#he's the reason I decided to learn how to play <3< /div> Explore tagged Tumblr posts

[void-galaxy-shenanigans]

this is an interesting method (/positive, amused)

i’m over 5’5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blond hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i have never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child

🎶🎶

some elaboration:

- I can cook/bake in theory (I know how, have successfully done so), but can’t always physically do so because disabilities

- i’m supposed to wear glasses but I need a new prescription so i’m not right now 😅

- i enjoy sparkly nail polish!

- my hair is currently green, blue, & purple. green & purple were intended, blue was not intended; for whatever reason, my hair just decided it wanted to be blue & stole the green from all but the roots 🤷‍♂️ it’s kind of a vibe tho so i haven’t fixed it

~~

- i don’t have formal training, but for the fun of it, i own and will play (1) an acoustic guitar that I bought for myself, (2) a very old electric guitar that my uncle passed down* + its equally old amp (20+ years old at a guess), (3) a 10-hole harmonica I got over a decade ago, (4) an 8-hole harmonica that came with a “learn how to play harmonica” kit my grandma gifted me, & (5) piano or keyboard.

i also want to own & play a (1) lyre, (2) violin, (3) flute (several kinds, I just enjoy playing), & (4) ukelele. i love instruments/music obviously 🤷‍♂️☺💜

(* the strings are rusty tho so I gotta be very gentle until I can replace them 😅)

~~

- fun fact, multitasking is not actually doing all at once, it’s rapid switching between tasks!

~~

- depending on how curved my spine is that day (sometimes too stiff to unbend), i measure 5’6” on a bad day or up to 5’11” on a good one.

~~

- i can speak/write français (French) & español (Spanish) relatively well, with the limited conversational knowledge of a United Statesian educational system. i’ve also been trying to teach myself Gaelic (Irish), German, Greek, Nordic (Bølsk), & Russian...but my ability to learn outside a classroom-structured environment is slow. 🤷‍♂️

~~

- last addition, i have both ears pierced & have been using those often! i debate whether to get another piercing sometimes, but honestly i’ll probably get a lot of tattoos instead ☺

🎶🎶

~Nico (he/they)

no pressure tags: @mx-treant @jackedupjack @thetetra @batcoins @yelkniz

tag game 🤭

rules: color the sentence that's true about you

i’m over 5'5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child

this is a whole lot of yellow lmfao

no pressure tags: @marthawrites @schniiipsel @aemonddtargaryen @aemondsbabe @adragonprinceswhore @arcielee @black-dread @lovelykhaleesiii @aemondsbabygirl @valeskafics @connorsui

[celestiamour]

‧₊˚✧ ❛[ we're doing better ]❜

ft. moon ki-yong (the salesman) x f! reader — squid game

╰₊✧ your husband has finally been honest with you, but what now?┊3.0k words; prt one (here)

contains: his pov, lots of perspective and lore, love at first sight, happy ending where the reader forgives him, note that sociopathic/psychopathic behavior has no known cure & that this is unrealistic fiction, he can’t be fixed but he can be here <3

➤ author's note: the long-awaited & heavily-requested part two!! the ending is sucky because i didn’t plan to write a part two and because i personally wouldn’t have forgiven him, but lots of you guys seemed to want to. i wanted to write something exploring their relationship, so i hope this is received well & that you guys will enjoy!

“i love you too, i’ll be back in the morning” were the last words you said to him before rushing out the door and disappearing to your mother’s house. that was last night, but it was now early evening with the sun finishing its descent over the horizon and you were nowhere to be seen. he briefly wondered if you were also watching it from wherever you were like he was through the window, knowing that you adored the beautiful array of colors blending into each other and always pointed it out when you were with him. he never cared for it himself and took the sight for granted until you came along. now he’s aching for your presence asking him if he thought it was pretty when you were always the prettiest sight in his eyes with the orange light reflecting on you.

his hand was itching to call you or send a text, but he decided against it. you needed your space, especially after that fateful conversation which left him with regret weighing heavy on his chest. he wasn’t sure what the regret stemmed from, if it was regret from not trying harder to keep his secret, if it was from not being more careful to hide his tracks from seong gi-hun, if it was from attempting to build a normal life, or if it was leading the type of life had in the first place. it was a mix of everything, and he hated the feeling of it.

