. You can feel a bead of sweat roll down your spine as Jungkook hitches you higher, pulling you closer so that you can feel his cock rest against your clit. You whine again but he’s holding you so tight that you can’t move.

“No? No? So you don’t want this?” He presses his thumb into your swollen, throbbing clit and you keen, grasping the blankets in your fists.

“Please, yes, please, that.”

“You like that?” He moves his thumb in slow circles and you think you might explode with need. You’re so wet and so sensitive and your head is swimming as your body tingles all over, as if the surface of your skin is sparkling water, bubbles rising and popping, goosebumps sprinkled from top to bottom.

“Yes, yes- ahh, yes, fuc- yes.. But-”

“But?”

“More. Need more.”

Jungkook sighed and removed his hand.

“No,” you cried, trembling with desire. “Please.”

“That’s right, princess, you ask nicely now.”

“Please, please touch me,” you beg, unravelling with unmet desire. “Please, Jungkook-, hngh-”

His thumb is back and insistent now and you moan as he finally slips two fingers into your wet, aching cunt.

“Fuck, Jungkook!”

“Mm, yeah, I like it when you say my name like that.”

“Jungkook, mm- fuck... Faster.. Please.”

“As you wish.”

Pleasure coils tight inside you as he hooks his fingers inside you, pressing hard against your front wall. Your walls begin to clench against his fingers and your muscles tighten as he brings you to the edge.

“Please, please, please, please, please, please...” You repeat over and over, your mind barely present, only conscious of your climax, closer and closer, so, so close until Jungkook stops. “What? What?” You look at him, wild-eyed and he grins like snake. “Why?” You sound petulant, you can hear it yourself, but you were so close and you need it so badly.

“You’re just so wet, princess. I don’t think I can go another second without tasting you.”

You expect him to curl forward, shuffle towards the edge of the bed, and bring his mouth to you, but he wraps his arms and around your waist and hoists you upward, bringing your burning core to him. You’re virtually upside-down, his cock pressed against your back. Keeping one arm tight around you, Jungkook slips his other hand under your opposite shoulder making sure you don’t slip, and then he kisses your thighs and your puffy outer lips and he licks the crease of your hip and you’re whining, squirming, his hot breath against you torturous, tantalising.

The blood is rushing to your head and your vision swims as he finally puts his lips where it matters. He licks through your folds and you moan, free and wanton, your breath hitching, voice breaking when he flicks your clit, then seals his lips around it.

“Fuck! Fuck! Ah-.. Jesus- fuck.”

You can barely move as he’s holding you so tightly, so securely as he sucks hard at your tight pearl, as he licks through your folds, as he pushes his tongue inside you, drinking you greedily, hungrily, insatiably. He moans and it sends a shiver down your spine. You’re dizzy but you don’t know if it’s being upside down or if it’s being licked and sucked and slurped at as if Jungkook’s life depends on it.

He doesn’t move his mouth from you, moaning and groaning, sending vibrations through your core until you’re light-headed. You’re back on the edge as he sucks at your clit, the soft pad of his tongue rubbing over you; your walls are clenching, your hands are shaking, your thighs trembling as pressure builds. You glance up at him: eyes closed in concentration, brows together frowning into you, tiny hairs sticking to his forehead with sweat.

“Fuck, Jungk-”

Your orgasm takes the rest of his name from your mouth, replacing it with a long, loud whine. Even he can’t stop you squirming as pleasure pours over you. Colours and patterns dance in front of your eyes as your whole body starts to shake, toes curling, legs squeezing Jungkook’s head. But he doesn’t stop, mouth still moving against you, drinking you in like you’re an oasis and he’s been wandering the desert for forty nights.

“Jungkook!” you gasp, fingernails finding his thigh, grasping, digging. “Jungkook!”

He moans in response but doesn’t detach and you think you might die if he keeps going, don’t know if you can take anymore. You feel floppy; you feel drunk; you feel giddy and hysterical. He releases your clit and you gasp, relieved, but he hasn’t finished. He licks through your folds, wanton and in search of more.

“Jungkook, I can’t,” you whine, your voice almost breaking, tears almost pricking in your eyes.

“Be a good girl.” His voice is deep, dark, liquid as he speaks, his lips still touching your skin. It makes you shiver. It makes your empty pussy throb. “Just be a good girl, ok?”

He hoists you up another inch and your head falls between his legs, fully and completely upside-down now. You arch your back against him and his nose bumps your clit, shooting a jolt right through you. His mouth is moving slower now and you’re grateful for the reprieve but then he’s back on your screaming bundle of nerves and, no, that’s you screaming. You screaming his name, screaming yes and screaming nothing comprehensible. You feel feral, no longer human but animal, no longer aware of anything but his mouth and your cunt. Your nails dig into the flesh of his stomach but he merely growls against you, holding you tighter. You feel like you’re trapped in a riptide, rolling and swirling and tumbling, barely breathing, choking on his name in your mouth.

He pulls another orgasm from you, a shuddering, thunderous climax the likes of which you have never before experienced. Everything pulls tight like an overstretched elastic band and then it’s snapped and you’re free-falling, a wailing cry sounding far off in your ears, as if you’re out of your body. Jungkook gently shuffles backwards, lowering you to the mattress, where you lie, panting, your head spinning, every part of you feeling as if you were on another planet. Your body feels heavy and weightless at the same time, limbs like lead somehow floating above you.

He kisses your feet and your ankles and your calves. He kisses your knees and your thighs and your stomach. He kisses the tips of your fingers and the palms of your hands and the crooks of your elbows. He kisses your shoulder and your neck and your ear and your cheek. He wipes the hair from your brow and gently turns your face towards him. His face is swimming in front of you as the blood still slowly levels out in your body.

“Are you ok?” he whispers, those huge, dark eyes bright and shining. The swirling colours of the kaleidoscopic lamp pass over his face and you think you might just be dreaming. He wipes at his lips and his chin, but he’s still sticky and shiny with your arousal all over him. “You ok?” he repeats.

A sound that isn’t a word leaves your lips and you frown and try again.

“Tem-… bu-… uh... Fu-…"

He giggles and kisses your cheek again, pressing his nose against you.

“You want some water?”

You can only nod as you wait for your body to come back into itself, as you wait for your brain to pick itself back up off the floor. When he brings the glass over to you, he has to help you sit up; you lean heavily against him as you gulp down the full glass in one. You gasp as you finish, water trickling down your chin and onto your chest. You lean your head back on Jungkook’s shoulder.

“I... I...” You start but you don’t know what to say.

“Mm? You what?” Jungkook’s hand starts to stray, gently rubbing your side; his mouth connects to your neck again and your head falls to the side. “You were such a good girl,” he purrs and you are thrilled by the praise.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah, so, so good for me, princess. Think you’re ready for me now?”

“Oh...”

It’s not that you don’t want it. It’s that you can barely sit upright without leaning against him, your legs all jelly and your spine a column of paper.

“It’s ok, you can say no,” he reminds you, stroking your leg.

“No, no, -”

“That’s ok.”

Jungkook shuffles behind you, laying you against the sofa while your brain strives to catch up.

“No, no, no I mean, no, I don’t mean no I-. No, YES. Yes, I mean yes.” You twist so you’re facing him and press your palms his chest – soft, firm, warm – and push yourself up. “Yes, I mean yes. Please, please fuck me.”

He grins and takes your face in his hands.

“You’re so cute when you beg.”

He kisses you, still so soft, still so sweet. Still so strong: he scoops you up in his arms and lifts you so you’re straddling him, without breaking the kiss. He sucks on your tongue and you moan, your body awakening once more. You slip your hand down and find his cock, hot and hard between your bodies, the tip slick with precum. You twitch at the thought of him inside you as your fingers don’t quite wrap all the way around him. Jungkook moans as you spread the precum around his head, thumb gently bothering the soft underside.

“Fuck, one sec.”

He sets you back down on the mattress and stumbles hastily to another room, returning with a condom in his hand. He rips it open as he kneels back down in front of you and then slips it over his tumescent length.

