#but that's only because i suck at actually writing down the fics that live in my head

[only-in-december]

Okay. Y'all know that one Stargate post that talks about how, in a way, every Stargate fanfic AU is canon because of that one episode in season 9? Well, I was thinking about my Stargate fanfic AU, and now I can't stop thinking about that episode, but with my AU thrown in there. Like, it wouldn't change the way the episode worked because it would just be my AU tossed into the already buzzing throng of SG1s, but regardless.

Just...I can't stop thinking about what Canon SG1's reaction would be to my AU SG1 that still has Jonas as a member. And like.....the fact that there were no other Jonas-es there at all. (I know I'm nowhere near the only one to make a Jonas stays AU. But this is me imagining my AU in the canon show, where we never see, or hear any mention of Jonas Quinn.)

I want to work my AU through the seasons of the show, changing things as I go, and maybe moving little things around as I need to. But when I tell you that this thought has taken over my brain, I'm not joking. I could go much more in depth about this. I'm not going to right now, of course. But I really could. (the only thing stopping me is a need for sleep. I have work in the morning lol)

[nemesyaaa]

buffalo 66' au ! old!serial killer!rafe x young!sugardoll!reader (how they met, and their first night together.)

you were red and you liked me 'cause i was blue. but you touched me and suddenly i was a lilac sky.

warnings : lmfaooo this part always killing me but here it is....rafe being 90% of the warning part and the menace he already is, kidnapping, daddy issues, urge of sexualing your own self, slight of stockholm syndrome, dubcon, smut, dark!rafe, violence, mentions of threats, r being a missing girl, age gap, size difference, choking. rafe being mean to the reader. slight of daddy kink. sick attitude. dirty talk. attention whore. just minors DNI. (why it's bigger than my grocery list actually...). please carefully pay attention to the tags !!?

author's note : it's my first time writing a dark fic so don't expect too much 🙏🏿 you can read this without watching buffalo 66.

some girls were the trailer park princess, and others the queen of the gas station.

as the girl of the gas station, you were there all day on the road of these men much older than you, who had and drove pretty vintage cars who were literally bigger than you. those rich daddies surely had more money than your poor father who was always sitting behind the desk of his shop waiting for the night.

your father never gave you any attention, not even a look, he didn't care about what you did on your summer days as long as he never saw you. so you stayed all day at your playground queendom across from the pitiful, filthy motel where you lived. because here at least the men were looking at you.

of course they were looking at you, you always gave them something to look at with your tiny dresses that showed your naked thighs, your tits pressed together in that backless top. you always dressed in that soft and milky blue shades. as the sea and the sky, you were blue.

while their wives found you sick, you could feel their stares every time you leaned down to grab the keys that they forgot to give you each time. you could feel their eyes completely charmed by the way your summer dress rode up above your ass, and your panties stuck out.

fully bent over, you could hear the groans of these old men, the way they forced their hands themselves to not touch you when you wanted nothing more than to see them give in to the young temptation that you were.

you had a power in them and you loved to see them completely crazy.

you worked as a gas pump attendant. in reality, you did it behind your father's back because it allowed you to stay in the company of these men who only had eyes for you.

you always put on a show for them, and it always worked because you were irresistible.

but there was this guy every time, a regular customer, cold and short-spoken who never spoke to you.

he had a beautiful and luxurious car and you always wondered what job he did to drive such an incredible vehicle, and to spoil you so much with all this money.

he never said thank you for your service. after all, you were paid for it. his eyes were blue as you. he could park and glare at you for hours, sitting deep in his seat, a cigarette stuck between his opened lips.

he was so much older than you, so much to the point it was indecent. when you had first seen him, you had melted like sugar.

as you were coming back from the ice cream parlor, your lips sucking that delicious vanilla ice cream, you sat on the edge of the gas station, right in front of his car, your legs completely spread, white cream melting and dripping between your thighs. he rubbed his painful boner through his boxer.

you were sick, you let him look at you with this completely perverted stare while you let chunks of ice fall into your cleavage.

his eyes were all over you, but this time it was different, because this time it was him who was thinking about you while touching himself. this time it was him who was sick about you , him who had all these furious ideas about you. he pumped himself so hard, biting his lips harshly. and you continued your depraved show, while he jerked off, his big cock shaked and leaked in his own hand, his thick and already experimented fingers moved around his length faster and faster, the sweaty and dirty sound of his balls slapping, the squeaking noises of his chair, his arched back making the chair shaking. you thought of the veins of his dick engorged of blood pulsated against his hefty strength. that was enough to make you fully wet.

you wanted nothing more than to make this old man reach for you. but the problem was, you were too young and naive to know how mad he was, and what he really wanted to do with a pretty doll like you.

you stood up when you finished your ice cream, putting your dress back on neatly, and leaned down, leaning your porcelain princess arms over his car window.

you shuddered when he spread his cum on your face without any warning, smeared the remains of vanilla ice cream over your sloppy lips gloss with lick of drool.

he pushed his big thumb against your little mouth, pushed it into an o shape, and you closed her to start licking up the drops of his cum.

but like every time he came here, he never spoke to you. you had just seen the car leave, while you still had the taste of him on your lips. it was rude.

the next day, your father sent you out to do some groceries on a sweltering hot summer day, tired of seeing you around doing nothing. what he didn’t know was that this was probably the last time he saw you. and even shoupe that you had seen earlier in the morning, and who had told you to be careful, something with a killer around.

when you were done with the grocery, you started walking through the empty parking lot.

you thought you were alone, even though there were a few empty cars.

but it was a mistake, a terrible mistake that you were going to regret.

“didn't shoupe tell you to be careful this morning, sweetheart ? because i'm pretty sure, he did. ”

you screamed when the man grabbed you by the waist, pressing your little ragdoll body against his chest much stronger. the stranger quickly covered your mouth, and bruised your pretty lips with violence without any caring, shoved down his fingers between them to the point that you almost choked with your own breath and saliva.

“ you hurt..me…! ” you tried to say with a lot of difficulty, as his firm grip crushed against your breasts.

“ not yet actually, doll. but i promise, i will if you continue to fight. so beware, or i will fucking kill you. not a threat, sweetheart. it's a promise. “ and you knew that even god couldn't save you at this time.

you tried to bite him, but your teeth barely touched his skin. his lips hovered above your ear, you could hear his deep older voice warned you.

" bite me one more time, and i will break you. i love wrestle with you little girl, but i think you will really hate the way i fight. because when daddy fight sugardoll, he kills. and tiny things like you are so easy to wreck. and you dont want to die today, right ? you're too young for that. do you got it ? nod if you got it, yes. smart baby, understand easily that she needs to listen and not fucking run away. ”

his strength was heavy. you had stopped resisting a few minutes ago, even when he put you in his car.

he started driving, with a smirk, he looked in the rearview mirror before telling you.

“ what's the matter, sugardoll ? don't want to put a show for me, anymore ? ”

he had taken you to a shitty old motel down the road, where no one would be able to pick you up here. you knew he was intelligent, you knew it because you understood that every time he came to see you, he tried to learn more about you, but not to know you no, but to know when would be the right time to kidnap you. you knew it because he had stalked you carefully.

he had tried to tie you up while you tried to struggle one last time. but he had grabbed your jaw so violently that you felt your face shiver in his hands. “one more move, and i’ll show you how dolls are really treated, how i have no fucking bother to kill a tiny thing like you. ”

“i’m not going to run away.”

"i know.” he shushed you with a sick evil smirk. “ but it's not because you don't want to, sugardoll .but more because you can't.” he said, while releasing your jaw.

“ that's the small but important difference. i kidnapped you. do you even know what it means ? "

you started to cry, tears running down your cheeks.

“ you want a real reason to cry? fine. i can do that for you. i kidnapped you but you want to know the big part of all this? is that no one will come for you. your father doesn't love you , and that's why you work in this stupid gas station. you love the attention of these men so bad that you feel obliged to sexualize yourself to feel desired but me, i wanted you the first time i saw you. i let you do it, i let you play with them, but now it's all over. since i own you, this game is fucking over. ”

“shoupe will come after me ! ”

“but maybe you won’t be around to see it anymore.” he looked at you, and shushed your tears, while staring in your wet eyes. “ yes, i really like when you give me those tears, cry to me, little girl i'm the only men that really got you. ”

you glared at him as if he had fallen from the sky.

“ but now you have to be careful, don’t get on my nerves. i know it's hard for you, but don't do stupid things. ”

he placed your hand on his lower back, where you had felt the metallic coldness of the gun. and you shivered.

"yes, you got it. don't ever get on my nerves.”

“ how can i get on your nerves ? you don't really seems like a bad guy. more like a sweet guy ? ”

“ i'm not. and i'm not trying to be so watch your mouth. “

“ but i really think you are. can i hug you ? ”

“ try it, doll, literally try it. just try to touch me, i dare you. and i bet you will never tell me i'm the sweetest guy again. ”

“ can you at least bathe me ? ” you asked seriously.

“ jesus, do you think i'm your slave or whatever ? do you forget which position you are in ? in the captive one. so do not ask me those stupid things again. and don't try, no, never try to run away because, i can promise you that when i will find you, it will not be a pleasant time for you. and not even a little, but to the point, you will ask me to kill you. and i will be in a mood to accept your request ? yes, me. ”

you nodded as the kind and little girl you are who cannot argue against this tall man. he released your small face, and you were bathing alone. while you were taking your bath, alone in the tub, you heard rafe on the phone without being able to understand what he was saying but after that call, he left the room.

you had decided to buy some food with the little money you had at the food and drink vending machine.

with a happy smile, you went back up, hoping to please him. but you had found him on the chair in front of the TV.

“look, what…”

“i think you’re really nice. but not at your own good, sugar. ”

“ i just wan…”

“ get on the bed, now. ”

he couldn't help but relaxing when he saw how your blue dress was so tiny, already showing your soaked underwear.

" no whining. " he said as he shoved himself deeply in your tight abused cunt, your ragdoll body pressed down in the mattress, his thick stronger arms hugged your small waist, while thrusting harder and harder, your walls clenched around his fat cock. you can felt the size growing bigger in your wettering pussy, as he turned you into a real crybaby, tears flowing down your cheeks. you were caged by his beefy and muscular body on the bed, gasped on the edge. “ you wanted to act like a big girl ? then take it like a big girl. no fucking whining, i'm just giving you what you want. ”

he was literally buried inside you, snapping your hips, moving in and out. the atmosphere was hot, you felt the heat, there were trails of saliva around your mouth. “stop whining babydoll, daddy is not at his worse actually. and you don't want to see this happen.” you wanted to hate him but it was like you appreciated him being so mean to you, your pussy was dripping, your fluids drenching him, your sticky walls surrounded his girth. " yes, that's it. pull up some juices for daddy, make it easier for him to destroy you. "

everytime you runned away from him, he lifted your head with a grunt, and with a wild thrust inside of you, making you drip even more as his glistening tip reached your spot, the dirty and wetness sound of his moves echoed in the room, your body trapped against his taller one.

with a hand on your throat, you were arched to the point where he could see your wetted eyes rolled up. "try to run away again, and you will have the fucking pleasure to be a momma, as well as a missing girl. i'm not asking you to take my cock better.” he said with a threat. “ no, i'm telling you to do it as your fucking job. ”

all teary, you could bet that rafe didn't know how big he was for telling you this. you were trying your best actually. he was rutting in you, holding your tiny size with one big hand, getting so feral everytime he saw your small body twitching when he pushed himself further. your moans were loud, as your squirted more than one time on him, your dripping walls clamped his hard cock. even when your third orgasm flowed against your bulging pussy, creating a mess at the surface, he continued.

" you know sugardoll, you better work faster for my cum, because i will only stop when i will see how creampie your pussy is for my dick.”

he stuffed your puffy messy cunt, while your pumped his fingers who slidded deep down in your throat, your warm and bullied tongue fighting to not dropped them.

you slobbed more with the overstimulation. you felt like this man was insatiable. rafe loved to see you, his sugardoll in pain, taking so much for him.

when he finally stopped teasing you, and fighting himself to not cum, and clearly toying you, he exploded, making you cried out. all your body was filled with spasms.

you expected something from rafe when he pulled out, a little soft spot, or at least, just one look but he just went to the bathroom. alone.

you expected him to be sweet for you, like the sugar you were for him. and you knew, that you will work for this later.

when he came back, you looked at him, always attracted by his charisma, the way he made you felt so tiny by his big size, the way he was old enough to make you feel like a little girl, just the way his raised voice made you feel so small.

“ can i sleep with you ? ”

“ whatever. just don't touch me. ”

“ you're not gonna be my big spoon ? “

“ what the fuck is this ? i'm not gonna be your spoon. jesus, can you just sleep and not ask for any stupid things that you think i will do because you're already so obsessed with me ? and give me your hands. ”

he tied them up on the bed with your little blue ribbon.

“ just in case you think you can escape me. ”

“ i can't sleep like that ! ”

“ i fear it's not my fucking problem, sugardoll.”

“ fine. i will talk and talk all night. ”

“ i can fuck you all the night too. but one of us will not survive this. so stop being so damn annoying. ”

“ what if i want to pee in the middle of the night ? ”

“ you're strong enough to hold it. and you fucking better be strong enough to hold it. ”

“ why are you so mean to me ? why you kidnapped me ? ”

“ sugardoll, listen to me. look at me, yes. eyes on daddy right now. i swear, and you need to listen carefully because i will tell you once, just once, so your dumby brain need to pay attention, if you're talking another time, even if i see your lips moving, just a twitch, i will put my dick right in your mouth, making you suck it for without a break until the sun rises again. and i can promise you that after, you will never talk to me because you will never be able to open that mouth again. do you got it ? nod your head if you got it, doll.”

and you nodded.

as a doll, you were conditionned to listen to your owner, even if he was so mean to you. but you were as soft as sugar, always melted around, already thinking he was the best guy around.

“ sweet dreams, sugardoll. ”

i promise one day i will write something very good, just give me a chance. i think the only sweet thing in this work, it's rafe calling r " sugardoll ", he's so mean please 😭😭 i think i make him a little too dark to the point, i'm questionning about how he can be sweet to the reader now ????? but i guess, it's part of the game. tysm @bunnyrafe and @fae-of-prey me a lot !

[alphabetboyluvr]

NIGHT CRAWLERS - JJK

title credit: night crawlers - kids in glass houses

pairing: drugrunner!jungkook x sugarbaby!reader, college au

synopsis:

jungkook’s always been good at running. track, field, red lights, shit outta luck. drugs, now, too. but he doesn’t expect to run into you. in your shared lecture halls, sure. maybe. but not down the back alleys of daerim at ass o’clock in the morning. there are only three types of women he ever sees in daerim: hookers, sugar-babies and addicts. you aren't any of those; you're a trust-fund baby who can get percocet on private repeat prescription, if you really want it. he's sure of it. so it then further begs the question: why the fuck are you here?

warnings: jungkook and o/c are polar opposites, but y’know what they say, opposites attract and all that jazz, jk is a college student but also a drug runner, mentions of gang dynamics and hierarchy, oc is a sugar baby, mentions of consensual but uncomfortable sexual encounters as a result of this (proceed with caution), drugs, violence, blood, motorbikes, hurt/comfort, all the good stuff, smut – fingering, tittie sucking (wow pretend to be shocked!), unprotected sex, jk has the hugest cawk in the whole entire world, jk is a lil aggressive but in a sexy way, he accidentally says something mean during sex (not sexy mean, actually mean (he makes up for it tho!)), jk on top, oc on top, mentions of his pubes (yummy), tummy pressing, kissy kissy kissy koo, creampie, post-coitus nap, they’re literally in love idk what to tell you, ambiguous ending!!

wordcount: 26K

note from holly: originally published to wattpad in 2021 and also briefly uploaded to tumblr, too. It’s just hit 100k reads over on wattpad so I thought I’d put it here too!! There are two additional chapters on wattpad, connecting the story another fic of mine and also showing us jk + oc four years on from the events of NC!! If you’re interested, you can find it here (x).

i write in british english!! both in spelling and dialect!!

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

IT'S BEEN SAID that with great notoriety, comes great responsibility to uphold the expectations of those who presume the worst about you.

Okay, so that's a lie. No one's ever said that - but Jeon Jungkook has never been one for sticking to traditions, and so he likes to live his life as if that's his motto.

That, and 'rather be dead than cool.'

Which is ironic, because it's only the heteropatriarchal bores - the ones from upper-class families, who want a white picket fence and 2.4 kids - that actually think he's lame.

And he doesn't particularly give a shit about their opinions.

Everyone else thinks he's actually pretty fuckin' cool.

Black nails, black cargo pants, black hair that waves loosely over his sharp features. An air of command as he walks, a swagger in his step that lingers in stranger's heads like the silage of his aftershave.

Yeah, Jungkook is cool, and he fucking knows it.

A rucksack is perpetually slung over his shoulder, the top concaved slightly to indicate there's very little in there, not much more than a tatty notepad and a few loose pens - or so you assume.

You've never actually spoken to him. Why would you?

Daddy's little princess, glossy lips, manicured nails. The kind of girl who gives him a second look, but only to sneer. He doesn't think of you often, but when he does, it's never nice.

Jungkook doesn't have time for you, and you don't have time for him. Your paths rarely cross.

At least they barely crossed. Past tense. 

Now that you're taking a few of the same classes as him, he sees you a lot more than he likes. Hair always up in that stupid fucking ponytail that he can't see past, perpetually on your phone. Attention seeking little bitch.

He'd ranted a little to Jimin about it, told him that you really must have been a dumb bitch to swap from an economics major to a film studies major with only a single semester left.

Jimin hadn't said much in return. Unlike Jungkook and his insatiable hate-boner for you, Jimin really doesn't give a shit about you. Barely knows your name, let alone the fact that you studied economics before switching over. Was kind of curious as to how Jungkook knew that. Not enough to bother with asking, though.

Jungkook thinks it's normal to scope out the competition. A little Facebook look-up, Naver search, Instagram scroll. Surely it's rational to do that? Check out their LinkedIn, cross-reference their Twitter history to see what they've said about the course.

It absolutely isn't normal, but then again, nor is Jungkook.

He's exactly as he appears to be; the rogue look isn't a front.

But beneath the exterior, there are a few more traditions he's subverting. 

He's the first in his family to attend college, and he needs to ace this class to keep his scholarship.

It's all just projection, the way he despises you.

You've got everything he wants. A well-to-do family, money, prosperity, financial security. He's never known that. And while he shits on you for having parents that have provided for you, all he wants in life is to be able to do the same for his own children one day.

"I've matched you all with students of a similar grade level, so no one is at an unfair advantage," your professor calls out, tearing Jungkook from his thoughts. "Not a single one of you will experience the city in the same way. From shortcuts to your favourite coffee spots, your lives here will have been different to those of your peers."

Jungkook smirks, leaning back on his chair. He knows this city better than most; its dark corners, where the monsters lurk... how to hide and where to run.

Again, the rogue look isn't a front.

But he also knows how to work a camera better than anyone in that room, how to time his shots, how to frame them, too. Top of the class, though modestly quiet about it (he's got a reputation to uphold, after all), he's curious to see who would be considered an even match for him.

"That being said, your experiences are also shared with those around you. For this assignment, with your partner, I want you to create a unique piece of film that captures what the city means to you. Think outside the box. Create something that excites, that invokes. You've got eight weeks. The partner list is on the noticeboard at the back of the hall. Dismissed."

Footsteps echo around the lecture hall as everyone trundles out of the room. You wait back, having already seen the list before you entered the class.

Instead, you pull out a pen - one of the ones that Jungkook hates, with a ridiculous fluffy pink pom-pom on top - and jot down your number. You aren't aware of his insatiable hatred, and either way, you don't really care.

He ignores you as you approach his desk, eyes only drifting upwards when you slide the torn-out piece of paper towards him.

"Mhmm?"

He's rude, you notice. Brows raised, expression flat, he's fed up with you before you've even said a word. Kinda hot, admittedly, but rude.

"We're partners," you say with an ambivalent shrug. Jungkook's jaw seems to tense, head tilting as he breathes out a short smirk.

Partners?

"You haven't even gone out to check the board."

"So what?" You scoff a little. He doesn't like your tone. The feeling is mutual. "I just made it up?"

It's his turn to shrug, now. "Dunno. You tell me."

His hair waves around his features, and you wonder how long it takes him to make it look so natural. The girls around campus swoon over his hair, like he's some kind of God. Other boys try to emulate it, but they can never quite pull it off like he does.

Another thing that all the girls giggle about are his doe-like eyes, but they're hard, now. Narrow, almost. Less of a doe, more like a dragon. Maybe if you get his nostrils flaring, he'll breathe fire, too.

Yeah, he's hot, you want to laugh to yourself, but not that hot.

"I checked before I came in. Didn't take a genius to work out what it was for."

He takes a moment before he nods. "Right. Well, you should probably know that I work better alone. Just let me handle the assignment, a'right? You can put your name on it, whatever, I don't care. Just let me handle it."

A control freak, you note. Nice.

You didn't transfer majors in your last semester, and face all the hardships that came with such a decision, just to sit back and let someone else do the hard work for you.

"With all due respect, it's a joint assignment. I'm not putting my name on work I didn't actually do."

A stickler for the rules, he assesses. Fucking fastastic.

"Look," he sighs, adjusting his body so that he's practically leaning halfway over his desk. As much as it sounds like he doesn't want to be a part of this conversation, his body language is oddly engaged. "I need to ace this class. You've been here, what? All of three minutes? Film what you wanna film, send it over to me for editing."

"I'm very much capable of editing-"

"And if you could do me a favour and keep the nail salon footage to a minimum, that would be much appreciated. Everyone's seen that shit. It's not interesting. Gangnam underground shopping centre B-roll, too."

It's a thinly veiled insult. Assumptions he's making about you based on the clothes you wear and the company you keep. He doesn't explicitly say it, but you know what he means: you're not interesting.

Jungkook doesn't mean to be an asshole. Not really. He's just got a lot riding on this course, and doesn't want to risk it all for the sake of keeping the peace with someone he doesn't particularly like in the first place.

"Like our Professor said, we all experience the city differently," you plaster a smile on your face, the plastic kind that Jungkook hates. "You might just be surprised at what I can offer."

Private tennis clubs and shopping sprees worth more than a second-hand car? Yeah, no. He'll pass, thanks.

"Whatever," he reclines back, giving your number the once over before tearing a strip of empty paper from the bottom of the note. His hand moves quickly, scrawling his own number onto it. He doesn't hand it to you, but instead tosses it down onto the desk as he stands. "As I said, I work best alone. Don't bombard me with messages about the project. I'll have it under control."

He vacates his desk with an air of arrogance that you don't think he's yet earnt. Sure, he's hot, and from what you've seen of his work, he's pretty talented, too. But no one likes working with assholes, and the whole point of being at college was to make yourself a desirable candidate for jobs.

Or at least that's what your parents had always said.

When they were still talking to you, that was.

Before they decided that you're a disgrace to the family name, all for the simple desire of not wanting to spend your life slaving over finances and spreadsheets.

Like inheritance and a slightly crooked nose (straightened out for your high school graduation gift), econ majors ran in your family - and just like you'd cut off your parents' dream of watching you become an economist, they'd cut you off. Full stop.

So as far as you were concerned, Jungkook could take his arrogant whining about your financial situation, and the hobbies you might have enjoyed as a result of your upbringing, and shove it up his ass.

You really wish he would. Shove it up his ass, that is. Might relieve him of the pent up tension he seems to have going on.

Swiping up his number, you tuck it into your back pocket, ruing the day you'll actually have to text it.

It comes as a surprise to both of you when, a week later, Jungkook is the first to type a message into your fledgeling chat window.

I'm filming tonight. Could use a Grip, if you're free. Dongdaemun Design Plaza, 7pm.

You wonder how much pride he must have had to swallow in order to send you that. 

On occasion, during the past week, you've caught him looking at you in that slightly menacing way he always likes to do.

Part of you thinks he's unaware that he's doing it, just zoning out in your direction, but then you see him shake sense into himself - quite literally, a bunny with an itch behind its ear kind of shake - before he averts his gaze. 

He does a similar shake of his head when your response pings through to his phone.

Can't do Tuesdays or Thursdays. Sorry. Maybe another time.

He doesn't reply.

REJECTION HAS NEVER been something Jungkook has taken well. It's why he works so hard, fearful of being told that he isn't good enough.

He'd only sent that text because he genuinely did need a Grip.

Well, no. 

That's not quite right. 

He needed a muse; a subject of his shots, a pair of eyes to catch the confetti of night market lights in. Someone's hand to film as they exchanged money with a hotteok stand server, another human to get lost and found all within the same shot.

But that felt awkward to ask, especially after his insistence that he could do it all alone, so he'd settled for pretending he'd needed a grip. Just someone to hold his gear while he took tricky shots. That's all.

Given your rejection, he was pleased with his choice.

"Familiar," Yoongi nods over lunch the next day, following Jungkook's gaze. "Yeah, I've definitely seen her around. Dunno where, though."

"Campus, maybe?" Jimin rolls his eyes, confused at the fixation Jungkook seems to have on you.

Yoongi shakes his head. "Nah... She looks like-" he glances over to Jungkook conscious of Jimin's listening ears.

"Like?"

"Just like a girl I see occasionally," Yoongi pauses again, making sure Jungkook's focus on him. "At work."

Jimin laughs. "So yeah, on campus. You work in the campus cafe, Yoongs."

It was the only legitimate place that would hire him. Dumb choices as a kid - and a questionable nickname that's now etched into his knuckles - prevents most places from seeing him as a viable candidate.

Yoongi laughs along with Jimin, but Jungkook knows Yoongi isn't talking about the once a week shift that he picked up as a form of extra credit.

Jungkook knows, because on paper, he doesn't have a job either.

On paper, he manages to survive on his scholarship bursary, The Holangi Honour, awarded to gifted students from underprivileged backgrounds.

On paper, Jungkook is the Korean dream of hard work and perseverance.

His reality isn't so pristine, but it never has been. He comes from a long line of high school dropouts with dubious morals and criminally reckless career choices. It was naive to have thought attending university would help him escape it.

Scholarship funds dried up pretty quickly, rent and t-money cards eating away at it, until Jungkook had no choice but to revisit old haunts.

Yoongi had told Jungkook that he didn't need to worry, that he could help him out if he needed money, but Jungkook was no leech, much to his older friend's despair. He didn't want the kid getting into the same trouble that he was in.

One meeting with Yoongi's old school friend, Hoseok and Jungkook was in the rat race again, delivering people's come ups for when the sun went down. 

He'd always been good at running. Track, field, red lights, out of luck. Drugs, now, too.

Jungkook had managed a good year and a half on the straight and narrow. For that, he was proud. And sad.

But he's also determined. 

Top grades mean top jobs in the future, which means never having to traipse around Daerim at ass o'clock in the morning.

He hates this part of town, but it's where business is currently booming.

Hobi texts him a drop-off list each morning, ensuring his nights are almost exclusively spent in Daerim.

This is how Jungkook sees the city: grotty back allies, groups of men huddled around a pack of cards and dice on the floor, cigarettes hanging out of their mouths, phlegm spat onto the foor. He sees the women of the night in the early hours of the morning, and the sadness in the smiles they give to the men who approach them on street corners.

There's only one club of any worthwhile note in the area, and between jobs, Jungkook likes to sit up on the fire exit that rests above the back entrance.

It's where Hobi works, assisting some other reprobate that Jungkook doesn't care to learn the name of. Nasty piece of work, or so he's heard. The son of some powerful motherfucker that Jungkook knows to stay away from. He isn't interested in joining any stupid fucking gang. He just wants to get his money, get through university, and forget about this place.

That's the big dream at least.

His current wish, which feels much more immediate, is to outrun the fucker who has been on his tail for the past half a mile. Jungkook's pretty fast on his feet, and he gives a mean left-hook, but the guy chasing him has a pocket knife and that doesn't really feel like a fair fight.

It's his fault, and he knows it.

As per usual, Hobi had texted Jungkook his drop off list. Six of them, all in Daerim. He had no business being down by Jungang Market, especially not on a Thursday evening.

He couldn't even explain why he was; he was just curious about what life could be like if he ended up flunking out of college. He wanted to see where the monsters liked to lurk, or if they hid in the shadows like boogeymen.

But reprobate recognises reprobate, and drug runner recognises drug runner.

So now Jungkook really is running, out of territory that he shouldn't have infringed upon.

He's not out of breath yet, but he is conscious that his heartbeat feels like it's in his throat. A few streets over, his motorbike is parked behind an industrial-sized trash can, and he prays that no thieving cunt has tried to make a get away with it. They wouldn't have managed it - it's his prized possession and he never leaves it unprotected.

When he spots it a few minutes later, he laughs, relieved. "You beauty," he praises the engine, pulling his key from the pocket of his leather jacket.

The fucker chasing him is nowhere to be seen, probably nursing a stitch or panting down a different back alley. Jungkook doesn't want to risk it, eyes darting all over the place as he unbuckles the chain on his bike wheel with muscle memory alone. The metal clangs through the iron bars that protect the banjihas down the alley from break-ins. He always feels a little bit of guilt for chaining his bike up to the only source of natural light for the half-basement dwellings, but it's quarter past two in the morning. Not exactly sunshine hours.

And yet his eye is drawn to the light pouring down from a street lamp at the entrance of the narrow lane.

Usually, you ignore the noises you hear on your walk home - but, as strange as it sounded for Jungkook's voice to issue a compliment, you're almost positive that it is his voice.

Dark hair, dark eyes, he doesn't recognise you at first. You're wearing black, and your hair is down, but your lips still have that stupid fucking pink lipstick on, the one he'd seen you blot away onto a tissue in the middle of a lecture a few days prior.

His eyes linger, the lights flickering in his glossy dark irises as if there are fireworks inside that pretty little skull of his. For a moment, he thinks you must have been filming for the assignment. 

The lack of a camera proves otherwise.

"Get on the bike," he yells over to you, tugging on the sleeve of his leather jacket, pulling it down. Cognitive thoughts aren't something Jungkook's really working with, the adrenaline speaking for him.

That, and the fact that he's acutely aware of what men like the motherfucker who was chasing him down did to girls like you. Might not like you, but he doesn't want that on his conscience.

Plus, he needs your signature on the coursework documents, too. You're no use to him if you end up chopped into little squares and scattered in the river.

"Damnit, just get on the fucking bike!" He continues, noticing that you haven't moved a muscle. His jacket is off now, held out for you to take. He's impatient, eyes darting down the alleyway, as if he's scared of the rain that's pouring down around you. "Look, I ain't asking again. Just get on the bike, or I'll fuckin' leave you here. Some nasty fuckers about tonight."

And while you may not trust Jungkook, you don't trust the alleyways of downtown Seoul even more. You've seen the horrors. You know the dangers. Your mother didn’t raise a fool.

She also didn't raise you to bow to the commands of assholes like him either.

You ignore his jacket, hiking up your skirt, revealing far more of your thigh than most get to see. He doesn't make a comment, but you know he sees a flash of your underwear as you do so. 

For once, sex seems to be the last thing on his mind.

Rain pools in the gutter by the drainpipes, trickling down, collecting in the ducts. A puddle sits on top, a tell-tale sign that the street is going to flood soon, but Jungkook also doesn't give a shit about that. Not right now - but he does make a mental note to check that the drains are unblocked by his place when he gets home.

He's a fellow basement dweller, dependent on the cheap rent. A banjiha boy with big dreams of getting out.

You hoist your leg over, ignoring the droplets of water on the leather seat, as your hand wraps around his waist. The front of his white shirt is damp from the rain, elevating the scent of his laundry detergent. You don't hate it. Quite like it, actually.

"Wet conditions," he rasps, voice still hurrying out of his mouth. "So take the jacket. If I slide, the tarmac will rip your skin off." He turns, wrapping the jacket around your shoulders. "I'm not your father. Dress yourself."

"I'd be a bit concerned if my father was trying to dress me at the ripe old age of 21," you bite back, as if the fabric of his jacket doesn't feel like it's melting into your skin on account of how bloody warm he is. You push your arms through the material, shaking it ever so slightly as Jungkook begins to rev the engine.

"Thanks would have sufficed," he bites back a scoff, not wanting to waste time arguing. "Try not to fall off, a'right?" He gruffs. 

Some would have considered his concern endearing. You know it's just because he doesn't want to spend his evening scraping your flesh off the sidewalk. Not because he gives a single flying fuck about you. 

"Hold on."

He doesn't wait for longer than a second, just enough time for you to wrap your arms around his waist, before he pulls down on the accelerator. His exhaust chortles, spitting out petrol as he goes, water from the ground splashing up against your bare leg. You can feel goosebumps forming, and yet your arms are completely warm.

Of course they are. Jungkook's chest is a fucking furnace, heart pumping blood through him faster than the speed of light. Forward, forward, forward, he pushes his bike on, away from the downtown area he found you in, and away from the demons who were hunting him.

The vibration of the bike is a welcome disguise. Beneath the motor's veil, you're shaking. Partly terrified, partly the victim of an adrenaline surge. 

Hardly a surprise. You've never been on a bike like his before.

There weren't many men on motorbikes around your neighbourhood as a child, only Old Jinyeon, who had a Harley that he only rode on the weekends, or when his wife was away at that spa retreat that everyone knew was really code for 'rehab'. Prescription medication was her poison, mostly. There were whispers that alcohol was a bit of a problem, too. 

It was a shame, really. She was a nice lady - she'd just married into a lifestyle that didn't suit hers.

Old Jinyeon's father had also been called Old Jinyeon, and his father before that, regardless of their age. The name wasn't the only thing inherited, but a fortune too. Old by name, old by money. 

He'd met his wife at a gentleman's bar; gambled all of his chips away just so that he could keep talking to her as she worked.

But the good is rarely easy, and the easy never good. Women like her weren't supposed to be with men like him.

And girls like you aren't supposed to be on the back of boys like Jungkook's motorcycle.

But here you are, hurtling through the city at a speed you're pretty sure isn't legal, clinging onto him for dear life. Your eyes are shut, streaming with tears from the wind, mascara blotting onto his back.

"Left turn," he calls over his shoulder to brace you. Your fingers curl into the fabric of his shirt, stomach losing all stability as he rounds the corner. You've never suffered from travel sickness before, but now seems like the prime time to develop it.

The lights of the city all bleed into one kaleidoscope of colour. Your sense of direction has been rendered useless, only opening your eyes once every few seconds to make sure that this is real. And every single time, you're surprised to find that it is.