moon ki-yong never regretted anything in his life. he didn’t regret spending his days getting a sadistic kick out of playing judge and jury to people he viewed as worthless trash when they lost against him, whether it was slapping people he was recruiting into games they would inevitably die in or spending his free time messing around with homeless people. he didn’t regret getting tangled up with the mysterious oh il-nam and the activities occurring on that island, starting as a guard and working his way up to a salesman. he didn’t regret firing a gun on his own father in cold blood when he unknowingly begged his own flesh and blood to spare him.

he’s a man who was steadfast and stubborn when it came to his fucked-up morals and ideals, always believing from a young age that it made him better than others. there was never a reason for him to change as he got older when he found himself working for a hidden organization that introduced him to the addicting taste of death, paid well, and protected him from the law if the unlikely situation of getting caught by authorities for his crimes ever happened. he never cared to do the right thing was doing wrong was just so much more suited to him, never minding the strict set of rules he had to adhere to as long as he was allowed to freely exercise his psychopathic tendencies without trouble following him. it made him feel like a god at times who was so high above normal people if he ignored that he was still an employee with a boss.

and now he’s sitting in the living room, disheveled and staring at the floor waiting for your return like a dog awaiting its master.

he couldn’t even be mad at you for storming out like that. he’s surprised about how mellow your reaction was to learning the truth of his occupation and how dirty the cash he used to spoil you was, how you didn’t scream loud enough for the neighbors to hear, and how you didn’t call the police— or maybe you had already called them at some point today and his friends in higher places were working to keep him safe. more than anything, he misses you, filled with a feeling of longing he doesn’t think he’s ever felt before.

at first, he was only trying to look normal. the people around him started to wonder why a man as tall and handsome as he with money that flowed in like water from an unknown source he kept secret was still single. when people wonder, they start to become nosy. he couldn’t have that if he wanted to keep up the lifestyle he had, so he started searching for someone suited to be his wife. 

to others, he seemed incredibly picky, never reaching out for a second date even once or even bothering to send a polite text saying he didn’t feel a connection. to him, he didn’t think he was picky enough. despite carefully combing through his options and sometimes even hiring private investigators to stalk them if needed, there was always something he missed which was a dealbreaker for him in a relationship: ignorance and stupidity, improper table manners when he reserved at a fine restaurant, running more than fifteen minutes late without traffic in the way, and most importantly for him, asking too many prying personal questions which weren’t relevant on the first date. yes, he understands that first dates are all about getting to know each other, no, he doesn’t find it necessary to talk about stupid things. although he would rather not say anything at all, he’s very particular about how quickly he shares information about himself with others and gets ticked off by anyone who tries too hard to learn more about it (he won’t admit it, but he also gets a bit threatened by it).

by the time the day his first date with you rolled around, he was ready for it to be his last before he lived out his life alone as originally planned. he lost his faith that he would find someone who lived up to his lofty expectations and received news that oh il-nam was dead. the next games were canceled to mourn the loss of the founder, and part of ki-yong wondered if he should cancel the date as well to take the time to pay his respects. he didn’t think you would be the one and believed there wouldn’t be any difference whether or not he actually showed up.

yet there was something in him that refused to pick up the phone and make up an excuse. it was indescribable like a higher power making sure that he followed the path intended for him. he told himself it was nothing but not wanting to be rude when it was only half an hour before the arranged time and because he didn’t want to pay the cancellation fee, nothing more nothing less. he never cared before if he was thought of as rude to people he didn’t intend to keep in his life for long, and he had enough money to buy the entire place if he wanted to.

so what was his problem all of a sudden?

you showed up perfectly on time, a few seconds before the clock struck, looking beautiful. it’s not a word he uses often. pretty, maybe, but not beautiful, yet it was the first word that crossed his mind when you introduced yourself. he found himself enamored by your presence and everything about it from how you carried yourself to the subtle glitter eyeshadow that made your eyes sparkle to the dainty jewelry hanging around your neck, so enamored that he forgot to accept your outstretched hand and to get up to pull out your seat for you at first.

more than easy on the eyes, dressed appropriately, good table manners, well-educated, never pressing too hard on matters he clearly didn’t want to talk about, you were quickly checking off everything on his list as his partner— although what he was really looking for was to draw away suspicions and your likable personality made you perfect for the job, he could even see you as a companion. even if you were visibly nervous, he didn’t mind, your timidness was adorable actually, akin to a little bunny being fed by his hand.

when he finally got home, he realized he was still smiling when he’s usually constantly reminding himself to do so. he also realized that he lost track of time and came back a whopping two hours later than he expected.

it was history from there, moon ki-yong, a man who saw other humans as unequal trash, had succumbed to love at first sight, which baffled him.