“You still want this?” he asks, as if the greed and desire weren’t plain in your face.

“God, yes. Please.”

“You’re so needy!” He laughs and presses a firm kiss to your lips. “That’s just how I like you, princess.”

From your kneeling position, he hooks his arms under your thighs, spreading them wide, lifting and pressing you against the edge of the sofa.

“This ok? Comfortable?”

You honestly can’t even tell. All you can feel is the deep, heavy drag of desire in your core, the persistent, empty ache of Jungkook not inside you. You nod, dumbly, and swallow as he runs the head of his cock through your soaked wet folds before pressing into you.

Oh, he’s big. He’s slow and careful as he stretches you out and you whimper, not because it hurts but because it feels so, impossibly good.

“Tell me how it feels,” he commands.

“So big,” you pant. “So good.”

“Tell me if you ne-”

“No, don’t stop.” Your hands grip his shoulders and you look him in the eye. “Do not stop. Please.”

He doesn’t stop until there’s no more left to give and he holds you there, stuffed full. You wait a moment and then another but he doesn’t move. You try to roll your hips against him but you’re held fast between the sofa and Jungkook and he is like a statue, unmoving.

“Jungkook?”

You try to catch his eye but he’s looking down at your body with his lip between his teeth.

“Jungkook.”

“What, princess? What do you need?”

He looks at you with a grin and you realise he’s just teasing you, waiting for you to beg some more. You huff and pout and look away, refusing to meet his eye again. You cross your arms over your chest.

“Uh oh,” he says, gently tucking your hair behind your ear. “Uh oh, is my good girl sulking? Have I spoilt you, princess? Given you too much of what you want already?” He grips your hair tightly and pulls your head back. “Have I created a brat out of you?”

“No,” you reply, still petulant and pouting.

“No? Then where’s my smile? Where’s my ‘please’?”

You look at him, bottom lip still jutting, and he raises his eyebrows.

“Oh, that’s a real shame...” He starts to pull out of you, as slowly as he went in and you bite the inside of your lip to keep quiet. “I was really looking forward to fucking you, but we don’t reward bratty behaviour in this house...” As his tip reached your entrance, you grabbed his arms, no longer pouting, your eyes pleading. “Hm?” he asked. “What’s that?”

You growled and rolled your eyes and dropped your head back, taking a deep breath before snapping it back.

“Please,” you spit but Jungkook shakes his head and falls from you.

“No, no, that’s not how we ask nicely, is it?”

He drops you and you flop onto the mattress but before you can react, he’s lifting you up again, turning you around, bending you over the sofa. He presses himself against you and the two of you moan in unison. Then he smacks you hard on your right glute and you gasp.

“You ok?”

“Yes.”

“Then that’s what you get for being a brat.” He smacks you hard again in the same spot and you whimper. He licks over the sting and cracks you on the other side.

“Jesus!” you exclaim.

“Too much?”

“No, no, keep going.”

Another smack.

“Keep going what?”

“Keep going, Jungkook.”

And another.

“Keep going what?”

Seconds pass in tense, exhilarating silence. Your heart skips in your chest at the thrill of it, of denying him what he wants, of what he might do in return. As the seconds tick by, another and another and another, Jungkook’s hand sneaks around in front and he grabs your clit sharply and twists.

“Oh Jesus, fuck!” you cry, your head dropping onto the sofa.

Jungkook’s lips are back at your ear.

“Is it too much?” His voice is so gentle and the contrast makes you laugh.

“No, no, it’s not.”

“Ok, you say when, though ok?”

You nod and he kisses the shell of your ear.

“Please, keep going,” you say and he laughs.

“See? So, you do know how to ask nicely, eh?” He leaves a trail of kisses down your spine and rolls his hips, his dick sliding through your wet folds so that you moan. “Come on, then, princess, enough being bratty. Ask nicely for what you want.”

But you don’t want to ask nicely. Not anymore. You push your hips back against him and his hands come down, squeezing them tightly, fingers pressing hard into the skin, the muscle.

“Just fuck me, Jungkook,” you growl.

“Eh?”

You turn your head to look at him, dark, determined.

“I said, just fuck me.”

He smirked and sucked his teeth with a shake of his head.

“What a rotten princess you are, so spoilt, so quickly.”

He bends down and takes a hard bite of your bum cheek. He doesn’t let go, his teeth sinking deeper into your soft flesh as you whimper. You whimper even as fresh arousal pools inside you and your walls flutter. They flutter around nothing as you try to push back or wiggle your hips or get him to move. You hear him growl, your skin still between his teeth, and then he drops you and licks broadly over the clear, dark indentations.

“Jungkook,” you whisper.

“Yes?”

You don’t want to beg but you are desperate for him back inside you. He can bite you and smack you and god knows what else but you need him to fuck you. You look at him over your shoulder and he smiles sweetly at you, expectantly. He plays with your folds and toys with his dick at your entrance, just waiting. You wish you could hold back the moan in your throat, wish you could stop your core clenching, wish you could just get him to fuck you.

“Come on, princess,” he says, his voice quiet, encouraging, even kind. “You can tell me...”

“I want you to fuck me.”

“Oh, I know that,” he laughs, running a hand up to your hair, tangling it there and then tugging backwards, lifting you off the sofa by it so your head rests against his collarbone. “And I,” he growls, letting your hair go and running a soft hand across your breasts, “just want you to ask nicely,” his voice sweet and soft again. These switches are giving you whiplash and you don’t know which Jungkook you want more. Any will do, you think, but then your cunt throbs at the thought of your flesh in his teeth and your resolve hardens.

“I won’t,” you say through gritted teeth.

“You won’t?” He moves backwards and your bodies are no longer touching. He continues to move and the space between you grows, causing you to shiver without the heat of him there. He sighs dramatically. “This is very disappointing. Turn around.”

You do as you’re told without a second thought and when you’re facing him, he’s kneeling and grinning at you.

“What am I going to do with you?” he muses, an evil twinkle in his eye that you are sure is not just the swirling colours of the lamp. He reaches out towards a side table and your eyes widen when you see what’s in his hand. He turns his back to you briefly, pressing buttons on a small remote. You can’t believe your ears when music fills the room and Jungkook brings the mic to his mouth.

“Any requests, princess?”

[starlightshadowsworld]

The Sheep King and his Demon AU

Aka Bsd except Chuuya doesn't join the Port Mafia.

"What's the occasion, Chuuya? Don't tell me we have an anniversary I'm not aware off." Chuuya rolls his eyes but his smile is found as he hands Dazai a large bag.

"Nothing like that" he hesitates "just... Open it." Dazai takes it, intrigued as to what's gotten Chuuya so shy.

He's about to tease him for it but pauses, seeing the bags contents.

It's a hoodie. A large one, so it's definitely not one of Chuuya's. It's a sandy brown with a patch of a white crab sewn on the front.

"None of us have a problem with you wearing your usual clothes. But the weather's getting cold, and we don't exactly have the best heating." Explains Chuuya, pointedly looking anywhere but at Dazai.

Dazai runs a hand over the fabric, it's soft and cosy but not in a way that would make him feel uncomfortable.

"We found it. The rest, well we couldn't get you anything new so we all pitched in." Says Chuuya, seeing Dazai pull out the rest of the items.

Yuan's light blue gloves. A pair of Shirase's tan trousers. Brown boots Dazai recalls Chuuya complaining about not fitting him. A white t-shirt with short sleeves, would cover the parts his bandages wouldn't.

And a black coat, but unlike his Port Mafia coat this one was shorter, waterproof and warm.

"And I know it's no Port Mafia fashion but-" Chuuya is cut from his nervous rambling by Dazai kissing him. Dazai smiles, a fond and warm smile that eases all Chuuya's fears.

"You did this, all so I wouldn't catch a cold?" Chuuya blushes, gently turning over the coat and revealing the back, the symbol of the Sheep sewn on.

"And so when you come down here, everyone in Suribachi knows, you're one of us. That your mine and not to mess with you."

It was Dazai's turn to blush brightly and he laughs, warm and bright and hugs Chuuya who hugs him.