You expect it to be like a dream where you fall, only to wake up at the last second - but you've never had one of those dreams. You've only seen them in movies. You're not even sure they actually exist in real life. Perhaps this would be the closest you'd get to one. A main character moment - though this felt more like a crime-thriller than the rom-com you would have liked.

The feeling of damp wind in your hair like this is new, and exciting, but all you can think about is the fact that you're pretty sure one of your fake lashes just flew off. You pull your hand back to stroke at your lashes, just to check, but it's caught by Jungkook grabbing for it.

"I told you to hold on," he shouts, though he doesn't need to. The vibrations of his vibrato can be felt through his back. "So hold the fuck on, a'right?! I don't say shit like that for fun."

Jesus, you think. Who pissed in his cornflakes?

But he's right. You do need to hold on. He proves it by not warning you the next time he turns, the bike leaning so close to the tarmac that you're convinced you can feel rubber burn. He eases as soon as he hears you shriek, the grip you have on his chest so hard he swears you might puncture his skin. Reaching back, he cups your knee with his palm, checking for any sign of blood or broken skin. Negative. And yet his hand lingers before he retracts it. He's just making sure. Double-checking. Over-indulging.

"The fuck was that, asshole?" You all but scream.

"I told you to hold on, didn't I?!"

He did. And if you weren't doing so now, tighter than before, you'd have hit him so hard in the balls that he'd have no choice but to adopt in later life.

"You could have fucking killed me!"

"Oh, boo-hoo," he sneers, catching his tongue before he says something he'll grow to regret.

Jungkook would never have killed you. He knows these streets like the back of his hand, and how to ride his bike almost as well as he knows how to get himself off. It's second nature. Innate. A gift.

But before you can argue back, he draws to a stop, his exhaust rattling, the motor purring. As much as he'd like to tell you to get the fuck off his bike, he can feel you trembling now. A part of him - a very slim, deeply hidden part - feels guilty for being so hard on you.

He's grown up with bikes. Trusts them. Lives, breathes gasoline.

He doesn't imagine you know how to change a bicycle tyre, let alone anything with a motor.

The hand that had checked you for damage earlier returns, his fingertips warm against your goosebumps skin. He strokes lightly, once, twice, quickly. "You're fine," he tells you, and you want to believe him.

"Never said I wasn't."

He snorts a small laugh, then taps your knee, encouraging you off of the bike. His hand remains close as you do so, conscious of the fact that you'll most likely be unsteady on your feet - feet that he now notices are clad in the strappiest pair of heels he's ever seen in his life. Perhaps he doesn't need to worry about your stability at all. If you can walk in those, then you can surely handle a pair of wobbly knees.

Without much thought, you take his offer of assistance, his jacket dwarfing you as you stand, hand clasped in his.

"Where are we?"

The alleyway you're down is unlike the previous one he stole* you from (*rescued). It's cobbled and damp, yes, but the doors down here lead to dwellings, garages too. Not an industrial-sized trash cart in sight. And it doesn't smell like fermented piss either, which is a surprise. You thought that was just the standard for side-streets around these parts.

"Doesn't matter," Jungkook shrugs ambivalently as he unhooks his leg over the bike.

He wants to ask why you're wearing such stupid shoes.

That's a lie.

He doesn't think they're stupid.

He actually quite likes them. You've nice ankles. They look good.

What he really wants to ask is why you're wearing them on a school night. The pair of you might be in college, but it wasn't student night at the clubs, and he hadn't picked you up from a particularly nice part of town.

There are only three types of women he ever sees in Daerim: hookers, sugar-babies and addicts. You aren't any of those; you're a trust-fund baby who can get Percocet on private repeat prescription, if you really want it. He's sure of it.

So it then further begs the question: why the fuck were you there?

Sliding off his jacket, you offer him a small smile. It's the least you can do, you suppose.

It's funny, because you only ever see three kinds of men in Daerim: drunks, gamblers, and dealers. Jungkook isn't any of those. You might not know that much about him, but you know he's a scholarship kid, and that he won the winter film festival on campus for his documentary on back-alley gambling.

"We're not too far from campus," he eventually states. Few blocks over. He assumes you live on campus. Got the money for it.

"Cool," you nod, sure that you'll be able to find your bearings from here. You don't live on campus. Not anymore. No money for it. "Thanks for the lift, I guess."

The atmosphere is awkward, dewy mist in the air dampening both of you. He nods back, stuffing his hands in his pockets.

He knows he should invite you in, offer you somewhere to wait while you call a cab or something, but he's embarrassed. Of himself. His living situation. The fact that he doubts you've ever even been in a basement that isn't a wine cellar.

"Look I-"

"So-"

Jungkooks nose scrunches, cringing at the awkwardness. You glance down, self-conscious.

"What were you doing over in Daerim?" he asks rather out of the blue. He doesn't even process that he's asked until it's too late.

You clear your throat a little. "Just had some errands to run."

"At two in the morning?"

You nod.

"Right," he doesn't believe you, but can't think of a better explanation.

"Well, what were you doing there?" You ask, albeit a little more confrontational than intended. You were on the defensive.

His mouth is flat as he speaks, a narrowness to his eyes that makes your lips purse to suppress a smirk. "Running errands."

So you're both dirty little liars. Who'd've thought?

"Fairplay," you say with a smile. "Look, I still appreciate the ride. I'd have been fine," you add."But yeah, appreciate it nonetheless."

"Was nothing. I was headed in this direction anyway. If you take a left at the end of the street and follow the road down, there's usually a bunch of taxis waiting for the university cleaners to finish their night shifts. I'm sure you'll be able to get one."

"Take a left," you hum. "Cool. Will do." Bracing yourself to leave, Jungkook wonders if he should offer you a lift to your place too. "See you tomorrow?"

"Tomorrow?"

"Yeah, tomorrow. Class? That thing we attend during daylight hours?"

"Oh right. Yeah. See you tomorrow."

Bizarrely enough, if this is how awkward Jungkook is when he's being nice, you think you prefer him being an asshole. At least he has a little spark in him then.

Unbeknownst to you, Jungkook feels overloaded with fucking sparks, like someone's holding an axe grinder against the metal of his earrings, deafening him. The reality of his evening is kicking in, and the knowledge that he came a few metres from having a hole in his abdomen becomes overwhelming. He doesn't let it show, though.

"Thanks, again."

You make a promise to punch yourself in the face if you say thank you one more fucking time.

"It's fine, again," he smiles, with a small laugh, before focusing those eyes of his on the floor.

And so you leave, walking straight past the taxi rank and taking a shortcut to your apartment, which is a lot closer than you had realised.

Seven steps below street level, you jog down to your front door, petting the neighbourhood calico stray on your way down. The door closes with a slam, but you don't give a shit because the people in the apartment above never seem to give a shit when they stumble home at four in the morning.

Before he sleeps that evening, Jungkook wonders how much of the skyline you get to indulge in. Your dad works in the accounting side of one of the largest law firms in the city, he knows that much from his research. Knows that your immediate family has more money than probably all of his relatives combined. Alive and dead.

He just isn't aware that you're not seeing a single dime of it. Not since you dropped out of the economics and business side of school to focus on the creative arts. All that money your parents had 'wasted' on your education? Well, they weren't wasting any more.

Because you're a commodity, to be bought and sold, apparently. Not their daughter, who they should have just wanted to be happy.

So now you spend your Tuesday and Thursday evenings down in Daerim.

Because you are a commodity; and if anyone's gonna be selling you, then it may as well be your fucking self. 

A stack of yellow 50,000 won bills sit on your desk. Twelve of them. 600,000 won. Not bad for a week's work. 6 hours.

Might have been cut off from your Dad's money, but your replacement 'daddy' wasn't a bad substitute.

The bluntness of such a statement usually makes you laugh, but not today.

If Jungkook knows the Daerim area like you think he does, then he'll be able to work it out soon enough. A bitterness fills your chest, like coffee dripping through a filter, forgotten about and left to go cold. You've been so good at playing pretend.

Secrets are so much easier to keep when they're not shared.

Perhaps that should be your project piece.

Secrets of Seoul: The Seedy Underbelly of The City.

After all, that was your unique view of the city; the side you saw that you were pretty sure no-one else did.

At least, no one else except Jungkook. Go figure.

"SEVEN WEEKS LEFT!" Your professor reminds the class as they dismiss you from your lecture. There's a little chatter, partners sharing ideas and friends discussing what to have for lunch - and then there's you and Jungkook.

He waits by the end of his row for you to walk to meet him, an inconspicuous look on his face.

The girl who he's watching neatly put a fluffy pen into her handbag looks a lot like you, but a hell of a lot different from the girl he gave a lift to last night.

Who the fuck are you?

Jungkook has always liked a little mystery. Seen the romanticism in the unknown. Still doesn't like you - but you've gotten him curious.

"You haven't sent anything over yet," he notes, keeping a slight distance from you as you walk together up the stairs.

"You told me not to bombard you," you remind him.

"Sending me video files once in a blue moon is fine."

"Once in a blue moon. Gotcha."

It's Friday, so he knows it's not one of your pre-determined days of having prior engagements.

It's only now that he realises that must have been why you were in Daerim last night; that your 'errands' are actually scheduled into your routine. It doesn't bode well for his 'not a hooker, an addict or a sugar-baby' theory.

"I was thinking of heading over to Dongdaemun this evening, seeing as you weren't free on Tuesday," he starts a little awkwardly, but the more he speaks, the easier it becomes. Being nice, that is. "I could still use a hand, if you're free? If you're serious about helping out, I mean. It would be good to make a start on things."

Relief washes over you. You've been fearing a conversation about the night before, but Jungkook doesn't want to talk about it just as much as you don't.

You meet him at seven o'clock that evening at Dongdaemun Design Plaza. You've always loved the green roof, how organic the landscaping looks above such a futuristic building. He listens as you explain this, eyes wide and in awe of the sloping pathways and curved walls, showing him your favourite of all the trees in the park.

Jungkook looks at you for a second, observes your hands, how they delicately move a few leaves to frame the shot you're taking. You've a Midas touch, and Jungkook wonders if your fingers would turn him to gold, too.

It's a silly, fleeting thought, but it doesn't stop him from focusing the camera on you as you roam Dongdaemun night market later that evening, lights cascading over you like glitter.

He thinks you're pretty in this light. Pretty when it's just him and you. No distractions.

Except there's hustle and bustle everywhere, a vendor chasing a thief, groups of high schoolers laughing on their way home from Hagwons, food sizzling, vapours making his stomach rumble. Perhaps you're the distraction, instead.

The pair of you spend the next week traipsing the city together.

Somehow, you only ever come together when the sun goes down, but it's fitting. You're a pair of nightcrawlers, swarming through the city when traffic sounds like a melody and destinations are unknown.

He learns that you drink your coffee black, no sugar, lukewarm. You learn that he'd rather rub coffee granules into his eyes than drink it.

And despite your preference for no sugar, he always tosses a little white sachet towards you whenever you order a coffee. He finds it funny. Insists that you have��to be a sugar baby. It's the only way he can explain that night he saw you Daerim.

He's just joking. And you pretend not to, but you find it hysterical.

Mainly because he doesn't realise how bang on the money he is.

But also because you can't help but laugh whenever he does.

There's a comfort that grows between the pair of you, a familiarity. A casual ease that doesn't feel dangerous, not even when he's pulsing through the city on his bike, you holding onto him, his leather jacket wrapped around your body. You begin to like the way that the wind feels in your hair, and you stop wearing fake lashes. Jungkook doesn't tell you, but he likes you better with a few freckles showing, dewy highlighter and a little mascara being the only makeup you wear for the midnight city roams.

It's only because you can't be wasting resources reserved for clients on a boy from your film studies class. Times are tough, money is tight. No point in pouring funds into a boy you won't make revenue from. It's a bad business decision.

A few months ago, you did your makeup multiple times a day just for fun. Now you have to ration it. Life... life isn't what it used to be.

But Jungkook is ignorant to that, and you quite like it. Escaping from your reality. Becoming the version of yourself that he thinks you are.

He isn't sure which version of you he wants to spend time with the most; the too-good for him daddy's girl who dresses in Celine and comes with a pout, the enigma who lurks in the shadows that he thought he had a monopoly over, or the master director who seems to rival his talents for capturing moments of life in 4K.

As he watches your brows furrow while you turn your phone upside down, trying to understand a map, he decides that he doesn't care which version he gets.

Jungkook wants what he wants.

There's an impulsion to his desires and subsequent actions that he takes to obtain them. He's driven by gratification, and little else.

On the days he wants to feel wanted, he'll go to a bar. He never whispers false promises or pretends like he's after anything more than what can be achieved in a single night. The girls he goes for tend to see that as a challenge. They think they can convince him otherwise. It's not his fault when they can't. It's not his fault that they end up falling for him regardless. It's not his fault that he never has any intention of loving them back.

He tells them this. They ignore him. It isn't his fault.

On the days he wants to feel accomplished, he'll stay on campus until the cleaners usher him out of the room so that they can prepare it for the next day. Their insistence is lost on him - no amount of Cif can polish the dirt out of the walls. Once a shithole, always a shithole. He'll offer his apologies for getting in their way, and they'll coo over him like he's their own grandson. It's all very sweet.

They tell him not to overwork himself. He lies and says he won't.

On the days he wants to eat more than a single cup of ramyeon - which is most days, given his absolutely mammoth appetite - he'll send Hobi a text and request more drop-offs for that evening. Yoongi will give Jungkook a subtle look whenever a message from Hobi pings through, knowing it mustn't be good news. It never is.

Jungkook tells Yoongi to mind his business - but with a grin and a glint in his eye that eases his friends worry ever so slightly.

Disapproval never stops Jungkook from doing what he wants, regardless.

Not from his friends, from the cleaning ajummas, and especially not from you.

So he ignores the look in your eye, as he encourages you to follow him through a gap in the chainlink fence, which surrounds a disused water tower on the outskirts of the city.

Jungkook wants what he wants.

And right now, he wants to get a shot of the midnight city from his favourite vantage point.

"You said you've taken thousands of shots here," You hiss as a twig snaps beneath your foot. He smirks as you utter out a curse. "Surely you can just reuse one of those?!"

He guides you round, ignoring the ground level rubble, until you get to a ladder that definitely isn't safe for use. It's rusting by the bolts, and has a few vines trailing up it, undisturbed for months. Remnants of paint are flaking from the structure, collecting like ashes on the ground below.

"I have," he shrugs, unhooking your camera bag from your shoulder, popping it into his rucksack for safe keeping. He crouches, putting his palms upwards to offer you a leg up. "You haven't, though. You see the city differently to me, remember?"

He's taunting you. Reusing the phrase from your Professor that you had quoted to him on the first day of the project. Asshole.

Asshole with a smirk that suggests he's only teasing. Suggests that he's fond. Words that suggest he remembers the things you say to him. Memorises them, even.

Curious.

"Can't we just pretend like we see it the same way?"

"No can do, sugar."

"Oh my god, stop calling me that."

You're thankful for the midnight sky and the way it disguises your blush.

As if throwing packets of the white stuff at your face in coffee shops isn't enough, he's taken to calling you 'sugar', too.

"Give me a reason not to," he says as he tilts his head, encouraging you to accept his leg up. You check your feet for mud, then put your trust in his grip.

"I've already told you, I was just running errands," you defend yourself for the thousandth time. A short yelp escapes your lips as he boosts you up, your hands gripping onto the flaking bars beside the ladder.

He doesn't believe you for a second. He also doesn't believe that you're actually a sugar baby. It's just fun to fuck with you a little.

Once you're up, he waits for you to safely sit on the ledge, and then he makes the climb too. He's up a lot quicker than you, coming to sit beside you with his legs dangling over the ledge of the railings.

"Tell me it isn't worth it," Jungkook says a little airily, enamoured with the view.

And he's right. It is worth it.

A maze of city lights twinkle like the Carina nebula, interstellar, yet entirely of this earth. Bright whites, reds and greens speckle the horizon, and for a moment, it's easy to forget that you're looking at Seoul. There's a magic that can only be appreciated from a distance, far away from the scent of alleyways and the void nothingness of grey brick buildings. Skyscrapers tower above the skyline, but still look small from where you and Jungkook sit, silently, in awe.

"Look over there," he points across the vast expanse. You follow his trajectory, but you have no idea if you're picking out the right spot. "Daerim. Can always tell. Know the street layout too well."

"You're gonna get me thinking you're a sugar baby," you nudge your shoulder into his, and he laughs.

Reaching into his rucksack, you expect him to pull out your camera. Instead, his hand comes back into vision holding a pair of chopsticks and a tub of instant ramyeon. Uncooked.

He pulls the seal back, stabs at it with the chopsticks and offers you the small chunk he's broken off.

"It's good," he promises.

You know what dried ramyeon tastes like. You know it's good. You just can't understand what the fuck is wrong with him.

"Are you broken?"

He grins as he tosses the chunk of dried noodles into his own mouth. "Absolutely - but ramyeon is ramyeon."

You tell him he's weird, and he continues to smile, not resisting as you take the tub from him and break off a chunk with your fingers.

It's one of his favourite snacks. He's impatient and impulsive at the best of times. Waiting for it to cook? Too much effort. Cooking it at the convenience store and carrying it up the tower with him? Disaster waiting to happen. It's just easier this way.

And so the pair of you sit, not really saying much, watching the city roll by. Every now and again, he offers you a chunk from his chopsticks.

By the end of the night, neither of you have gotten any footage of the city.

And neither of you really care.

AS YOU SPRINT home after yet another spree around the city with Jungkook, running late for your Thursday evening appointment, you curse your inability to send his calls to voicemail. 

You should really be working more. You need to be working more - but for the past four weeks now, you've answered every single one of his calls.

His messages? Yeah, you ignore those. He's learnt this, though. He messages you regardless, because... well, because he wants to, quite frankly. He doesn't give a shit if you respond.

He knows you read them.

He knows you saw that picture he sent of a flyer detailing a live art event last week. He knows that you noticed the veins on his arms.

You don't know that he'd spent a couple of minutes tensing his arm before he took the picture. Deliberately.

It's been said before that Jungkook wants what he wants - and what he wants more than anything, frustratingly, is your attention.

The way you study his arms the next time you see him proves that he's gotten it.

If anything, the delayed gratification makes it so much more worthwhile. 

You have been thinking about him.

So as far as Jungkook is concerned, you can ignore his messages all you like, because you still always answer his calls with an airy 'hi,' as if talking to him takes your breath away.

The only time you don't answer is between the hours of eleven and two on Tuesday and Thursday evenings.

Chances are, if he just so happens to be in the area - which he always is - he'll catch you down on the wrong side of the tracks at just gone quarter past two.

He still calls you 'sugar', teasing you for the reputation of the area. You just roll your eyes and grin, then banter with him about how even if you were a sugar baby, he wouldn't be able to afford your prices.

He argues that he'd pay in ways that didn't include monetary value.

You don't ask him to expand.

But as you wipe your watery lash line in the bathroom of a shitty rental apartment in Daerim, you think about what he could have meant. If he actually meant it. 

The TV blares from the living room, faint vapours of a mango e-cigarette wafting through the gap beneath the door. You've always thought mango smells like cat piss. Rancid.

Whatever Jungkook could have meant didn't matter. His flirty tone and angel eyes didn't pay the bills. The cash tossed down on the bathroom counter did - or more specifically, the widower, who occasionally wanted company from a pretty young girl, did.

A hundred thousand won for an hour, three hundred thousand total. It takes you just a week, two appointments, to make up the month's rent - but you still need to eat, to study, survive. 

And so you return, every week.

It's not his actual apartment. He lives over in Gangnam, close to his kids' schools. More money than sense. He doesn't tell you much about his personal life. You think a lot of his small claims are lies, anyway - but you smile and flutter your lashes as if he's reciting bible verses.

Some nights are better than others. Sometimes, he genuinely makes you laugh. Occasionally, he'll ask you what you want to do. Takes you to museums. Fancy dinners. Theatre shows.

But he has a nasty streak, and in those three hours, you're his. He owns you. There's no sex, that's not the arrangement, but his hands have been known to roam, and the disparity of equality within your working relationship becomes apparent. You brush it off, tell yourself that it's natural for a man engaging with you in a romantic capacity to forget the rules. You tell yourself that it's okay.

The churning in your stomach and dis-ease of such a situation tells you that no, it isn't okay. But if you laugh at his painfully unfunny jokes loud enough, you're able to drown out the noise in your head.

The worst nights are the ones where he pays you extra.

There's no discussion anymore. The stack of notes is just thicker than usual upon arrival, and you know that at some point during the night, you'll have to sit in silence and watch as he sinks his hand down into his pants.

It's easy to forget the way it looks. Your eyes glaze over, and the discomfort, the slight disgust, indicated in your features gets him hard. He thinks it's taboo. Thinks you enjoy it too. That your panties look a lot like his hand by the time he's finished.

The snort-like grunts are what you find hard to forget. The wail of a moan that comes when he does. You hear that shit in your nightmares.

But it earns you an extra two hundred thousand, so you endure it because you don't have much of an option at this point.

Come 2 AM, cash stuffed down your bra, you don't have to think about it anymore. The fresh air of the city, a little smoggy and polluted, hits you like a freight train. You thank it.

When Jungkook enters Daerim that evening, he expects to find you. He normally does. You never look particularly happy - in fact, he often tells you that you've got a face like a slapped arse - but it's more so today.

He whistles from across the street, clad in black, a thick hoodie keeping him warm beneath his leather jacket. "Oi, Sugar," he calls, that boyish grin on his lips. Teeth so pretty you wonder how much novocaine it would take for you to be numb to the way it makes your stomach flip.

Eyes dancing up and down your body, he likes what you're wearing. Black tights, black dress that cuts off at your mid-thigh, a sweetheart neckline and chiffon sleeves that puff around your slender arms. He decides your boots are far more sensible than the heels you're usually in.

"That'll be twenty thousand, Jeon," you call back, arms folded over your chest as you change direction to walk towards him.

"Per hour?"

"Per every time you call me that stupid fucking name."

"What would you rather?" he goads, leaning against a window ledge on the back of a restaurant building. There's nothing down the alleyway, just trashbags and the distinct scent of fermenting piss. "Shugs? SB? Baby?"

You smirk, walking to the wall opposite him, mirroring his position, hands resting beside you on the ledge. There's a safe distance between the pair of you. A look, but don't touch type of vibe - but this time, unlike earlier on in your evening, you actually enjoy it.

"You really gotta make your mind up," your eyes roll, lips rising into a crescent. "One minute I'm a trust-fund princess with Daddy's money on tap, the next I'm a sugar baby with a different type of Daddy altogether."

Jungkook shrugs. "Just don't see why you waste your evenings roaming fucking Daerim of all places."

"Best dandanmian in the city," you say, referencing the abundance of traditional Chinese restaurants in the area. "Can't get the authentic stuff in Itaewon."

"Can't get hookers in Itaewon like you can in Daerim, either," he taunts you.

He doesn't really think you're a hooker, but he likes the way you grin whenever your eyes roll.

"Ah, so that's why you're here."

He holds his hands up to playfully admit defeat. "Guilty."

You laugh, knowing that there's no way in hell Jungkook will ever have to resort to hookers. Not when he looks like that. All doe-eyed and charming, floppy hair just begging for a pair of hands to run through it.

The pair of you let the moment simmer, droplets of water dripping from the drainpipe and into the sewer. He's lit by the neon light of a restaurant sign, red and yellow painting him like an impressionist masterpiece.

"You look cold," he acknowledges, but you shake your head and insist you're fine. Your hair is a little damp from the small shower you'd been caught in a little while previously, mascara smudged around your eyes. You looked like that before the rain, mind you. He shakes his jacket off and tosses it across to you, snorting quietly as it hits your face and crumples over your feet. "C'mon. I'm now about to ride home. I'll give you a lift."

He asks for your address, and you tell him that you'll just get a taxi from his place like you normally do. There's no need for him to go out of his way.

"The princess doesn't want the pauper to see her castle, huh?" he teases, always talking in bloody riddles.

"See!" you protest. "Always changing your mind! A minute ago I was a sugar baby, and now I'm a rich bitch again. Which is it, Jeon?"

"I dunno," he reaches behind himself, adjusting your legs and pulling you a little closer into his back, tapping your side to make sure you've got the jacket on. "You tell me, sugar."

He doesn't see you roll your eyes, but he knows you do it. You always do. Even when your pretty pink nails are clutching the fabric of his shirt, you pretend like you don't enjoy his company.

You've gotten good at playing pretend. 

Jungkook only jokes about you being a sugar baby.

He doesn't fathom that you actually are one.

His engine begins to purr, and Jungkook kicks up the stand, setting off into the night.

The way you hold onto his waist is different tonight.

Physically, it's the same.

But it feels different.

And it is, because you're not just holding onto him; you're hugging him. Comfort in an old routine. You adjust your arms, keeping tight against his back, and he pretends like he doesn't notice the shift in dynamic.

He pretends as if he didn't notice your sad eyes earlier, too, and as if he can't feel the stutter in your chest as if you're trying not to cry.

Jungkook isn't a knight on a white horse, and nor does he want to be - but he doesn't mind being your rogue bandit who steals you away from the things that make you sad.

He's just an arc in your fairytale, not your happy ending.

But you've always been a sucker for a bit of a plot twist.

When you arrive at his, he wants to ask you to stay. He doesn't want an orange taxi cab to appear at the end of his lane and act like your actual knight in shining armour. He doesn't want you to ride into the sunrise with anyone but him.

And as luck would have it, your phone shares his desires.

Well, no. It doesn't. It's a mobile phone. It doesn't have cognitive thoughts - but it is out of charge.

"Different charging ports," he grits his teeth as he holds up his Samsung after you ask if he's got an iPhone charger. "I'm pretty sure I have an apple cable lying about though. You can come in for a second, get a little bit of charge just so that you're not stranded in a taxi without a way to contact anyone."

You nod appreciatively. "You sure?"

He doesn't answer, instead holding his door open and ushering you inside.

Jungkook cares in strange ways. He's practical, forward-thinking, trying to find solutions to problems that you'd normally shrug your shoulders at.

He's never told anyone that he loves them before, but he did once swap the hinges on his ex-girlfriend's bathroom door to the other side, so that it would stop hitting the sink basin every time she opened it. He shows his affections in meaningful ways, often without being asked or expecting anything in return.

Neither of you realise it yet, but this is one of those occasions.

It's not until you're perched on the worktop bench in his kitchen that he realises he let you in without hesitation. No longer embarrassed of where he lived, he kind of likes having you here.

You look out of place, silver pendant round your neck, expensive, and hair professionally coloured, nails done, toes, too. Not that he can see them. He just remembers a conversation you had once over chicken and a beer about the fact your toes always matched your nails.

Small details like that are what he thinks about when he's alone; like the way you blink a little faster when you're confused, and how you sprinkle Cheeto dust back into the bag off of your fingers instead of licking them like he does. He thinks about the way you laugh in his company, and how he's never heard you laugh like that with anyone else. And he tries to stop, but dammit, he thinks about how sexed up you look on those Daerim nights.

You're dressing like that for someone else, he knows that much.

But he gets to indulge in it too, when your body is pressed against his back as he takes you home.

He's stopped asking what you do in Daerim. He doesn't want to know.

For a few minutes a night, when he's alone, he likes to pretend what it would be like if he was the one you were dressed like that for. Only ever a minute or so. Gets him too hot. Finishes him off too quickly. Absolute sin.

"Kook?"

He doesn't even realise he's halted his movements until your voice breaks him from his thoughts. His jeans tonight are tight, and do a pretty good job of hiding the swelling between his legs. Fucking uncomfortable, though.

"Sorry," he doesn't turn to face you. "Was just trying to remember where I last had the cable."

"I was just saying that it's fine. It's really not that far. Don't wanna be a bother."

"Why'd you say shit like that?" he turns to face you, face twisted a little. He's annoyed.

"Like what?"

"Call yourself a bother. You do it a lot."

"I don't."

"You do," he insists, and you can't work out why he's so annoyed by it. You want to apologise all over again. "You just-" he takes a moment to find the right words. "I dunno who's conditioned you into thinking everything you do is bothersome, but it really isn't. If I didn't wanna help, then I wouldn't. It's not a bother. You're not a bother."

And you don't know why, but for some reason, you choke up a little. It's not like he said anything particularly groundbreaking, it's just for the last few months, your entire existence has felt like a drain on those around you.

The money you can live without, but you miss family dinners on Sundays, and face timing your little sister, more than you can even begin to explain.

And while no, you didn't want your parents' money, you didn't want to keep seeing a perverted old man just to be able to afford to eat, either. The flat rate was 500,000 now. Every single time. Without fail. You hadn't put the price up. He was just always paying extra. Always touching his prick. Always jerking himself off over your repulsion.

Earlier that evening, he had queried how much it would cost him to finish on your chest. You told him a million. He asked if you accepted bank transfers. You told him no. He offered 1.2 mil.

Part of you considered it. It's a lot of money. Not something to be taken lightly.

But when you ran into Jungkook, just like you knew you would, you were adamant you had made the right choice. He had scanned your body, getting a read on your mood, assessing what you needed, what you wanted, and then had offered up his jacket. All doe-eyed and sparkling. You finally got what all the girls swooned over, 'cause you were doing it too.

"Hey," he says softly, noticing the way your eyes are reddening. "Hey, hey, no. Don't cry, sugar."

You laugh through the first couple of tears. Stupid fucking nickname.

"I meant it," you sniff, wiping your cheeks with the back of your hands. He's standing closer now, hesitant to touch, hands hovering around you. "20 thousand won, Jeon. Pay up."

His fingers tenderly wrap around your wrists, keeping them from rubbing at your face again. He's smiling, eyes ever encompassing, cheeks so appled that you bet you could get drunk off the cider he'd produce.

"Can we do it on an I.O.U. basis?" he speaks quietly, playfully. "I get paid on Monday."

It's a lie. He gets his commission cut straight from his sales figures. There's 2 million won in his rucksack. He only gets ten percent. 200K. His job's not nearly half as lucrative as yours, but it's still nothing to be laughed at. He's making bank.

"Nuh-uh," you sniff again, letting out a little laugh. He laughs too. "Told you that you couldn't afford me."

And then it's silent. You can hear your heartbeat. He moves a little closer.

"Told you I'd just pay in other ways."

His voice is hoarse, as if he's scared. 

As if he fears the consequences of his claim.

Your eyes drop to his lips. They're trembling slightly. Preparing.

The grip he has on your wrists loosens. He's giving you freedom. He's giving you the chance to back out, to run away.

But you don't.

"Pay up, then," you all-but whisper, lips closing on his.

Jungkook doesn't stall, no, but it takes him a second to respond. To realise.

And once he does, his brows furrow into the kiss, demanding that you know just how much he wants this. Wants you. Has done for weeks, now.

He pulls your body into his, needing you close. Your body curves, his arm hooked behind your back to keep you balanced.

A surge of intensity washes over you like crimson paint. It'll stain you, and everyone will know: That's her. That's the girl who let Jeon Jungkook kiss her like he actually meant it.

He kisses, and he kisses, and he kisses, and he doesn't stop, as if he knows his first with you will also be his last - and when he finally does stop, forehead on yours, the pair of you are breathing so heavily into each other's mouths that it's as if you're sharing oxygen. Keeping each other alive. Both capable of first-degree murder.

And so neither of you pull away. There's no way he's doing time for you. There's no way you're doing time for him. Looks like you'll just have to kiss forever. Shame. Such a hardship. However will you cope?

"I-" he begins, before cutting himself off, easing his grip on your waist. One of his hands lingers, while the other pinches the bridge of his nose, eyes wincing. "Shit-" he finally lets you go. "I don't know what that was. I'm sorry."

You want to tell him that it's okay, that you didn't mind, that he could do it again - but it's clear he doesn't agree.

"Just adrenaline," you offer, sinking down to perch on the worktop bench. Your defeated posture is hidden well like this. "Don't sweat it."

He stays silent as he turns around to resume his rummaging, looking for a charger that will fit your phone. He knows there's one in there, he just can't for the life of him remember when he last had it.

Everything feels a little awkward. You half think that you should fill the void with something, that you should break the ice, but what was the point? You'll be out of his hair soon.

And you are, home twenty minutes later. You had only charged your phone for ten minutes at his, just enough to get you home. It's about to die again. Not before Jungkook pings you a message, though.

He doesn't expect a response, but he lies awake until he sees your read receipt confirm that you've seen it.

Sadness doesn't suit you, sugar. I'm not gonna pry, but if you ever need a ride earlier than normal out of Daerim, give me a call.

He spent a good six minutes debating whether or not to end his message with a kiss, eventually deciding against it. No need to make the message any softer than it already was.

To his surprise, a bubble pops up on your side of the chat thread.

His heart twinges, your response saying everything he wished he had with just one simple letter:

x

JUNGKOOK HAS A terrible habit of taking out his stress on the people around him; the ones that he holds closest.

"I just don't see why it's such a big issue," Jimin says through a mouthful of salad greens. His teeth chomp so loudly that Jungkook thinks they'll have to swing by the dentistry labs later that afternoon. Which Jimin'll probably like, considering he won't stop fucking rambling on about a dentistry student at the moment. "She's hot, she's got guys practically falling at her feet and she's interested in you. It's one party. Stop being so fucking boring."

Yoongi casts Jungkook a sympathetic look. He doesn't work so much at the moment, what with his chemistry finals coming up, and especially not in the Daerim area.

That's Jungkook's market now - but he did happen to have a drop-off for a last-minute order a couple of weeks back.  Territory isn't an issue between the friends, with Jungkook respecting Yoongi far too much to ever tell him to back off, or to not take deals in that area.

He had been about to approach Jungkook that night, when he noticed you crossing the street, a smile plastered on your face. He couldn't see Jungkook's face from the angle he was at, but he could see how raised his cheeks were. And so he left the pair of you to it, knowing better than to stick his nose where it wasn't wanted.

Unlike Jimin, apparently.

"Not boring," Jungkook retorts, tossing the wrapper his chopsticks came in at Jimin's face. "Got a bunch of assignments due in."

"Dude, you've been MIA for weeks. If we didn't have classes together, I'd have sent out a search party by now."

"You're being dramatic."

"You're being boring."

"Kids, settle down," Yoongi interjects, and wonders why he doesn't just find friends his own age. Logistics, he decides. The perils of having to save up for university before he could actually attend.

Jimin, being Jimin, then proceeds to bicker with Yoongi, leaving Jungkook free to find your face amongst the canteen crowd. You're sat with friends, none of whom he's ever met.