it made him remember a scene from his childhood, one where he asked his mother why she remained married to his deadbeat father after another night of him not showing up in favor of gambling and drinking instead of spending it with his own family. she embraced him with tears, once again reminding him of her own tale of love at first sight, and also telling him that when you’re so deep in love like she was, you’re willing to forgive them for anything.

he thought she was stupid for that. now he knows he’s truly just like his mother just like everyone said.

you were shy in the first steps of the relationship, quickly realizing that you had become a glorified sugar baby of sorts. he didn’t know how to express his affection through words nor did he have the extra time to spend with you during that time of the year, so he spoiled you with lavish gifts and wealth beyond your wildest dreams. any debts you might have were paid off, one of the nicest condos in korea was bought for you to move in together, your parent's retirement was paid off in full to allow them to stop working, and any other money-related issues were quickly covered by him. you could even quit your job if you wanted to, but you didn’t want to become too dependent on him and wouldn’t know what to do with all the extra time in your day.

it soon became clear there was a boundary not to be crossed, which was not to dig too much into his personal life. if he gave you a curt, general answer to your question, you were not to say anything more about the matter. no one you spoke to about this thought this was too strange, even when you were preparing to get married, because what was there to worry your pretty head about? you love him and he loves you, he was treating you better than a queen, and his wealth spread into your circle of people you cared about with friends getting luxury perfumes and parents getting first-class tickets to wherever they wanted. in a way, they didn’t want to ask any more questions if it meant angering him and possibly not having these things anymore.

you never liked it, but he never cared about it. they were just trivial things and he was perfectly fine with sharing what he had, or at least, that’s what he told you. it was mainly to ensure he was well-liked among them and no one would ever try to come between you.

the only people who ever did were a few snakes parading as your friends trying to steal him away from you, trying to seduce him, and getting too close for his comfort. you were too sweet to notice and always forgave it if you did, but he noticed their lingering eyes and was disgusted. it was the one time he allowed his mask to slip, calling them out for being human garbage with a polite smile on his face as they gasped in shock. if they tried to cry to you about how awful he was to them, he simply told you the truth and encouraged you to cut them off which you always did.

the garden he carefully cultivated of a normal domestic life was flourishing. you were so captivated by the colorful flowers he planted and the butterflies pollinating them that you didn’t notice how dirty his gloved hands were when ripping out anything that didn’t belong like weeds trying to sprout through the soil. he was always sure to take them off and discard them afterward, never daring to touch you with the sins of his life outside of you.

then you fell pregnant after months of trying, and while he was overjoyed at first with renovations in mind to turn one of the extra rooms into a nursery, there was an unease in him wondering if the child would turn out like him: a remorseless psychopath who would one day kill his own father as he did his. he would later by a few books about parenting, hoping that he could prevent that type of future.

time flew by and he hadn’t killed anyone in a while although he was still complicit in hundreds of deaths a year. his violent urges slowly calmed and his hand was only raised during ddakji matches, but even then, they were more gentle than before (which meant that they still stung and made their face swell up, but it was an improvement when in the past, he would sometimes hit them so hard that they could taste blood on their tongue). 

the effects of being a husband and soon-to-be father were changing who he was at his very core, but it didn’t change everything he’s already done.

he was stupid to think he could have such a picture-perfect life with the woman he loved after everything. for someone who meticulously plans out things down to each syllable of the words he spoke, he didn’t have the foggiest idea what to do once he was found out.

the law couldn’t touch him, but he didn’t care about the law, he cared about you and your unborn child. 

he ran his hand through his messy dark locks, sighing in frustration trying to think of a solution as he dug around the kitchen until he fished out an entire bottle of wine. he could manipulate himself out of this situation as he had done countless times before, he’s a snake with a forked silver tongue who could easily get his way just by flickering it, but the thought of lying to you again broke his once unfeeling heart. it would never be the same way again with your relationship tainted with distrust. the truth would have to come out eventually.

oh god, but what would he do without you? 

before he could begin to spiral for the fourth time that day about what would happen if you left him, the familiar sound of a keypad being pressed and the front door being unlocked. he froze in place, not expecting you to come back at that very moment�� but he wasn’t sure what he was expecting. he wasn’t sure of anything, simply staring at you when you caught him hunched over the counter drinking straight from a bottle of wine and looking like a child whose mom just caught him sneaking a snack at two in the morning.