The next time Dazai shows up it's in his new outfit. He's suprised by how light he feels wearing it.

Maybe it's because it shows the Sheep accept him, having given pieces of their own meager wardrobes to keep him warm.

In a way that is comfortable because they know him well enough to know what he likes.

Or maybe it was Chuuya's smile when he saw Dazai walk in wearing it. And the approving smiles of the Sheep, even if they did smirk knowingly.

Dazai was sure it was both, and both was good

[silverinkbottle]

Oh. You

Alright. Finished up the season, enraptured by the concept and premise. Especially with our lovely deer boi's total not mental break at the end.

HUGE SPOILERS FOR FINALE OF HAZBIN. GO WATCH THEN READ

Chapter 2 <-

Warnings: Violence. Murky employment of child-like spirits.

Alright. On to the premise of the fic AU.

Summary: Unexpected meetings with Exes are always dramatic. Meetings in Hell after a historic battle aren't an exception to the rule.

A/N: Shorter chapter, but writing the next one as we speak. Yes, more Reader powers/backstory shall be revealed. This was just a hint of it.

Radio Demon..Gone

A pause in the wave of whispers.

Defeated?

Your lips curled in quaint satisfaction. It wasn’t true. No, he was far too proud to go out like that. The cigarette in your left hand was quickly extinguished in a nearby ash tray as you slid over the familiar carriage of the metal typewriter. The melodic ding of the mechanisms as your fingers hovered over the cool keys. The pamphlet would have to be perfect as you could all but hear your boss’s ranting and raving if the ‘excitement’ of the failed extermination. The bravado of Hell’s singular Princess. That was the problem when writing propaganda, it was so much harder when imagining details instead witnessing them first. Or second hand as there was a faint ding of a bell, a small furred paw slid across a new memo over your desk as you glanced over it with little interest. 

Radio Demon. Located.

“Show me. My little rabbit.” You purred as your little messenger respectfully tipped his hat to you. Gently gripping your hand with its paws, you couldn’t help but hold your breath at the claustrophobic sensation of the endless darkness. It was how these little lost souls traveled throughout Hell, through the little pockets of forgotten realities.  Never really existing as a true Sinner or Hellborne, all but clinging to a semblance of existence instead of nothing. It’s how your ‘paper’ boys came to your service. The boys came in a collection of fur colors, blacks, browns, whites even the occasional red, all with long rabbit ears popping through tweed caps, looking smart in little vests and trousers. One key feature remained the same, their facial features were blank like a mannequin in a shop. As if unable to manifest their ‘true’ faces from their past, or was it the disjointed collection of spirits unable to enforce a singular will on the others. 

“Oh”.  Your eyes flickered around to the carnage of rubble. It was a mess, that was the gentlest way of putting it. However, there was an undeniable note of copper in the air, mingling with strangely sweet notes as you nudged at the corpse of an Exorcist in passing. Even that tap with your boot provoked further golden ichor from numerous stab wounds. 

“Don’t touch that.” You hissed quickly grabbing the paperboy’s hand to plug him away from the puddle. Who knew what would happen if it managed to somehow consume the holy blood. The gory vision of an imploded corpse passed over your mind. Or somehow the souls reviving themselves. No, it wouldn’t do as your hand tightened about the child-like figure’s wrist as the pair of you marched toward the wreckage of the radio station. 

The copper flecks in the warped into something far saltier as you unceremoniously kicked in the half-broken door. A squeak of excitement came from your servant as it was drawn to the energy lingering in the air, bouncing into the room. Paws reaching for the unseen as another loud squeal came from its’ faceless mask. A true scream like that of a small child as black blood dripped down onto the floor, followed by the corpse dissipating much to the disappointment of the predator. Alastor lazily flicked the ink-like blood from his hand as you sighed.

“You look like shit.” You said as that seemed to grab his attention from the corpse to you. Suit torn, a visibly hurt shoulder and above all, that dim smile that seemed to go even thinner with your inspection.

“Like even worse than the time with those moonshiners who gave us a bad batch after that wrong call out. Worse than-” 

“What. Are. You. Doing. Here.” 

His words edged with a metallic screech as you couldn’t help but laugh. His pride made it all the worse to have someone witness the great, dangerous, infamous ‘Radio Demon’ licking his wounds. 

“Making sure your ears aren’t burning, darling. The walls talk and this whole stand-off with Heaven will be all the rage on the streets. Especially about YOUR disappearance after returning so briefly for all the fanfare you stirred up. Aligning yourself with the Princess of Hell, facing Angels and aiding in some hotel. Had to come see it for myself..”

“Seems like I was a bit late for that last part. Shame.” You sighed as you jabbed a pointed finger towards the mess outside. Stepping over the corpse it was all too easy to see the little restraint remaining in the demon’s gaze as sharp nails grabbed your face.

“Don’t get pissy because I am telling YOU the truth. A nice change for once, don’t you agree?” You teased as his free hand drifted over the crimson fur of your fox ears. Your sharp canine sank down onto your lower lip to resist the urge to squeal when the gentle touch turned to a rougher tug. A thin trickle of blood drifted over Alastor’s smug expression as you had managed to cut a razor-thin line with your folding knife over his skin. His throat would be next if he didn’t release your ears as you hissed low in your throat.

“Curiosity killed the cat, dearest. Surely you know that better than most.” Alastor retorted as his gaze flicked down to your covered throat. 

“Aren’t we terribly clever.” You sneered as you took a few steps back. Even in his weakened state, you knew it was wiser to play your cards cautiously than provoke him further. Genuine surprise crossed your features as you spied to battered remains of that infernal microphone. So those rumors were true as you withdrew your little black book from your dress pocket. A snap of your fingers as an inkwell pen neatly checked off the short list. You were quick to close the book with a loud sigh as Alastor’s peering over your shoulder was less than subtle. 

“Don’t you-”

“My, my, still writing all sorts of rumors aren’t you. However, do you find the time?” Alastor mused as he flicked lazily through the pages. Irritatingly sidestepping you with each attempted grab. There wasn’t much worth in that book, but it was still beyond infuriating. Taking a deep breath, you forced a pleasant smile on your face as your fingers snapped together. There was the faintest ding of a typewriter as another small rabbit-like creature sprang from the floor, collecting the book with a quick grab. 

“I have reliable help. Which is surprisingly difficult to come by these days. Unlike some Sinners, I can’t shrink from my duties to throw a temper tantrum.” You ticked off the comments on your fingers as Alastor’s ears went flat at the petty remark. 

“Oh, I am sorry. Would you like me to embellish it a bit? A dramatic session of sulking after a bruising defeat. An outburst of egotistical pride? No. Something far more crude. A shit-fit.” You nodded to your little rabbit as its paws hastily scribbled your dictation into the notebook.

“Hilarious.”

“I prefer charming.” You deadpanned as he shook his head at you. There was an almost faint feeling of nostalgia in the air now. It was almost human as the faintest memory of you finding him sulking after a less than perfect evening show. That his beat was off, ever the perfectionist as you patted his head with gentle encouragement. Far less cruel times before the darkness began to contaminate both of you.

“You never did answer my question. What are you doing here?” Alastor quipped as he ran a fingertip over the broken top of the microphone. 

“You really think I would miss out on the potential of this?” You dramatically gestured to the carnage about you.So many stories waiting to be written as you clapped your hands together. Summoning two more paperboys as their ears quivered from side to side waiting for your word. 

“Now off you go. Don’t leave a stone unturned. I wonder if we can get some true numbers on the casualties of saintly Heaven. Now would stir up the populace.” Your pen cut through your book without a thought as if you were in the privacy of your office. Instead of that of one ex-husband who was looking more and more perturbed at your avoidance of the question.

“I’m waiting.” Alastor chirped as his fingers splayed over the wet ink, pulling the book away from you. Or at least he tried to as you were quick to jab the sharp tip of the pen into his index fingers provoking a small hiss from the demon.

“You’ll keep waiting. I’ll give you a single crumb, I didn’t come here for YOU.” You snapped as you did your best to smooth out the crinkled page. The writing itself was a smudged mess of ink as you scowled at the once crisp paper.