Your hair is up, like it always is during school, but you've let your grown out bangs frame your face. Pretty, he thinks. Prettiest girl here.

But then you stand up, and Jungkook turns caveman. Head empty. No thoughts. Just nonsense. Jesus Christ. Who gave you the right? God damn.

A few months ago, he would have looked at you in that outfit - a silky sage green playsuit over a white tee, sunglasses resting on your head like an alice band and a pair of white converse on your feet - and he probably would have scoffed. Wouldda said some bullshit about the fact you're dressed like a child, or that the weather isn't good enough to warrant such an outfit.

A few months ago, he was a fucking idiot.

You feel his gaze on you, just like you always do.

And you ignore it.

You've been getting good at that. Pretending as if you don't feel his eyes. As if you're unaffected, unbothered by the simplest form of intimacy: a single look.

He knows you've been keeping your distance. Watching from afar is all he can do when you slink out of class before he can catch your attention. He tells himself that he doesn't care.

Jungkook mutes the audio track of the editing software he uses when he stitches together your footage, so he doesn't have to relive your conversations or hear you laugh, or worse, hear himself laugh.

It's all a bit nauseating.

Maybe a party would actually be a good distraction.

"Tonight, did you say?" Jungkook pipes up out of nowhere, only dragging his eyes away from you when he sees you pull your phone out to send a text. 

He pouts. You never text him. Not once since last Thursday. 

And you were nowhere to be seen on Tuesday.

He had called you, and for once, you didn't pick up. He didn't try again. Decided that it was on you just as much as it was on him.

That being said, he didn't get home till four in the morning, two and half hours after his last deal. Spaffed away an entire tank of petrol. Rode in fucking circles. Just in case.

"Now we're talking!" Jimin grins. "Tonight. It's her birthday, she's rented a bar in Itaewon - Dad knows the landlord or something."

Jungkook didn't know who 'she' was. Hadn't been listening to that part of the conversation.

"Well, you kids enjoy yourselves," Yoongi sighs as he gets to his feet. "Can't risk my finals over a few crappy drinks in a shitty bar."

"Oh boo-hoo!" Jimin pouts. "Spoilsport."

When Jungkook enters the bar that evening, he's greeted with everything he expects. E-cigarette vapours cloud the air, a cocktail of flavours violating his senses as he heads to the bar, shitty EDM pumping through the speakers. It's been a while since he let his hair down, so to speak.

There's something about him that commands attention. People gravitate towards him, even through the smoke clouds and sweaty bodies. Girls buy him drinks. Guys buy him drinks, too. Anything just to spend time in his presence. Like leeches, they hope to share some of Jungkook's aura.

It's impossible, though. It's Jungkook's authenticity that gives him such charisma. Trying to emulate it only ever comes off as tacky - like the guy towards the back of the room who's permed his hair to look like Jungkook's. Pierced his eyebrow, too. Looks like shit. Jungkook doesn't want to judge him, but he's a few drinks deep, and being kind is what got him into that mess with you in the first place.

No good ever comes from being nice.

He takes a shot. Tequila. Chases it down with lemonade. The girl next to him is playing with the bracelets on his wrist. Her nails scratch a little bit, and he quite likes it, so he doesn't resist when pulls him onto the dancefloor. He observes the way she moves first, and isn't disappointed. She knows how to move her hips, and seems to like it when he puts his hands on them. He can't really feel the sensation when she kisses him. The alcohol has numbed his lips. Maybe Jimin was right to force him into this.

By the time he goes to the bar for another drink, he's faded. Off his tits. Helped himself to some of Hobi's stash that he was supposed to be distributing that evening. A little bit of coke never does him any harm. He knows his limits. Tastes like shit down the back of his throat, but he kind of enjoys it.

At first, he thinks he must be seeing things when he catches you with an espresso martini in hand, laughing with people he doesn't know.

You've this whole life that he's no part of. A whole entire world. He really is an outsider looking in.

You're one of the elite; an old-money heiress. The type to own a miniature dog breed and only fly business class. It was stupid of him to think your interest in him had been anything more than entertainment. A 'little bit of rough.' Excitement away from the confines of the life he's sure your parents must have planned out for you.

It might just be because he's coked up, but he doesn't care about any of that. 

All he can think about is the fact he's pretty sure you've never looked more beautiful.

He feels so lost looking at you like this, as if he needs to be closer, for fear of losing sight of you entirely.

And so he sits beside you at the bar, orders his drink, waits for you to notice him. Which you do.

You'd spotted him the very second you walked into the bar, his hands all over some girl you don't know.

In all fairness, you didn't realise he would be there. Sohyun, the girl whose birthday it was and an old friend from high school, has been fawning over Jungkook for months. Just superficial drawling, comments about his thighs and the fact she'd quite like to be suffocated by them. Harmless, really. You know she's never actually made a move.

Sohyun doesn't know you're working on a project together. You avoid the topic of him altogether, especially with her.

But she does notice the way Jungkook is looking at you like he's seen a ghost; haunted and comforted all in the same expression.

"You're here," he finally says, and it feels as if your chest is about to cave in.

Turning to face him, you're casual in your posture. Unbothered. Completely unaffected by him, and the lipstick that's painting those lips of his that you like so much.

You raise your thumb and swipe it across his bottom lip. He's silent as you do so, watching you, holding his breath. His lip moves like rubber beneath your touch, soft and supple, springing back into position once you release it.

You raise your thumb to study the lipstick you've collected from him. "Plum's really not your colour, Jungkook."

He doesn't say anything, a little transfixed. It's barely ticked past midnight. You should be in Daerim.

In all fairness, so should he. Hobi had some choice words for Jungkook when he told him that he wasn't working that evening at such short notice.

You swipe open your phone and repeat the step, filming your thumb as Jungkook becomes captive to your touch. You want to look, to see how wide his dark eyes are, but you're too busy feigning disinterest.

"There," you smile, forwarding the video along before you lock your phone. "Just sent you a video of how I see the city tonight."

You've no right to be annoyed. You know that.

Jungkook can be in a bar with another girl's lipstick on his chin if wants to be. He can stay out all night, and he can stay in beds that aren't his. It's his prerogative.

But you are annoyed.

It's irrational, and pathetic, and you shouldn't be.

You barely know him. Not really.

After you'd shown him your favourite tree at the Design Plaza a few weeks ago, he'd insisted on taking you across town to Garosugil, a street in Gangnam lined with beautiful tall trees. He questioned why you only had one favourite tree, when you could have had an entire row of them instead.

At the time, you'd enjoyed the way his eyes looked beneath the lights of the designer stores that neither of you could afford. You didn't question what he had meant.

It seems like you found your answer.

"I'm not the city," he eventually says.

And he's right.

He's not the city.

Fuck it, no, he's not the city, but his eyes sparkle like Itaewon on Friday nights, and his hands are strong like the World Cup Bridge. He's not the city, but you find it so easy to get lost in him without a map, and sometimes wearing his leather jacket makes you feel like you're eating comfort food at your favourite breakfast bar over in Myeong-dong. He's not the city.

He's not the goddamn city.

But it feels a little like you'd accidentally anchored your navigation pin in him regardless.

All you do is smile, and tell him that he's right.

"Look," he begins, and you can smell the spiced rum on his breath.

"It's okay," you interrupt. Who are you to make him feel guilty for his promiscuous encounters?

He doesn't know what you do in the dark. Not really. If he did, he probably wouldn't have kissed you last week.

"No, I-" he cuts himself off like he always does when he doesn't wanna fuck up his words. The alcohol is doing him absolutely zero favours. "I dunno, sugar."

Your smile is sad, and he hates himself. You lean forward, press a kiss into his rosy cheek and whisper, "That'll be 20,000, Jeon."

And because he's drunk, and he wants to make things better, he reaches for his wallet. You were about to walk away regardless, but damn, if the boy doesn't know how to hit you where it hurts.

"Really, Kook?"

It's like he doesn't know you at all; doesn't remember how you banter with him, how you flirt with him. Or maybe you were just stupid for thinking that you'd been flirting with him in the first place. Maybe he just speaks to everyone how he speaks to you. Must have spoken to whoever was wearing that lipstick in the same way.

He doesn't answer, not verbally, but his brows pinch together and his lips develop a frowning pout.

When he stumbles home that evening, he asks himself the same question: really, Kook?

In the morning, he wakes alone, with no recollection of how he got home. 

He doesn't remember the girl from the bar, or the fact that Jimin threw up in a fish tank, or that they're now barred from three different establishments for encouraging people to snort fish food (which Jungkook had stolen while Jimin was emptying his stomach). Regretfully, he doesn't even remember your arrival at the first bar. Doesn't remember how, for once, you'd dressed to impress just him.

His lack of recollection means fuck all though, 'cause despite his headache, the thing weighing down most heavily on him is guilt. He feels a sense of duty when it comes to you; duty that he hasn't performed lately. Were you getting home safe? Getting harrassed by scummy fuckers on the Daerim path of destruction?

Out of habit, he checks his phone, ignores the messages from unknown numbers and goes straight to your message thread to check the damage. He's surprised to find that he didn't drunk text you, but even more surprised to find that you'd messaged him. It's a video, just a few seconds, but it's enough to provoke some of his memories back.

He watches your thumb as it glides across his bottom lip. Watches it again. Notices the lipstick. Notices the thumb ring he never realised you wore before, and the fact that your nails are black now instead of their usual pink. There's something erotic about it; the way you touch him. The way you filmed yourself touching him. He'll probably get in trouble for it, but there's no way he isn't adding that to your project.

You consider ignoring his call when your phone flashes with his caller I.D.

It's only just gone seven, and you're still in bed, still try to make heads or tails of your life.

But you're weak, and so you slide your thumb across the little green icon.

"Hey."

"Uh, hey."

"You good?"

"So hungover, I think I might die," Jungkook jokes, voice hoarse. You wonder if he always sounds like this in the morning. "Just wanted to check in with you though. Barely seen you all week, and then I end up with a weird-ass video in our message thread that I don't remember."

Ah. You cringe.

"Ran into you at the bar," you shrug, not that he can see you. "Didn't realise you were friends with Sohyun."

"Hmm?"

"Sohyun... the girl who's birthday it was?"

"Oh. Right. Yeah. Nah, no, not really friends with her. Jimin forced me along."

You don't know all that much about Jimin, but from your limited interactions with him, it doesn't surprise you. Not in the slightest.

"Good night?"

Your question sounds forced and awkward, and he doesn't quite understand why.

"No idea," he admits honestly. "Remember fuck all."

He sounds as if he wants to keep talking but doesn't know what to say.

You don't know what to say either.

It's a mess. You liked it better when he hated you.

"Were you at the bar for long?" He asks, genuinely curious. "You're normally busy on Thursdays?"

"Just a drink. Had a last-minute change of plans."

"Oh?"

"Yeah..."

You know he wants you to elaborate. He wants more without having to explicitly ask for it.

Which is apt. Seems like it's a common occurrence with Jungkook.

"So what did you call for?" you change the topic, not wanting to dwell. The aversion doesn't go unnoticed by him, but it does go unquestioned.

"I-" there he goes again, cutting himself off prematurely. Coward. "Are you free? Now?"

Oh.

Not a coward. Just cautious.

"Now? I mean, yeah, I guess."

Jungkook takes a second, and then he bites down on the grenade pin.

"Can you come over?"

THE WAY YOU keep Jungkook hanging on tenterhooks is deliberate.

You're unsure of him, of his motivations, and what he does in the dark. And so, while you want to let your guard down, you can't. It's probably something to do with your parents - the people who are supposed to love you unconditionally - making their love entirely conditional and withdrawing it so suddenly.

It's the kind of shit you would have spoken about with your therapist, but you can't afford her anymore.

Can't afford much of anything, anymore. So much of the money you've earnt recently is tied up in credit card debt or rent.

Foundation was the first luxury that you'd compromised, and you're still yet to buy any more. Cheap stuff always makes you break out, and thankfully your parents did give you decent genetics, at least, so your skin was pretty clear.

It's the lack of make up that suggests to Jungkook you're opening up; not hiding from him anymore.

But it's also what tells him something is incredibly wrong, when you show up at his door half an hour later with a graze beneath your eye. Little flecks of reddened skin creep up your cheekbone, and Jungkook thinks it almost looks like carpet burn.

He hadn't noticed it last night, but it was dark, and he was drunk.

He lets you in, takes your jacket, offers you a drink. Everything that he knows he should do. Asks how you are, keeps a safe distance.

You don't know why you're here. Why you didn't say you were busy.

Except you do. 

It's cause you miss him whenever you're away from him.

"I like these," you smile as you look at the artwork he has up in his room. The studio space is small, cramped, like all semi-basements are, but it's distinctly 'his'. A lot different to yours. Everything you own is still in boxes, not yet unpacked. 

You've refused to come to terms with that being your life now.

"Thanks," he nods, watching you as you explore the box of a room he calls home. "They're from a guy down by the coach station. Has a little stall."

"You'll have to show me," you muse, turning to smile at him. It's saccharine, but the graze on your face is just so bitter. He hates it. Hates that he doesn't know how you got it. "Think I'd like some for my place."

"I have a feeling they'd look a little out of place in a princess tower, sugar."

Your shoulders shake as you laugh quietly, not correcting him. He doesn't need to know that you're a basement dweller, too.

"How's the editing coming along?" You steer the question away from your living situation.

"Nearly there," he grins, brimming with quiet excitement. Something about the way your camerawork looks with his editing technique layered on top just really works. He's always been confident with his final projects, and this one scares him a little bit, but in a good way. It's his best yet. Maybe he did need you after all.

"Can I see?"

"Not yet."

"Kook," you say, and - oh god - you're pouting. Jungkook suddenly begins to feel nervous.

It's that scary feeling again. A fear of the good stuff. Trepidation.

"What?" he grins, walking a little closer to you, letting his hand stroke against your back as he sits down on his bed. His fingers catch yours. It's fleeting, but enough.

You both feel it.

"Such a tease," you say, talking about the project, but there's innuendo in your words, too.

"Some girls like it," he flirts back.

"The girl at the bar last night seemed to like it."

Jungkook rolls his eyes, boyish and charming. It's annoying, you think, how impossible it is to be mad at him. It's not because you're weak, or because you can't resist his charms, but because he has a way of playing things off as if they're no big deal.

The girl at the bar? A nobody, his shrug suggests. She doesn't matter.

And it's so easy to believe, because you're the one in his apartment. You're the one he wanted here, the one that he missed. Or at least, the one that he was thinking of when he decided that he could do with some company.

It might be nothing, just something to pass the time, but it makes you feel wanted. Desired. Needed.

So you accept his hand when he reaches out towards you, pulling you closer, positioning you between his spread legs. You're standing, his eyes level with your chest, unashamed as he looks at your body.

"You look warm," he husks.

Just like he always uses your body temperature as excuse to give you his jacket, he's using it as an excuse now, too. The desired effect is obvious.

His AC switchboard is on the wall behind his bed. You'd clocked it when you were walking around, observing his possessions. Yanmar, the branding reads, the plastic outer frame beige. Once, it would have been crisp white. Age has dulled it. The monochrome monitor has a clock symbol in the corner, an indicator that Jungkook has his AC set on a timer. It suggests a sense of permanence. This is his home.

You haven't set your timer yet. You just flick it on when you get hot. It isn't your home.

He watches you as you move, curious. He's smirking, because he just cant help himself. 

And because he knows that you like it whenever he does. Gets you a little bit flustered.

One of your knees hooks over his lap, and then the other follows suit.

He'd have said you were straddling him. You'd have argued that you were simply reaching over to the AC.

And you do exactly that, flicking the switch, watching as it lights up. "There. Much better."

Touche, he thinks. Smiles. Grips your thighs, as if he's scared you'll stand up again. Scared to lose you.

In all honesty, he had been hoping you'd take your shirt off, but he isn't going to complain with you in his lap, instead.

Doesn't matter if you mix the eggs with the milk first, or the flour. You still bake a cake at the end of it all.

Jungkook looks at you in such a way that you find yourself thinking maybe, just maybe, it wouldn't be so horrible to let someone in. His eyes are honest, void of ulterior motives. He's doing this because he wants to. Because he wants you.

Wants that feeling back. The one where his lips are cushioned between yours, his tongue licking into your mouth.

Jungkook wants what he wants. Jungkook gets what he wants.

And, fuck, if it isn't bare minimum - but you know this, and you don't care. Bare minimum tastes pretty fucking good when you're licking it from his lips.

His hands roam, and you let them. He's rough with his movements, but the fleshy pads of his fingertips are soft, like silk against your skin. It's almost like he's afraid, filled with the knowledge that he can bruise, if he really wants to.

But he doesn't want to. He wants to ask about the graze that's sitting pretty where blush should be. Jungkook doesn't wanna hurt. He wants to heal.

"I catch you looking, you know," you tell him before he gets a chance, wanting to see how he responds. "Every now and again..." He hikes you forward in his lap. Places you dead centre over his cock. You can feel it. He can feel you. "...I catch you looking at me." He presses a kiss against the base of your neck, obsessed with the way it vibrates when you speak. "Why are you always looking at me?"

The fact that you're sat in his lap, grinding your hips against a solid bulge, should be indication enough.

Jungkook isn't going to spell it out for you. The eroticism of suggesting he's a fucking voyeur makes him want to laugh - but the way your nipples are tenting the shirt you're wearing distracts him.

His teeth graze your throat, hands creeping round to your tummy. His fingers are long, practically the length of the expanse between your hips and the underneath of your plump tits. Just a little further and he'd be holding them, cupping them, caressing. Just a little further.

"I look at you-" His hands continue their exploration as he leans back, watching the movement beneath your shirt. It somehow feels forbidden - like he can touch, but not look. After all, your question had sounded quite a lot like a telling off. "-because you like me looking at you."

He's fucking with you, trying to get a rise.

"Do I?"

The way that you whimper as he brushes against your nipples has him pulsing his hips. Your eyes close, head tilting back ever so slightly. You like this. The way he does it.

"Uh-huh," he mumbles, lips wet against your neck. His fingers knead into the flesh of your tits, nipples hard in his palm as he relieves his stresses. "Bet you think about it all day, don't you? Think about the way I look at you when no-one else does."

Yes.

"All day?" you smirk between dulcet moans. "You're lucky if I pay you any attention at all."

"I think you're lying," he declares rather boldly, hands all over you. "I think it plays on your mind. I bet you fall asleep thinking about it, don't you?"

Yes.

"Ddaeng."

"I bet you get yourself off thinking about it."

Maybe you do. 

Maybe you've whispered his name in the dead of night, imagining how it would feel to have his body weight on top of yours. Maybe you get intrusive thoughts of that kiss every single time you try to draw close. Maybe Jungkook has made you cum without ever laying a single finger on you.

But even if he has, you won't tell him.

And you don't need to, because his phone buzzing on the bedside table behind you cuts the conversation dry. Jungkook glances towards it automatically, then back up to you. His frustration is evident, jaw tense.

"I gotta get this," he mumbles, encouraging you off of his lap. You don't resist, accepting the last five minutes for what they were: a momentary lapse in judgement. He sighs as he stands, adjusting his trousers, swiping his phone and putting it to his ear. He strolls just far enough away that you won't hear what or who is on the other line. "Hobi. Speak to me."

Hobi, you muse. A friend? A colleague? Another girl?

You swallow back the nauseating feeling in your throat, pretending as if the prospect of Jungkook with someone else doesn't chip away at your self-worth a little bit. It wasn't like you thought you had anything special between the pair of you.

But he was right. You did like him looking at you.

More than you had realised until the prospect of him looking at someone else arose.

From the corner of the room, you could hear Jungkook trying to interrupt the person he was talking to. The first syllable would escape, and then he'd hush again, never quite managing to get the words out in full.

"Ho-" His nostrils look quite cute when they flare, lips pursed, a pair of unique dimples becoming evident. They're different to the usual ones you notice. Full of surprises was Jeon Jungkook. 

"Hobi, can I-" 

He runs his hand through his hair, already dishevelled from your hands. 

"Hobi will you let me fucking talk!"

Attaboy.

The pause that follows Jungkook's outburst would suggest that Hobi had said 'no' - and then a few more choice words. If Jungkook rolled his eyes back any further, they'd surely get stuck.

"Look, I'm a bit tied up right now- no! No, not that. Who? No. I don't know a Taehyung, and even if I did- Huh? Ain't got nothin' to do with Holangi. Don't know a single one of 'em." 

You try to decipher the conversation, but fail. 

"You're a real fuckin' cockblock, yanno?" 

You blush. 

"Fuck it, fine. But you owe me. I'm not saying yes next time."

He glances over to you, catching your raised brow. Next time?

A smile catches on his lips. You thought this would be a one time thing?

He's barely hit second base. If there's one thing you're yet to find out about Jungkook, it's that he loves to win. He won't be satisfied until he's got a home run.

Any other girl, and he'd have probably been running laps for fun by this point, but you... yeah, you didn't bowl him easy hitters, that was for sure.

Jungkook moves with confidence, like he always does, as he strides over to the sofa, the bulge in his pants considerably softened but still present. "Take a picture," he grins. "It'll last longer."

You roll your eyes, but it doesn't stop you from asking if that's an offer. He laughs - that soft, gentle thrum of his vocal chords that sounds so heavenly in your ears - and tells you to behave.

"I just gotta help a friend out," he says as he reaches over you to grab his rucksack. It's heavier now than it ever is at school, the jingle of crushed tin foil rustling as it briefly catches on your knee. He pretends not to notice the curiosity in your eyes. Pretty eyes, though. He quite likes them, especially when he's towering above you and can see the whites just above your lashline. Yeah, he likes them alot. "I'll only be an hour or so. You can stay here, if you like?"

The way he phrases it is so casual that it's almost like you're old friends.

That, or Jungkook's just used to having women he doesn't know very well stay at his place.

You're unaware of the mental gymnastics he's putting himself through. If he could kick himself without looking like a twat, then he definitely would.

Shrugging, you give him a polite smile. "I don't wanna overstay my welcome."

"Nah, you're fine. I can give you a lift back to yours when I'm home? I'll be an hour. Two, tops."

Finally you agree, watching as he leaves like a lovesick puppy, listening out for the familiar rattle of his exhaust pipe. There's a cough and splutter of petrol spitting onto the sidewalk as his motor roars into action, and then he's gone.

You don't hang around for much longer.

You tell yourself that you will. That it would be nice. That you and Jungkook might not be so ill-suited after all.

But as the clock ticks by on the wall, you find yourself getting antsy. You find yourself asking stupid questions. Who exactly is Hobi? What was in Jungkook's bag? Why is he always down in Daerim? Is that where he's gone now?

The thoughts grow, adapt, intrude. Before you know it, you're considering what you'd find if you opened the top drawer of his bedside cabinet. 

Realistically, you know it would probably be a wank sock and a tub of vaseline - it doesn't matter though. Your mind is wondering. You need to scratch the itch.

Just a little peek. He'll never know.

Oh, how you loathe your brain.

What's the worst you could find? A revolver? His ex-girlfriends panties? Love letters? A crack pipe?

Somehow, you'd rather find a pipe than panties. 

It's not that you want Jungkook to be a crack addict. It's just the more that you think about it, the more you come to realise that you really, really don't like the idea of someone else feeling how warm his torso is, or how his upper teeth always nip slightly when he starts kissing you, until the pressure of his pecks plump his lips. You've only experienced it a handful of times, and it's stupid to get carried away, but he just makes it so easy.

He didn't ask you to stay, you tell yourself. He asked you if you wanted to.

Moments of instability like this are exactly why girls like you don't spend time with boys like him. It's stupid. Futile. A game for fools.

You leave his apartment as you found it, with not even a note to say thank you. He's had a squeeze on your tits. You deem that thank you enough. If anything, he should be thanking you.

When he returns, just half an hour after your departure, he can still smell your perfume. He tosses his keys down, calls out your name, and is met with silence. It takes him a moment or so to realise that he's alone.

There's a sinking feeling in his chest that he doesn't recognise. Doesn't like. Hates, in fact.

But fine. Fuck it. He didn't want you there anyway. He'd just been doing a good deed. Being kind because - if your face was any indication - obviously someone else had been particularly unkind to you.

Jungkook thinks he knows who, now.

Daerim nights have always been sketchy, but the days are no better. 

He's just the lowest rung on a long ladder of criminals who turn a profit when the sun goes down in Seoul.

Hobi had asked him to drop the stash in his rucksack off at a club, some gang-run joint that Jungkook doesn't know much about, so that he could get them back to his boss. 

That had been the plan, at least.

He slings his bag down, now empty, and sinks into the sofa, not bothering to get a rag to clean himself up. No point. The dried blood will just wash off in his shower. It's not the first time this has happened. He doubts it will be the last.

Jungkook's nose is currently bleeding, dripping down his chin and hitting the ceramic tiles of his apartment with small slaps. A bruise is forming above his left eye socket, and his knuckles are red.

A punch to the face means very little to Jungkook.

He's young, but he's strong. Fast, too. It could have been a lot worse if he wasn't.

He pushes the back of his hand against his nose, sniffing, before unlocking his phone, and dialing a number he knows now by heart.

The dial tone bleeds out, just like his nose.

And so he hangs up, and calls the only person he knows he can rely on.

"Wassup, kid?"

Jungkook doesn't mean to sob, but he cant help it. He knows Yoongi has finals coming up. He doesn't need his bullshit on his plate, too.

"I got jumped Yoongs."

Fuck.

"You alright? Sound pretty bad? Where?"

"Daerim-"

"The fuck you doing there at this time of day?"

"Hobi wanted me to drop off my stash."

"Kook..." Yoongi speaks slowly, coming to a horrific realisation. A few punches had never bothered Jungkook before. Something bigger was at play. "The stash...?"

Jungkook can hear it in Yoongi's voice: fear.

"Gone."

Yoongi sighs down the line. "Hobi know yet?"

"No."

"Alright, get outta your flat," Yoongi begins, not wasting time. Now is not the time for emotions, and it's clear that Jungkook isn't capable of that just yet. "I need you to go somewhere safe, somewhere you can lie-low for a little bit alright? Let me sort it-"

"Yoong-"

"Let me sort it. I got you into this mess. Don't sweat it."

"Ple-"

"Kook. Seriously. Trust me with this."

Yoongi doesn't let him debate it any further - and it's just as well he doesn't, because as soon as he hangs up the phone, another call comes through. Jungkook wants to answer it. Really, he does.

Jungkook's just very aware of the fact that the guy who jumped him had almost been waiting for him. Right by the entrance of the apartment block which he always picked you up from. 

In between blows, he'd warned Jungkook to 'stay the fuck away from the girl'.

The girl who's now returning his call.

"Hey," you say animatedly, having not expected him to call. You thought the pair of you would resume your usual awkward routine of pretending like nothing ever happened. "Sorry, I was in the shower. You good? Sorry I left, I just did-"

"I need a favour," he doesn't bother with formalities.

You want to banter with him, to flirt, but the tone of his voice warns you not to. So instead you tell him that you'll do whatever he needs.

"Can I come over?"

Fuck. Anything except that.

"Please."

YOU DON'T EXPECT to say yes. You don't expect to care more about him than you do about protecting your own dignity. You don't expect Jungkook to traipse down the stairs that lead to your slovenly open door with a glum look on his bloodsoaked face, as you stand there waiting for him.

But he does.

He makes no comment, no remark about the building. Just wraps his arms around your head, cradling you against his chest as you stand in your doorway. You can hear his heartbeat, thud, thud, thud against his ribs.

Go somewhere safe, Yoongi had told him. It was a no brainer.

"I'm sorry," he says, eventually pulling himself away from you. "I didn't know who else to ask."

You tell him it's fine, and you mean it. Keeping up pretences doesn't really matter so much anymore. Perhaps honesty was overdue from the both of you.

"The fuck happened to you?" You ask, tenderly reaching up to stroke away some of the dried blood from his lip. He winces, hisses, body tense, but he lets you continue. "Sorry."

"Could ask you the same, sugar," he speaks kindly, not wanting you to think he's being critical as he nods to the entryway behind you.

You grit your teeth together and let your hand rest on his shoulder. "King kicked the princess out of the castle."

And, suddenly, it doesn't seem embarrassing anymore. In fact, it seems perfectly apt that Jungkook knows. He doesn't pry, don't push for further clarification. Just nods. Accepts your reality.

"Castles are overrated, anyway," he presses a kiss to your head, and gently guides you through the threshold. The corridor is short, opening up to an open plan studio. The layout varies from Jungkook's, but it's similar in size. Small.

"Ignore the wallpaper," you say of the awkwardly granny-ish floral print. It's beige, so not totally offensive, but dear god, you think it looks like vomit.

"No," he grins. "It's... wow. Your landlord really knows how to make a statement, don't they?"

You perch on your bed and cringe. "A statement... a crime against interior design. Whatever you wanna call it."

Jungkook continues to pace around your room with a curious smile. He's partially deflecting from the fact he knows you're probably dying to ask about his face, and why he was so desperate to be with you, but he's also interested in the life you neglected to share with him.

Brown cardboard boxes are piled high in the corners, your possessions not yet unboxed.

This place is just temporary.

You've got three and a half million won sat on your desk. A couple more weeks, just a few, and you'll have enough for a deposit on a decent flat. Then you can get a regular job, something stable, and you won't have to worry. You could work through the summer and then figure out what to do next. Just as long as you keep on moving upwards, you'll be happy.

"So," you begin gingerly, as you head to the kitchenette beside your bed, wetting a cloth beneath your tap. "You gonna tell me what happened to your face?"

He takes your previous position, inviting himself to sit on the end of your bed, anticipating your return. There's light coming in from the thin windows by your ceiling, hitting directly onto your back. He thinks it's apt. Thinks you're the kind of girl who deserves a spotlight. Thinks that Mother Nature agrees.

Jungkook shrugs, in that lazy, boyish way he so often does, as you walk towards him. He spreads his legs, encouraging you between them, letting his hands graze your thighs. You pretend not to notice as you press the damp cloth to his cheek. Tiny crows legs appear at the edges of his eyes, face wincing from the contact. It's painful.

But being alone would be more painful. He chose to be here. To be with you.

And so he tells you what happened, with as much honesty he can muster. There are some things better left unsaid, his occupation being one of them. You listen attentively, dabbing at his wounds, a frown etched into the lines of your face.

"Stay away from the girl, huh?" you muse, avoiding his eyes as you study his face. His nose is still bleeding, but every time you tell him to tilt his head towards the ceiling, it ends up back in its original position. He can't see you as well with his head tilted back. Doesn't like it. Doesn't wanna do it. "Could be any girl."

Jungkook's dimple forms in his cheek. "No. No, it couldn't."

His fingers that have been grazing at your thighs squeeze tenderly, letting you know he means it. More than he thinks you know. More than he knows he should.

There's a chance that any words spoken between the pair of you could be misconstrued. He doesn't know what his feelings for you are, and you don't really understand yours for him - but you understand your body, and the electric current running beneath your lips, dying for a connection. A little spark.

So you do the only thing that makes sense: you kiss him.

And he kisses you back. Slowly, tenderly, deliberately. His lips melt into yours, hand pulling your legs closer. He encourages you onto his lap, as if he needs to be insufferably close to you. Once you're positioned how he wants, just like you were earlier, he grips your waist, keeping you stationed there.

Jungkook knows he should stop.

He knows he should have paid attention to the pair of fists that warned him off you as his skull hit the pavement earlier that morning, knows he shouldn't let himself get so wrapped up in such a red flag - but he just can't help himself. It's like you're laced in the narcotics he deals, and slowly but surely, you've gotten him addicted.

He's craving. Dying for a hit. Just a little taste of your tongue on his, the scent of your shampoo in his nose.

Red flags, red stop signs, pretty red lips all plump from the kisses he's smothering them in. Red blood, too. His nose is still a little damaged, and the way he's painting your cheek in crimson should repulse you.

Should repulse you.

Like fuck it does, though. You can smell the copper twinge through his plasma, and suddenly it's as if the Cullen's had the right idea all along.

When he pulls back, only for a moment, hands clutching at the side of your face to assess the look in your eyes, he notices it too. Hard not to. You blush all the fucking time, so much so that he knew the shade by heart, and the rouge on your cheek is far too vibrant, too scarlet. It's his fucking blood on you.

It should scare him, he knows. But the way you're looking at him, eyes all wide and glassy, lips swollen and waiting for more, has him unable to think straight. It has him obsessed, the way you don't care. The way he's covered you in blood and you still seem to want more.

But there's a softness to the way in which you're looking at him, mild confusion, as if you've got the same strange warmth running through your veins as he does. It's not a feeling he recognises, pulsing through his bloodstream with every beat of his heart.

Perhaps it's nothing. Jungkook tells himself that it is. Just adrenaline, probably.

You look at his lips, all crimson and blushed, and realise you much prefer the shade of his blood to the plum lipstick that had tainted them the night before. You're delicate as you wipe your thumb along his pouted bottom lip, just like you did in the bar. Except this time, the jealousy that had blossomed in your diaphragm is nowhere to be found. There's still a pinch beneath your ribs, but this time it's in your heart, and it's far more aching. This time, you feel his hurt.

Jungkook reaches down to where you left the damp cloth on your bed. It's wet and heavy in his hand, a little warm, too. He brings it to your face and dabs silently, cleaning you of the mess he's made. Fixing you. Restoring you to your former glory.

Its futile, 'cause his nose is still fucking bleeding, and you don't plan on leaving it more than a moment before you kiss him again. You simply don't care. Want him for all that he is, blood, sweat and tears.

But still, he insists on ridding you of his stain. Doesn't want to tarnish you. He's soft with the way he presses the cloth against you, mirroring how tenderly you were with him earlier. He's learning from you, adapting to you. Wants to be like you. Wants to be 'better'.

You watch as his eyes scan your face, brows twisted like they always do when he's about to say something but stops himself. The vertical groove just above his cupid's bow is red, blood tacky as it dries. If he kisses you now, he'll leave a stamp; a mark that says 'you're mine.'

It's too much. Far too much. You aren't his, and he knows this. He never wanted you to be his, in fact, for the longest time, he had wanted to be anything but yours.

But now he sits beneath you, crestfallen, heart in his throat, blocking him from speaking.

This was never part of the plan. He was never supposed to end up here. He was supposed to escape from the trenches, to get on the path of straight and narrow. Thrive. Succeed.

And it's not your fault, he knows this, but there's a little part of him that wonders what could have happened if he hadn't seen you that night in Daerim, hadn't seen the way your eyes look beneath night market lights, hadn't heard your laugh as he looked at his favourite view of the city.

You whisper his name, your palm resting flat on his chest, and his brows soften.

It doesn't matter what could have happened, anymore.

All that matters is what is happening.

The shortness of his breath, the flutter of his lashes against your cheek, the swelling between his legs. You can feel it, feel him, and he knows it. The way he's pulsing his hips upwards is testament to that.

It's a comfortable position, you sat on his lap on the end of your bed, not one that either of you wishes to break from. Not even as he begins to breathe against your lips, unable to properly control his reactions thanks to the friction beneath his briefs.

"Want you," he mumbles, pressing his lips into yours, the air in his lungs giving itself up to you. "Want you so bad."

You shake your head, brows pinched just a little. "I'm bad news for you."

And maybe that's it. Maybe he just wants you because he knows he shouldn't - but fuck it, if he can't let himself indulge in simple pleasures, then why bother getting himself beaten to a pulp over you?

"I'm bad news for myself, sugar," he husks against your lips, tickling them as he slips his tongue into your mouth. Deeper, deeper. Closer, closer. He wants it.

Wants it all.

Wants you naked.

Wants to know what it feels like to have you gasp in his ear as his hands roam beneath your panties.

Wants to know if you'd still look at him like you're stargazing even when he's railing you.

Wants it. Wants you. Just wants.

And what Jungkook wants, Jungkook gets.

He slips his hand up your shirt and pushes it upwards, before letting it crumple to the floor. You know that you should be more bashful, a little bit ashamed, but it's impossible when he's looking at you like this.

He has a visual now that he didn't have earlier. The glow of your skin beneath his bruised knuckles looks almost sinful, like he's plucking forbidden fruit from its tree. He'll pay the price for this, and he knows it, but he just can't resist.

Jungkook has always been a boob guy, always loved the way he could get girls moaning with just a little pinch, but never had he had a pair quite like yours. So full, so round, he's not sure his hands are big enough, and that doubt makes him throb. Soft and pillowy, he groans as he watches his fingers sink into them, utterly enthralled. His hips adjust, pushing upwards, pressing himself into you. He wants this. Wants it so bad.

You can feel the metal of his rings against your skin, and then you can feel his lips, his tongue, his teeth as they graze against the plush skin of your chest. He licks around your nipple, letting the air cool the wet trail, hardening you for him.

He's utterly obsessed.

His mouth pulls at the sensitive skin, suckles, sucks. His lashes are splayed on the tops of his cheeks, lips pouting around your nipple as he does so, small groans of pleasure vibrating against you. It will be a miracle if he can't already feel you seeping through your panties.

You whimper as his teeth graze your hardened nub, and his eyes flutter open. He doesn't detach himself, but instead, he keeps your gaze as he sucks. The pressure varies, and then it's hard. Really fucking hard. So hard you'll think he'll somehow give your nipple a hickey - but fuck, if you don't love the sensation.

"Christ," you gasp, before biting down into your bottom lip.

"Too hard?" He mumbles against you, peppering you in kisses and soft licks as if to apologise.

"No," you pant. "Was good. Was great. Just - fuck."

You laugh, soft and airy, and Jungkook smiles from the sound.

He likes this. Likes how you react to him.

And while he’s patient and gentle with you in a way that he isn't with other people, Jungkook has only ever known how to have sex in one way. It's ingrained into him, as if he was made to fuck like it; like he doesn't give a shit about the person he's screwing.

Jungkook doesn't do love, and you know this. He trades. Works in transactions. Settles debts. You don't really know this part, but you aren't stupid. You know he's never in Daerim for any good fucking reason.

You don't question it as his hands move south, slipping past your underwear. In fact, you're smug as he curses when he feels how wet you are, fingers slippery in your panties.

He pushes a finger into you, and closely follows it with a second. They curl ever so slightly, and it's at this point that you realise Jungkook is absolutely going to ruin you. Just a few pumps. Just to ease you up.

He's bored of waiting. Wants you now.

The pair of you move fluidly, minimal discussion needed, just occasional checks of 'you good?', or 'this okay?'. The answer is, always, without a doubt, 'yes'.

He gets you on your back, panties pulled off, legs not quite hanging off the edge of your bed, but nearly. He strips himself of his shirt first, and grins as he notices the way you whine.

"What?" he toys.

"Nothing," you flirt. "Just wish you'd hurry up. I'm a busy woman."

"Oh yeah?" The sound of his buckle coming undone is enough to make you fucking leak. "Busy doing what?"

You neglect to tell him. Not because you don't have a witty remark lined up, but because he's fucking naked now.

What a sight to behold he is. Body lean, honey skin flawless, muscles defined. You pretend like you're looking at his body, but your eyes are drawn to his cock. You'd expected length, but not the girth - and he has both in abundance. The tip of his cock is blushed and wet, with Jungkook just as aroused as you are.

Noticing your gaze, he rolls his eyes, and toys with your pussy again, lightly running his fingers up and down your slick entrance. When he pulls back, his fingers are still connected by thick clear fluid. His cock throbs.

"You're gonna get me so dirty," he hums, as he crawls onto the bed above you, before holding his fingers to your mouth. "Clean them."

Part of you wants to say no, but the other part of you can see his darkened gaze and the way his cock is twitching. You can't refuse.

His fingers are on the tip of your tongue, the tip of his cock nudging so close to your entrance that he may as well just do it. You raise your hips, encouraging, but he retracts a little just to tease.

The fingers that were in your mouth come to grip at the soft flesh of your cheeks, his thumb on the other side. "Don't you fucking dare."

There's tepid aggression to his movements, and it makes you feel vulnerable - but you like it. You like the way he's gripping your face, the ways he's looking at you with narrow eyes, just like he used to do across the lecture hall. You like being reminded of when you were nothing to one another, because it makes the satisfaction of feeling his stiff cock jump a little against your pussy as you moan so much more worth it.

He used to hate you, now he can't wait to bury his fat cock in you. Victory is yours, even if he's trying to act like he's the one holding all the cards.

You don't correct him, though. You let him think he has the upper hand. You'll play pillow princess just this once if it means you get to see him a little bit mean again.

"Dare what?" you pout, cheeks still squished between his fingers. He grips a little tighter, your chest rising as you gasp. He pulls your face towards his, sinking down into your lips, until he decided he's done with you.

He stands by the edge of your bed, and yanks your ankles towards him, pulling you close enough to the edge for him to fuck you like this.

The loss of his grip is unwelcome by you, a frown forming. He isn't looking at your face now, eyes down on his cock, which he's rubbing between your soaked pussy lips, but he can almost hear you brace yourself to whine. He smirks, one side of his mouth lifting, head knocking to the side slightly.

"Don't you dare try and set the pace," he finally husks, still not glancing up towards you. He's taking his time, making sure the head of his cock kisses every inch of your exposed mess. "Nearly got my nose fucking broken for this pussy-" he spits, hard and fast, right onto your clit, spreading it with his cock. "- so I'm gonna make sure I get what I'm owed."

He spreads your thighs back, his fingers gripping harshly just how you like it. Perhaps you should pretend to be embarrassed by the fact your cunt is leaking for him, begging for him, but the way he hisses at the sight, chest heaving, prevents it.

Jungkook's thought about this before, about how pretty and pristine you'd be, about the mess he'd hoped you'd make. Thought about it so many times. Fingers wrapped around his shaft in the middle of the night when no one can hear him chant your name as he spills over. Yeah, he's thought about it a lot.

His imagination has never done you justice. One look and he's obsessed. Wants to spend hours touching, caressing, licking you.

"Take it," you whisper. "What you're owed, Jungkook. Take it."

He looks up now, brows threaded together. You don't recognise the contemplation his face is laced in, but he doesn't give you the chance to question it, for you begin to feel that burn. The one your fingers can never give you. It's alien, and yet familiar, inherently natural but intrusive nonetheless.

"Shit," is all you can manage to say, eyes locked on his.

He wants to watch himself sink into you, watch as his fat cock forces your slick wetness out of your pussy, but he can't. Not when you're looking at him like that. Not when your chest is heaving and your eyes are watering beneath tense brows. Not when your mouth is hanging open and just begging to be fucked like your tight little pussy.

And then he starts feeling something a little strange. A little unfamiliar. A little bit like his heart has stalled to beat in time with the contractions of your chest. And though he's not in pain anymore, too busy feeling you, he's aware that it hurts. Aware that he can't fuck you like he wanted to, 'cause his chest needs to be against yours. Needs to feel the beating drum beneath your ribs.

He doesn't even realise that he's paused until you whine a meagre, "please."

"That's more like it," he hums, as he pushes into you, the base of his thick cock plugging the weeping mess that he's made. You know that as soon as he pulls out, you'll be whimpering, begging for the tip of his cock to kiss your walls once more. "See how nice things can be when you just behave yourself, huh?"

His hips push just a little deeper, and he knows that it hurts. Knows that the little gasp isn't entirely from pleasure. He's seen his cock. Doesn't take a genius to work out that it can do damage.

"You can take it," he tells you, and like a pathetic, whimpering mess, you fucking nod. He's still inside of you, still deeper than you thought possible, and then his hand is on your stomach. He grabs your hand and places it beneath his. "You feel that?" He retracts just a little, pushing back in just as deep. Beneath your hands, there's a bulge. External or internal, it doesn’t matter. It's him. He does it again. "You feel me taking what's mine?"

Whatever the fuck you moan is incoherent, but he doesn't give a shit, 'cause he's ploughing now. Bucking his hips into you like pneumatic fucking drill. Shit. He's done this before. Got it mastered to a fine art. Momenta worthy of a museum exhibition.

Your tits are pillowed on your chest, nice and round, wobbling as he takes command of your body. He slaps one of them, just to watch it ripple, before that firm grip of his is on it. "Perfect tits," he growls the compliment, not really meaning for it to come out. "Gonna put my cock between them later," he tells you. "Gonna cum all over them."

He doesn't tell you that he'll also clean them with his hungry tongue, before delivering his cum into your mouth. Figures he'll just let you find out. His brain is working at a mile a minute, trying to reign back thoughts of sharing his cum with you in such a filthy manner. God, he wants to do heinous things to you. With you. For you.

But for now, he needs to focus on his cock. It's rubbing inside of you, nuzzling. He knows he's weeping, and that his precum is getting mixed with your slick juices. Knows he won't last long if you keep whining like that. Mewling. Purring.

He stalls his hips, letting go of your tits as they jiggle back into position. Your cheeks are flushed, imprints of his fingers reddening your skin. Lips pouted and resting ajar, Jungkook thinks they've never looked more fuckable. More kissable. More whisper-sweet-nothings-against-able.

"You ever shut the fuck up?" he teases, but is quick to notice confusion flash in your eyes. He didn't mean it as an insult, but it's easy to read the hurt in your perplexed features, and the way you begin to try and push your legs together. It's futile. His cock is keeping you open.

But you feel embarrassed, as if your natural reactions to him are a turn-off. It's silly, because he's quite literally inside of you, fat and solid, using you to milk himself. Of course, he's not turned off, but you're hyper-aware of how vulnerable you're feeling right now. It had been fun to pretend like you were in control, but as soon as he slipped inside of you, all sense of power had evaporated.

He doesn't realise this though. Doesn't realise that his cock is nudging so deep into you that it's practically knocking against your heart. Knock, knock, knock. Who's there? Your mind taunts, but you daren't answer.

"Hey," he coos, one of his large palms stroking on the inside of your thighs. That uncomfortable, obscure feeling is back again. The one that tells him he needs to be closer to you. This time, he doesn't ignore it. His hips pulse, just the once. A reminder he's still very much into this. Into you.

His hands grip your waist, softly this time, as he manoeuvres himself onto the bed with you, keeping himself snug. Your head is by the pillows, Jungkook's knees on either side of your ass, his chest flat against yours as one of his hands cradles your jaw. He presses a chaste, airy kiss against your lips, and whispers, "I love the way you sound." He kisses you again, hips rocking. You're trying not to, but you whine. "Fuck, sugar. You're my favourite fucking sound."

Your legs hook over his back, and he groans now. The angle change lets him delve deeper, your walls massaging him so well. Jungkook thinks he might have died and gone to heaven. He's slipping in and out of you with minimal force, skin slapping together. He makes sure to let his moans roll off his tongue and into your mouth. You eat them up and give them back. The pair of you aren't kissing anymore, just gasping and humming into one another's mouths. He's stuttering.

There's a pause as he adjusts his grip, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs. He likes it, the way you seem to melt around him in all capacities. His lips nudge against yours as his steady hips begin to rock into yours again.

You groan as he pushes down on your legs, pushing you as far apart as your bones allow. It's typical of him, seeing how far he can take things. Push them to the limit. Always gets him in trouble. There's a click, as air escapes from the socket where your leg meets your pelvis.

"You good?" He checks and you respond with a kiss. Hands tangled in his hair, you hope it conveys the fact you've never felt better. He laughs a little, soft and serene, into your mouth, the weight of his body keeping you trapped beneath him.

You're morbid in your thoughts, and consider how nice it would be for Jungkook to suffocate you like this; steal you of the air you breathe with his tiny giggles of satisfaction. So, so nice, you think.

And so you tell him. You tell him that you want his hand on your throat. He takes a second to respond - not because he doesn't want to, but more so because he can't believe you actually asked.

He doesn't normally fuck the girls he cares about like this. Then again, he never really cares about the girls he fucks.

"God," you moan as he pushes one of your legs over his shoulder. His body is clammy against yours, skin hot and damp, chest lean but built. He's working hard; not just for his release. For yours too. Rams into you, stuffing your cunt with his cock, dipping his head to lather your clasped throat in wet kisses.

"That's it, sugar," he growls as his teeth graze your neck. "Need to hear how good you feel. Need to hear what my cock does to you. You owe me."

You want to laugh. You're about to laugh. But then his head dips down to your chest, and he latches onto one of your pebbled nipples, sucking so hard that all you can do is tremble. He knows you like this. Knows it makes your pussy all creamy and slippery for him - and like clockwork, he's proven right. The sounds are lewd. He loves it.

"On your back," you husk, punctuating your instruction with a whimper as he suckles even harder. He shakes his head, eyes closed, mouth vibrating and full of your tit. Not a chance, he tries to say, but it just sounds likes he's forgotten how to speak. Too busy. Too close to spilling himself into you. Doesn't wanna get distracted.

So focused, he doesn't realise you're pushing him over until you're on top. He frowns as he detaches from your nipple with a pop, but his hands are running all over your body regardless. Obviously doesn't care that much. Course he doesn't. That ache in his chest has settled.

Until he starts thinking about it, and oh god, it's back and it's fucking unbearable.

"C'mere," he pulls you flush against him, as your hips begin to work against him. His hands cradle your face so he can kiss you as deeply as he likes, tongue slipping into your mouth, as his cock slips up and down your pussy. This, he thinks, is it. This is what fucking should feel like.

"Shit," he whispers. "Shit."

The friction of his surprisingly neat hair that rests at the base of his cock is nice. Real fuckin' nice. You're not even fucking him anymore, just grinding against it. Using it, using him, to get yourself off.

You think you're being slick, like he won't notice - but he does. Of course, he does. He's obsessed with your body.

"God, yeah, baby," his back arches, pressing his chest against yours, eyes closed. "Use me like that. Use me," he bites into your shoulder gently. "Fucking use me."

He means it. Doesn't give a shit about himself anymore. Just wants to feel you tremble as he holds you close. Wants to press kisses against your lips as your moans become undignified. He needs to be the reason you cum; needs to be responsible for your oxytocin rush.

You sit up a little, and Jungkook holds back a pout from the separation - but how can he complain when you're sat like that, his cock buried inside of you, hair a mess and with eyes like his favourite constellation? He's hypnotised as your boobs begin to bounce, pussy working up his shaft like the true Daerim woman of the night you are. He's forgotten about all of that, now. Can't think about anything except for how to not fucking cum.

He can't and he won't. Not until you do. But you're bouncing, and it's wet, and he can hear it, and it feels so fuckin' good. His toes are curling, torso tensing, eyes half-shut, pretty little pout hanging open. He's fucking whining. "Yeah like that," he encourages. "Gonna milk me so well, baby. Gonna... ah. Fuck. Gonna-"

Jungkook can't fucking speak. He wants to. Wants to tell you how fucking beautiful you look, how he wants this endlessly, how he never wants to let you go. Needs to tell you how right this feels, how good you make him feel, how he doesn't understand his feelings but fuck, just that he is feeling. Feeling so much.

You're not sure at which point he started calling you baby, but you're actually convinced that the name alone could tip you over the edge.

The pace of your hips is slowly, savouring. He doesn't quite get it. You were so close. Why stop?

The stillness of your movements makes way for something new. He feels a throb around his fat cock, which is begging for release. Notices the way your chest is shaking like you've got hiccups, tiny whines of pleasure making themselves known. Your pussy was always warm, but it's hot now, contracting around him.

And then he gets it.

"Oh, shit," he mewls, his hips slowly pumping upwards. "Yeah, that's it, baby. Let yourself cum. All over my dick," he encourages, hedonistic and self-serving. "That's it. Cream for me."

His slow movements as he fucks up into you amplify the sensation, the tip of his cock nudging languidly against your tight walls. Your entire body shudders, the feeling rippling from your chest right down to your toes. You rasp out moans, the sensation all too powerful, a creamy mess pooling at the base of his shaft. There's a jerk as your muscles spasm, your orgasm well and truly delivered. He pulls you down and into his chest, his strong arms wrapped around your back.

Your body rests on his, spent and sensitive, and he can tell you can't hold out for much longer. He pushes back the hair that's sticking to your clammy face, and presses kisses into your temple.

"So big," you hum, voice hazy, eyes shut.

"Just a little more, baby," he promises. " You're doing so well. Just a little..."

You've considered how Jungkook would orgasm on more than one occasion - and you're pleasantly surprised to find that your imagination was wrong. There's no grand declaration, nor large grunt. He's not aggressive, either, like you'd half-hoped he would be.

Instead, Jungkook kisses you as his hips begin to stall. His brows are creased, moans muffled against your lips. His torso shudders, abdomen as tight as his balls. "Baby," he drowsily mewls, and then it's happening. His cock pumps into you, unloading thick creamy spurts with every stroke of your pussy. The first one is so desperate that you're almost positive you can feel it paint your insides. You moan along with him, utterly obsessed with this, him, whatever the fuck just happened.

He doesn't withdraw immediately. Just lays there and kisses your skin, absolutely spent.

You don't move a muscle. You don't want it to be over. Don't wanna lose this. Lose him.

When you tilt your head to look at him, he's smiling. Eyes closed, cheeks appled. Serene. In a state of fucked-out bliss.

You tell him that he's pretty, and he lets out an airy laugh, covering his face with one of his hands. You move his hand and watch him fondly, enthralled with the grin that he's struggling to fight.

He turns to look at you, and the smile he's been boasting amplifies. "God, you're gorgeous."

It's not a new observation; just one he's never voiced before. One that he was able to resist saying. But you're naked now, chest pillowed against his, eyes glowing and nose blushed.

You hum, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "I'm glad you chose to come here."

Just like that, there's a knot in Jungkook's stomach that seems to anchor that feeling he keeps having.

"Yeah," he nods. "Me too."

IT'S THREE IN the afternoon by the time you wake from your post-fuck snooze. Jungkook's never had one of those before. Hated being sticky after sex with anyone else. Always had to shower - but with you, he wants to stick to you like glue.

"Should have filmed that," he hums, the tips of his fingers stroking up your arms. You aren't sure if he's joking or not. "Would have given us a unique take on the project. Probably wouldn't have gotten us very high grades, mind you, but art is subjective."

"Some would argue that the critique of art is objective," you muse back, still blissfully cum-drunk from the events prior to your nap. Jungkook's nose has stopped bleeding, and the pair of you have almost forgotten the reason he showed up in the first place. "Documentary maker by night, porn star by day," you flirt. "Although it's cute that you think you fuck like a porn star."

"I felt you shaking," he says, knowing there's no possible way that you didn't enjoy it. His nose feels a little cold after all the trauma of the morning, so he buries it into your hair. "Can't fake that."

"That's what I'm saying," you simper, pressing a kiss against his bare torso, just below the meeting of his collarbones. And then another, simply for good measure. "Porn stars never actually look like they're making the woman feel any good." You trail down his chest, tongue licking gently at the darker skin around his nipple. "You... yeah you don't fuck like a porn star." And then you suck a little. He hisses, in the best possible way. 

"Don't," he says. "Not ready to go again."

You laugh. 

Jungkook thinks he's reached Nirvana. Almost certain, in fact. Never had a girl do that to him before. He loves to give it, but hasn't ever thought to receive it. Wonders what other things you'll do to him that he's never had done before. He can feel his cock fucking twitching again, achy and sore, definitely not recovered yet from how hard he went earlier - but god, he wants it. Wants to bury himself inside you again. Belong to you.

His hands paw at you, one gripping on your chest, the other on your ass, pulling you closer. Your leg hooks over him, and he can feel how wet you still are on the side of his thigh. His balls fucking tighten. He can feel it happening, blood rushing to his crotch. 

Yet despite it all, he just kisses you. Softly. Tenderly. Merely his lips languid between yours. Withdraws slowly. Keeps his eyes closed. Bliss.

"The fuck have you done to me, sugar?" he whispers, dark eyes opening to look into yours. His speech is husky, like he trying to steal the answers of a pop-quiz from you. You can't help him. You don't have a clue what the answer is. You're just as stuck as he is. "Got me feeling all fuzzy 'n' shit."

"Just a sugar rush," you smile. "It'll pass."

You're both acutely aware that it won't, but that will be a problem for another day.

"Tell you what," Jungkook muses, though his thoughts are shallow. He's not digging deep. Just talking for the sake of it. "I might not fuck like a porn star, but you don't fuck like a hooker." 

He pulls your arm up so that he can study the crease of your elbow. You let him move your body like you're a barbie doll. You'll be his toy, you think, if he wants. No bother. 

His fingers press at the thin skin that covers your veins, inspecting. 

"Not a scratch," he assesses. "So you're not an addict either."

You laugh, slightly amused. "No? Maybe I just don't inject."

Jungkook gives you a stern look. Hopes you're joking. Tells you that you better fucking be joking. The sweetness of your laughter tells him that you are.

"So?" you press. "I'm not a prostitute and I'm not an addict. It's your lucky day. What of it?"

Jungkook tilts his head down so that his nose is nestled into the crown of your head again. Comforting, he thinks. Smells like laundry. You must have washed your sheets recently. 

His next statement takes you off guard. 

"Only ever see three kinds of women down in Daerim." 

And you know.

You know he knows. 

You can feel it in the way he protectively presses his lips into your skull, as if he's Prince Charming trying to rid his Sleeping Beauty of the nightmare she's been living. Wake up.

But Prince Charming rides a white horse, not a petrol-spitting, air-cooled, steel-framed shadow that rips through the city at night. 

There are no nightmares, either. You're already wide awake. There's no saving you. 

He sighs against your head. Pauses. Resists, and then confronts. 

"I know what you do in the dark, sugar."

You don't say anything for a moment, and then you're pulling away from him, reaching for your shirt. He doesn't like this. Misses your warmth, but doesn't stop you. Instead, he follows, sitting on the edge of your bed, the corner of your comforter lazily protecting his modesty. His muscles are relaxed now, a little crease in his stomach from the way that he's slouching, hands in his lap. Those Bambi eyes of his are peaking through his hair, cheeks red and grazed from the morning encounter he'd had in Daerim.

He watches as you pull your shirt over your head, hair just as messy as his, and a graze on your cheek to match. He was pretty certain before that it had been carpet burn, but now that he's seen it up close, softly rubbed his thumb against it during pretty kisses, he's sure of it.

You avert his gaze. Feel shameful. Hate that he knows. You never cared before. It was just a fun little secret, the fact that he didn't know you were no angel. 

But you want him to think that you're one, now. 

For a moment, you were sure that he had. 

Instead, now, it feels like you're falling from grace.

He reaches for your hand, but you pull it back. "Please don't."

And so he doesn't. Just sits for a little while instead. "Do you want me to get dressed?"

You really don't. 

But your tongue is lodged in your mouth and it won't budge. You turn away, internally furious with yourself. It's been a while since you've gotten like this; so dreadfully panicked that you can't talk. It's a once in a blue moon kind of thing, the early onset of a panic attack, but you're hoping it won't reach the stage of no return. Praying.

"Babe?"

He sounds worried now, and it's making it worse. Feels like you've just reached the top of Bukhan Mountain without taking a second to catch your breath. 

Has your chest always been this tight? Or has someone just been wrapping rubber bands around your torso without you noticing? 

It isn't possible, and you know this, but it feels like it and - oh God - you can hear him shuffling, the buckle of his belt clanging. He's leaving, he's leaving, he's leaving, your ribs cackle as they close down on your lungs. 

There's a light hum behind you, like a wasp is coming to send you into a state of anaphylactic shock and then it stops. His jeans are tossed to the floor once more.

"Yoongi?" Jungkook speaks quietly behind you into the receiver of his phone. "Wassu- Yeah, yeah, I'm safe. I'm good."

I'm safe. 

I'm good.

"Where are- Yoongi stop. Stop it. I'm being deadly fucking serious-"

You don't realise it, but your chest begins to mellow as you listen in to his conversation. 

"It's my mess!" He shouts now. "I'll fucking fix it. I don't give a fuck what Hobi says. Where you at? The Zoo? I'll be there- Yes, I will. Don't do anything fucking stupid."

And then he hangs up, chucking his phone into your bed with more aggression than he'd ever wanted to show in your presence. You don't see it, back still turned, but you hear it, the way his phone rebounds against the springs of your mattress.

"Shit," he hisses, and when you turn to face him, you find that his head is in his hands, elbows on his knees.

Crouching by him, your chest expands. You don't give a shit about yourself anymore. Your palms rest just behind his elbows, eyes anchored below his, looking up. 

"He's got his fucking final in an hour," is all Jungkook says. "He's gonna miss his fucking final."

He lifts his head, tender lips pouted, eyes bloodshot from the pressure he's been placing on his palms. Looks right at you. Decides he'll never trust another pair of eyes more.

"I know what you do in the dark, sugar," he relays. "But I do worse. So much fucking worse. And I've just gone and fucked it all up."

And while he blames it all on himself, you know it's your fault. 

He didn't stay away from the girl. He tempted fate, tugged on the red string, and accidentally snapped it.

Forlorn, he slumps, tongue wetting his bottom lip as he bites down on it. It's only to stop it from trembling. Clouds lurk in his eyes, trying to block his vulnerabilities from you, but it doesn't take a genius to work out that he's scared. 

"Take it," you say, lips in a flat line, eyes stern. You nod towards the pile of cash on your desk, and his eyes follow. "Take it. Pay your debts. I can earn it again. I don't have a deadline. You do."

He shakes his head.

"I'm not taking the money you've earned."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm not," he protests and you've got it in your right mind to slap his pretty face silly. "Gonna be totally honest," he adds, "Don't really want your sugar baby money. Kinda resent it a little. Resent the fucker who gave it to you."

Jungkook hates him. 

Doesn't know him.

Loathes him.

"So then give him the middle finger and take it," you plead. "He got you fucked up into this mess, he got you jumped, he got your stash stolen. Take his money and get yourself and Yoongi out of it. You don't have time to be fucking arguing with me."

He wants to fight back. You stop him.

"We can argue later," you promise.

And that ever-present effervescent feeling is back in his chest. 

"Sugar," he speaks quietly. "Don't do this."

"Kook," you respond, voice much firmer than his. "You gotta do this. Yoongi shouldn't be fixing your mistakes and you know it. We can work it out on an I.O.U. basis. It's okay."

"I.O.U. suggests I'm gonna keep seeing you for a while," Jungkook mumbles. He isn't feeling as confident in himself as he had done earlier. 

You stand, offering your hand to him so that you can pull him up with you. Neither of you acknowledge the fact that he's stark bollock naked. It's really not the time. Nothing you haven't seen before, after all.

"Well, yeah," you shrug with a straight face, but there's a glint in your eye. "I'd hope so. Pretty sure you said you were fuck my tits later? Gotta hold up your end of the bargain, sugar."

And despite it all, he laughs, toying with your hands before slipping his finger between yours. "Don't call me that."

"Why not?" You squeeze his hands. "You're technically my sugar baby now."

"That's not how it works."

God, he knows he shouldn't be fucking about, wasting time flirting, but he just can't help himself.

"No?" You question, equally distracted.

"No," he says. "If you're paying me, and I'm fucking you, then that makes me a hooker."

He's not wrong. 

"Oh, that's kinda hot," you smile, pulling gently on his hands to encourage him to lean down. He does as he's told, and kisses you like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You're so fucked up," he whispers against you, knowing that it's exactly why he enjoys you so much.

You don't let the moment linger, though, tossing him his clothes and going to grab the money while he dresses himself. You stack it together, all nice and neat, using the desk to straighten the edges. The wedge is thick in your hands. Yellow 50's are laughing at you. Stupid girl thought we'd fix her problems, they chatter silently to one another.

"Three and half million won," you hold it out to Jungkook. He hesitates, so you force his grip around it and let go. It's his problem, now. Not yours. You smile so warmly that Jungkook can't help but let that feeling in his chest simmer. Your hair is still messy, mascara still smudged. He wants to kiss your cheeks. 

Jungkook hasn't disclosed what exactly was in his bag.

But in the same way he knows there are only three types of women in Daerim, you know there are equally only three types of men.

There's only one demographic that he belongs to. Yoongi, too. 

You don't say it explicitly, not like he does. 

"Holangi are nasty fuckers," you acknowledge. "I know they raise the stakes just for the fun of it. Whatever got stolen, the street value doesn't matter. Take it all. You'll need it."

Take what I owe you.

When he kisses you goodbye, it's just like the first time; all breathy and needy, lips parted and pouting. Again and again, he presses down into your lips. His brows furrow, hands on your cheeks, chest pressed against yours.

The crimson paint that had stained you from his very first kiss returns. You're painted in red for the second time that morning, but this time only you can see it. Only you can feel it.

That's her. That's the girl who let Jeon Jungkook kiss her like he actually meant it. 

But it's funny now, because you know that he does mean it.

When he finally leaves, his nose is blushed, his cupids bow too. Eyes glassy. Smile forlorn.  

Disappointingly, as you close the door of your apartment when he's no longer in your line of sight, you remember exactly how Jungkook had kissed you for the first time:

Like it was going to be the last.

And it consumes you, because the kiss you just shared felt exactly the same.

Your chest is uncomfortable again, but it's not rubber bands this time. 

It's that stupid red string that Jungkook had tugged too tightly on.

The one that he'd snapped right in half. 

WATTPAD // AO3 // KO-FI // CARRD

[adoregojo]

secret admirer.

hihihihihihihihi, i cannot believe i actually slept for two days in a row? wth? and also that i never did this kind of posts? im such a lazy bum mb yall, I promise I'll write a real fic soon. summary: bllk characters as your secret admirers: isagi, bachira, chigiri, reo. how they fell, what do they do, how did they confess.

isagi.y

him. just him.

you once held his shirt collar to stop him from planting flatly on the floor.

and when you walked away, you walked with his heart in your palms.

yea, just like that

but honestly, isagi himself didn't knew he was such a big sap inside

and the moment he realised you two shared a few classes was the second he almost kneeled and thanked the sky itself for this.

an absolute swoon from looking at your side profile.

he once was long gone within the abyss of daydreaming about you, he genuinely just couldn't look away.

then got called out by the teacher for being too distracted.

definitely prayed that you didn't see that.

writes your name unintentionally in his notebook.

gets so embarrassed about it later and rips the paper.

still dose it again the next day and almost ripped the whole book apart form cringing at himself.

he once was musing over you too much to the point that your name slipped out unwittingly on the dinner table.

his parents couldn't stop teasing him about it, wondering when they would see you walking down their house door.

leaves love notes in your locker almost everyday.

it's something short and simple like: "you look pretty today."

then when he goes home he'll realize how dumb that was because you literally look the prettiest everyday.

dumb, dumby.

takes time to make the first move though.

he just feels like you're way, farther away from his reach.

it's okay, he still considers himself lucky to be one of those who got admire you.

he just hoped you saw him behind all of them, even if it was a glance.

chigiri.h

omgg pretty boyyy

despite chigiri being a confident and self-reliant, the trigger words of his old injury was like a pulling a pin of a grenade to his still-raw sorrowness. something that'll always haunt him.

and what dose he dare to say when they were nothing but truthful? like a salt to his wounds, he tends to just take it and suck it up, or at least try to ignore it for his sake.

but everything flipped when you stood up for him.

from that moment on. chigiri knew that he was far a goner.

out of everyone here he's definitely the most romantic one.

reads all your favourite books and analysis it.

probably named a cat after you.

like isagi he writes love letters for you.

just a little too poetic..

it it's short then it's something like: "loving you is like breathing." or "i hope your days are filled with the same joy you give me with your existence only."

but mostly is: "my definition of love, i see the true meaning of living behind your hue of life. you shall lighten my soul with your existence alone, i was born to see you shin each day, witnessing you is a blessing from heaven itself. the day that i stop seeing you as the owner of the stars is the day my body shall vanish, yet my soul will know it way back to you. from your only and one your admirer."

what a lovesick clown.

he might be a smooth talker on the outside, but trust me the butterflies of sentimental keeps on swirling in his stomach on the sight of you.

told his mother and sister about you.

it was his biggest regrets.

because the next day his sister shouted your name in a demand for you to spend the night for the 'meeting of the future in law'.

he had to physically drag her back to the car, freaking embarrassing.

couldn't meet your eyes for a while after that.

wants to hold your hand.

like, really badly.

it's just that feeling your skin against his cold, pristine hands must've feel like the loveliest, cosiest thing.

the thoughts alone are making him go crazy.

he confessed first, just couldn't help himself.

he just hoped if you would go to the end of the world alongside with him.

bachira.m

the sunshine boy himself.

the definition of fell first AND fell harder.

it all started when the class was ordered to work as duo for a project, something he always despised.

you may say that because bachira was definitely not having the word 'smart' in his book, you'd be right actually.

but mainly since no one really wanted to group up with him.

it was embarrassing, to just sit there and wait to be picked was putting him under the lights that pointed him out as the most pitiful creature in the room.

then you pocked him on the shoulder, and asked him if he wanted to be your partner.

and when he didn't see the sarcasm reeking from you, he knew he tripped hard, and couldn't find it anywhere in his feet to back him up.

it was strange, bachira never had a company, let alone a crush.

but the signs were there, and were painfully vulnerable.

painted you in art class multiple times; you with a smile, you reading a book, you sniffing a sunflower.

maybe also you and him... holding hands or hugging...

stares at your face a way, way too long.

he tells himself it's to crave your features better and detailed.

even he doesn't believe that however.

he draws your eyes a lot.

his second favourite colour is your eyes hue.

he was never the best at writing romantic poems, and his hand writing is just........

so he insisted gets you a gift!

which is a rock.

yes you heard me, rock.

he would even paint a little face with a smile on it and leave it on your desk by the end of the day.

almost went bald from joy when you had it hanging as a small march on your bag.

and when you had a bad day, that goes unnoticed by him.

so imagine your surprise when you would find two pairs of rocks, one kissing the other who had a sad expression on it face.

that somehow that foster a blissful smile on your face. like that little action extinct any remains of the past negative you carried.

and bachira was more than happy to be the reason for your happiness.

definitely rambles about you to his mom.

and his monster.

he once ha a dream about you two smooching.

cried when he woke up because he wanted it to be real more than anything.

you two confessed first, at the same time.

and boy was he dancing on cloud nine at it.

he almost smooch you that moment and then.

reo.m

it's mister perfect everyone, cheer.

you fell first, he fell harder.

no, literally. you fell. tripped flat on the floor.

and somehow, that made the reo mikage heart move.