“Then. Why?” Alastor asked as you gently closed the book shut, slipping it into your dress pocket. Now came the difficult or was it the dangerous part? Despite your estranged relationship, he was an Overlord and you were well..You. Your connections came from the rumor mills of Hell, whispers of your paperboys hiding in the shadows and the scant bit of information from the rants of your boss.

“I was asked to inspect the battleground, sort out the truth from the gossip and exaggerations. Plus the smallest bit of curiosity-”

“About-?” Alastor mused as he cocked his head at you.

“If it was true that Angels had been slain by their own weapons. I know markets are going to flux with all that. Not to mention the apparent discovery of near comatose cannibals found on the side of the road. Complaining about being TOO full for once, it was quite-” 

“You’re chirping an all too familiar song, kit. I know you are hiding something far more than that. Now whoever could have convinced YOU to do the dirty business of finding out sources yourself.” Alastor mused as he placed a single finger under your chin, tilting your head up to look at him.

“It was Vox.” 

Laughter burst from you as saw the telltale twitch of his right eye. The harsher smile over his face at the mere mention of his hated rival. The potential power vacuum or perhaps the reverse of it now that the King of Hell seemed less reclusive.

‘Now, don’t get your antlers in a knot. It wasn’t Vox, you really think I would lower myself and quality for his trash version of news? Please, darling. I do have standards.” You smirked as you smugly patted his cheek before turning on your heel to leave the wreckage of the studio.

“Now, don’t sulk for too long. I imagine that little hotel needs you now more than ever.” 

As soon as you stepped back into the air. Small papers were all but shoved in your direction. Questions, answers, comments all things to be filed away as you dove into your work. Allowing words to shove out the memories of the past. To continue forging your path in this forsaken place in your own way. With the smallest bit of leverage through blackmail, threats and a flair all your own. 

Flipping through the notes, the faintest tug on your sleeve pulled your attention from the words. A simple request. One that made you want to throw a tantrum of your own as the golden ink burned in your vision. It wasn’t a request. 

It was an order.

“Fuck me.” You hissed as you pulled a cigarette from your pocket, allowing the flame of your lighter to ignite the blissful nicotine and eat away at the fine paper. Burning the message into ash to join the rest of the wreckage around you.

You hated feeling cornered. It was an ugly feeling that made your skin crawl like a fox with its leg caught in a trap. There was bitter irony in the scenario as you caught sight of your reflection in the mirror. The vulpine-like features weren’t as much of a hindrance as you knew it could be for other sinners. Your ears twitched as you could hear the faint conversation outside on the street beneath your room’s window. However, it did make your emotions more expressive as you could guard your tongue, but your ears were another story when it came to harsher emotions.  Running a brush through the soft fur of your tail as you perched on the edge of your desk, quietly directing the paperboys about you. Files had to be carefully moved, copied, sent elsewhere for safekeeping and then copied again. Each copy had little fragments of the truth in it, it would be quite the task to assemble all the pieces of the puzzle if someone was desperate enough. Or stupid enough given the true owner of the content wasn’t fond of others knowing his secrets.

Hours passed in a mere blink of the eye as you sighed running your fingers over the last box of files with satisfaction. All written in ink or typed by typewriter, some called your method of recordkeeping outdated. You preferred to think of it as efficient, it was far more difficult to change dried ink than a meddlesome electronic document. Besides, your boss was pleased as long as you managed to write his dictations without the need for a pause in his rambling. Yet, given the events lately, hopefully the work would keep him bursting into your quarters late at night too often.

Clicking together the last few buttons of your tweed dress collar as the lapel was accented by a singular red rose pin, you couldn't help but admire the shine of it. Its metallic petals caught in the sunlight as you stepped out onto the busy streets.You were quick to grab the ears of the paperboys flanking you, halting them from bolting off, especially with the boxes in their hands.

“No time to dawdle, I can’t be late..” You hissed before releasing the furry ears with a nod. Others would soon follow their steps as you silently hoped your arrival wouldn’t be met with much trouble. Up to the steps of the newly refurbished, rebuilt and endorsed by the King of Hell himself, the newly improved..

Hazbin Hotel

[shalotttower]

Pholcus phalangioides

Title: Pholcus phalangioides

Fandom: The Collector (2009). Can be read as an original inspired by the source, because I took some creative liberties.

Summary: There's a spider in your bathroom, it lives under the mirror cabinet and you a) don't want to kill it, and b) are too scared to touch it, so now you can either keep giving it one side eye after another, or ask your neighbour for help.

Word count: 4000+

Characters: Asa Emory x Reader

Notes: yandere Asa, spiders and insects descriptions, stalking, voyeurism of sort - Asa watches Reader without her realizing it, kidnapping, vague hinting on body horror, non-con touching, Reader is socially awkward. Asa is not 100% in-movie-character Asa (he actually talks lol), a huge chunk of him is based on my headcanons.

You have this problem - a spider problem, to be precise. Not that it's too big of a deal, but...it also is.

Spiders are generally okay.

They eat unwanted guests, like flies and mosquitos or even other spiders. Make cool webs, which is probably one of the most complicated forms of art, not to mention a mathematical pattern to it - a combination of radial and circular symmetry. The golden ratio in nature.

In general they're important for keeping a backyard ecosystem nice and intact.

But.

But there is a spider in your bathroom, right under the sink cabinet, with thin legs, a long body, and of course - eyes. Quiet, kept to itself, really chill spider who doesn't move much except to crawl around a little and sometimes look at you when it catches you looking.

It probably lived in hiding somewhere, before deciding that dark spaces weren't up to its standards anymore and making an appearance. You haven't swatted it away, caught it, struck it with a paper - mostly because you're not good at killing living creatures, and secondly because the spider isn't doing any harm, just observing your every step, and generally being present.

When you check your makeup bag, it watches. When you brush your teeth, it watches. When you close the cabinet door it wiggles and your heart goes "ee" as if someone shocked it with a static charge. This yellowish-brown witness of your everyday activities, silently approving and judging, lately makes you feel like a nuisance in your own bathroom. You desperately wish there was a way to make it move to another corner. A less centralized one, less straight in your face. Yet the thought of touching it makes you cringe inwardly; your mind conjures images of different scenarios involving spider-related unpleasantries - accidentally squashing it, or getting bitten and dying a slow, miserable death.

It's gotta go.

Because the more you see it, the more your brain tries to assign it human features. And the longer it stares, the bigger the chance it might grow a pair of lips to say "get out of my bathroom".

The thought comes to you in the morning while setting a breakfast plate on the kitchen counter. The house is quiet, all windows are open and you stare through one of them at your neighbour's fence. You rarely see him, though the parked car is always a giveaway of his presence. Emory, that's what the mailbox says, and he has a neat garden, not an extravagant type, but everything is carefully trimmed and arranged into simple patterns.

There's even a stone bench by a small tree. Does it actually get used on sunny days? Probably no. He seems like a loner, from what you've seen so far: tall and pale, with wire-rimmed glasses and still grey eyes. Very focused and put together, a turtleneck and dark trousers kind of Mister. Never waving when passing by, though he does glance sometimes - sharp and attentive.

Once you caught him leaning over a bush with back straight and head hanging low. Your stomach gave this funny, nervous twitch, like when a stranger tries to start a conversation in public. He looked your way and then resumed whatever he was doing.

"Whatever" appeared to be something small, sharp limbs and a shiny body. It looked like a beetle, stretched to an absurd degree, and the way he held that thing felt strangely intimate. The same way you'd cradle a baby animal in your hands, rubbing its forehead with a fingertip. Emory put it in a plastic box, sealed it, and went into his house, not sparing you another glance.

This particular memory - of long fingers and a careful grasp - is what makes you think that maybe, possibly, theoretically, he could handle one pesky spider for you. You've seen him with insects a couple of times after, no doubt Mr. Emory is one of those who glue bugs to display boards. The creepy friend in the bathroom must be right up his alley then.