?????????

love at first (fall??) sight.

he definitely leaves a trail of gifts for you everywhere.

your chair, desk, locker, bag.

he switches between chocolate and flowers to letters and perfumes, necklaces, etc..

you say how he picked them?

easy, see something that reminds him of you, he buys.

and it's pretty foolish since he sees you in almost everything.

reo is convinced that you're within everything that shins beautifully.

he actually paid the teachers to let him be in the same classroom as you.

paid even more to get a seat next to you.

rip to whoever was sitting next to you.

he once heard that a guy was bothering you.

the next day the guy was the talking of school because he suddenly moved out of town due to his dad losing his job.

hm, must be karma then.

has a shrine of you.

but you didn't hear that from me.

talks about you none stop to nagi and ba-ya.

genuinely sobbed when he imagined you with someone else.

has a flight under your name.

made a makeshift doll of you so he can practice his confessions on.

had a mental breakdown of the idea of you rejecting him.

reo can the most horrible, miserable day to a human kind to live.

then he sees you smiling

BOOM

he's all happy and smiling again, also a little giddy.

you once greeted him good morning, the next day he was planing what ring would suit you the most.

had two planes to write on the sky: 'will you go out with me?' and your name next to it in a shade of a heart.

now, you definitely cannot reject that. (Please don't)

have a nice day everyone.

[nvrsaidiwasinurcloset]

omg this just popped into my head and i desperately need it like i literally will not be able to stop thinking about it about it till it is written but, ethan landry x reader fic based on gods and monsters by lana del rey oml like it would be phenomenal… i don’t want it to incorporate the lyrics i just want it based on the idea of the song? but not about them being actual gods and monsters like to her ethan is a god. especially the lyrics “this is heaven, what i truly want. it’s innocence lost.”. basically reader is super innocent and ethan sees her as an angel and feels the need to ruin her and she sees him as a god and is obsessed with him. super smutty and him praising her and talking her through it. i know this was a lot but i am obsessed with your writing and i think if you wrote this it would be amazing, but only if you’re comfortable 🫶☺️

HI! I hope this was what you wanted. 💕

Gods & Monsters - Ethan Landry x Fem!Reader

This contains SMUT - Minors DNI

Summary: You're obsessed with Ethan and he's obsessed with you, but he'd dying to destroy your innocence.

Contains: Fluff-ish moments, Smut - Oral(m and f receiving), fingering, p in v, riding, rough-ish sex. Reader isn't a virgin but doesn't have a lot of experience.

A/N: This was one of the fics I lost the other day, and I'm so sad because I liked what I'd already written before. BUT I was determined to get this done lmao

You didn’t expect to fall so hard for Ethan Landry. What started as a small crush on one of your friends led to full-blown infatuation. Once you found yourself hanging off every word that slipped past his perfect lips, always making sure you were beside him whenever you’d go out with your friends, and even letting your grades slip a little just so you’d have the excuse to be alone with him to study, you realized how fucked you were. You didn’t care, though, because he’s everything you wanted.

He was tall, and very attractive. But what really sucked you in was the way he lit up whenever he talked to you about the things he was passionate about. The way his voice sounded first thing in the morning when you’d all spent the night at Tara’s. The way he ignored any other girls that looked in his direction, at least when he was with you.

Ethan was just as caught up in you as you were with him. The first night you walked into Tara’s, he could’ve sworn you were literally glowing. He thought you were the most gorgeous girl he’d ever seen, and once he talked to you and realized how sweet you were, he knew he had to make you his. He found himself daydreaming about taking you on dates, holding your hand, kissing you. But sometimes, his thoughts weren’t so innocent.

He knew you weren’t a virgin, but after a drunken game of ‘Never Have I Ever’ turned sexual, he learned that there were a lot of things you hadn’t done. He wanted to be the first, and hopefully only person you’d do those things with. He even went as far as wondering how you’d sound, the faces you’d make, how much of him you could take in your mouth before it was too much. He felt a little guilty from time to time for thinking about you in that way, because you were just so sweet. But the desire to destroy your innocence just kept getting stronger, no matter how hard he’d try to push those thoughts about you to the side.

The two of you shamelessly flirted with each other, so much that the rest of your friends thought there was something more going on than there was. It wasn’t uncommon for Ethan to pull you into his lap whenever there wasn’t an empty seat available beside him, or for the two of you to be so caught up in your own conversations that you’d forget your friends were even there. He wanted to take things to the next level, but he’d always get nervous and shut down whenever he got close to kissing you.

You lived down the hall from Tara, which made it so convenient for you and Ethan’s study sessions. Whenever you had plans with your friends, Ethan would come to your apartment to study with you before. With exams coming up, Ethan couldn’t stop thinking about how he needed to get over his nerves and finally make a move. He knew he’d still get to see you, but he wouldn’t have the excuse to spend alone time with you.

As Ethan sat on your bed, his fingers moving against his keyboard, you started to get bored. He kept peaking over his laptop screen to see you stretched out on your stomach at the foot of your bed, scrolling through your phone.

“That’s not homework,” he said, playfully scolding you as you sat up to look at him.

“If I have to keep looking at anything school related, I’m going to go crazy.”

“We still have over an hour before we have to go to Tara’s. What would you like to do?” He asked, closing his computer to give you his attention.

“We could watch a funny movie. I need to laugh,” you suggested, as he shook his head.

“We don’t have enough time for that…but,” he said, sitting his laptop on the bed beside him. “I know how to make you laugh.”

He smirked as he crawled closer to you. You knew what was coming, the slight look of panic in your eyes making him chuckle before his fingers dug into your sides.

“Ethan,” you whined, trying to grab at his hands to pull them off you. You were starting to tear up from laughing, and your breathing was getting heavier. “Stop it! You’re going to make me fall off the bed!”

“I’d never let that happen,” he said, his fingers not letting up.

“Seriously, Ethan!” You were starting to wheeze from laughing so hard, so he finally pulled his hands away. You placed one of your hands on your chest as you tried to take deep breaths, as Ethan settled back into the spot he was in before on your bed. “That was so mean.”

“I think it’s funny that you’ve never tried to get me back,” he said, a smug look on his face. “Is it because I’m stronger than you?”

“Knowing you, you’d have me pinned to the bed so I wouldn’t be able to move while you tickled me.”

Ethan got a little caught up in the idea of that. He wanted to have you pinned to the bed, but not to tickle you. He was so lost in his thoughts that he didn’t notice you were moving closer to him, the only thing bringing him back into the moment was when your fingertips started to move against his sides.

“Hey!” he said through his laughter as he grabbed at your hands. You weren’t going to give up easily, so you moved to straddle him, pulling your hands away every time he reached for them. “Please, you gotta stop!”

“No,” you said, your hands moving further up his ribs, making him laugh even harder. He knew it wasn’t meant to be sexual, but the way your ass was rubbing against him as you moved was making him hard.

“Stop!” he yelled, finally grabbing your hands. Your face dropped as you looked at him, and he immediately felt guilty for yelling at you like that. “I’m sorry…you’re just,” he said, letting out a gasp once you started to move off him, your eyes going wide once you felt how hard he was underneath you. “That. You’re making me hard.”

“Oh,” you softly said, staring at the bulge in his jeans. “Is it a bad thing that I did?”

“No…I just didn’t want to make you uncomfortable,” he sighed, before he sat up. “Does it make you uncomfortable that you do that to me?”

He watched your cheeks turn pink at his question. This wasn’t how he planned on making his move, but the door was wide open for him to have the conversation.

“No,” you said, “have I made you hard before?”

“I get hard just thinking about you,” he confessed, the sexual tension in the room getting stronger as each second passed.

You were starting to get nervous as you sat there. You didn’t have the most experience in the world, your previous sexual encounters with your ex mainly consisted of you just laying there and waiting until he was done, so you didn’t know how to give a blow job. But you wanted to learn. You wanted Ethan to teach you.

“Can I…suck it?” you asked, his eyes growing wide. “Sorry, stupid question.”

“No, it’s not stupid…do you want me to tell you how to do it?” he asked, as you smiled and nodded. “Okay, uh, I’ll just get these off.”

He slid off the side of your bed and unbuttoned his jeans before shimmying them down his legs. You gawked as you saw the tent in his boxers, wondering if you were in over your head for even thinking you could do this.

“I hate to ask this…” no he didn’t. “But would you want to get on the floor? It’d be easier for you.” You nodded as you slid off the side of the bed and stood in front of him. “Wait,” he said, once you started to drop to your knees. You stood back up to face him, as he leaned in to kiss you. You needily kissed him back, your hands on his cheeks as he started to rub your hips. Once you pulled back, he smiled at you. “You don’t feel like you have to do this, right?”

“No, I want to do this,” you said, looking at him as you sank onto the floor.

“Fuck…eye contact like that is good,” he said, running his fingers through your hair. “I guess I’ll just slide these down.”

His fingers hooked under the waistband of his boxers as he slid them down his thighs, his cock springing free right in front of your face. He let out a sweet laugh once he noticed how wide your eyes got.

“Do I just put it in my mouth?” you asked, as he groaned at how innocent you were.

“Let’s start with just touching it,” he suggested, as you nodded and reached your hand up. “Wrap your hand around it…just like that, baby,” he said, taking a deep breath as he tried to contain himself. “Now move your hand back and forth, but not too fast.”

You did as he said, your eyes glancing between his and his cock. You weren’t sure if you were good at what you were doing, but he was breathing heavier the longer you did it.

“Do you want to try to put it in your mouth?” he asked, as you nodded and leaned forward. “How about you just do what you think is right and I’ll tell you if it’s bad or good?”

“Okay,” you shyly said, hoping that you would get it right.

Ethan’s biggest fantasy was coming to fruition. His head was spinning as you took the head of his cock in your mouth, your hand still stroking him. Even though you weren’t a virgin, he still felt like he was devirginizing you, at least in this way.

“That’s perfect,” he said, his eyes looking into yours as you sucked on his sensitive tip. “Try to take a little more.”

You did as he said, easing a little more of him into your mouth. His hand tangled in your hair, his grip loose. The last thing he wanted was to push you too far and make you want to stop when you’d just started. He was about to ask you for more, when you boldly took as much of him as you could in your mouth, to the point that you were gagging around him. You quickly pulled your head back, refusing to make eye contact like you’d just done something wrong.

“Hey,” Ethan said, his hand that was in your hair moved to your chin. He tilted your head so you’d look at him, your eyes already watery from the gagging. “If you want to keep going, there’s a little tip that helps with that.”

He showed you the thumb trick, and talked to you about bobbing your head too, along with moving your hand. Once you felt like you had a better understanding of what you needed to do, you leaned forward, taking just as much of him in your mouth as you did before.

You were still gagging a little, but not as bad as you did the first time. Your mouth kept getting more and more wet, the feeling making Ethan groan. His hand snaked back in your hair as he fought the urge to thrust in your mouth.

“You’re doing such a good job,” he praised, “Twist your hand a little…oh fuck.”

You were catching on quickly, and Ethan was so proud of you. Your eyes stayed on his, even when tears started to slip past your lower lash line. He knew he wasn’t going to last much longer, his grip on your hair tightening.

“Can I try something?” he asked, his eyes pleading with yours. You hummed around him to let him know he could, because the last thing you wanted to do was pull him out of your mouth.

He started to thrust past your lips as you gagged around him, your free hand gripping your thumb as hard as you could. Big, fat teardrops were flowing down your cheeks, but you were loving it. His eyes were fluttering as his jaw dropped open, but he still stayed focused on you, not wanting any of this to be too much.

“I’m gonna cum,” he said, his voice a little raspy from his panting. “Can I cum in your mouth?”

You hummed around him again to respond, the vibrations around his cock sending him over the edge as his hand tensed up in your hair, tugging on it harder than he wanted to. You just kept moaning around him, so turned on as his salty cum coated your tastebuds. He gave a few more weak thrusts as his hand in your hair relaxed before he slowly slid out of your mouth.

“Are you okay?” he asked, reaching down to take your hand. He helped you to your feet before wiping the tears off your cheeks.

“Yeah, I liked that,” you said, your voice raw from all the gagging. “Can we do it again?”

“We can do anything you want to,” he said, placing his hands on your hips to hold you close. “But right now, can I eat you out?”

“Oh, Um,” you mumbled, your cheeks getting rosy at the idea. “You want to do that?”

“I’m not your ex,” he said, smirking at you. “I bet he never made you cum.”

“He didn’t,” you sighed, as Ethan backed you towards the bed.

“I will,” he said, as he started to lift your shirt.

Ethan got you out of your jeans and shirt, leaving you in just your bra and panties. He hovered over you, his mouth moving against your neck as his hand roamed your body. You were squirming as you tried to patient, but it was getting harder for you, especially when his hand reached in between your thighs and rubbed you over your panties.

“So wet,” he mumbled against your neck, his breath giving you goosebumps. “I can’t wait to taste you.”

He pulled his hand away as he sat up, grabbing your hands for you to sit up, too. His hands reached around you to unhook your bra, his mouth not leaving your neck as he slid the straps down your arms and threw it to the other side of the room.

“We have to go to Tara’s soon,” you reminded him, as he pulled away and started to laugh.

“We’re probably going to be late.”

He leaned down, taking one of your nipples in his mouth. You started to whimper as he sucked, pulling off it with a soft pop before he moved to the other side.

Once his lips trailed further down your body, you were trying so hard to be in the moment, but your mind started to wander. You practically worshiped the ground Ethan walked on, and all he wanted in that moment was you, but you still didn’t know if this was going to anything more than a friends with benefits situation, or if he wanted to be with you like you wanted to be with him.

“What’s on your mind?” he asked, pulling you from your thoughts as he started to kiss your inner thighs.

“Mmm, it’s nothing,” you moaned once he started to suck your flesh into his mouth.

He pulled away to look at you, “No, tell me.”

You sighed in frustration, both from him stopping and you really didn’t want to pour your heart out to him in that moment. But he just kept staring at you, waiting for you to say something.

“I’ve…fuck,” you sighed, taking a deep breath. “I want this…but I need to know how you feel about me.”

He smiled at you as your blush spread across your cheeks. “You haven’t realized that I’m in love with you yet?”

“In love with me?” you asked, as he slid your panties down your legs.

“Mhm, I’m fucking obsessed with you,” he said, before he buried his head between your thighs.

“Shit,” you gasped, as his tongue licked fat stripes from your entrance to your clit.

He started to focus on your clit, giving all the attention to your needy bundle of nerves. You looked down to see that he was watching you, taking in all the little faces you were making. He was alternating between swirling and lightly sucking, the stimulation making your entire body feel hot.

He slid one of his fingers inside of you, your legs feeling shaky as he moved it against the spot inside of you that you weren’t even sure existed. He watched you start to fall apart over just one finger, and once he added another one, you were a whimpering mess. He licked your clit a few more times before he pulled away to talk to you, his fingers still moving.

“You never told me how you feel about me,” he said, curving his fingers to apply more pressure.   

“Unfff, fuck,” you whined, your hands tightly gripping the comforter underneath you.

“If you don’t tell me, I’ll stop,” he playfully said, smirking as his fingers brought you closer to the edge.

Your brain was turning to mush, but you pulled yourself together for a second, not wanting him to stop. “I’m in love with you, too.”

He leaned back down to your clit, sucking on it a little harder than he had before. Your whines got louder as the euphoric feeling washed over you, his free hand holding down your bucking hips. It felt so good that your eyes started to water, your entire body tingling as he worked you through it.

Just as you came down from your high, you heard a knock coming from your front door. You were too fucked out from Ethan’s fingers to even care, as he started to laugh.

“I bet that’s Tara,” he said, as he laid down beside you. “We’re late.”

“Fuck,” you groaned, lazily sliding your naked body off the side of your bed, landing on your feet.

You grabbed your robe and put it on, your legs still wobbly as you made your way to the front door. You looked out the peephole to see Tara and Mindy.

“Hey,” Tara said once you opened the door, her smile dropping once she noticed you weren’t dressed. “Are you still coming over?”

“Yeah, I’ll be there soon,” you said, noticing both of them staring at something. “What?”

“Is Ethan here?” Mindy asked, a smirk playing on her lips as she realized what was going on.

“Yeah, we’ll both be over in a few,” you said, still not understanding what they were looking at.

“Okay…you might want to cover that up before you come over,” Mindy said, gesturing to your neck as Tara started to giggle.

You bit your bottom lip as the embarrassment hit, realizing that Ethan sucking on your neck earlier must’ve left a hickey.

“No, you know what? You guys finish whatever ‘studying’ you’re doing, then come over. We’re sorry for interrupting,” Tara said, fighting off her laughter as she and Mindy walked down the hall to her apartment.

You sighed as you closed the door, knowing that you and Ethan were definitely going to be grilled once you did go to Tara’s.

“Why didn’t you tell me you put this on my neck?” you said, glancing at it in the mirror after you walked back in your room.

“Are you embarrassed that they know you’re mine?” he questioned, walking up behind you. He rested his head against your shoulder, but your mind was in a haze once you felt his hard cock pressing against you.

“You know how long I’ve wanted to be yours? I’m definitely not embarrassed,” you said, making him laugh as he moved your hair to the side the place more kisses to your neck.

“Well, I did hear them say we should finish studying,” he said, as his hand reached over to untie your robe. “I’m not done studying you yet.”

“Fuck,” you gasped, when his hand started to massage one of your breasts, gently pinching at your nipple. Your back leaned against his chest as you relaxed into his touches, your breathing getting heavier as his hand trailed lower. “Can I be on top?”

“For a little bit, yeah,” he mumbled against you as his fingers rubbed across your still-soaked pussy. “Is that okay?”

“Mhm.”

You had so many things you wanted to do with Ethan, so many things you hadn’t experienced yet. Any nerves you had about your inexperience faded, your confidence showing as you got on top to straddle him.

“Take your time, I don’t want to hurt you,” he said, as you grabbed his cock that was resting against his lower stomach. You lined him up with your entrance and started to sink down on him. “So tight,” he groaned, as you tried to get used to the stretched-out feeling. He wasn’t all the way in and you already felt so full.

“Mmm,” you moaned once you’d taken all of him, your ass meeting the top of his thighs.

You took a minute, trying to adjust your legs to the most comfortable position as his hands ran up your sides. Once you started to bounce on him, his hands went to your hips to help you move. Your bottom lip went in between your teeth as you held eye contact with him. Once he started to thrust up into you, your hands went to your breasts, massaging them as he helped your hips meet his.

He loved having you on top, and he loved watching the way your tits bounced, but he needed to be in control. He needed to push your limits a little until you were falling apart underneath him. He held your hips in place a few seconds before he flipped you over, a squeal flying out of your mouth. He smirked down at you before he grabbed the back of your thighs, pushing them toward you with his hands.

“Stop me if anything hurts, okay?” he said, as you smiled and nodded. He slid back inside of you, his hands right below the back of your knees as he started to pound into you.

Your mouth fell open as he fucked you, every sound that built up in your throat flying out. He was so deep, but the tip of his cock hit your g-spot with every thrust.

“That feel good?” he asked, pushing your legs closer to you. You babbled in response, the new angle making him go even deeper. “Look at you, so cock drunk, so perfect.”

All you could do was whimper as you felt yourself getting close. You were fighting to keep your fluttering eyes open, because you didn’t want to miss a single second of watching him. The beautiful boy that you’d fallen so hard for had a thin layer of sweat on his forehead that his curls were starting to stick to, his bottom lip was in between his teeth. You felt so submissive as you just laid there and took it. You were okay with him using you in whatever way he wanted, because you’d do anything for him.

“You gonna cum, baby?” he asked, as he felt your walls start to flutter.

“Yes!” you cried out, your hands shakily gripping the comforter again as the wave crashed into you so hard your vision got fuzzy. You kept trying to talk as he fucked you through it, his teeth showing as he smiled at your babbles.

“I’m almost there, baby. Can you take it a little longer?” he asked as your eyes peeled open to look at him.

“Yes, it feels so good,” you moaned, as he sped up, chasing his orgasm.

Your body kept jolting like little aftershocks from the intensity of your own orgasm, and you were feeling a little overstimulated, but the last thing you wanted was for him to stop. He was going so fast and so deep as he panted, mumbling your name as his head started to roll back.

“Gonna…fuck. Cum,” he said, pulling his cock out and shooting his release all over your tummy. He caught his breath as he looked at you through his hooded eyes. You smiled at him as he moved to lay on the bed beside you.

“I think we need to shower,” you said, glancing down at his cum on you. “I don’t really have anything that has a manly scent, though.”

“That’s okay. I’ll get to smell like you,” he said, his fingertips brushing against your arm.

After your shower with Ethan, you concealed the giant purple mark on your neck and took the walk of shame over to Tara’s. Your friends got quiet as you walked in, glancing back and forth between you and Ethan.

“Sooo,” Chad said, noticing Ethan’s wet hair, “Did you two finally realize that you’re meant to be together?”

“Oh yeah,” Ethan said, as Chad walked over to dap him up.

“It’s about time. It was getting exhausting to watch the two of you,” Mindy said, as Tara nodded in agreement.

You, Ethan and Chad walked over to sit on the couch as Mindy pushed play on the movie she was waiting to start until you got there. After a few minutes, Chad looked over to Ethan.

“Dude, this is a little blunt, but you smell so good right now.”

You started to giggle as Ethan laughed and wrapped his arm around you, holding you close.

“He’s right, you do smell good.”

[jiminjamms]

sex therapy :: 30. breaking news

chapter tags/warnings: manipulative! naoya. physical aggression. verbal abuse (not to reader). infidelity/adultery. extremely strong language. corruption. family drama.

word count: 3.4k

notes: thank you again for your patience with the chapter! life update: i resigned from my company (on good terms, even though the work had sucked my mental and physical health), and i am soon doing a trip to japan and southeast asia as part of my recovery. still, i will be actively writing and responding since this community is so important to me! also, has anyone been keeping up with jujutsu kaisen's manga?! likes, comments, and reblogs are much appreciated. xoxo

fic masterlist | 01. 02. 03. 04. 05. 06. 07. 08. 09. 10. 11. 12. 13. 14. 15. 16. 17. 18. 19. 20. 21. 22. 23. 24. 25. 26. 27. 28. 29. 30. 31. 32. 33.

Life without a sugar daddy was rough.

As Toji Fushiguro's ex-wife and Naoya Zenin's ex-mistress, Mari faced this harsh reality since no one threw their money in her direction anymore. She slept little this past week, overwhelmed by financial stressors. While she still subsisted on the younger executive's credit card (with his fortune, Naoya hardly noticed the charges on his bill), she realized that she actually had to work for an income.

Such was the case as Mari walked home one evening after interviewing for jobs, her body and mind exhausted from fielding mundane questions about her previous professional experiences (which she had little of).

Upon unlocking her apartment door, she was immediately greeted by the sight of her illuminated living room.

That struck her as odd.

She always switched the lights off before she left.

However, when she spotted a familiar face down the hall, she found the answer.

"Tsumiki." Mari dropped her purse by the door. "What are you doing here?”

The woman had not seen her one and only blood-related child in months. While she knew that her daughter—who was, without doubt, a fantastically accomplished and intelligent young lady—just completed her second year at Oxford University, she thought the girl had chosen to remain in England for her summer break. Didn't Toji mention that she did not want to return to Tokyo?

Not that Mari complained. She was just...confused.

Admittedly, Mari should know the answer to her question, but she had been too ‘occupied’ to contact Tsumiki as much as a good mother should. As a result, Mari found herself in the dark about the girl's life in the United Kingdom, her plans for the university holiday, and her recent classes in…what was her field of study again?

Surely, Toji and his twerp son Megumi would know all the answers since Tsumiki had always been closer to her Fushiguro stepfamily. Quite a shame, since Mari would have considered her daughter as the most perfect angel otherwise.

She toed her shoes off.

“When did you arrive in Tokyo?” Mari continued with a plastered smile and approached the girl sitting with crossed arms in the living room.

Genetics ran deep between mother and daughter. Uninformed observers might even mistake the pair as sisters, the physical resemblance uncanny in how Tsumiki presented a more youthful version of the older woman by sharing the same warm chocolate-colored eyes, long dark hair, and flawless porcelain skin.

Yet, physical similarities meant nothing when Mari could not fully decipher her own flesh and blood.

“I came back to Japan earlier this week,” Tsumiki responded a terse edge in her tone.

“But I haven’t seen you until now.”

“Because I’ve been staying with Dad.”

“Oh.” So, she meant with Toji. “You mean your stepdad.”

“No,” she corrected sternly. “He's my dad.”

Theoretically, Mari could go into a whole tangent on how Tsumiki’s actual father was some middle-class nobody whom she hadn’t seen or spoken to since her first divorce (and that was many years ago). Or how the Fushiguros technically were Tsumiki’s ex-stepfamily since Mari had divorced her second husband Toji earlier this year.

But she spared her daughter from the reminders.

“Well, I’m glad to see you back, honey.” With a bottle of unfinished cabernet sauvignon in the fridge, Mari meandered to the kitchen to pour herself a full glass. She returned to living room and joined her daughter on the sofa. “How have you been? I’m guessing England has been treating you well? I have never been, so I wouldn’t know. Heard that the fish and chips are good there."

No response.

Am I being ignored? Mari commented inwardly and swirled the red wine in her chalice.

She took her first sip amid the long and awkward pause before switching the topic to encourage conversation. "Anyway, whenever you would like, you’re always welcome to stay a few nights here. Wouldn't hurt to spend some more time with your mother."

Only for Tsumiki to quip, “We’ve talked about this before. I don’t want to live with you.”

Now, this—Mari believed—was certainly uncalled for. "Watch your tone with me, young lady."

"For what? I am not here because I miss you," her daughter resumed. "If I had a better option, I would not bring myself to show up here and be in front of you."

The older woman placed her glass down and tried to appear calm. Hearing Tsumiki speak with such contempt twisted a deep knife into Mari's heart. Once upon a time, her daughter had been the sweetest girl—warm, full of life, and eager to express her innocent thoughts with anyone she encountered. Now, however, that same person had been tainted into someone cold, guarded, and withdrawn, demonstrated by her disrespect to the very woman who had given her life.

"That is no manner to talk to your mother," Mari cautioned.

"Well, maybe because I have my reasons."

"Which are?"

"Do you want to know why I did not bother to text or call you these past several months?" and Tsumiki did not wait for an answer before she angrily added, "Because I am so upset that you filed a divorce with Dad!"

While Mari had hoped to not bring up the topic before, she had no choice but to do so now.

"That big, burly, bulky man is not your father," she snapped. "He and his emo Harvard-bound son are not your family! In the eyes of the law, there is no longer any relation between you and them. But, I am your mother. I had given you life, and this is what you think of me?"

"Because I love them!" Tsumiki opposed through a hardened glare. "Dad and Megumi treat me more like their blood-related family than you do!”

Mari could not believe the preposterous words her daughter spewed. She always presumed that the Fushiguros had been corrupting her child, and to see her suspicions confirmed had Mari standing up promptly from the couch.

"How dare you say after all I have done for you, Tsumiki?" Mari interrogated angrily. "Did you think that I left your biological father and then divorced your stepfather for what...for fun?! These choices were difficult for me, too! But I made those judgments because I wanted to give you a better life in which we didn't have to worry about where our next meal, our next piece of clothing, or our next rent payment would come from! Your biological father is a no-name nothing. He could’ve never supported the lavish lifestyle you had experienced during your adolescent years. In fact, if I hadn’t married Toji Fushiguro, you probably wouldn't be studying at the University of Oxford right now! I, alone, could never have afforded all your years of expensive tutors or private school tuition. Please, think before you speak. I know I did not raise an ungrateful brat.”

Tsumiki furrowed her brows from the comments.

“You're the ungrateful one, Mom!” she insisted, and the said woman visibly reeled back when the girl continued to seethe with antipathy. “All the money that you had spent while married to Dad, he never asked for a single cent back. Never. In fact, he still pays for my university. In his eyes and mine, I’m as good as any blood-related child to him. He hadn't asked you to chip in because he knows you wouldn't have the money to. Divorcing the man you've been leeching off of isn't a sign of appreciation, Mom."

To hear her child defend another family, Mari wasn’t sure if she was going to laugh or cry at how ridiculous this scene was, the only thing she could process being the pain and betrayal that slammed her with one bitter blow.

"Well, did you want to become a laughingstock?" the woman rationalized. "Given our ties to the Zenin name when Toji left the company, those nasty journalists would've clung onto any scrap to label you a buffoon. You know what those tabloid writers are like! I had the foresight to divorce that man. I did not want the disgrace if we remained attached to the Fushiguros."

After that response, Tsumiki turned quiet with one sharp exhale as her eyes snapped shut, and Mari, whose entire body had undulated from heavy and irate breaths, thought that finally—finally—she had won this godforsaken argument.

Until she heard the younger girl speak again.

"Yet, you have humiliated me more than anyone," and noticing how her mother quirked a brow, Tsumiki went on. "Who are you really trying to protect, Mom? Are you truly making these decisions for my benefit? Or is it...for yourself?"

Despite hiding a gulp, the older woman noticed her heart race. "What do you mean?"

"How can you explain this?"

As though that was her cue, Tsumiki reached for her phone. She tapped onto the front page of the Yomiuri Shimbun, the most highly circulated newspaper in Japan. Before Mari could read the bold title labeled as 'Breaking News,' Tsumiki provided her with a verbal summary:

"The world knows you're a homewrecker, Mom."

Naoya found no surprise when Naobito Zenin burst into his executive suite as an angry bull would charge toward a provoking cape.

Plenty of times, his father barged into his private office completely unannounced, slamming the door open with enough force to rattle the wooden bookshelves behind him. Usually, the dramatic entrance would be followed by a slew of harsh admonitions, and this encounter—Naoya could tell—would be no different.

The astringency cast on his father's countenance gave the executive no other choice than to rise from his seat, his office chair sliding back so he could pose tall and confident as the heir to Japan's largest conglomerate should be.

"Father," he greeted, curt.

Taking hurried steps around his mahogany desk, Naoya aimed to meet the older man halfway until he instead came into contact with one harsh blow that sent his face flogging to the side.

Naoya froze, his gaze lowered.

Instinctively, he reached for his throbbing cheek with one hand as the other wiped briefly over his busted upper lip. To have his father approach him physically like this didn't even register as a surprise. Despite his title as the Zenin CEO, Naoya continued to be scolded, lectured, and outright ignored because, in his father's words, he 'never seemed to get anything right.'

Even now, the older man found no hesitation in cursing out his only child.

"You fucking son of a whore! Want to explain why your affair with Toji's ex-wife is all over Japanese media?!"

Slowly, Naoya lifted his eyes from the floor. He had suspected that this would be the topic of discussion. In the last hour, Naoya saw his name plastered over tabloid pages, news websites, and social media feeds as an anonymous whistleblower tipped publishers in regards to his scandalous affair with Mari—and the millions Naoya spent to hide it. Evidence ranging from supposedly long-gone paparazzi photos to screenshots of money transfers circulated quickly with the internet.

Naturally, Naoya had seen the headlines too...

'Zenin Corporation CEO Exposed for Concealing Affair with Predecessor's Ex-Wife' 'Everything to Know About the Zenin Household's Uncovered Drama in Family, Business, and Love' 'Billionaire Naoya Zenin Entangled in Cheating Scandal, Accused of Bribing Press to Silence Coverage'

...and the comments:

'That’s why you can’t trust rich people. They never have any shame.' 'His wife and company deserve better.' 'Disappointed that this is the scumbag leading our country's largest company.' 'The Board should fire him.’

Now, that last comment struck a very particular chord, especially since the Chairman of that very Board stood before him.

Naoya clenched his hands, yet he stood mute. With every wrong move certain to cost him far too much in return, he was completely powerless in front of the family patriarch and, as a result, his first logical reaction was to defend himself.

"I do not have the evidence yet, but I am certain Toji had planned this, Father. Him, and also Sukuna, Geto, and Choso. All four leaked these details because they didn’t want to see your son succeed. I will resolve this. I am going to call Toji immediately and—“

"You're right," Naobito interrupted coldly. "If Toji had still been CEO today, he would've made sure that none of this bullshit would’ve happened.”

Naoya widened his eyes in bewilderment, not anticipating his father to twist his logic like that. He already received a literal slap across his face, but to realize that Naobito still compared him to his older cousin all these months later drove him insane!

"No, Father. What I meant was—"

"Oh, there is no need to correct me. I know what you meant," Naobito tested in a low voice. "What I gathered from this conversation is that I have given you a million chances in life, and you know what? You blew every single one of them. You're an asshole, you're a cheater, and you're a complete humiliation. I can always count on you to paint me as a failed father."

Outrageous.

With the bitter staring contest between father and son, the latter boiled internally listening to the insults from the man who sired him. For the ruthless Naobito Zenin, Naoya meant no value as an heir without the ability to achieve his high standards. 

"Some twisted brain you have for sleeping with your cousin's ex-spouse,” Naobito then chided, yet amusement remained absent in his tone. “Was that the low-class tramp I saw in the photos with you on the private jet the other day?"

The blonde kept his mouth shut.

But his father wanted an answer. "Well?!"

Suck it in, Naoya. That's all you can do now. "Yes."

What a sight, to see how someone blazing as a furious flame then erupt into a violent volcano. Naobito grabbed his son's collar, pulling him forward and shoving him against the wall. His fists shook as he sought the other's gaze.

"You're fucking married, you realize that?!" he snarled.

"I do! Which is why I have cut Mari from my life! I don't talk to that woman anymore."

Unimpressed, Naobito tugged forcefully at Naoya's shirt again. "I am truly astonished by what an idiot you are. Your answer doesn't change shit." He tightened his grip and did not care that his son wrapped both hands around his wrist to prevent himself from choking. "Let me tell you something, boy. I did everything—everything—to convince our Chief Operating Officer to let his treasured daughter marry you, you despicable bastard. He didn't want to hand the girl over because he knew—oh, that man is wise!—he knew that the union mainly served as a tactic to improve your public image and that there was little obvious benefit for his child. Power and money did not interest him when compared to his daughter, so the one promise I made is that you would love her," and he roared, "so, what the hell have you done?!"

Naoya had heard his father’s warnings countless times, yet he previously brushed each one aside with an ambivalence he now acknowledged as foolish. Unlike before, the threat to his hard-earned position suddenly became very, verypalpable. He grappled with a strange fear, unable to pinpoint what precisely unsettled him the most. The scorn from a world that no longer saw him as an honest businessman? The sneers from relatives with an undeniable reason to mock him? Or perhaps the fury from his draconian father, whose disappointment cut deeper than any public disgrace?

"I—" Naoya's choked voice resembled a croak. He could hardly breathe. "I apologize. This entire situation...this got out of my control."

Alongside his callous disregard for his son’s feelings, the Zenin patriarch even scoffed.

"This isn’t about getting out of your control, boy. This is about your complete lack of judgment. In fact, Daisuke called me when he saw the headlines, and you know what he told me?" and he had to refrain from flinging his son onto the ground before he continued, "That Y/N's been staying in her family residence again because she is going to leave you!"

Naoya held his next breath. Fuck, he knows. Naoya intended to keep his recent arguments with you a secret, hoping to resolve the situation first. However, since your father snitched...lying would be a dangerous move.

"I have not seen Y/N in a week because we've had a few fights." Naoya did not dare admit the details about how you two became arguing spectacles, first in his cousins' presence and later on at the café. "Just...marriage quarrels. We will get over—"

“She would be a moron to stay married to you,” Naobito cut off. "Y/N and your unborn child deserve more than to have a public disgrace like you in the household."

Right. Had he not been reminded, Naoya would've forgotten that he had lied to his father about your pregnancy, too. His hands grew clammy where they still seized his father’s wrist.

“There"—a cough—"there is no child,” Naoya blurted out, determining to rip all bandaids off in one go.

Naturally, his father became perplexed.

“Excuse me?” His hold loosened just enough for Naoya to gasp properly for his next breath.

“Y/N is not pregnant,” Naoya repeated, his voice hollow with resignation. “During our last family dinner, I only said that because I wanted to please you.”

The older Zenin became still, appalled by the younger one's bravery to say those words. For a moment, Naoya braced himself for another physical blow before his father released him, shoving Naoya backward such that he stumbled.

“If you weren’t so disappointing, there would be no need for you to lie to me,” Naobito pointed out coldly. "Not only to me, but also your wife, your colleagues, and your shareholders on matters about your family, your marriage, or your commitment to the company. If Toji had not brought this to the media's attention, how much longer would you have manipulated the truth for your benefit?"

There he went again.

"I don't understand," Naoya protested, unable to contain his frustration any longer. "Toji doesn't belong in this family anymore! Why do you keep talking about him? Father, you forced him to leave earlier this year, citing his threat to our family and company's reputation."

"You're the one to talk!" Naobito shot back. "At least Toji has the brain that you utterly lack." Before the younger man could react, the Chairman had already turned on his heel. "I have made my decision."

His decision?

A confused Naoya watched his father head for the exit.

"Wait, Father...!"

"Enough!" The infuriated man raised a hand right as he neared the door, a warning for him to not speak further. "Our discussion has concluded. Effective immediately, Toji Fushiguro has been re-instated as the Zenin Heir and CEO."

Instantly, Naoya slumped forward in disbelief.

Even as the older man disappeared, the room appeared to spin dangerously. Toji Fushiguro...re-instated? As the heir and CEO?

Naobito Zenin could never make up his mind, now could he? In Naoya's head, this must be some cruel joke.

Ever since he comprehended his ability to bend fate to his will, he had promised himself to fight tooth and nail to defend the (very rightful!) position that he worked hard to earn. He had disposed of his cousin through slander, he had to put up with shitty corporate politics, and, hell, he had to even marry you!

Some may label Naoya's current negative publicity as irredeemable, but he held hope the situation would normalize once the steam blew over.

With these thoughts in mind, Naoya regained his balance and rushed out as well. "Father!"

However, by the time he reached beyond the doors, Naobito Zenin was no longer there. Even his secretary could not be found as, instead, two imposing figures stood by the desk where his assistant should be. Naoya didn't recognize them. The men were tall and well-built, their muscled arms and thighs visible despite the fabric that covered their tattooed skin.

"Nice to meet you," one started after the long silence. "I am Eso and this is my younger brother Kechizu."

A stumped Naoya frowned.

"May...I help you?"

"No," the other answered nonchalantly, "because we are here to knock you out."

"Wha—"

And Naoya's vision went dark.

last chapter || next chapter

end notes: Note that Eso and Kechizu are Choso's younger brothers in JJK. (Both are not completely human in canonverse, but we shall suspend beliefs.) Also, I cannot explain the satisfaction as I wrote about Naoya and his mistress finally getting wrecked! Talk about justice being served! There were many ways these scenes could have played out, but I strategically chose Tsumiki and Naobito as the agents in the discussions. Freed from corporate America handcuffs, I plan to post again soon. Love you all!

taglist: @dissociatingdiva @httpsplanetmarsdotcom @nemoyr @huangfairy @shadowarchon @203steph @agentdedf1sh @cloudybabes @lynn-writes-things @illicitwriter @7oji @kikuchimi @chaoticjojofan @musicisme333 @kumocchin @s-guru @mwahilovemylife @hey-gurls69 @cloudsinthecosmos @moon-mumu-moon @kazscara @skilerfrostfairy @funicidals @nico707 @proteovaldez @tsukiyohanayome @marimoares @qirbys @puffaloxx @sakanoshitaa @arizzuruu @kissditrio @lewd-bunny14 @mistyheart @szired @supsii @yvy1s @lazyassfinals @katkbc @tokyometronetwork @downtown-roponggi @the-cosmos-network

[taylormarieee]

Stalker Thomas Webb

Summary: Your the new girl and you've just moved into this apartment in New York to get away from your parents and it seems you have a cute stalker...

Word Count: 1.5k

Pairings: Thomas Webb x Fem!Reader

Warnings: Thomas being a stalker, confrontation, suggestive throughout the entire fic, reader being a tease, Thomas being a needy boy, Thomas playing dumb/ hard to get, Mimi being jealous, almost smut...tehehe maybe part 2?

You were so happy to finally be free of the toxic relationships in your life. Your mom, your dad, and even your ex boyfriend. You were free, finally free.

You loved reading and writing and you felt as though you could achieve your passion, your goal to be a writer here in New York. Your mom never accepted it, a small town girl could never possibly make it big.

But you wanted to prove her wrong. You wanted your name in the paper and to be in interviews and to finally show them at you did mean something, that you had talent, that you actually had what it takes to be successful.

Yea, you were a small town girl but you were going to show them that small town girls can make it big! You finally got an apartment. Your apartment number was 2c. You were so happy.

You even made a friend. His name was Thomas. He lived in the Apartment two doors down from you. He was like you.

College dropouts, suckers for writing, lovers for books, you guys were destined to be friends.

But Thomas wanted something more. Even if he did just meet you 2 days ago, he wanted to feel every inch of your body on his body. He wanted you so close that your souls were touching.

He craved you, needed you. So whenever you went out, he went out as well. Constantly stalking and seeing what you were up too. But what Thomas didn't notice was that he wasn't exactly being sneaky or discreet about his stalking.

You constantly saw him and at first you just thought you guys were in the same place coincidently but then you started noticing him everywhere. Places he usually wouldn't be.

You found it quite cute because you wanted to be more than just friends with Thomas too! Yea, you guys have known each other for like 2 weeks now but he was incredibly attractive and you just wanted to suck the life out of him.

Prune him of every last drop of cum he has in his body. Make his dick twitch with overstimulation and anticipation. You wanted it badly but when was the right time?

Eventually when his stalking decided to get more frequent, you decided to confront him. You hid behind a wall waiting for him to turn the corner. When he did you jumped out with a "Boo!" and he stumbled back.

You began to laugh and his face got red. "Hey Thomas... why you stalking me, hmm?" you asked in the sweetest voice.

He's blushing heavily now, 'dammit you knew, he's screwed'.

"W-What do you mean y/n? I wasn't f-following you." He falters and you find it kinda cute. You smile at him and get closer to him. "Oh really? You've been following me for 2 and a half weeks now baby... why deny it? I'm not mad...I find it adorable actually."

He gulps and you can physically hear his heart beating. You get closer to him and your eyes rake up and down his body. A smirk creeps it's way onto his face as he questions, "Your not mad?" He asks.

You shake your head 'no' and he smiles even wider. "that's good. Was planning on doing it a lil longer." He says.

"Why stalk me when were neighbors. If you wanna fuck me just ask." You respond. His eyes grow wide at your statement. 'You caught him' he thought.

That's exactly what he wanted. For some reason he couldn't verbalize it with you. He wanted to make sure you weren't seeing anyone and now that his fear has been denied, he can have you all to himeself.

"What makes you think I wanna fuck you? Hmm?" He asks with a smirk on his face and it only grows wider when yours falters. You look around and shuffle nervously but then as you opened your mouth to say something, some girl turned the corner.

"Thomas, what's going on here?" She asks. She's short but maye the same height as you. Short black hair and melanin skin that glowed in the sunlight.

"Oh hey Mimi." He says breaking his eye contact away from you to face her. 'So this was mimi... the girl that couldn't get her fucking feelings straight,' you thought. She was pretty but Thomas deserved better in your opinion.

"Who are you? and Thomas what the hell!? You were supposed to meet me today at the cafe. I saw you walk by but you didn't come in so I decided to follow you." she says looking between you and Thomas.

"This is my new friend," he says introducing you by your name. "I'm hanging out with her. I totally forgot about the cafe today, my bad." He says.

You scoot a little closer to Thomas to let a woman pass by she mutters out an 'Excuse me' and you smile and gladly move out her way. You grab Thomas' hand to make sure that the lady didn't have to say it again.

Mimi's line of eyesight drops down and you notice your still holding Thomas's hand. You let go of his hand and smile at him. "Me and Nick broke up. Wanted to tell you that today..." She says looking everywhere but Me and Thomas.

"Did you?" He says looking dead at her. She looks up and makes eye contact with him. "Your supposed to be more excited than that. I broke up with him because I got into Croatia and I want you to come with me!" she says as we stand there.

You can tell she's fuming. It's like right out of a forbidden love story except there usually standing in the rain. Shes mad at you. feels as if you are taking Thomas away from her when he was her's first.

But she can't be mad when she blew it, she is the cause to this whole situation. Thomas wanted her. Badly, and she blew it.

"I have a confession to make." Thomas says. You are looking at Mimi but realize he's not looking at her. He's looking at you.

"I love you. I've loved you since the first time I saw you walk into your apartment. Since the first time we made eye contact I knew. I knew I needed to be with you. So I followed you. Everywhere. More than 2 and a half weeks. I followed you to find out what you liked and what your routine was." He confesses. Your heart swells and you smile.

"I know I seem weird and out of place and I probably sound like a complete creep but, I really do love you. I'm so in love with you that it hurts." He finishes his confession with a sigh and your smile only gets wider.

"I love you too Thomas. I've loved you since I first saw you grabing your mail and talking to that nice old man in 2b. I'm in love with you too Thomas Webb. So much I might cry cuz I felt like I couldn't have you because of her." You say motioning to mimi.

Mimi drops her head as she realizes she's too late. She confessed to Thomas and he found someone else. He really was a good man, guess it was just the right person at the wrong time.

You hug Thomas not wanting to kiss him in front of Mimi to make her feel bad. She says goodbye to Thomas before getting a cab.

He feels bad now but if she’s leaving she most likely won’t come back. He grabs your hand and you both start running towards your apartment as it did start to rain.

When you both got inside the apartment complex, you both laughed as you were both drenched due to the rain.

"I need you... god I've waited so long." Thomas confesses. Your eyes twinkle and you smile.

But you realize that this is all happening a little to fast. As much as you wanted to give into the throbbing between your legs, you needed a tiny bit of time to think.

Before you could answer he kisses you and pushes you against the door. Your hands find purchase on his chest. his muscles and abs being see through because of his wet shirt.

You kiss him back eagerly as you taste cherry on his lips. You break the kiss and suck on that sweet spot on his neck and jaw. Marking him as yours.

He moans in your ear as he lifts you up to straddle his waist. You lock lips with him again before realizing what you were going to say to him.

"T-Thomas baby, wait... wait a second." You say out of breath. He hums and looks at you. "W-What? what's wrong?"

"This is going a little too fast hmm? Lemme just think about this cause mimi is still plaguing my mind and I feel bad. I want you so badly but let's freshen up and come over later tonight yea... to finish what we started ok?" You say with a little smirk on your face.

You kiss him one more time before adjusting his glasses and kissing his nose. He smiles and slaps your ass before he makes his way to the door.

"Your lucky I love you... I'll wait just a little longer for you." He says before smiling and closing the door. You giggle to yourself and make your way to your bedroom.

Oh how you longed to see him again... feel him just one more time...

Taglist: @emmaafinchh @dustbunniess @willyoubemycherryy

[peachhcs]

yesss i loved that side angst plot where samy just starts being scared to tell will stuff and is holding back because she still is nervous from him breaking up with her out of the blue

part 4! i actually love, love writing angst, so here's another blurb about the injury & i can add more if you guys want a fully developed fic

au masterlist

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 5, part 6, part 7

ever since the headline dropped, will couldn’t sit still. he paced back and forth in the living room waiting for any update about samy. there had been nothing from gabe since the two talked when it happened and there was nothing from the family either.

the blonde was growing worried. why wasn’t anyone calling him? did they forget about him? did he not matter in telling because he wasn’t there anymore?

will was really starting to spiral.

patrick walked into the common space where he saw the younger sharks player looking a bit too pale then usual. “will? you okay?” the older man wondered.

the blonde spun around, “huh? yeah. sorry. i’m fine.”

“you don’t look fine. everything okay, kid?” marleau was basically will’s unofficial mentor and guardian living with him for a year, so he did want to make sure the boy was truly okay.

“well..my girlfriend, samy, got hurt in her game and i haven’t heard anything from anyone about how she’s doing,” will finally expressed his concern. patrick frowned.

“oh no. what happened?”

“i guess she hurt her shoulder when someone hit into her. they cut the stream and she needed to be helped off the field,” the blonde continued which made patrick’s frown even deeper.

“well, shit. that’s not good. you haven’t heard anything?”

will shook his head. just as he did though, his phone started buzzing on the coffee table making the entire wooden structure vibrate. he grabbed it, not even looking to see who was calling while patrick listened in.

“hello?”

“hey? will?” it was luke and for a second, a moment of relief rushed through the blonde, glad he was finally hearing someone’s voice.

“yeah? what’s up? is she okay? how is she? is it bad?” he rushed out all of his questions in one breath, patrick quickly squeezing his shoulder so he’d slow down.

“um, yeah. well..maybe. it’s been kind of crazy. she’s in surgery right now—“

“wait, surgery?” the boy’s mouth hung open, eyes bouncing over to marleau.

“the doctor said she tore a tendon when she got hit and fell. they said immediate surgery was needed..i dunno all the details though. mom knows more than i do. you can talk to her if you want," luke said but his voice faded out of the blonde's mind.

will's heart sunk at the idea of samy needing surgery and he wasn't there to be with her. sure, she's had surgery before back when she broke her elbow when they were younger, but that was different back then.

"will?" luke pulled the younger boy back into reality.

"sorry, i-i'm good. i hope the surgery goes okay," will's voice fell quiet, the only thing keeping him grounded was patrick's heavy hand on his shoulder.

"we'll keep you updated. i'll have her call you when she's well enough."

"yeah, thanks," the two hung up.

"so is she okay? what surgery?" marleau wondered as he watched the younger blonde sink onto the couch looking way worse than he did 5 minutes ago.

"shoulder surgery. she tore a tendon, i guess," will's voice faded off.

"shit, that sucks. i hope she gets better soon," patrick sympathized and all will could do was blankly nod.

the day went on and the whole time will waited for another call. he stared at his phone like it'd disappear if he looked away. the hours ticked by and the more worried the blonde became when no updates came. he constantly checked samy and luke's locations that were still at the hospital in boston. eventually, gabe and ryan's locations ended up there and for a split second, something in will's heart twisted seeing them there.

he knew they were close and treated samy like a sister, but it was something about seeing them getting to be there for her and he couldn't that spun his brain hard.

finally, will's phone buzzed. he grabbed it from the coffee table again, running to his bedroom and ignoring marleau and his wife's eyes following him in concern.

"hey, will," it was gabe. not samy.

the blonde deflated just a little bit, "hey. what's up?"

"we just saw samy. she's doing well. surgery went well," gabe cheered and first, there was relief flooding through will's chest, but that feeling was quickly followed by..hurt?

why hasn't samy called him yet?

"really? i'm glad. did she just get out?"

"yeah, she got out like four hours ago. ryan and i just saw her for an hour. seems to be in good spirits," the hurt continued building as gabe kept talking.

"oh."

"i think she was happy to see us after her mom hovering over her since she woke up," the darker-haired boy laughed and will couldn't even manage a fake laugh.

"she hasn't called me," the blonde couldn't stop the words falling from his lips. gabe fell silent for a second.

"oh. i mean she probably will soon. she's probably still coming to and stuff," for some reason, his words didn't sound convincing to will because four hours was plenty of time to come to and call your boyfriend to tell him you were okay—at least in will's opinion.

"yeah, right," the sharks player muttered.

"i can put her on if you want? we were just about to leave the lobby," gabe offered.

"no, it's okay. i'll call her later. she's probably tired and needs to rest," the blonde mumbled as he glanced at his clock and saw that it was almost 10pm in boston.

"yeah, yeah. don't sweat it, smitty. ryan and i are gonna head out, but we'll talk to you later," gabe's chirpy mood returned.

"yeah, talk to you guys later," they hung up.

will dropped his phone and that twist in his chest turned into more of a painful knot. the thoughts he had earlier began plaguing his mind. why wasn't she calling him?

[makelemonade]

Good afternoon, Lemonade. I read your Tsaritsa fic and would like to make a request for Childe. The Tsaritsa plays intervention after hearing rumors about Childe cheating on Fem!Reader with Lumine.

The Tsaritsa is the archon of love, so when she notices and feels that the love lives of her Harbingers aren’t going too well, she has to interfere- pt2

Childe; hurt/comfort, female reader, harbingers are all friends. I wrote that it was assumed he was cheating but didn’t actually I suck at writing cheating idk @ruttteerr pt1

Childe

You understood that your boyfriend’s job was difficult- 11th may have been the lowest but that didn’t make the work or missions any less than the others have it.

And because compared to the other Harbinhers, he’s one of the only few who actually goes out on missions and leaves for days to weeks to months.

At first it was…annoying- he was always gone for days, and if he was actually here he’d be off working on a bunch of papers or training new fatuus.

But he tries to be with you, both mentally and physically. If he’s away, he’ll write a letter for you everyday, telling you about how it was and he hopes you’ll send one at the end of the week. If he’s working at home, he’ll ask you to sit on his lap as he works or stay in the room with him so when he gets tired and frustrated he can hold.

If he’s working in the castle- he’s bringing you to the castle. You get the picture.

So when he tells you he has a mission in Liyue that’ll take a few weeks, you’re emptying out your mailbox so that all of his letters can fit.

Yet only one comes.

The letter tells you that the first day of his mission has already gone hectic as he had to save a girl from the millileth- he learned her name was lumine and she was the same traveller who saved mondstadt from the dragon.

Now you’re not jealous. Sure at the start of the relationship you easily got jealous of girls that would stare at Childe and flirt with him but after many years of being with him and not once did he cheat, you trusted him.

It was just so insanely weird that suddenly all the letters stopped. None came for 2 weeks and you were feeling nervous- did something happen to him? Was he hurt?!?!

Your thoughts worsened when one day, a subordinate showed up to your home, carriage ourside and explaining a Harbinger has called for you.

Did he die?!?!? You ask him so many questions but he apologizes and says he knows nothing and you’re forced to head to the carriage, on the way to the castle.

Once inside, you found Signora- a friend and a harbinger. She was pacing around, and her eyes lit up when she saw you.

“What’s wrong?” You asked, your breath quickening at her state. “Is Childe okay?”

“Who cares about him!” She scoffed, walking up to you. “Has he sent you anything lately? I just got back from Liyue.”

“No- and shouldn’t he be here with you?!”

“He asked for a few extra days to stay there.” She dragged a hand down her face, seemingly very annoyed.

You were about to ask why- what’s so important that he’s taking extra time on this mission but Signora was already back?! Until it clicked in your head, and slowly as the puzzle pieces went together, the pieces of your heart started to break.

“He met lumine…” you breathed out, remembering his final letter before they stopped.

She frowned. “Everyday I was there they were always together. And now he’s taking a few days extra?! Y/N, they are hanging out one hundred percent. Honestly, I think he might’ve…”

You put a hand up to stop her, feeling tears well in your eyes. No- this couldn’t be! He would never!

“What’s she like?” You asked, somewhat trying to make this whole situation worse for yourself.

“She fights a lot- as much as Childe, honestly.”

A girl who loves to fight, just like he does.

“Looks?”

“Ugly.”

Gorgeous actually, she just didn’t wanna say it.

“This can’t be happening,” You sniffed, trying not to let any tears fall.

Down the hall, just around the corridor was Pierro, listening in on everything and deciding he must tell the queen of love herself.

~~

“WHAT?!?!?” She screamed, echoing around the throne room and sending shivers down everyone’s spine. Her face was full of fury, and Pierro was honestly a bit scared. “CHILDE? CHEATING? ON Y/N?”

She practically growled, pacing back and forth around the room. “This is…atrocious! Nauseating! Abhorrent! And it’s the same traveller that tried to stop Signora, am I not correct?! Does he have no shame?!”

Pierro just blinked, not knowing what to say but he honestly couldn’t even get a word in with how much she was ranting.

“I want a room put for her this instant! She will stay in the castle as a loved guest until Childe comes. Speaking of! WHO IS HE WITH?!”

Pierro took a step back. “Zhongli- Morax’s human form.”

“I’m gonna visit that dragon in my dreams and he better relay every single goddamn word I say to Childe and Childe BETTER be here in 3 days!”

“Can i take my leave now?” He honestly didn’t care.

“Wait! Tell the others that the moment chikde steps FOOT in this castle he is to report straight to the hall and all of you will give him an intervention! No- actually! Tell him to come here and I WILL.”

“Ok.” He shrugged and she sighed, taking a seat back onto her throne and waving her hand away, letting Pierro take his leave.

~~

Childe was absolutely scared shitless when he arrived back in Snezhnaya because what the hell did Zhongli mean when he said he went to sleep and the Tsaritsa visited him in his slumber screaming at him to tell Childe to come back to Snezhnaya immediately?!?!???

The moment the palace doors closed behind him, the walls started to shake and ice fell from the ceilings.

“AJAX!”

The Tsaritsa’s scream echoed around every ahll of the castle and dread filled him in an instant. He looked to the side of the hall to see Dottore, who looked absolutely scared shitless and Capitano who went rigid.

“You’re in some deep shit comrade.” Dottore snorted and Childe genuinely had no idea what he was talking about

And he still had no idea as he stood in the throne room, watching the Tsaritsa yap and yell at him but he couldn’t even understand a word he was saying.

Because all she would say was “cheater” over and over again and say she was so humiliated and disappointed and he had no idea what to say.

“Do you have anything to say?!”

“Yeah- what thé hell are you talking about?!”

“You cheated on Y/N!”

He stared at her, absolutely dumbfounded for a few seconds before he broke out into a fit of laughter. “What?! Oh my, your majesty I never took you as one to be such a jokester!”

Now she was confused. “Huh? I’m not! You cheated on Y/N with Lumine! Of all people you could’ve done it with- HER? OUR ENEMY?”

He realized she was serious and now he was once again, insanely confused. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“You cheated on Y/N with lumine!”

His jaw dropped. What? No, he would never ever EVER cheat on his pookie bear and he MEANT that because you’re the love of his life! “I would never cheat on her!”

She was about to yell at him, but then she felt it- she felt the amount of love he had for her now that he was back, and it was too strong- too strong to remain after cheating on someone.

She basked in the feeling for a while, and felt herself calm down. “You…didn’t?”

He just shook his head, scoffing. “Where did this even come from?!?”

She didn’t answer, instead laughing and yelling “YES!” Out of joy and she ran up to hug him and he was just so confused still.

“Oh, forget everything I just said about you, Tartaglia! It was a rumour, and we all believed it!”

“All- SO Y/N THINKS SO TOO?!”

Her heart drops when she realizes.

~~

You were hesitant to let Childe into the room the Harbingers so graciously offered you, but he just sounded so desperate that you couldn’t help yourself.

His heart broke at the sight of you- eyes red, nose runny and your shirt drenched in your own tears. He took your hands, realizing just how cold they were and sat down beside you on the bed.

He put one hand on your cheek to wipe away a falling tear and you tried to ignore how cold his hand was.

“I…I’m sorry. I made a promise to you years ago- a promise that I would never leave your side, and I still intend on keeping that promise, but I should’ve tried harder on my mission. I wanted to write to you everyday, but it got so hectic…Morax decided to pull a “fake-my-death” last minute and since, the whole plan was in shambles and the traveller was trying to help…in the end I ended up beating her ass, which I hope makes you feel better-“

It did.

“And so much more happened; I got betrayed by a friend and I never thought I’d be hurt by this but god even Signora betrayed me! They lied to me throughout the mission and the reason I took extra days was because Morax- Zhongli, now, wanted to explain to me just why the plan was changed and I was just gonna spend those few days with him. I should’ve wrote to you- any spare few minutes I had I should’ve spent at least writing out a few words to you, but I didn’t, and I’m sorry.”

More tears flew out of your eyes, and even he was crying too. You wrapped your arms around him, nuzzling your head into the crook between his neck and shoulder.

“You’re not obligated to have to always write to me.”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you closer. “I know. But I want to.”

He’ll take you both to your shared home but now, he just wanted to keep you in his arms to make up for the last 3 weeks.

[abbysbasement]

ABBY ANDERSON NSFW ALPHABET

AN: I’m tiki!! this is the first fic I’ve posted to tumblr :D super self-indulgent, a bunch of different kinks. started writing this on my birthday and it beat my ass for 3 weeks. I hope you all like it!!! this was supposed to be strictly nsfw but then somehow it became fluff midway because she deserves it ;-; crazy how much love i have for the pretty girl who lives in my playstation 5

content tags (many of these are just ments or glossed over):

reader insert fic, discusses an established relationship between Abby and r | fingering (r! receiving) | cunnilingus (r! receiving) | strap-on sex (r!receiving) | strap-on blowjob, packing (all in ‘Toys’) | cum eating and swapping mentioned briefly | degradation and rough sex in ‘Risk’ and ‘Volume’ | mentions of mindbreak and dollification in ‘Dirty Secret’ | strength/helplessness kink | exercise kink/play(????) in ‘Stamina’ | praise, breeding, and primal sex kink | erotic asphyxiation (specifically headlocking) in ‘Quickie’ | public masturbation in ‘Jack Off’ | objectification (played with, in ‘Stamina’ | spit drinking, spitting and other bodily fluids in ‘Risk’ and ‘Toys’ | overstimulation in ‘Unfair’ | inner monologue alludes to fisting but it doesn’t actually happen ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ in ‘Quickie’ | assplay, anal stimulation if you blink in ‘Wild Card’ | mommy kink in ‘Volume,’ similar verbiage, different context in ‘Kink’

MEN AND MINORS DNI!! 18+ ONLY

word count: 5.4k (oof.)

A = Aftercare (what they’re like after sex)

abby’s aftercare is the stuff of dreams. you’ll be laying on the bed, still restless and trembling from whatever scene was prior, feeling the dent in the bed smooth out as abby tugs on her boxers and stumbles topless, hair messy, and strap probably still wet (;-;) into the bathroom. you would hear the metal of the harness clatter down to the tile floor before she brings back a couple of damp, warm towels to wipe you down with. she’d massage your back and thighs and ass, making sure to work out all of the tension and soothe any aches, occasionally rubbing lotion on your skin and healing cream over any scratch marks she left behind, soothing any bruises she left behind by rubbing gentle circles over them with her knuckles and icing them if need be. kissing and sucking on any exposed skin she can get to, smoothing down your hair, and cleaning out your tears with a cloth. if it was any more intense play like degradation or humiliation, she would reassure you, looking you into your eyes, kissing you, and rubbing little lines into your cheek with the pads of her thick thumbs, telling you that no matter what, you’re her forever choice, that she loves you more than anything on this earth.

B = Body part (their favorite body part of theirs and also their partner’s)

abby spends a lot of time in the gym sculpting her perfect body, so naturally, her favourite body parts are her thighs and biceps. she’s extremely cocky about her physique, how it draws stares, elicits whispers, and wets panties. lords it over her partner and has a major strength/helplessness kink, pinning you down and watching how the muscles in your arms pulsate and flex but barely make a move. It’s mind-blowing how she can flip you over, legs in the air, back resting over one shoulder with a heavy palm over your tummy, and hammer into you with two thick, calloused fingers until your release is weeping down her wrists and forming a steady drip onto her chest. revels in how your might is only a fraction of hers. adores body worship, giving and receiving; the sensation of her partner running their tongue over the veins and scars on her body is enough to drive her insane with lust. abby is obsessed with her lover’s body, and if you have any insecurities, they’ll be constantly met with kisses, rubs, hickies, and bite marks. her favourite part of your body is your stomach; rubbing it when you're sick, using it as a pillow when you’re cuddling on the bed and watching an old movie, or using it for grip when she’s hitting it from the b-

nonsexually, she thinks that her nose is the best feature on her face, the easiest way to steal a rare giggle or smile from her is to give it a kiss, and she always rubs it against yours before you both fall asleep at night.

C = Cum (anything to do with cum, basically)

Abby doesn’t orgasm particularly fast; she needs a lot more love and attention to cum well and cum hard, so you have to take your time with her; gets really soft and emotional with how patient and gentle you are with her body. gets primarily visual arousal, and when she gets riled up, it's like a water fountain, with super wet stained panties, her lips all pretty and glistening, literally talking to you with squelches and squishy smacking noises ringing out of her juicy cunny. naturally, she gets super shy and red-faced about this. squirt drinker with no regrets, really into the idea of cum swapping, taking it upon herself to make out with you after eating your pussy.

D = Dirty secret (pretty self explanatory, a dirty secret of theirs)

abby’s dirty secret is that she has a huge dependence kink. she fantasizes about you to being happily stupid, mindbroken, eating out of her palm as she pampers you, creating her own personal plaything and dolly. being able to take what she wants when she wants it, or dressing you up how she wants to see you and having you wear it out, no matter how revealing or embarrassing the outfit is. wants you to see her as your saviour, taking her fingers, or her tongue, or her cock easily, never thinking big girl thoughts, never thinking period because it makes your head hurt, and when your head hurts, you get sad :(( feeding you, clothing you, bathing you, keeping you sheltered and happy with your simple needs in your simple, silly little head. abby is a natural protector and provider, so she does all of these things automatically anyways, but the added arousal of you needing her, of allowing her to own you in every way, being worshipped by you, and being your only safe space adds a level of eroticism that she’s shy to admit.

of course, you would always be content, always joyful to make your owner smile and feel good! happily offering up your holes or going in between her thighs like a good dolly should, because you’re grateful to her. she provides everything else, so why not?

E = Experience (how experienced are they? do they know what they’re doing?)

abby is not thoroughly experienced with long-term dynamics, she’s had a decent amount of casual sex, but this is a rare foray into actual *romance.* she’s ambitious and has tried different things, but she needs a push sometimes to be more vocal with communicating her sexual needs or telling you what she wants to be done to her in the bedroom. over time and with comfort and trust, she'll become more comfortable with setting boundaries, introducing kinks and other types of play, but she starts shy and closed off. on a purely physical side, became very attentive and skilled over a short amount of time, and is willing to try pretty much anything that isn’t a hard limit.

F = Favorite position (this goes without saying)

abby is obsessed with any position she can show off her physical capabilities in while she’s fucking you. hoisting your legs over your head and pinning them to the bed in mating press while she slams to the hilt like a restless madwoman, each thrust grinding into that rough, almond-shaped sore deep in your wetness that sends shutdown instructions to your brain? check. across a desk, table, countertop, whatever, holding you in a mock-wheelbarrow position, one leg crooked through her arm while the other struggles for balance against your weight and the pattered bump of her fucking in and out of you as your hands scramble the table, fighting for a grip? check. using her superior planking skills to bear all of her weight onto you while she sloughs her cock in and out of you while you lay on your stomach, helpless but to take it, strong arms wrapped around your head as a hand plays in the hair at the crown of your skull? check.

G = Goofy (are they more serious in the moment? are they humorous? etc.)

tries to portray a serious stoic dom during scenes, but sometimes she’ll fuck up a sexy line she’s been brainstorming and you’ll hear her try, (and fail) to stifle a snort and giggle. fights herself not to crack jokes at some of the silly shit the two of you say when you’re peaking, or your varying o-faces. during vanilla sex and when she’s not trying to put on a persona, abby can be very goofy in the bedroom.

H = Hair (how well groomed are they? does the carpet match the drapes? etc.)

expect tufts of shiny, curly dirty blonde hair around the perimeter of her pussy. it might trail down her thighs, depending on how grown it is, and blends into a soft happy trail going up her stomach to her belly button. if it gets too tangly or hot outside, she might trim it a bit with scissors, but other than that, abby doesn’t really care or think about ‘keeping up’ with her pubic hair. word flies through the stadium that hairy pussy is her weakness, so if you keep yours bushier, don’t be surprised if abby has to compose herself before she digs in.