Five minutes later the two of you are staring at each other in awkward silence. Bothering barely acquainted neighbours isn't usually high on your list of priorities, especially if said neighbours look like they prefer being alone. You know it's odd, you know it probably crosses some boundaries, yet here you are.

With a crease on his brow and a tight mouth, Emory isn't thrilled at this sudden visit. Maybe he was in the middle of something, or is just uncomfortable with people invading his space. In any case, you clear your throat.

"Good morning. I live in the house across the road. The white porch? With-"

"I know," it's a dry reply. Not rude, more matter-of-factly; his eyes are fixed on you with a hint of unsettling peculiarity which makes you shift from one foot to the other.

He's not pest control, you think. Or obligated to help in any way. Emory can tell you to kindly fuck off right now and close the door, why did you even come here? It's stupid and intrusive. You're almost ready to take it all back and go home, pretend like nothing happened and just deal with that spider yourself, when he speaks again.

"What do you need?"

He has a quiet voice, a very even direct tone that doesn't encourage small talk, but prompts answers. Now and without pointless filling.

"I know how it's going to sound," you start, cringing inside, "and apologize in advance for bothering you, but I had an impression you collect...bugs."

"Insects. Arachnids."

"Right. So I was thinking if you'd mind removing a spider from my bathroom. I don't want to kill it, but I can't- I can't touch it."

His gaze slowly shifts from your face to the house behind you. As if Emory has an x-ray vision, or a complete mental map of your household layout. Ha, this would be ridiculous. There's no apparent disapproval in his pale face, but something else, a different kind of assessment. Evaluation of how much it is worth spending time on someone with an overgrown lawn? His eyes return back and you feel pinned down.

The longer he stays silent, the more you wish for the ground to open and swallow you whole.

"If you can't I totally understand-"

"What kind of spider?"

It's your turn to stare. How are you supposed to know, you've never studied spider biology. It looks like any other common variety, except creepier because it refuses to leave its spot and stay in the sewer where it belongs. "I...light-brownish, with long legs. Thin? Slender," there's more you could add but any further description will probably make you sound like a total dunce who can't recognize basic arachnids. "Kind of big."

You expect a 'sure', maybe 'I'll be there shortly' or 'no'. What you get is Emory moving past you and walking up your front porch. The scent of laundry detergent and soap, very clean, hits your nose before you rush to open the door.

"Uhm. Second floor," you explain, awkwardly shuffling after him. For the first time since the day you moved in, you worry about what someone might see inside the house. As far as clutter goes, your place is acceptable, perhaps a few forgotten cups around and yesterday's sweater thrown on a couch. Surely, it's not too bad.

Emory, however, doesn't seem interested in the surroundings. The staircase doesn't even creak under his weight, despite the house being around a century old. He steps over the little border which always makes you trip if you walk too fast, like it's not there. Like the corner you often bump your hip into doesn't exist either. He navigates your home with effortless precision, an inward kind of certainty that makes your eyebrows rise. Maybe...the houses on your street have the same blueprint.

Either way, he walks into your bathroom without hesitation, turning on the light. You hover by the doorway, unsure: should you offer something to drink, ask him if he needs anything else or just step away and leave him to do his thing?

The spider is there, hiding under the cabinet, when Emory leans over to observe it. He's probably seen many different specimens, you think, and this isn't interesting at all compared to the ones who have an intricate design or unique behavior.

"She's a part of the Pholcidae family," Emory says suddenly. Just like that there's 'she', instead of 'it', and the spider twitches and shifts. "Daddy long-legs. Harmless."

He puts his palm up close to its back. At first, it seems startled, but after a moment slowly calms down, and moves a leg - left then right - getting familiar with his hand.

"Docile creatures," Emory continues, while the spider walks along the edge of his palm. No running around, no random leaps, stick-like limbs touch and probe him with curiosity, much like you'd study something new. "They stay in the dark, hide in the corners while feasting on smaller things. Your intruder is a useful tenant."

It makes you feel slightly nauseous, how nonchalant he is about holding something that prompts recoil on instinct.

"Do you want to hold her?" Emory turns to you and there's a faint, strange smile on his lips. It doesn't reach his eyes and makes him look like an alien who tries to mimic human expressions based only on observation. His pupils are so dark that you can barely tell the difference between the irises and the rest. They seem bottomless, absorbing all light, but reflecting none in return. You take one step backwards, shaking your head.

"I'll pass."

He keeps staring at you for what feels like forever before returning his attention to the spider crawling on his skin. Emory reaches into his back pocket for a small container.

"Are you not setting her outside?" You ask. "She...she doesn't look like, uh, a rare species."

Not that you're an expert.

"No," Emory closes the lid with a quiet click. "She isn't one. But I'm going to keep her."

And he does. The little captive spider rests at the very bottom of a plastic case when you send the man on his way and thank him for the help. Emory accepts it with a nod, no further words, and then there's only his back when he leaves. The morning air rushes in, crisp and fresh, smelling like grass, tree leaves and soil.

*

It feels like you blink, and three days go by. You still keep an eye on the bathroom cabinet by some sort of habit, however there's nothing out of the ordinary lurking there, no creepy critters and definitely no thin legs scattering in multiple directions. All is well, now you can brush your teeth, take care of business and even lean close without fear something might fall on your head.

It's just a spider. You googled it later, and how common it is around the continents should be a bit ridiculous. Keeping it might equal to going on a beach and picking the most unremarkable pebble you see; Emory certainly could find hundreds more Daddy long-legs wherever he pleased - parks, gardens or forests.

So...why?

The question gnaws at you, together with that smile and cold grey eyes hidden behind glasses' frames. The weirdest part wasn't the expression, it was how you couldn't read it. Despite the obvious display of human emotion, however misplaced and alien, it failed to reveal anything. The smile was there, and yet nothing broke through it, not amusement, nor politeness - or any kind of feeling whatsoever.

Your neighbour is odd.

Not necessarily scary, though there's a sense of mystery surrounding him, it makes you feel like standing next to an iceberg and only seeing its tip. Or you've just read far too many psychological thrillers and your imagination likes to conjure up the wildest scenarios, trying to turn each and every thing into something sinister.

Maybe you should just chill and get some tea, and stop being so dramatic about a guy who came over and politely removed a spider for you.

*

They're not a unique species. Not even remotely uncommon.

He taps the container gently with his index finger, making the spider move back and forth. She doesn't have venom, no poisonous chemicals to injure and kill. Hiding in abandoned corners she does, patient and careful, waiting to catch the wrong fly.

You're just like her. Nothing exciting. Not unique.

Your movement patterns are similar, concealed in a different package you're still predictable: getting home from work, cooking dinner, watching TV shows. Everyday routines.

Fear is a part of your nature. Awkwardness which comes with socializing: you shuffle when uncomfortable, avoid prolonged eye contact and don't like confrontation, he noticed this right away. A quiet type, keeping mostly to yourself unless you need something urgently; and then you rush, like a scared Daddy long legs. There's this shiftiness, an inner desire to be less visible, but also a yearning for recognition because the lack of it hurts. And he saw all those small things, catalogued them one by one, as you moved into his street and became a constant presence.

Asa has never thought about keeping something - someone - so mundane before. Never. He likes rare things, spectacular, and those collected in the basement, they all are, especially when he's finished with them. They're extraordinary, displayed under glass cases and preserved for eternity.

He doesn't collect common species. Daddy long-legs are abundant everywhere around him.

But.

There's the way you linger by the kitchen window during the morning routine, slowly sipping hot coffee. When your lips purse and eyes lose focus for a moment. Or how the corners of them wrinkle sometimes when you have a genuine, amused laugh. It's something like warmth. There's no label for the feeling - positive, negative or neutral, it just is, like one single, meaningless element in an ecosystem.

He shouldn't want someone so average.

And yet Asa watches from the corner of your living room, crouched on the floor by a plant.

You don't hear him, too invested in your personal bubble. Well, he had enough time to polish his craft and figure out how soundless he can be when moving through spaces, how much weight he needs to place onto soles to avoid creaking wood and floorboards.