I = Intimacy (how are they during the moment? the romantic aspect)

emotional intimacy is crucial to her, and constantly being in a space where just for survival she has to compartmentalise her humanity wears down on her mentally. she’s confused when she wakes up in the morning after your first time together, and you’re cuddled into the space between her shoulder and her underarm; sunlight dappling your face as it leaks in through the holes in the privacy shield against the window. after you promised one another that there would be no feelings, no strings attached, just the two of you passing the time and having fun, she doesn’t wake up alone.

sometimes, you’re so sweet to her that she has to fight back tears, which she promptly plays off. you run the edge of your nails up and down her scalp while she’s still bathing in the afterglow of an orgasm, and she feels free. abby loves when you give her pet names, big girl, baby, goldie, prince charming, but when she slides her flat palms under your shirt, rubbing up and down your torso, and you breathe out just ‘abs,’ that's when she knows she’s found her way home.

in her eyes, there is no god, but she understands worship when she fucks into you slowly, gently, opening you up bit by bit, her whispers almost inaudible in the crook of your neck as she cradles you in her hands like she’s trying to capture a moment in time; she understood what it meant to be sanctified when you kiss for a long time, hands exploring one another, all of her hard on all of your soft, and don’t end up fucking. for years she’s felt like a tool for other people to use, so it’s hard for her to verbalise her needs in fear of being shut down, but somehow, you just… know. she lets her guard down for you, gets too pliant and lazy and comfortable in a way that she’s still learning to be okay with. she’s still working on emotional availability and being open with herself and others, but you remind her that she exists, and abby is forever grateful for that.

J = Jack off (masturbation headcanon)

abby isn’t super chronically horny, but will definitely turn to her hand if it’s been an extended patrol run where she has to be away from you for multiple nights at a time. she thanks her lucky stars the first time she opens her pack while camping out with her team at Eight and finds naughty polaroids you snuck in her bag. she finds it easy to treat her insomnia on those nights by shoving her fingers deep into her pussy and curling against her swollen g-spot, while her thumb flicks against the mass of her clit, sending shockwaves that spasm her toes and travel up her spine to the top of her head.

she has to use the flat of her palm against her mouth to stifle adorable, high pitched moans as her hips snap wildly, chasing an orgasm that rips through her body, leaving her panting heavily and leaking the contents of her fucked-out hole down her ass. she’s woken you up before with how loud and intense her sounds can be, so she hopes she can keep quiet well enough to not wake her squadmates stirring in their sleep.

K = Kink (one or more of their kinks)

abby is heavily turned on by praise; tell her that she’s fucking you so good, that she’s hitting that spot just right, that she’s so pretty and strong and takes care of you just how you need it, and you’ll drive her crazy with love and lust. despite the fact that she reasonably can’t, abby always gets a kick out of you begging her to cum inside of you, to give you a baby, which she happily obliges, pressing deep into you with your feet to your ears, taking advantage of how much bigger and stronger she is, how tiny and pathetic and weak you are when you struggle, licking tears of ecstasy from your eyes and growling, “you want me to make you into a mommy, huh? –to blow my fuckin’ load deep in you?”

loves primal sex, fucking you on your tummy, against your bedroom door, in a headlock, over the table… enough said, just hunting you like prey and using all of her physical dominance to control your body like an animal, wrenching orgasm after orgasm out of your body even when you’re begging and pleading that it’s too much. she wants to dumb you out, ruin your mind and make you think only of her, living, breathing, existing only off of how good she makes you feel.

L = Location (favorite places to do the do)

abby is on whatever you’re on, honestly. she’s more careful at the stadium or the FOB, not wanting to do anything that jeopardises your reputations or her cushy position at isaac’s right hand. okay with weighing risks at home base, but she’s too paranoid and focused on keeping you safe in a dangerous world to do anything when the two of you are outside the fence. her baby isn’t a soldier, so you might be more idealistic and naive about what lies outside of the walls. it’s hard for her to let her guard down when you’re too sweet, too optimistic, too soft, and there are a million terrible, horrible ways she could lose you lurking around every corner. the most you’ll get while on patrol is a quick make-out session, a couple of playful slaps to your ass or a hand on your waist pulling you from here to there, and at *most* a little bit of bump and grind in a deadbolted room. if she can guarantee your safety and comfort, she’ll oblige. but she’s not hard to convince, and she can’t deny your puppy eyes when you ask for a late-night quickie in the community showers. but all in all, she prefers her bedroom, where the two of you can be as loud as you want, where she can make the bed shake and rattle and hear you whine and moan and cry as much as she wants.

M = Motivation (what turns them on, gets them going)

loses her mind over tension. sexual tension, romantic tension, when you two are so pissed at each other that you could tear the other apart with bare hands. firm believer that the make-up sex is the best part of a fight. heated arguments turn into rough, primal fucking to fix both of your attitudes. the two of you stealing heated glances across the cafeteria while you work the consignment desk turns into the two of you huddled in a utility closet, abby’s cheeks warming the space between your breasts, raking a finger through your folds painfully slow. when you see her after a long rotation in her militia gear, bloody, covered in dirt and whatever else but still whole and still yours, your soldier, your protector– it’s like the two of you go into fucking heat, romping like bunnies for hours while you reward her for a job well done, letting her burn off all of that pent up adrenaline and jumpiness from the day.

N = No (something they wouldn’t do, turn offs)

she’s really anxious about hard impact. she’s painfully aware of how much stronger she is than the average woman, and she’ll never get anywhere more physical than a firm slap on your ass or pussy, or little slaps to your cheek to redirect you during play. she’s terrified of hurting you, and she’ll never go farther than that, even if you really want her to.

O = Oral (preference in giving or receiving, skill, etc.)

abby’s a head monster. can eat you out for HOURS to the point of overstimulation. gripping and slapping your ass, squishing your pussylips between two fingers, relishing in the way that your gush leaks from the seams, wrenching your thighs apart so she can have easy access to fuck you out with her tongue. she’s a bit impartial to receiving when you first get together. she considers herself a service top; she gets off watching you get off, and great head is infrequent at the stadium. that all changed the first time you offered, tongue plying down into her musky heat, savouring the salty-sweetness of her warmth. from there, she was lost, fucking your mouth and chasing her own pleasure. the only thing breaking her out of her haze was the feeling of you lightly slapping her inner thigh, running out of breath from the heavy palm tangled in your hair holding you tight to her cunt. she apologised profusely afterward that she was too blissed out, that she’ll be more mindful next time. you two still laugh about how the head was so good she tried to kill you; poor baby doesn’t know her own strength :(

P = Pace (are they fast and rough? slow and sensual? etc.)

Most times, if she's lethargic and sleepy from a long shift she’ll let you take complete control, riding her until your orgasm and then falling asleep on her tummy. Other times, like days off, she's in full control; fucking you like she hates you in the prone position as she pushes you down with her weight, or laying in bed and holding your leg up in the air effortlessly as she fucks you slow and romantic from the side.

Q = Quickie (their opinions on quickies, how often, etc.)

abby desires you in every way. it doesn’t really matter to her, as long as she can get her hands on you. she loves quickies for their tense, ’try not to get caught’ vibe and the challenge of seeing how fast she can ruin you with just her fingers and tongue, but in reality, she’s not very good at them. she’s fucked you ten minutes before she had to roll out for patrol, just because she was pent up from last night and you looked soo fucking irresistible. fucking you fast and rough with her arm around your throat, doling out breath as she saw fit, your eyes rolling back as you got brought to orgasm and then taken back to the starting line over and over. it carried over so late that they had a rookie come to her door and knock looking for her. needless to say, that rookie got chewed out and taken off her next patrol for insubordination.

but I think she relishes getting to be slow with you. everything in her life is so fast, so twitchy, always on edge, so she really values getting to lay down in bed with you and take you down piece by piece. spreading open your lips and working you open finger by finger until you’re all swollen down there and leaking over her palm, pussy so cute and red and puffy and just *begging* for her thumb to slide in too. introducing the strap to your well-used, well-warmed-up cunt, and analysing every muscle in your face as you keen at the insertion. she’ll rub your clit achingly slow, listening as you babble for more, to stop teasing, to fuck you the way that only she knows, and marvels at how your hard clit stands at attention and bounces around her fingertips. when she’s done, abby wants it to be hours after, your moans still stuck to the ceiling, pussy clenching and unclenching, wetting the sheets as you’re left a defiled slut, but most importantly, hers and hers only.

R = Risk (are they game to experiment? do they take risks? etc.)

abby anderson is good for being adventurous in bed, but she’s only really comfortable with simple risks; erotic asphyxiation, rope bondage, spanking. one night, you asked her if she could bring her service pistol into the bedroom –unloaded, disassembled and reassembled, of course– and it was a firm ‘no.’ but she still thinks about it sometimes, not gonna lie. she never wants to put you in a place where recklessness can get one, or both of you seriously injured or worse.

but what she didn’t know, however, was that she was getting into a relationship with a crazy fucking daredevil. you’re practically owned by trying to convince her to fuck in risky, dangerous places.

"babe, why don’t i give you some head? you cleared out this scar camp sooo good–!" "no."

":(( let's scissor in this abandoned tunnel, then!" "stop. we gotta sweep the area for infected."

"are you sure you don’t want some pussy off the side of this ferris wh–" "what the fuck did i say?"

under normal circumstances, abby wouldn’t pass up the opportunity to punish you for being bratty, but right now she’s trying to keep her lunch inside, thankyouverymuch!

sidebar but sometimes she’ll just snap after all of your failed attempts at seducing her, pushing you into the dirt wherever you are, and just… starts savagely hard domming you, sheathing her strap into your cunt with her hand over your mouth and the other fisted in your hair, pulling by the roots, wedging your mouth open and making you swallow thick gobs of her spit.

“this what you wanted, right?” yanking your head up to meet her face, eyes burning with rage. “and you better be fuckin’ quiet. goddamn liability.” she sneers into your ear, bottoming out into you over and over again and battering your cervix and tender inner walls, the pleasure and degradation making fat tears run down your cheeks. fortunately (for her, at least,) she doesn’t have any more problems with disobedience for the rest of the journey back to the FOB.

S = Stamina (how many rounds can they go for? how long do they last?)

dating a gym rat wasn’t your most well-thought-out idea, as she has so much more stamina than you know what to do with. content with fucking you until her muscles burn and you’re begging her that it’s too much, abby treats you like human exercise equipment. when she really needs long-term stress relief, she whispers in your ear, “lay down baby, you’re gonna be my workout buddy, yeah? g’na be my good girl and help me get bigger and stronger?”

she makes you count out how many strokes she gives you, holding you up and bouncing you on her fat dick with nothing else but the strength of her bulging, hard-working muscles supporting every pound of your weight, muttering something to herself about how this is better than getting on the bench, anyways. you’re surprised when you see her looking over her naked form in the mirror after a long “personal training” session, and she has an actual muscle pump.

after what feels like hours, you’re trying to catch your breath, looking and feeling a fucked out mess, when abby runs her hands back over your ass, kneading and gently ghosting over your ruined pussy with a finger. “got another set in you, i know you do.” and you barely have enough time to get back into position before your eyes are rolling back and she’s ripping a moan out of you, in plank position with her hands on either side of your head as she slides her cock head into your messy, torn-up twat.

...it’s going to be a long session.

T = Toys (do they own toys? do they use them? on a partner or themselves?)

abby’s prized possession is a glittery blue strap-on, eight-and-a-half inches of pure problem, sourced from the ruins of a dilapidated strip mall the two of you stumbled across on patrol. she was a bit impartial to the idea, but figured that it would ease some of the stress off her achy wrists. quickly became hooked, wanting to use it every time you two fucked, and any chance she could crop up, nestling into you while you stood at the sink, hands in the dishes, her fingers getting lost under your bra, squishing a nipple as she sunk deeper inside. she loved how she could see you get more and more fucked out than you ever had off just her tongue alone, could grit her teeth as leather and rough fabric bit into her clit, could marvel in the mirror at the bulge it left when she stuffed it into her briefs before heading out for the day, straining against the grey cotton, altering the tempo of her walk, forcing her natural manspread just a little bit wider. could get a *great* core workout from pounding into your abused holes for hours.

abby is obsessed with strap sucking as foreplay, especially if you fix up those pretty, puffed-up lips with gloss or lipstick so that she can watch as sloppy rings form around the silicone. loves watching you make yourself messy with spit running down your chin as you mouth her strap through her cotton boxers. (loves SLOPPY top, like really throat it, gag, hit the back of your throat choking it down, slobber coating your fingers in messy globs. wants to see tears and snot and spit dribbling out of you from loving her cock the way only you know how.)

one night, you finally give her the green light to act out one of her biggest fantasies, letting her fuck your throat nice and deep, making you gag and drool every time she bottoms out, your domineering girlfriend reaching a hand to rub your clenching throat, whispering a mixture of sweet nothings and abject depravity that sends shockwaves to your clit and makes you ruin your panties.

U = Unfair (how much they like to tease)

abby doesn’t consider herself a sadist but lets it be known that there’s no such thing as a free lunch. knows just when to switch off her puppy-dog girlfriend mode that just wants to make you feel good and turn on her wolf callousness, the cruelty that relishes torturing you. will let you be a brat and then edge you for days as punishment, watching you cry as her finger brushes over your exploited clitty, helpless but to let her go knuckle deep in your little hole and thrashing as she fucks you ever so slowly, savouring your pleas to have mercy. not super into the public sex thing, but will have you sit on her lap or her thigh in the cafeteria or in the common area at the stadium, grinding into your pussy and pretending like nothing is happening while you stifle your moans and your mind goes blank.

V = Volume (how loud they are, what sounds they make, etc.)

Abby is possessive DOWN and, therefore, loud as fuck when you two are at each other. tried to hold back her moans when y’all had first got together, now she’s an animal in the bedroom, groaning and panting in your ear turning into growls and near-inhuman whines and moans. a sucker for call-and-response, and will tease you over and over again until you say, ‘it’s your pussy, this is your pussy,’ in the way she likes it. wants people to walk past her room and know what’s going on, wants to claim you even when you’re not together, wants to make it known that you’re strictly off limits. her mouth gets filthier and more degrading when she’s far gone, and it’s not unlikely for her to growl out that you’re a bitch or a whore, and make you repeat it at the top of your lungs.

when she’s bottoming, it’s a whole different story, keening and moaning into your touch, stifling her whines by biting her lip, a habit that you hate. has pretty, subby moans that only get louder the closer she gets to orgasm. It's enough to ring in your ears and shake the wall; the sounds of her begging and crying can definitely be heard in the hallways and outside on the green, but when she’s close, chasing her peak and pleading to be let go, she doesn’t give a fuck. It’s obvious what it is, what’s going on, that it’s abby begging, “mommy– fuck, please let me get off please lemme fuckin’ cum, ineeditineeditireallyneedit.” it’s the sound that can be heard around the world, but she’s never been approached about it, and at this point she really dares someone to try.

W = Wild card (a random headcanon for the character)

has a habit of slamming the headboard with her palm when she’s filling you rough and deep with her strap. she’d never turn her pent-up aggression on you, but it fires you up knowing that she’s on the verge of losing it. it makes you crazy, seeing her in her most primal form, bottled-up stress and anger spilling out of her, using your pussy the way she wants, how she thinks you deserve it. also a firm believer in sticking her thumb in your asshole while fucking you from behind.

X = X-ray (let’s see what’s going on under those clothes)

five feet and eleven inches of absolutely sculpted muscle. every single part of her looks custom made, every freckle painted on by hand, each scar webbing her skin a reminder of every time she made it back home. unshaven everywhere, her tummy and her legs and her underarms covered in dense, velvety swaths of hair, making her cuddly and soft like a pillow. the doughy fat of her small breasts pokes out over her impressive pectorals; the divot of her chest is covered in a heavy swath of freckles. deep pink, medium-sized nipples, slightly puffy and heavily sensitive. enjoys nipple play and breast stimulation as foreplay; likes having her breasts sucked on during sex. straight hips and thick thighs, deep scar on her left thigh from a raider ambush. has an outie pussy with fat outer lips, inner labia is dark pink and protrudes; the first thing to engorge when aroused. larger than average clit with high sensitivity. less sensitive to penetration, so she usually needs a lot of foreplay or dual stimulation to have a penetrative orgasm. curly blonde pubic hair around the perimeter of her vagina. firm ass, all muscle. brown splotch birthmark on her left asscheek. has an asshole, you know.

Y = Yearning (how high is their sex drive?)

abby prides herself on willpower and self-control, but when it comes to you, she burns hot. she wants her hands, tongue, fingers, everything on you or in you or grabbing anything she can touch. she had secret trysts, an assortment of sneaky links and fuckbuddies to scratch that itch deep inside, but she was c o n t r o l l e d by how much she desired you, how she fucks you like she needs you or else she’ll fucking die.

Z = Zzz (how quickly they fall asleep afterwards)

such a cuddlebug. after it’s all said and done, expect abby to use the superior force of her body to roll you on top of her, lips full of praise and sweet kisses, and run hands through your hair and down your back until you fall asleep. watches you for a little while, taking in every peaceful, sweet feature on your face until that familiar warm pressure coats her skull and the pull of gravity plays against her eyes. she always goes to bed last, dutiful in making sure you're content, sated and happy, but on days where she doesn’t have to work she’s the last to wake up, a lump forming in her throat when you greet her with breakfast and coffee from the cafeteria, she laughs it off as soreness from sleeping under an open window.

[localplaguenurse]

Falling Head over Heels (Pantalone x Male Reader) pt 8

WE ARE FUCKING BACK! (I immediately started hacking my lungs after typing this, I'm sick :P)

To make a long story short, for the past few months I've either been really busy, really depressed, and usually both. Also for some reason chapter 8 was already hard to write and I don't know why.

ALSO before we get into the fic, @your-local-furby drew some absolutely lovely fanart of MC apologizing and seeing the library from the previous two chapters. I think it finally kicked my brain back into gear lmao.

Without further ado, please enjoy!

@thedeimoshimself @eli-chris

It feels like the ground beneath me is sucking me in.

I feel myself sinking,

I wish the ground would swallow me whole.

Embarrassment washes over me and swallows me whole. I feel the air leave my chest I want to break free but I feel like I’m drowning. 

You take the page you’re scribbling your notes on and crumple it into a ball. You’ve reread your rough draft and decided the arranged wedding scene you had planned wasn’t tragic enough. The blind musician is tasked with performing for the prince’s wedding, but his heartbreak causes him to mess up his performance, which causes everyone to notice he’s crying, including the prince. You’re trying to convey the feeling of knowing every single person in the room is watching you during the lowest point in your life, but it’s just not coming together in a way you like. You’ll run it by Alik later.

Technically, Alik is no longer your editor as a result of your deal with the Yae Publishing House. Still, they’re one of your few friends, and their workload has lightened since your previous publisher terminated all of those other book deals. Now they’re acting as your beta reader before you send off the next draft to the editor at the Yae Publishing House. It’s actually making progress go a lot faster, so much so you might only need one final draft of the whole story before it’s finally published, as opposed to multiple drafts. 

I do not need sight to know everyone in the room is looking at me. I feel it in my broken notes that trail into nothingness. I feel it in the resulting silence. I feel it in the quiet murmur spreading through the room.

I feel tears in my eyes as I drop my head down, praying no one sees me crying. If I could, I would sprint out of the room, out of the palace, so no one is witness to my heartbroken embarrassment. I’d run so fast, the prince would have no time to chase after me. It would be for the best anyways. He deserves his perfect and beautiful bride, and I am no bride, I cannot verify if I am beautiful, and in this moment, I could not feel anymore flawed as a person and human. 

A knock on your door breaks your concentration. You’re dreading whatever is on the other side, but know it’s better to get this over with. 

“Yes?”

The door opens, and your mother pokes her head in through the gap. She offers a smile. “We have company. Come say hi, please.”

“I’m… kind of in the middle of something,” you reply, “and I’ve told you that I’m going to see Alik when I’m done writing.”

“How is she, by the way?”

“They’re fine.”

“And Maria? How’s she?”

“She’s alright, I think. I haven’t seen her in a while.”

“Well, tell them both I say hello. Anyways, if you have a minute, I would like you to come downstairs. There’s someone I’d like you to talk to.”

It takes you a moment to recognize what this is, mostly because it’s been a while since she tried pulling this off. When you realize what’s happening, you just shake your head and look at your mother. “Which family friend is this?”

She gives you a very unconvincing look of confusion. “My dear, what do you mean?”

“Mother, please.”

“... Ana. Anastasia.”

Anastasia is your younger sister Adéla’s friend. Much like your sister, she’s only a year younger than you, but unlike your sister, she actually likes you. Adéla and you have butted heads throughout your lives, as siblings tend to do and especially with such a small age gap, but Adéla has taken it a step further saying that it’s your fault her childhood was so “miserable” as she puts it. She claims that your diagnosis made you the centre of your parents’ attention until your youngest sister was born, and then they focused more on her than Adéla. Conveniently, she’s never had any sisterly drama with her, only you. You feel for her, but there was only so much you could do at the time, seeing as you were eight years old.

“Absolutely not,” you tell your mother.

“But you two got along so well when she would visit,” your mother insists, “and she’s become a fine young lady since the two of you last spoke! Don’t you remember reading together when you two were little?”

“I’m sure she’s beautiful,” you say, “but Adéla will throw a fit if she finds out you set me up with one of her friends.”

“You don’t know that.”

“And I don’t want to find out,” you tell her, “and I told you I don’t like being set up on dates.”

Your mother lets out an exasperated sigh. “I’m just worried about you, okay? I want to make sure my son is happy, healthy, and I want him to find someone he can settle down with. Your brother was already married at your age, and Adéla’s going to be having another baby soon.”

“Yes, but I’m not Pavel or Adéla,” you say, “the dating scene is different for me, and playing matchmaker isn’t going to make me feel any better or help me.”

Your mother just looks at you. That sad, pitiful look you know all too well. It stopped pulling on your heartstrings long ago, but sometimes it’s just easier to indulge her than it is to fight her on it. Besides, she means well, you think, it just can’t be helped that she doesn’t know her son has no interest in women.

You sigh, and stand up, much to your mother’s delight. “I’ll say hi, and that’s it.”

She grins, and she motions for you to follow her.

----

“... and she just happens to be single, too.”

Alik sets their glass down. “Interesting. So when’s the wedding?”

“It’s not happening,” you reply, “thank the Tsaritsa for that.”

“I’m honestly surprised your parents haven’t put you in an arranged marriage yet,” Alik comments.

“How many viable marriage candidates do you think there are that would be thrilled to marry someone who’s not only going blind, but could pass it on to their children as well?”

“Depends on how much the family is getting paid.”

“And it would not be much.”

The tavern is surprisingly quiet tonight. You chalk it up to it being the middle of the work week, not as many patrons willing to get drunk if they have work early in the morning. Currently, you and Alik are sitting at a table in the corner of the room while a few older patrons mill about, chattering on about their own lives at the bar. It’s actually rather nice, you think.

“What would they try to sell your bride to be on?” Alik asks.

“Um…” You look into your half drunk glass, trying to think of something funny. You clear your throat, straighten your posture, and put on your best business smile. “Here’s a fine young man who has no real work skills, and it’s not like they would do him any good since he’s considered legally blind and has between thirteen and fifteen years before he is fully blind. His only profitable skill is writing, though he doesn’t make enough to support a household. His blindness is also genetic!”

“By the Archons, at least say one nice thing about yourself,” Alik teases, though there’s a subtle sincerity to their words.

“I think I’m decent,” you say, “I think I might even make an okay husband, but I don’t think I’d be the kind of husband Pavel or my father are.”

“That’s not a bad thing,” Alik replies, “there are plenty of families and couples where the husband isn’t always a provider. Besides, you’re not really a ladies man to begin with.”

You shake your head. “It’s not even that, it’s just… you know I try not to make a big deal of me going blind, but it’d be naïve of me to pretend that it’s not, and especially if I was in a relationship. Whether I like it or not, whoever I marry is going to inevitably become my caretaker. There will come a day where I’m going to need help, and I’ll rarely be able to return that favour.”

“That’s why it’s in sickness and in health,” Alik comments. They reach across the table and take your hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “For what it’s worth, I think you’d make a good house husband, before and after you start seeing the world how Maria does.”

Maria is Alik’s cousin, and one of your few very close friends. She has been a big help to you in writing your book as her blindness is similar to the main character’s. While he was born blind, she actually had vision when she was born. Unfortunately, she suffered a very severe head injury when she was very young. She has little to no memory of her life before she lost her sight as a result, as well as having some developmental problems growing up. These days she’s doing much better, though her eyesight is still gone. At most, she can detect if there’s light, but that’s the extent of it. 

“Do you have permission to make jokes about her being blind?” you ask.

“I not only have permission, but that’s not even the worst joke I’ve gotten away with.”

“I don’t want to know.”

“For the best.”

Your table goes quiet as you and Alik take a moment to drink. You try not to cringe at the taste of whatever the hell Alik recommended you try. It’s a beer, and you can taste that, but it’s a lot more bitter than you like. Still, they bought it for you, it would be rude to spit it out.

“You don’t have to drink that, you know.”

“It’s an acquired taste, I’ll get used to it.”

You see a smile twitch onto Alik’s lips, and even if they try to hide it, you can see a shit eating grin from miles away. 

“Okay,” you say, “out with it.”

“What do you mean?”

“You thought of something terrible, I want to hear it.”

Alik glances around the room, assessing how audible their comment would be. You take a sip of your drink, and they grin.

They lean in. “I’m sure Pantalone would be happy to hear that.”

You immediately sputter, spraying Alik in the face. They yell, swiping at their face as if they were sprayed with acid. You cough as what was left in your mouth goes down the wrong pipe. “Fuck, w-why’d I take a drink–”

“Did you have to spit that in my face?” Alik asks.

“Shut up,” you wheeze out. You give one more hearty cough, your throat and chest burning, and you can breathe again. You sit up, rubbing your chest through your shirt while Alik wipes their face and the table with napkins. You look around, and see the few patrons staring at your table. You painfully chuckle, and turn back to your friend. “S-Sorry, I should know better by now.”

Alik shrugs. “I’m not wrong, am I?”

“I told you that in confidence,” you whisper.

“You actually told me before the tea party,” Alik tells you. “I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but it’s starting to show in your book.”

You feel your face flush, and you narrow your eyes. “I think I would know if I was writing about him, thank you.”

“The prince was a lot more arrogant in your first drafts,” Alik explains, “but in more recent iterations, it’s been toned down a lot. He’s also a lot more understanding of the musician’s blindness.”

You’re confused. “Well, yes. My first drafts are years old, so I’ve had to make some adjustments to better fit my writing style now. Besides, I’ve read too many stories about asshole love interests that don’t really learn anything, they just get tragic backstories that authors think justify their shitty behaviour. I’m not adding my characters to that pile.”

“No, I agree on that,” Alik says, “but even then, he was still a solid character, arrogance aside. He was just a spoiled prince who had to actually think about other people for the first time in his life. Like he’s never had to deal with someone with a disability, and doesn’t know how else to feel other than annoyed. In the more recent drafts, he still doesn’t know how to deal with it, but he’s a lot more willing to make up for the disrespect, where the old version did it, but complained the whole time. It just so happens that this change happened right when you met him for the first time.”

“That’s… hm.” You take a sip and don’t spit it in Alik’s face. “You’re on the right track, but I don’t think I was writing all of that because of a crush.” You feel your face flush warmer again. “He was a bit of an ass at the party, but since then he’s become one of…” You take a moment to count names on your finger. “... six or seven people that aren’t patronizing about me going blind. I’d just been putting up with most of my family either coddling me or being inconvenienced by me, but he’s a rare instance of someone making accommodations, but not making a big show of it. That’s why the book was like that until I met Pantalone.”

You stare into your glass. “And… a-and it’s why I enjoy his company so much…”

Alik doesn’t say anything. You look up, and you see their expression has softened a little bit. They lift their drink up to you, and you smile and lift yours up.

“Cheers.”

You both take a swig, and somehow the disgusting drink tastes sweeter going down. Your face feels warm, and you wonder why you’re still blushing when you see you’re already halfway through your drink. Alik has a similar glow in their cheeks. 

“That’s really sweet and cute,” Alik says, “but I do have to ask you something.”

You feel whatever warm feelings you’re feeling lessen when Alik’s softened expression gains a hint of concern. Their smile looks awkward by comparison, before they sigh and lose it altogether. You’re already dreading what they’re about to say.

They hesitate for a moment, and when they speak, it’s in a whisper. “Do you like him, or do you like what he’s done for you?”

“W-What?”

“I wouldn’t ask that if we were talking about anyone else,” Alik clarifies, “but I have to ask when it’s him. I don’t want to rain on your parade, I’m happy you like someone, but… he’s a harbinger. One of the more likeable ones, but not without flaws.”

“I know…”

Alik sighs. “Look, if it were some other handsome rich man, I’d say go for it. The fact it’s a harbinger specifically makes me a little worried, I won’t lie.”

You sound like my mother. “It’s a crush, not an engagement,” you tell them. “We enjoy each other’s company while he works with my father and sister. I just enjoy it differently than he does.”

“Still, even as friends, I’d be cautious. If not for what he’d have planned, then for what others might have in store for him.”

You take a swig. “You want to know what’s funny? You’re the first person to bring up his enemies as a point for why I shouldn’t get near him.”

“I am not.”

“No, seriously. My mother doesn’t want me near him because he’ll probably, I don’t know, kill me or sell me or steal my ideas, depends on the day. My father thinks I’ll ruin everything those two have built together, which I still don’t know why Pantalone is working with him.”

“Maybe your dad’s indebted to him or something.”

“...”

Alik notices your silence. They say your name in a soft voice, seeming worried by your expression. Your father’s not in debt, is he? The business isn’t as prosperous as it was when you were little, but job markets change all the time, and the economy is ever fluctuating. It’s purely the result of what happens when a business runs for as long as it does. Sometimes an empire doesn’t crumble, but rather dies slowly.

“Hey, are you okay?”

You snap out of it. “I’m, uh, I’m fine.” You push your seat back and stand. “I’m just, um, I’m going to go to the washroom for a second.”

“... Okay? Just watch yourself.”

“I’ll be fine,” you call out over your shoulder before immediately bumping into someone. Unlike with Pantalone, you actually manage to catch yourself before you fall. You know that Alik is holding their head in their hands, possibly stifling laughter too for a little extra salt in the wound.

“Archons, sorry,” you immediately blurt out, “I didn’t see you there.”

The ginger haired man laughs. “Oh, no worries comrade! Just be more careful next time!”

You stare at the man, eyes widening. His smile grows, almost reaching the dull blue of his eyes.

“Why the surprised face?” he asks jovially.

You sigh and shake your head. “I have got to stop meeting harbingers like this.”

[lonelywitchv2]

Starboy

WOAH i'm back. unfortunately, i'm not back with what you guys wanted (part 3 of strawberries, i haven't forgotten), but i finally got over my writer's block!!! anyways. here is another Regulus fic <3 and it's based on (you'll literally find half of the lyrics worked into this fic) Stargirl by Lana Del Rey and The Weeknd but i changed the title to starboy because no one actually says stargirl because it doesn't make sense (just like math)!

wc: 884

cw: pure smut, no plot whatsoever, no lead up to the smut, it starts with fucking but does end with fluff(!), choking (i went a bit crazy), some cheesiness (don't laugh, it's supposed to be a kicking-your-feet-and-giggling kind of cheesiness but i don't really write that 😭), overstimulation, this bitch never pulls out but he's wearing an unmentioned condom, cursing (obvi), having sex on the kitchen counters and tbh i was imagining this as being the counters of a kitchen in one of the houses that the Blacks owned (not 12, Grimmauld Place bc it's kinda creepy), um i think that's it.

enjoy!

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

MINORS DNI! 18+ ONLY!

It was then, in the low lighting of the kitchen, that Regulus knew that you were the center of his universe. The moon lit up your face, which was covered in beads of sweat that traveled down your face and dripped from your neck to your exposed breasts.

“Don’t stop, Reg- oh,” A moan interrupted your words, but Regulus understood. He didn’t want to stop, anyway, his own pleasure was overwhelming his body.

He leaned down, mouth attaching to your neck as he sucked a hickey onto the soft, damp skin. You both knew you’d have to cover it up in the morning to avoid questions, but you let him tease you with the occasional soft bite that made your breath catch in your throat. The teasing bites and his deep thrusts had your hands gripping the counter, nails scratching the marble as you uselessly searched for a grip.

One of your hands drifted up towards Regulus’ neck, gently tugging it away from your neck as you brought his face to your own, desperately kissing him, drowning out both of your moans. Subconsciously, you found your hand, which you had yet to move, softly squeezing his neck, grinning into the kiss when you felt his cock twitch inside of you.

“Can’t say I was expecting you to like that so much,” you murmured against his lips, a smirk gracing your features.

“Please….” Regulus whimpered, a sound that seemed to push every ounce of air right out of your lungs.

You removed your second hand from the counter, biting your lip when Regulus’ dick started to slip out of you as you sat up. The sensation of slight emptiness was short-lived, ending when Regulus wrapped an arm around your waist and pulled you forward until he was deep inside you, moans escaping from both of you as you arched your back. While Regulus was still weakly recovering, your hand that wasn’t around his neck trailed up his torso, passing his choked neck and up to his face. Your thumb traced his plump, reddened lips before sliding right between them and into his mouth. His eyes raised to meet yours as he hollowed his cheeks and sucked your finger, muffling the groans coming up from his throat.

“I never would’ve thought that Regulus Black, heir to the noble House of Black, would be begging for me to choke him,” you said with a triumphant grin, “how would your ancestors feel if they knew what you were doing right now?”

You both knew the question was rhetorical, especially because Regulus’ brain seemed to have short-circuited to the point where it was unlikely that he would be able to form a full sentence, with all the knowledge that he was known for slipping out of his mind with each thrust into you. You could feel his high approaching, prompting you to remove your finger from his mouth, a small smirk spreading across your face when you saw his jaw go completely slack while moans poured out of his open mouth.

“Come with me,” you whispered in his ear, pulling him close to you and tightening the grip on his neck ever so slightly.

Regulus’ hips stuttered as he came, your high following right after. You dropped your hands onto Regulus’ shoulders and clung to him, nails digging into his pale skin as he kept fucking you through your climax, but still after.

“Fuck, Regulus!” you called out, tears of pleasure spilling out of your eyes at the sensation of your second high hitting you like a freight train. You looked up at Regulus, seeing his dark eyes watery with tears as he came again.

“Holy shit,” Regulus murmured collapsing on top of you as you lowered your body until you were laying flat on the counter, the cool marble a stark contrast from your burning hot, sweaty bodies.