It's interesting to see you interact with your environment, unaware of being watched. There's an invisible pattern behind each action, even if you think everything is randomized. The web you wove around yourself is cozy, and Asa follows its threads while you check the phone and frown at whatever notification pops up. He is considering. Contemplating this impulsive desire he has yet to identify.

Would it be worth it? Keeping you. Adding you to the collection and seeing what comes out of it, how far his usual approach might take him with you in the same conditions. You're just a face with features. So...ordinary. He wants to pick you apart and look inside to make sure it's not some strange sort of mimicry, camouflage of a different nature hiding something else entirely.

There's this vague idea how those features may feel when touched. He can recall them accurately, even when you've never stood too close. Asa watches quietly from his hiding place, memorizing a displeased mumble and then a frustrated gesture.

You seem so alive.

Those below who are frozen in time now were too, before Asa decided to give them a purpose and make something special and worthy of his attention. They were alive like you, but now they're something better.

What purpose you have remains to be seen.

Asa decides then.

A plain trunk is nestled in the corner behind a coat hanger, no fancy latch or keyhole needed, only an ordinary padlock. You'll fit in nicely, squeezed in the cramped space, it won't be the most comfortable experience, but it's not for long and then...then he can show you the room where others stayed before, and where you'll be next.

Asa looks around one last time: the front door is locked, blinds down, lights off - you get up from the couch and head upstairs, right on the dot. Your house is easy to navigate despite the darkness; Asa knows his way around it, having been here already more than once. A step after a step he follows the soft padding of your bare feet, and when the steps halt, he pulls out a cloth. It's a heavy kind of pleasure to be able to stand right behind and admire your nape, there's a strange sort of vulnerability to it.

Something raw and very exposed.

It takes only a few movements, he catches your yelp into one of his hands and holds it clasped tightly as you thrash. Your nails dig into the fabric of his turtleneck but fail to leave any marks. He's never tired of it, the initial fear of his specimens realizing that their secure habitats are ruined. He doesn't mind this fight for survival.

"Shh," Asa breathes into your ear. "Shh."

The struggle doesn't last long - you're not a fighter - and when your body goes limp, he picks you up. Your perfume is surprisingly light, a very sweet and pleasant aroma, not overwhelming at all like he'd expect it to be.

It's nice.

He puts you in the trunk, a boxy space barely big enough to fit you curled on the side, it's going to take around thirty minutes to reach the hotel and another three to put you in the right cell. You'll sleep the rest of the journey, which is fortunate for everyone. It's always easier to deal with a specimen if they're resting.

The lock clicks softly - it's time to go home.

*

Something runs down your cheek - a drop, a bead of sweat, a touch - and you blink, trying to make sense of it. The surroundings are unfamiliar, blurry shapes with undefined outlines that stretch and wobble before your eyes. Your jaw hurts, clenched so hard that teeth grind together, and it takes a conscious effort to relax.

Where...what?

The living room, a TV program, a soundless whisper that froze the hairs at your nape, then someone was behind you. You remember a sickly sweet smell, and after that nothing but a haze and the dark, and the sensation of being squeezed into a shape. Your legs feel numb, arms too, like you spent hours immobile in one position. Slowly the world sharpens back into focus, but instead of relief there's only dread.

You're in a room.

No bigger than a regular bathroom and void of any furniture beside a cot-like bed, a toilet in the corner and a sink. The walls are a bluish-gray with thin cracks, tiny fissures that create uneven lines from the ceiling all the way down to the floor.

And there's a man, observing you quietly through the thick glass.

You don't notice him immediately, too busy assessing your new location, and when you do the air feels heavier, difficult to move past your throat. He's wearing a mask. Black rubber or something, covering everything except his eyes. He presses two palms against the barrier separating you, the silence stretches into an eternity.

'Who are you? What do you want?' - these are kind of questions you should be asking, but they don't come out. You remain glued to the spot, counting the passing seconds by their painful tick-tock-tick-tocks. One minute turns into two, and he...just stares without moving a muscle in a beyond unnerving manner. Your gaze dips lower to check his clothes, perhaps find a pattern to identify this person later.

There's none. Everything is plain black, like a uniform made to be invisible - turtleneck, pants, even gloves and boots.

It seems that your silence somehow pleases him, because a few moments later he leaves without looking back.

You don't know how much time passes; there's not a window around, only a bare, stark bulb, yellowish in its brightness and casting unpleasant shadows all over the floor. Not a single sound. Traffic, voices of distant passersby or birds - all is absent and doesn't provide even a bit of understanding where the hell you are.

In the end, you...sit down on the bed and wait, because what else is there? Everything is eerily silent and very, very uncomfortable: this emptiness, the absence of noise, the endless ticking of an invisible clock. It's difficult not to cry, but you try your best, somehow it feels important to remain composed. There has to be a reason behind this. There must be one, and you repeat it over and over, like a mantra to soothe the nerves and present your mind with some semblance of logic: once you figure out what's going on, you'll figure out how to get out as well.

Pulling loose threads from your sleeve is poor entertainment, if anything, the strain of boredom and unease gradually grows into anxiety so sharp that you almost miss the sound of approaching footsteps.

He's back again, the masked stranger who stands in the doorway with hands clasped behind his back. A pair of light grey eyes is a splash of different color, but they are blank. They watch with distant curiosity of an animal trainer monitoring a newborn cub. The comparison makes something ugly squirm inside you. A part of you wants to make a run for it, the other keeps yelling that it would be immensely stupid.

One, two, three, four steps he takes into your cell. Your back meets the wall, the chill coming from its solid surface cuts right through the layers of clothing. Five, six. He stops only when there's less than arm's reach between you, then leans to brush away loose strands of hair sticking to your temples. Your stomach goes taut. This scent. Laundry detergent mixed with soap. The turtleneck, grey eyes, very collected kind of Mister.

A sickly shiver of revulsion shoots down your spine, making you curl tighter into a ball. Emory cups your jaw with both hands - they're cold even through the gloves material. This is too close, an unwanted and unpleasant violation of boundaries, and yet he continues to examine your face, like you're some sort of an object he can handle however he pleases.

Your cheek gets a light pat. Any theories about his identity stay unvoiced, mostly because you fear the reaction they might prompt. Something tells you that screaming is a bad idea too. 'Be quiet,' an insistent whisper says deep inside your skull, 'be still.'

His thumbs press to the corners of your mouth. "Open," he orders, and you can't not, even though the whole thing sounds and feels bizarre. "Wider."

There's a quiet click. A flashlight, of those small ones you can easily hold in one hand, shines right into your eyes, making them water from the unexpected brightness. "Don't bite or I'll remove all of your teeth."

It's a simple threat, delivered with such a calm tone, there's no need for yelling when words are that clear and straightforward.

He inspects your mouth, the edges of teeth and gums, your inner cheeks, and you let him, clenching your fists. There's not much you can do, at least that's what you keep telling yourself to ease the heavy, sinking feeling of powerlessness. Your mind chants 'too close' on a loop, urging to wiggle away; you stay. It's unclear what exactly he's looking for - dental or oral diseases, a sore throat, cavities, or the lack of them?

It lasts forever until he straightens back up and puts the light away.

"Good," Emory states. There's another pat to your head before he turns around to leave. "No biting."

The door panel slides with a soft hum, locking shut. And the silence, and the waiting, and the mind numbing monotony is back again.

[sweetprfct]

The Hate Formula

Joseph Quinn x Fem!Reader

Summary: Living in the same building, across from each other shouldn't be much of a problem, right? But how come you and Joe tend to always push each other's buttons every day? Is it because you both truly just hated each other or is it because there was something more to it?

Author's Note: I wanted to upload this to make up for the lost time that's probably going to happen for the next few weeks. If you haven't read it yet, please read my announcement here. Anyway, are you all ready for this? Things are going to start escalating.

Disclaimer: 18+

Wordcount: 3.6K

part one - part two - part three - part four - part five - part six - part seven - part eight - part nine - part ten

Your dress looked nice.