“You did so good, Reg,” you whispered affectionately, looking down at Regulus as you combed your fingers through his hair. He looked as if he was glowing under the moonlight, his pale skin and the droplets of sweat on his body only adding to the effect.

“I love you,” Regulus said into the darkness, listening to your pounding heart as he rested his head on your breasts.

“Do you love me or being choked by me?” you asked teasingly, sitting up on your elbows with Regulus slipping his hands beneath your back to support your body, which was also supporting his.

“Both,” he answered with a grin, pulling you back into a sitting position and kissing you. You wrapped your legs around his waist and grasped at his hair, trying to get as close as possible to Regulus, even though his cock was still resting inside of you.

“And I love you,” you kissed him once more with a quiet giggle, “my starboy.”

“Your starboy?” Regulus asked pulling away from you.

“You’re a star, you’re a boy, and you’re mine. It adds up, love,” you answered, rubbing the nail indents on his shoulders.

“You’re the center of my universe,” Regulus declared.

“Always making it into a competition,” you joked, pulling him close to you and resting your head on his chest, listening to the still slightly erratic beating of his heart, “but you’re still the center of my universe too.”

♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡♡

[mixtapedoh]

How about lonely boy, lee know, and forced proximity?

@eclliipsed — i am thinking of you, specifically while writing this <3

;༊ — lonely boy

pairing: lee minho x gn!reader genre: fluff, office setting word count: ~3.6k warnings: language, situational stress, han is here stirring the pot, a startling amount of homicide jokes

olive’s notes: a unique challenge of writing lino fic that i did not before account for or even conceptualize is that when i think of said silly little stray kids cat boy, i think of him almost 99% of the time as 'lino' and like 0.9999999999% of the time as 'lee know'. lee minho? you mean the actor? it's not clicking up here, asdfghj. all that's to say, if i make a mistake and call him lino instead of minho, i'm so sorry, feel free to stone me in the square on whatever day is most convenient for you <3.

☄. *. ⋆ lee minho x forced proximity...

— society, as a collective, just loves their 9 to 5, right?

i mean, if it were actually a 9 to fucking 5, maybe you wouldn't be screaming, crying, throwing up, gnawing on the iron bars of your enclosure.

— but haha, as a general rule (collectively agreed upon at some point, or perhaps no one agreed so much as they were browbeaten into submission), more than society loves their 9 to 5, they love their workplace grindset culture.

gotta get those financial gains, amirite?

— which is all to say, you were simply enamoured, quite totally besotted with, completely captivated by and hopelessly devoted to your demanding, grueling, parasitic life-force of an office job.

and people had the gall to say you didn't have romance in your life.

clearly, they hadn't seen the zeal and devotion with which you dedicated yourself to your company issued computer, stacks of files, and white-walled cubicle.

after all, regular hours simply weren't enough for all the worship you had within you — you simply had to have both your mandatory overtime and your Implicitly Dictated and Oh-So-Reasonably Expected overtime hours as well <3 you did want to keep your job after all, and job security is such a silly little thing <3 corporate culture really is just soooo romantic in that regard <3 complete and utter devotion <3 commitment almost pious <3

until you managed to break away from the curse of Living in a Society and could live without bills, debt, responsibilities, more bills, more debt, and the desire for silly little (but financially substantial) hobbies to make this existence of yours worthwhile, your love affair with your job would simply have to stick.

— which made for the perfect little soup you were currently mired in. a thick broth of learned helplessness seasoned with intense loathing, a dash of interest in low stakes coworker drama, a sprinkling of compulsory people pleasing, a garnish of yes man energy, and an optional mix-in of untapped, constantly simmering rage.

so, of course you were best friends with han jisung.

— the universe really did do you a solid when they placed han jisung in the cubicle next to you.

perhaps the only employee that hadn't succumbed to the incessant humanity-sucking leech affectionately called a company, jisung was the only one who kept you sane when you were 56 hours deep in your work week and considering moving to a homestead on alaska where you would likely not even last a whole 72 hours — but, hey, you would at least get some sleep at the end of it when succumbing to the effects of hypothermia, so it didn't seem that bad of a gig, really (jisung always offered to cover half of the down payment cost, but at the end of the conversation, he'd just buy you a coffee and the two of you would call it even).

— and being friends with jisung was, all at once, both a blessing and a curse.

(because this is corporate living and existence is a fucking nightmare ~°~♫⭒~꘎ )

— poor excuses for jokes in your company chat box, sticky note battles during days when the mundane tasks you were assigned were mind-numbing enough to fell the strongest of corporate warriors, the constant "i owe you" back and forth when one of you went on a coffee or vending machine run and grabbed something for the other, and, of course, juicy gossip during your lunch break — all of these were the positives of being jisung's partner in captalist crime.

— but on the other hand, should either of your work be wanting in any regard... well... accountability is a word long enough to stretch between two.

— which led you to your current state of affairs.

"the next time you forget to delete your 'tongue-in-cheek' speaker notes on the powerpoint we're submitting for review from higher ups, i'm breaking your fingers so you can't type them in the first place."

but of course jisung just turns it into a joke about a hand kink.

— your punishment for 'distasteful' jokes left in the margins of official company output wasn't anything too severe — bless whatever cosmic force made it so that the generally easy going mr. ok taecyeon was the one to see jisung's fuck up, and not someone less forgiving — but it meant the next few weeks would be hell in the form of grunt work.

see, your company was expanding in the industry, and it meant that the building you were currently working in wasn't big enough to house all the ✨aspirational goals✨ it was just starting to believe in. thus, the majority of higher ups were going to move into a new office building... and for some ass-backward reason, so, too were all of the archives.

and someone had to go down there and box it all up, making sure it was properly labeled and in order.

sure, the company was just head-empty enough to have the desire to move physical archives to a new office building. but at least they wanted it all in order before they stuck it in a different dusty basement.

— the very first day you went to the basement and saw the sheer level of work the two of you had in store, you locked eyes with jisung and just knew that fucker was going to find some way to get out of it.

— on your lunch break you tried to beat him to the punch and defend your honor against the soul crushing weight of undue punishment. but alas! you had already taken vacation days in the last month (damn that kpop concert - did you really have to be that devoted to your ult group??) and han hadn't had a day off for the last 6 months.

how the hell did you end up doing the punishment work for actions that weren't even (mostly) yours?

han jisung better move to that alaskan homestead after all, nowhere else would ever be safe from your wrath... once you got out of this basement, of course.

— the most you were given was help in the form of lee minho — who would have thought that he of all people would be your saving grace?

maybe he'd help you plan jisung's murder. they were friends, true, but anyone who was around han long enough would not be opposed to plitting his demise. it was part of his elusive charm, after all. everything wonderful about him also lent itself to fodder for plotting his demise.

convenient, really, given the circumstances you were in.

— but back to lee minho. perfect performance lee minho. always last to leave the office lee minho. infuriatingly not suffering from looking chronically fatigued or daunted, overwhelmed, or simply fazed by the overzealous work culture you found yourselves in, lee minho. curt and focused but lacking of an edge that would make him unapproachable lee minho. impossible to pin down, the vitruvian man of corporate dreams, somehow the bosses favorite despite failing to do any of the sucking up some of your other coworkers engaged in almost religiously lee minho.

he didn't frustrate you; he didn't even really baffle you, but he didn't exactly occupy your brainspace in a way that could be described as indifference, y'know?

maybe this was something you could blame of jisung, too. he always talked about minho an ungodly amount, waxed poetic about how it was a shame that minho worked in a different department — how the two of you really would get along famously, but damn, if he couldn't convince either of you to spend any of your (perhaps two (2)) hours of off-duty life in the same place at the same time.

social lives, after all, were laughable, where the both of you were concerned.

— the day you walked down there and saw minho already elbow deep in a filing cabinet seemingly older than your parents (which, lamentably, was the worst organized filing cabinet you'd ever seen, and was regrettably representative of 95% of the work ahead of you), you laughed out loud and took the moment to convince minho to take a picture for you, so you could tell jisung that he was missing the Historic and Long Anticipated Meet Up, and that was the moment you realized that you were so deep in the basement, phone service was a pipe dream.

it wasn't a concern, really — you were both benefiting from the random employee benefit of free spotify premium, so your downloaded content was enough to get you through the long hours of organizing and packing, and hey! being in the basement meant no one really expected any more out of you than your required hours and whatever mandatory overtime you had left to complete.

— so really, jisung had been stupid as hell to avoid this punishment. it was effectively less work than you were used to (though tedious) and you were far enough away from your desk that the thought of the work piling up in the world above wasn't eating at you that much (at least not any more than usual; workplace anxiety and you were well acquainted, at that point <3)

— and minho! — god forbid you say anything complementary about that bastard han jisung while he left you (more than) 6 feet under, doing work that was, by many rights, his punishment — but he had been right when he said you and minho would gel.

he didn't disturb you, for the most part, but working in the same space for full work days with nothing to do but listen to podcasts and check the dates on dusty files meant that Annoying The Only Other Person In Your Vicinity became a welcome distraction from wallowing in the fact you were moving at a pace slower than desired. and he responded quite well to any question you threw his way - no matter how brain-dead, invasive, or embarrassing. in fact, he'd hit something back - put the ball in your court in a question almost more ridiculous, leaving you to question how jisung hadn't forced the two of you together sooner (but fuck jisung; all my homies are blaming this comedy of errors on jisung and are in this basement actively plotting his demise).

— and it didn't take you long to realize charming minho is almost exactly like getting a neighborhood cat to endear itself to you.

pspspsps at random (bat a stupid ass joke his way);

give him space but respond to his random bids for attention;

have a snack drawer (one of the first emptied out file cabinets furthest to the back of the archival area) and occasionally offer something sweet as a reminder that the snack drawer exists and is for joint indulging;

entertain him with logic puzzles and psychological warfare;

and, of course, shit talk your coworkers and company.

indulge the cats desire for destruction and mayhem; tell minho that whenever he was ready to put in his two-weeks, you'd be right there beside him and would run the paper shredder all night while he corrupted the files.

exist calmly and comfortable in the cat's space; work so well in tandem that you began anticipating the movements of the other.

spend quality time with the cat; both of you begining to wordlessly take your lunches at the table in the archival basement, instead of going all the way back up to the cafeteria, choosing instead to chat with each other and indulge in the other's niche interests and stupidly staunch opinions on poor pieces of media.

slow blink at the cat; catch yourself staring for a bit too long when he doesn't notice you looking, your thoughts getting all muffled and sappy as you become wholly fascinated by the slope of his nose and the softness of his big, dark eyes that look perpetually half-bored at work but sparkle with intelligence and mischief when you call out his name — lighting up with interest and disguised delight as that lazy, gummy smile makes it's way onto his features, eyebrows quirking upward, already expecting a challenge and...

— wait... what was that?

— is there absestos in the company walls, and that's why they decided to randomly move buildings? is there lead lining these filing cabinets? black mold in the ceiling? were you perhaps inhaling narcotics in this dusty ass air and hallucinating something vivid?

you were not developing a crush on someone just because you were stuck in the basement with this fool for going on two weeks now and hadn't seen another good looking coworker in quite some time. this wasn't some kind of drama where the ceo has a strange delight in forcing company employees into situations laced with ✨sexual tension✨. you weren't a main lead suffering from romantic withdrawals. remember your leech of a company. you have no time for shit like that.

— but, i mean, if you're never out of the office, perhaps finding romance in office is a solution...

shut the fuck up, you and minho weren't even in the same department. that point was moot.

— because damn, maybe asbestosis really was getting to you, and that's what was knocking the wind out of you any time minho smiled. yes, certainly the absestos in the walls was what was informing the way your heart constricted whenever the two of you brushed hands passing a file between you. maybe you should sue your company and have some hospital use you as a case study. maybe all the distracted daydreams was a new symptom of your newly contracted deadly disease.

see, that would make sense. you weren't catching a mean case of crushing on your forced proximity coworker, you were simply dying. because of the absestos.

— but even still, the day both of you piled all the boxes of (appropriately lableled) filing into a work car, and minho drove you over to the new building, the fresh air didn't seem to be a cure all. you were still a little more than distracted by his messy hair and black sunglasses... his concentration on the road... his pushed up sleeves... not to mention his hands wrapped around the steering wheel.

(but of course you'd snap out of your thoughts when you remember that joke jisung made about your supposed hand kink at the beginning of all this nonsense. shut the fuck up, memory ghost jisung. you don't know shit. you and minho had already talked about it and were coming for his broke ass the day he had the courage to step foot in the office again.)

— yeah, haha, you weren't crushing on lee minho because of a comedy of errors you had never dreamed would befall you in the first place. working alongside him hadn't woken anything in you. certainly not.

— and yeah, haha, you'd definitely be able to hide this from jisung when he came back. not a problem at all when he asks you about how sorting archives went (he had the gall to bring it up every five minutes — taunting you with the fact that he got to have 4 days off and was then reassigned to do answer all the emails that had piled up during his time out of office. yes, he had picked up some of the work originally meant to go to you, but still. a veritable traitor who deserved your absence from your usual lunch dates. and yes, it was hard to be slick when he'd bring up your casual absence from lunch — were you finding minho's company to be more than enough? — but you'd manage. like hell were you going to give the smug bastard satisfaction after he made you atone for his and also your crimes.).

— and yeah, haha, you'd would definitely be able to explain to a suspicious and put out jisung why you were canceling anime re-run night with him to instead go with minho to this hybrid cat-and-comic-book-cafe he had mentioned never being able to get a reservation for, despite living two blocks away from it. silly little things like that would be easy to wave away, right.

it's like, totally platonic for you and minho to meet up on your only day off to spend hours lounging at a cafe retreat together where you cooed at semi-sociable cats and joked about adopting and co-parenting the one who enjoyed wearing cute hats, and read comic books for hours and order food to share and have low-stakes debates about the best tropes and characters of shared beloved media.

it's not like that whole set up is incredibly date coded.

and it's not like it would become a recurring habit for minho to invite you to do things with him that would have jisung waggling his eyebrows even as you pleaded innocence and smacked him with whatever quasi-weapon you just so happened to have on your desk (mostly file folders and your favorite cat themed mini calendar).

— haha... it wasn't like you were down bad and incredibly bad at hiding your crush.

...right?

— you fool. you absolute buffoon. han jisung could smell your lies and poorly contained crush from thousands of leagues away. even if you weren't shit at hiding it, he would have known. he could have actually been on that remote homestead in alaska and still picked up on just how brain dead you were over your crush. you thought you were slick? when han jisung has a doctorate in anxious suspicion and twelve master's degrees in the art of bullshitting?

hell, he knew you were going to fall in love with minho before the two of you even met. why do you think he'd wanted to connect the two of you in the first place? because he thought you two needed a social life? please — he knew going in that putting the two of you in the same room was horrible for his self preservation; he knew it was practically undermining company goals because your joint productivity would fall 2000% and the amount of cat memes you two would send on company time would increase so exponentially, you'd both resort to making your own memes using your company paid subscription to adobe creative cloud; he knew that the two of you were almost scarily well matched and equally devoted to drinking your refusal-to-believe-i-can-be-loved-romantically juice.

he knew that you and minho would develop glaring crushes on each other and wouldn't do a damn thing about it beyond smoothly flirting for an afternoon, inviting the other out on dates-that-aren't-dates and promptly fake-gagging and denying in a manner almost theatric that you might *gasp* enjoy the other's company in a way not-so-platonic, only to do it all over again. a vicious cycle of 'stop feeding the rest of us lies and just kiss with tongue already, damnit.' and he knew all of your coworkers would be caught in the middle of it.

— which they were. for, like, a solid five months.

— now, it wasn't too bad, considering the fact that you and minho worked in different departments, but anytime there was cause for collaboration, suddenly you were clambering to be considered, no matter the intense workload or the way the task was slightly out of your wheelhouse. suddenly, it seemed you were incredibly eager to learn and prove yourself.

at first, your team leader was overjoyed. initiative? drive? a seeming zest and fire for more commitment? say less and do more! marry yourself to the dumbass collaboration with the other department! perhaps this could mean freedom for their long suffering servitude under the corporate thumb!

but then they saw you flirting with minho and making plans to spend an afternoon together at a book signing while still on the clock. and while they're not opposed to a bit of misuse of company time (vive la révolution contre les régimes capitalistes, and all that), it was a bitter and sobering pill to watch that shit happen daily while not getting any yourself, and then stomaching the fact that these clearlly love-struck fuckers won't admit their own transparency-set-to-0% feelings and put their chronically-single corporately-suffering coworkers to rest. either say you're in love and just be done with it or take the rest of us out with a shot gun. goddamn.

it's like a sitcom's mind-numbingly over-the-top valentine's day special. someone make it stop.

— and it didn't take a genius to connect the dots and realize that the employee responsible for all of this was han jisung.

after all, he's the mutual friend between them. no doubt he talked about the other constantly in glowing terms. no doubt he planted the seed they'd be a match made in heaven. no doubt he was the one to blame.

and! wasn't it his fuck up that forced you and minho to work together in the archives to begin with?

maybe killing han jisung wasn't going to make you and minho confess to each other, but it would be some kind of catharsis for the people who were stuck in this hell of Watching You Two Take Your Sweet Time With It.

— so jisung had to understandably think of some kind of plot. after all, the two of you were his best friends, but to hope that you would admit your feelings for someone to save his livelihood? don't be ridiculous. the both of you were quite happy with the flirting stage, as it currently stood.

— how to get your stubborn friends to admit their (very real and very reciprocated) feelings for each other... when there's no external or even internal pressure (on them, at least) to do so... jisung would have to think outside of the box.

or perhaps inside of it.

— which i'm sure is reason enough to explain how the both of you managed to get stuck in a closet during your company's holiday party.

and, through it all, is minho's mischievous eyes and your flair for the dramatic.

"do you think we should tell our coworkers we've been dating?"

☄. *. ⋆

blog home

[boinurmom13]

Zom x Lament fic i wrote at 3am after months of not writing

i wouldve added indents but im on ipad and dunno how to do that on mobile docs

The sound of a rifle goes off, and is then shortly accompanied by thrilling and lively chase music. Black, gray, and white pixels dance on a screen, each coordinated perfectly in their own digital way. They come together to form a movie, one showcasing a twisted tale of men being hunted for sport. Despite sounding thrilling and entertaining at the time the two viewers picked it up, it turns out the movie itself is pretty boring. Zom, currently leaning on the arm he has sitting on the arm chair, has read the short story the movie is based off of. It was an important part of many literature classes he had growing up on the surface. The other person watching it, Lament, who’s currently laying on the opposite side of the couch with his feet propped up on Zom’s lap, hadn’t read the story. Not many books fell into the underground, anyway, and those that did were destroyed by water damage.

“This movie sucks,” Lament mumbles, peeling his eyelight from the screen to look up at the ceiling. “The book’s gotta be better, right?” Zom shrugs in response, letting out a slow yawn.

“Eh. It was just as boring. Quicker read, though.” He picks up the remote to shut it off, but gets nudged instead. Frowning, he sends a mean glare at his friend, clearly annoyed. “Dude, your socks stink, don’t do that.”

The opposing skeleton’s mangled mouth twists into a crooked smile, snorting at his response. “You have month old take out boxes littering your room. That’s nasty.”

Zom mutters something angrily as a response. Or, lack of response. Lament snorts again, having his fun with picking on Zom. He’s the only one enjoying it, though, considering Zom gets up shortly after.

Watching as his pal walks away, Lament sits up fully after laying down for a majority of the movie. He huffs in annoyance as he grabs the remote to turn down the movie, upset that the only person he can poke fun at has disappeared into another room. Whatever he’s doing, Lament’s unsure of, but it’s not like it’s a weird thing for Zom to get up without saying anything. He’s done it a thousand times, and he’s not expected to stop now. About five minutes later, Zom walks out, in a brand new shirt. He sits down on the couch and places a decorative pillow (courtesy of Alphys wanting to make their new home feel like one after years of a nomadic lifestyle) between him and Lament.

“Don’t touch me. That kid’ll kill me if I run out of clean shirts to wear out to eat later today,” Zom, very rudely commands.

Lament takes it as a challenge.

First, he tries verbally inching his way to get to him. Hoping Zom will set aside the pillow so they can return to the position they were previously in, Lament starts.

“It’s not like you can’t do laundry before you have to go. Besides, it’s just socks.” Admittedly, he sounded a little defensive. Not on purpose or anything, but because he knows that Zom eventually gives in during an argument. His ass is too lazy to find a compromise, so instead he just gives in with obvious displeasure.

And arguing with Zom is never boring, so why wouldn’t Lament start one?

“Out of detergent. And your socks reek of dirt, mold, and cheese. Your socks are rank, no thanks,” Zom responds. He shoots Lament a disgusted look at the mention of how bad that guy’s socks actually smell. Lament shrugs it off, not fazed by his comment.

“Now you’re just being hurtful.”

“Shut up.”

The bait wasn’t taken, unfortunately. Lament squints his eyes at him, trying to think of another plan. Sneak attacks? Maybe, but Zom’s been shown to be pretty good at deflecting those when on guard. The guy never talks about his AU, but it’s pretty obvious he’s dealt with sneak attacks, jumpscares… a lot, actually. Convincing isn’t working, and usually never works. The guy’s as stubborn as a mule when agitated.

Maybe slowly inching there until Zom forgets or gets comfortable might be the best approach… And the most boring. Damn.

A while later after putting up with the (excruciating (not really)) barrier between him and Zom, Lament lets out a sigh of relief after the movie ends. He hopes Zom put up the barrier for only the movie, because keeping this bit up this long is childish.

Zom just so happens to be incredibly childish because the pillow still hasn’t moved. Not an inch.

Leaning back to stretch, Lament puts his arms up on the couch. Despite his hand being inches from Zom, he doesn’t move.

He doesn’t move?

Either he doesn’t care, or he’s too caught up trying to pick another movie from this shitty free movie app. This might be good. Either way, there’s a chance Lament could get away with scooting closer.

Another moment passes, and Lament scoots closer. Then closer. And again. closer. By this point, the pillow is nearly fully behind him, and his arm could comfortably wrap around Zom’s shoulder. Still, he’s unsure if Zom is incredibly focused, or just doesn’t care. Testing that theory, Lament brings his hand down, but before he can make contact, Zom shoots a nasty glare.

“I said don’t touch me.”

Lament frowns and gives him a bored look. “You can wash the shirt.”

“Too lazy,” is the response he’s met with as Zom turns to continue scrolling on the TV. Lament rolls his eyes, annoyed, and puts his hand on Zom’s shoulder anyway.

Zom turns to look at him, but is quickly stopped as both arms are wrapped around him, and a.. surprisingly heavy weight knocks him down to lay back against the armrest of the couch. Within a matter of minutes, the two are in a cuddling position on the couch. As soon as everything settles and what just happened catches up to Zom. he begins to retaliate, pushing against Lament to get him off.

“Dude! What the hell! I just— I told you I don’t want you touching me! Now I’ll have to wash everything, and take a shower!” His exclamations are ignored as Lament picks up the remote Zom dropped and puts on a random movie, not caring enough to read through the summary.

“Thank god you’ll finally take a shower.” He chuckles to himself, but is cut off by an instinctive ‘ow’ as he feels Zom lift a knee (with struggle) to (weakly) knee him.

okay thats all…. til next time chat

[leclerking]

max x reader (you)

enemies to lovers slow burn or fast burn idk idc

write a self indulgent fic when you're drunk

slayyyyyy im drink rn girlie lets write some fan fictionnnn

do i make this aesthetic? ok maybe i make it aesthrtic

MV01 | ★ BRO WHATS YOUR NAEM?

so its a clubbing scene. im drinking as usual. i want to dance but my friends arent dancers. they're also tired. a man comes up to me and i instantly want to rail him.

he says " you wannt to dance?? ' i said " Yeah dude all night' . so we're on teh dance floor and we're dancing and my friends are at a distance somehwer in the club

then i fall tired so i left to ge t a drink and join my friends, just as i sit down with them, this man. built like a tree. same one from earlier comes back and says lets dance again come on. i was tired but he was handsome so i wen back to dance. then again i was tired so i came bk. and so did he. "come onnn the night is young lets go back" he pleads with a huggee smile. as if he slept with a hanger in his mouth

"dude WHO EEVN ARE YOU AND HOW DO YOU STILL HAVE THE ENERGY??' i asked as i was close to passing out. (just like rite now while i amm typing this)

but he just smiles and takes my hand and i follow him and we're again having fun on the dance floor. soon enough i couldnt do tjis anymore so i tell my friends that we can leave. and we'er sitting on a bemch outside waiting for our uber AND GUESS WHO SHOWS UP!

"you want to catch a drink later someday again?"

i only stare at him. what does he even mean?? " i dont live in this city, i'm here for like 5 days. also WHO ARE YOU i still domtknow your name yet!! how will i even find you??'

'so u do want to find me? " he smirks " if we have one last dance left togther, maybe we will find eachother " and with that he left.

------------------------- im so tired im going to continue this when im drunk mext time i hop e i dont forget the storu--------------------------

HI I DDI NOT FORGET WE ARE BACK HELLO!

OKAY so now this is probably the next day or the day before we leave the city (i dont know which citty)

im in the lobby with my friends, just back from a whole tiresome day of site watching ? seeing?? the city. im waiting to get something frm the recption and i hear his voice.

" you're here??" "omg dude are you stalking me ?????" i ask with a smile! LIKE WHY AM I SMILING ??!!

" nope. my friend actually lives hre. i came to drop her off "

" you have a girlfriend?" "would not you like to know??"

" nvm i dont, bye"

"okay wait, shes just a friend, and besides i came to drop her AND her boyfriend." and idk what to say, i wanna ask him out but whats the point ill leave tomorrow...

" would you like to go out today? i know this really really great place that has a great salsa night..." not like the dip like the dance!

"sure i'd love that" why am i brushing like an idiot. i told him i'd meet him down in just a few minutes. and sooner than later we were at this beautiful place, you could see the coast. so many people were dacing through tje entire street.

and then so were we. one mimosa after another. one song after another and we were both super drunk and laughing anf giggling and dancing and just having the greatest time ever.

and we continued to have a great time even after we got back to my room. im sure we had great sex. and we wer arguing about something i dont remmbr and having a roast contest. thats all i remembr.

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

because when i woke up, he was gone. not a single trace. no note, nothing... AND I STILL DIDNT KNOW HIS NAME. was he just a ghost? perhaps my drunk imagination or halusination...

went down for breakfast and met my friends. and they asked me about last night. AND I ASKED THEM FOR CONFIRMATION " SO I WASNT THE ONLY ONE WHO COULD SEE HIM??"

maybe he was real.. but i had to leave in a few hours. maybe he would just have to remain a core memmory to me in this city. and it sucks because he has the cutest smile, and the best energy when it came to dancing.

the whole time, in the taxi, the airport , the flight.. okay maybe no tthe flight because i usually fall asleeep. i thought about him and waht a wonderful time we had.

would i ever see him again??

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

I want to take this time annd appretiate some of my friends or moods as they say on thos web site. It is 3 am her

@crimsonicarus @lesharl-eclair @sebsore @sebscore @jelloecat @hellocat? @jelliecatz @scuderia-leclerc starcentral @strkctrl @stqrsctrl @deadaydreams @fhumingrace you guys salllaayyyyyyy 💗🤍💕❤️💔💌❤️‍🩹💟❤️‍🔥🫦💋

OH WAIT AND @KRIKRISYERR I for the lyf of me caaannot spell this useeename but they give me the best f1 fic recs

This account has lit rally Turner into my safe space 😭😭😭😭😭💗💗💗💗

[xxsycamore]

👻🕸️🦇 IKEVAMP SUITORS IN A HORROR-MOVIE SETTING ! 🦇🕸️👻 (headcanons)

Happy Halloween! Yes, this includes all 17 suitors. I'm no expert on the genre but I thought this might be fun! Some of them die. I'm sorry. Warnings: everything that can appear in a horror movie really, including mentions of death, mass murder, blood, gore, torture, cults.

If you feel like reading something more goofy where everyone lives, try Pumpkin Carving Competition At Saint Germain’s Mansion or maybe even “Welcome to Saint Germain’s mansion, please have a fang-tastic night.” 

𝐍𝐀𝐏𝐎𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍

The "okay guys, we need a plan" guy and welp, he has a sword, he is willing to walk in front, why not trust him? 👍🏻✨He's totally the one to hide being infected because come on, how are they gonna get out of there alive if the leader is down? Has a dramatic scene where he's fighting off the transformation in secret. Ends up being saved by someone and survives.

𝐋𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐑𝐃𝐎

Leonardo is the one you find along the journey, mistaking for an enemy at first as you get into his trap... when it actually turns out he's been there long before you, surviving all alone in this post-apocalyptic setting, adapted to it, prepared for every danger out there with gadgets he made himself! He might not stay alive until the end but plays a key role in the plot.

𝐌𝐎𝐙𝐀𝐑𝐓

He tried to warn them not to do anything stupid... He's now stuck suffering from the group's bad decision-making. He doesn't even know how he ended up there. Mozart is that one character that you're supposed to hate for being an asshole. At one point he falls in danger that specifically relates to a fear of his, and when everyone expects him to sacrifice another person to save himself, he does the opposite. He seemingly dies right there, breaking everyone's hearts, only to be revealed at the very end that he managed to survive!

𝐈𝐒𝐀𝐀𝐂 (credits for the idea goes to @scummy-writes guys she can write a whole fic of those I swear,, it's been such a pleasure listening to her)

Isaac needs to be saved five minutes into the movie... which writes him off as the weaker one from the get-go. This is going to be bad if the situation comes to "we gotta leave someone behind or we all die here!" - but hey, DON'T LEAVE ISAAC BEHIND IF YOU WANT TO SURVIVE! Because the next thing you know everyone falls into this deadly trap that only HE can figure the way out of, using his big brain skills. His worth has been proved! Everyone loves him now! And all he wants is to go back home and never go on a trip with these guys ever again!

𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐑

I'm sorry, Arthur dies first. The others are trying to warn him about the cases of victims who've been sucked to a dry husk and he's like "later virgins, i have a date tonight". Yeah his date totally killed him. Bonus points if we're dealing with vampires here, because irony. It's fine though, he's still important to the plot after he dies, because we find his writing diary and he left important cues there while trying to escape from his killer. Maybe he even came close to the truth! He knows his mystery genre stuff after all...

𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐎𝐃𝐎𝐑𝐔𝐒

Theo just does NOT believe paranormal exists, not even after witnessing it with his own two eyes. Worst part, he tries to convince the others too. "My broer IS NOT POSSESSED!" Uhuh! Okay Theo! You just saw cryptic images appear on his canvas without him even moving the brush but I guess he was just trying a new painting technique!! And he levitates too and his eyes are tar black but what do we know... Once Theo realizes the situation, he's out there swinging a bat (sexy), ready to beat the shit out of whatever caused this, and he's good at it. Don't worry about him dying.

𝐕𝐈𝐍𝐂𝐄𝐍𝐓

Poor baby Vincent is every sinister ghost/demon's number-one target. Vincent listens to the voices. He sympathizes with them! He makes friends with them! Maybe he doesn't even need to be possessed at this rate... Same story with joining a cult, honestly. When their bad intentions begin to come to light, Vincent puts up a fight and is suddenly not as easy to control as they thought.

𝐉𝐄𝐀𝐍

Jean might take some bullets from our main cast while someone shouts "IT WON'T DIE!" but it's fine he's used to it... he's been dead for quite some time and not just inside. Jean is probably the result of some sick experiment about making an immortal army of warriors and. It's sad. But it's fine because he joins the protagonists now! He's friend! I hope they apologize for calling him a monster. No, he doesn't die by the end of the movie, but at what cost?

𝐃𝐀𝐙𝐀𝐈

"Oh, it was just Dazai." Of course it was, someone has to be that one idiot that scares the shit out of everyone until he becomes the boy who cried wolf. Which usually ends with death! I'm sorry Dazai. At least they can take him seriously now and pay some more attention to the strange things he kept on saying.

𝐒𝐇𝐀𝐊𝐄𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐑𝐄

A very old-school villain! Bonus points if the setting is modern yet he still has a villain's lair and all that. There's something beautiful and tragic about him and he probably dramatically lets himself be defeated even if he had a chance to escape. Everyone will remember him. Mostly for the mental and physical torture, but still.

𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐓𝐄

"But we have one hour left until the curse kills us all, how are we gonna get there on time?!" *sounds of safari jeep pulling over* "Someone ordered a ride?" - yeah. Comte is here to save the day with the power of money friendship. And not just that! Who is the one who suddenly remembers a family heirloom that is as old as time and suspiciously shaped exactly like the key they're searching for? I also want him to lose an eye or a limb for some reason... just for a little touch of gore maybe?

𝐒𝐄𝐁𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐈𝐀𝐍

Gods, Sebastian is the only prepared one, bless him for that. He's read all about that urban legend while everyone's been busy denying its existence. He is not scared at all, too... you might wonder if he's just geeking out during all of this bloody mess or something. He's so important, please don't let him die please don't let him die... he died.

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐑𝐋𝐄𝐒

The villain's aide that infiltrates the protagonists' group. By the time his betrayal scene happens and he nearly kills three members of the group with a chainsaw, we get a glimpse of his trauma and that's the key to sucessfully talking him out of doing it, eventually disarming him and catching him. He manages to escape and maybe later returns as an ally! Yay!

𝐅𝐀𝐔𝐒𝐓

Gods he's scary. I'm not watching this. Of course he's the killer, what did you expect? Has a tragic backstory of being used by an even more fucked-up killer in the past to do the dirty work for - and kept doing it even after getting rid of them himself, because that's the only thing he knows how to do. You can't fix him.

𝐕𝐋𝐀𝐃

IT'S HIMMM he's the scary little boy from the photos and the same scary little boy that always shows up in the rose garden and his soul just won't rest in peace!! Shows up in his adult form plenty too, just expect his expression to twist into something horrible every second. He needs to be sealed forever somewhere and it would take three sequels to get to know what would actually defeat him once and for all.

𝐃𝐑𝐀𝐊𝐄

... I'm sorry but there definitely is a lighthouse in this movie. And you can totally trust Drake! The poor guy's body just washed up for you to discover, tragically drowned-oh, wait no, he's breathing. He's totally not the same sailor who died around here many, many years ago. He's gonna keep you good company in the lighthouse alone for miles.

𝐆𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐎

Galileo is the one who saw the Thing™ with his own eyes, while he was watching the stars one night ages ago. He dedicated not only his massive research but also his life to this, yet noone believes him. If he somehow manages to find that one missing piece that connects everything together, he will die a horrifying death before he can even share it with the main cast. Rip...

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