You fixed the thin straps of your dress as you exhaled a sharp breath and stared at yourself in the mirror. You have been dreading to do this dinner, but you kept telling yourself that you were a good friend. Sara also had a point because you have known Wes several weeks before finding out the truth and in all honesty, you did really like him for Sara. It was your pride and ego that kept getting in the way. Besides, you didn’t want to disappoint Sara either. She seemed happy and deserved to be happy. So, if this was what it took to make her happy, then you would suck it up and be a grown up for once. You have owed her several times already for always causing trouble with Joe and the fact that you both were almost getting kicked out of the building. 

Technically, as per what Sara had told you, this wasn’t a “double date.” However, you didn’t really care about the title of whatever this was. You weren’t in the mood to spend your whole Saturday night with Joe. Sure, Wes and Sara would be there, but they were a couple. You knew they were going to end up doing things on their own, and you would be left alone with Joe. Joe, who would tease you and probably make fun of you all night. 

This was so agonizing for you just thinking about it. 

“Hi.” Your thoughts were interrupted when Sara knocked on your door. 

She peeked her head behind your door as you looked over your shoulder and gestured for her to come in. She entered your room, and your eyes instantly widened as you saw the pale blue dress she was wearing. Her hair was in waves, and she had some cute pins at the back of her head. 

She looked amazing. 

“Aw, Sara!” You pouted. “You look so beautiful. Wes is going to be on his knees tonight for you.”

Sara chuckled softly, looking down at her dress before gazing back up at you. 

“You also looked really pretty.” She stood behind you as you both looked at yourselves in the mirror. 

“Thank you for doing this.” Sara added.

She wrapped her arms around your shoulders as she hugged you from behind. You chuckled softly as you felt her squeezed you gently. 

“Alright, alright.” You rolled your eyes as she parted away from you. “You don’t have to be all sappy about this.”

“Well, it’s true. I know this is hard for you.” 

“I’m doing this for you.” You grabbed your coat from your closet. “I hope you know that.”

Sara grinned at you, nodding her head. For her, it was enough that you were actually trying to give this a chance. 

“You like Wes for me.” Sara murmured under her breath as you both walked out of your bedroom. “Stop denying that.” 

“We’ll see.” You shrugged, slipping on your coat. 

Sara chuckled softly at the denial expression on your face. Following behind Sara out the door, you found the two men waiting for the both of you in the hall. Joe was wearing his fancy button up and trousers outfit. The one thing that stuck out most for you was his new haircut. 

His head was buzzed. 

All the brown curls, gone.

It made his features more prominent. His chocolate button eyes were bigger, and his cheekbones were a lot sharper.

He looked sort of… more beautiful.

However, you couldn't help but notice how Joe was trying hard not to look at you. Focusing your attention back to Sara, you watched as Wes whispered something in her ear that made her face flushed red before planting a soft kiss on her lips. 

You could already feel the thick air between you and Joe as the four of you stood inside the elevator. Once the four of you exited out of the building, you could feel the New York summer air combined with the tension between you and Joe. 

“Are we all up for Italian tonight?” Wes looked over his shoulder. 

You and Joe didn’t say a word as you both just nodded your heads in agreement. You saw Sara looked over her shoulder and gave you another thankful smile. You knew she was grateful for you to be doing this, but you honestly didn’t know what her plan was. There was no way you and Joe were going to get along with just one night of spending time together. You both barely even spoke a word to each other since you all left the apartment building. 

What made it worse was when you had found yourself sitting in the middle of the backseat of the cab. You were squeezed in between Sara and Joe, and you could see how Joe was trying hard to focus his attention out the window. His usual yappy self was quiet tonight, and you couldn’t help but wonder if it was a good thing or not. Was he quiet because he didn’t want to cause trouble or because he was feeling the same dread as you? 

Upon arriving at the restaurant, you knew Wes and Sara were starting to feel the tension between you and Joe, so Wes had walked ahead with Joe on the sidewalk, while Sara had locked her arms with yours. 

“How are you holding up?” Sara asked. 

You rolled your eyes, knowing she was trying to make sure you were okay. Surprisingly, you were. Joe hasn’t said a word, so you were fine. You didn’t really feel anything else besides maybe a little hungry. 

“Thanks for doing this again.” Sara added. 

“Stop thanking me.” You chuckled softly. “The night had barely started.”

“Yeah, but still.” Sara leaned in to you, grinning happily. 

As Wes greeted the server in the restaurant, you all followed her towards the table at the back. The restaurant was nice and cozy and without thinking clearly, you pulled out the chair that was next to Sara before you gazed up and locked eyes with Wes. Your eyes shifted to Sara and Joe, who was just staring at the both of you.

“Sorry.” You bit your lower lip.

“No, it’s okay.” Wes gave you a genuine smile and pulled the seat that was across from Sara.

“Wes, no. I’ll sit there.” You walked over and grabbed the back of the chair from him. “Sit next to Sara. It’s okay.” 

Wes gave you a “are you sure?” look before you nodded your head and gave him a reassuring smile. Pulling the chair next to Joe, you moved a bit further from him as you cleared your throat. Taking the menu that was sitting in front of you, you studied it and let your attention focus on the options. 

Then, you suddenly heard a soft chuckle next to you. You slowly turned your head towards Joe and saw him reading the menu, while shaking his head. A small smile was tugging on his lips as you furrowed your brows at him. 

There was no way he was already starting this shit with you. 

“What’s so funny?” You asked, your voice was low to make sure Wes and Sara didn’t hear it. 

“You act like I’m going to hurt you or something if you sit close to me.” Joe leaned in, whispering to you. 

You leaned back and stared at him, “Hm… You’ll never know. I don’t know what goes on in that head of yours.” 

Joe laughed softly, leaning close to you again. “And yet, you sat close to me in the front lobby two weeks ago.” 

You could feel the blood rushed to your cheeks as you remembered that moment with him again that night. It had been a while since you thought about it and suddenly, the memories of that night and the look on his face had re-appeared in your mind. It was the same look he was giving you right now, and you felt your limbs froze for a moment. You stared at Joe, eyes blinking before finally snapping back into reality. You cleared your throat and looked away, focusing your attention back on the menu. 

“Did you guys wanna go to this light show at Central Park after?” Sara asked later that night after the server had taken your orders. 

You took a sip of your wine and studied the group. “If you guys want to, I don’t mind.” 

“Yeah, me too.” Joe replied. 

“My office mate told me it’s really nice. They made it into this nice garden full of different light displays.”

“I think I saw them setting it up one time when I was coming home from work.” Wes said. 

You watched as Wes and Sara tried their best to interact and start conversations between the four of you because you and Joe would barely even interact or say anything. At one point, you listened to Joe yap about cooking and Italian food when Wes had brought up that this restaurant had one of the best pastas he tasted. 

“I didn’t know you cook, Joe.” Sara said. 

“Really well too.” Wes nodded his head proudly, giving Sara a smile. 

You played with the napkin that was sitting on your lap as you listened to the conversation. Your other hand was playing with the fork that was on your pasta. You didn’t know what it was, but you couldn’t seem to finish your food. It wasn’t like the pasta was bad or anything, you just keep having an unusual feeling in your stomach. 

Almost like… butterflies. 

It made you want to vomit.

“Oh, yea. Whenever I have time, it’s such good fun when I cook.” Joe grinned excitedly. 

You saw how something sparkled in Joe’s eyes when he talked about cooking for his family and friends. You never saw this side of him, and you kept wondering if this was one of the things that Sara was talking about. One of the things that you didn’t know about Joe.

Two years of knowing him, and you didn’t even know he liked to garden too as he started talking about the different kinds of herbs he has been planting. 

“I heard you have a new movie to film?” Sara asked. 

As you took a sip of your wine, you continued to listen to the conversation. Your eyes followed Joe’s hand that gently caressed his now buzzed hair. You couldn't help but wonder if it was for a role as to why he buzzed his head. 

“Yes, I just finished Warfare and about to film Fantastic Four, but I also have the second Gladiator movie to promote soon. I play the villain.”

You couldn’t help but snort, setting your wine glass down and wiping the wine that dripped from your chin. You felt the three of them turn their heads to you as you froze in your seat and gazed up at them. 

“Sorry.” You murmured. 

Joe cocked his head to the side and raised his brow at you. “Something funny about that?”

You raised your brows, eyes widening as you turned to Wes and Sara. You have been in your best behavior all night, and you didn’t want to ruin that. You didn’t want to ruin this night for your best friend. 

“N…No.” You replied, shaking your head. “I just thought it fits you perfectly.”

Joe’s eyes looked at you up and down before turning his attention back to your friends. You could tell that he was also trying to keep the peace at the table tonight. You gave Sara an apologetic look before hanging your head low and continued to play with your pasta. 

Central Park was a little busy later that night. The summer breeze was blowing nicely through your hair as you watched Wes intertwined his fingers with Sara. You and Joe were following behind them, while you gazed up at the sky. The city lights were flickering between the trees, and you kept your eyes anywhere else but Joe. As the night went on, you could tell that you and Joe were just doing this for your best friends, and you both barely didn’t even want to try and get along with each other. 

You kept wondering if you should actually try and talk to him, but you were too hesitant over it. You didn’t want to hear the stupid jokes that could come out of Joe’s lips. Wes and Sara were quick to ditch the both of you the moment you all arrived at the light show. You smiled slightly as you took photos of the displays. Big glowing flowers in the garden, string fairy lights hanging from the trees, and displays of fairies and cute animals lighting up the garden. 

You slipped your phone from your coat pocket and took pictures of the display as Joe quietly followed behind you. 

“Do you want me to take a photo of you?” Joe finally broke the silence. 

You looked over your shoulder and saw that he looked genuine and serious with his offer. You, on the other hand, didn’t believe it. 

“No, thanks.” You replied. “Knowing you, you have an agenda about everything.”

“That’s not true.” Joe uttered. 

You scoffed and turned around to face him and said, “I’m sure you would take my picture and end up having to capture something stupid like my head is cut off or you only took a picture of my shoes and then laugh at me.”

Joe’s brown eyes stared at you deeply as he took a step forward towards you. You remained in your position, your feet glued to the ground. 

“Is that what you think?” Joe asked, his brow raised.

“Yeah! That’s exactly what I think!” You exclaimed, frustration starting to pulse in your veins. 

A comical smile tugged on Joe’s lips as he said, “It’s funny how you think I think about you all the time.”

You felt your heart drop to your stomach as you listened to Joe’s words. It felt like a sharp knife was stabbed into your chest. Why did you expect him to even be nice for once? 

“Oh, don’t worry.” You scoffed. “I never thought about that. I know you’re busy trying to figure out which girl to bring home next and then make them cry after getting what you want.”

You couldn’t stand looking at him for one more second. Shaking your head, you gave Joe one more look before walking away from him. You found Sara and Wes not too far from you, taking pictures. You were ready to go home. You were ready for this stupid night to be over. 

“You don’t know anything.” Joe argued, making you stop in your tracks. 

“Oh, I think I know everything!” You said, turning around to face him with an angry look on your face. 

Joe stared at you, the same frustrated look washed over his face. You turned back around to find Wes and Sara, but they weren’t where they were before. Your eyes looked around the park and there was no sign of them. 

They were just right here! 

Where did they go? 

“Great!” You exclaimed sarcastically. 

“I think they left.” Joe murmured. 

“No, shit.” You shook your head and started walking down the trail towards the exit. 

“Where are you going?” Joe asked. 

“I’m going home. This was bullshit anyway.” You called out as you let your feet lead you out of the park.

What were you thinking? 

Why the hell did you even agree to this in the first place? Why the hell did you think you could give Joe a chance for once? Sara was wrong. He was the same idiot and asshole you knew this whole time. Maybe he was showing her a different side of him but with you, he was always going to be like this. 

You didn’t even realize how far your apartment building was, but you were angry and frustrated and the adrenaline was running through your blood. By the time you arrived at your apartment building, Joe was still following right behind you. It made you even more frustrated because he just couldn’t leave you alone. 

“Garrett?” You murmured. 

By the time you arrived at your doorstep, you found Garrett sitting on the floor. He looked like he had been waiting for you all night. Instantly, he got up from the floor and gave you a small smile when he saw you. 

“Hi.”

“Hi.” You smiled back at him. 

Suddenly, you felt Joe’s presence behind you as you saw Garrett’s green eyes shifted towards him. The smile on his face instantly faded. 

“Oh.” Garrett said. “Was this a bad time?”

“No—” You shook your head. 

“Actually, yea, mate. We’re on a date.” Joe cut you off as you turned to him with big, disbelief eyes. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry.” Garrett said. “Maybe this was a bad idea.”

“No, wait—” You watched as Garrett gave you his apologetic eyes before walking away. 

You felt the anger now occupied your veins as your nostrils flared. You curled your hands into fists as you turned around slowly to look at Joe. He could see the anger sparking inside of you, but he kept still. He kept a neutral look on his face as your eyes darkened.

“What the fuck was that, Joe?!” You yelled. “Why the hell did you do that?!”

“That was him, wasn't it?” Joe asked. 

How was he this calm right now? How was he acting like what he just did was okay? 

“The one that made you cry a couple weeks ago?” He added. 

You shook your head in disbelief. Why the fuck did he care which guy made you cry? Why the fuck did he care at all? All he wanted to do was make your life miserable all the time. In fact, he shouldn’t be an actor since he does a pretty good job at making you miserable to the point where he should just get paid honestly. 

“That’s none of your business!” You barked.

You started processing the apology in your mind about what you were going to tell Sara later on. 

You tried.

You really tried tonight but there was no way you were going to get along with Joe at all. Walking towards your apartment, Joe slid himself between you and the door before you could unlock it. 

“Get out of my way!” You scowled, glaring at him. 

“You really think he could make you happy after he decided to choose someone else before?” Joe asked, his voice was soft. 

You stared at him with anger. You swore if you were in a cartoon, there would be smoke coming out of your nose and ears right now. 

“You don’t know what happened last time!” You argued. “How are you so miserable with your life that you tend to drag me in it all the time?”

Joe scoffed, his face inches from yours. “Is that what you think?”

“Yes! You hate me so much that it gives you joy to see me miserable all the time!”

Joe shook his head, scoffing at your comment. He slipped himself away from you and walked towards his apartment. 

What a coward. 

He couldn’t even admit it in front of you that what you just told him was the truth. He just chose to walk away from it. 

“This night was bullshit anyway. I gave you a chance because Sara asked me to but you know what I realized? We can’t even be friends because there’s just hate and anger running in my veins when it comes to you.” You barked, making Joe turn around to face you again. 

His brows were all knitted together, his lips looked like it was twitching from the frustration because of all the reasons that you kept throwing at him. 

“You’re right. I like to make you miserable.” Joe stated. “In fact, I hate you so much that I stopped that man from asking you out again. I told him that on purpose, so he doesn’t come back.”

You threw your hands in the air, your shoulders finally relaxing as he spit out the truth to your face. 

“Finally!” You exclaimed. “The truth finally came out! I guess we both agree!”

Joe took a step forward towards you, nodding his head. “Yea, we both agree.”

You both stared at each other for a moment as you took a deep breath. Silence surrounded the hall as you turned around and ready to unlock your door when Joe had curled his hand around your wrist. You froze for a moment and looked over your shoulder. He was giving you that look again. The look he gave you when you two had talked in the lobby. The look he gave you earlier at dinner. 

His eyes turned into doe eyed ones as he gently pulled you towards him. His soft pink lips crashing into yours. You felt the air in your lungs leave as he moved his lips with yours. His hand cupped your cheek so gently, his body pressed against yours as he gently pushed you against your front door. All the anger inside of you left as you curled your hand around the back of his head and pulled him closer to you. 

Butterflies invaded your veins as both of your lips moved together. Joe’s arm wrapped around your waist, pressing your body closer against his as if the closeness between you and him wasn’t enough. You continued to kiss him deeply, feeling the air between you two shift into something new.

Suddenly, this game you were playing with Joe became too dangerous. 

********

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