“oh god, i leave for a day and you’re already a wreck, what happened to the ki-yong who’s always put together even when it’s raining?” you approached him casually, reaching up to mess around with his hair until he looked more like his usual self. there was an air of awkwardness you tried to hide and was successful for the most part, but he could read you easier than a book. you were nervous around him now, acting with slight fear and carefulness like you were inching around a predator, and even flinched when he hugged you to feel your presence and breathe in your scent. 

you hugged him back after a moment, looking up at him with your voice shaking, “if it’s really… that… then i understand it would be dangerous for you to tell me, so i won’t ask any more questions… i don’t… i don’t want to leave you and leave our child fatherless…”

if you were any other person in the world, he would have smirked at the fact that he didn’t need to bother trying to manipulate you into staying with him. he would have relished his control over you and how you came back in the end, free to continue killing and asking people to play a game with him to satisfy his sadistic desires. 

but you weren’t any other person in the world, you were his wife.

“you really forgive me? after knowing all that?”

“i guess love really does let you look past everything no matter how bad… at least you didn’t cheat on me as my friends suggested, that would be the real unforgivable offense…”

the topic of his occupation never came up again, but he made the choice to resign on account of it no longer fitting with his current lifestyle. the current frontman, who was an old friend of his, looked upon him fondly for his loyalty, thanked him for his service, and was even kind enough to use his connections to find him a new place to work. it was boring by his standards, but it paid well and wasn’t illegal, so he persevered. he now has plenty of things to tell you about his workplace, from the annoying co-worker who keeps showing him the most random unfunny things on the internet to how the coffee shop downstairs wasn’t half bad. mundane things that made you grin when he told you about his day, which was all that mattered to him.

you soon gave birth to a healthy baby girl with his eyes and your smile. the world became a lot brighter, even with all the sleepless nights of her crying and learning how to change diapers. she was a little joy born out of his love for you. 

finally, you’re both doing better, and he no longer has to hide himself away from you.

tag list!! @tric0rd / @solatiiium / @iloveragdollcats / @sugaremedy / @pear-1206 / @orangutanjazz / @boowiththegoo / @knoepfl / @miaasmf / @queenjang21 / @larissa-slays69 / @munch3025 / @qrstarz / @capital-koreasofia / @swiftieee4lifeee / @liliylikescats / @maryyyswift / @vaenys2 / @bane-y-zane / @dynaloy / @chunkzdeluluwife / @everyonelovestay / @tomhollandtoothbrush

there will not be a part three, thank you for reading!!

[sweeterthanficstion]

— all the right reasons || l.s.k

pairing: older!rockstar!leon x popstar!fem!reader

tags: music au, set in 2011, leon is a rockstar (obviously), and reader is a popstar (think like, sabrina carpenter type). rivals to lovers, lots and lots of shitty banter, feelings are CAUGHT!, really bad music related puns, MDNI 18+, unprotected p in v, reader rides that dick into next weeeek, vaginal fingering, lots and lots of dirty talk too. sappy ending <3

summary: You're a sugarplum tabloid darling who's making headlines across the globe, he's a tried and true rockstar who's a household name. Leon S. Kennedy was just another thorn in your side. Until he wasn't. He’s older, meaner, and too good with his hands. You’re supposed to hate him. So why do you feel like you’re falling in love?

word count: 8.4k

a/n: omg... so like... hi again... it's been a while!! i dragged myself out of the depressive pit that is trying to date real men and reminded myself of what REALLY matters (writing fanfiction of men who don't exist) so that's how i'm back here, lmao.

also, BIGGEST thank you's to my gorgeous girls vivi and lea for offering to beta read and leaving the silliest, funniest comments and feedback

anyway enjoy asshole-older-rockstar leon, he's stolen my heart and i want to [REDACTED] [REDACTED] [REDACTED]... i've been shot 47 times

playlist⭑masterlist⭑AO3

You never liked Leon Kennedy.

He’s always been bark and bite, broody and callous. All whiskey breath and tired denim and the kind of stubble that looked more like laziness than effort. Too jaded. Too old. His time has come and gone, and still, somehow, he was headlining festivals, charting on billboards, signing tits.

You’d met him twice before you ever really spoke. Once at an awards afterparty, where he didn’t even look at you when you said hi—just brushed past with a half-hearted “sorry, sweetheart,” before disappearing into a crowd of laughing industry men. The second time, backstage at some benefit concert. He’d been in the wings, watched you be hurried past in a blur of glitter and gold, murmured something you can only imagine was unsavoury under his breath.

So yeah. You weren’t exactly dying to be his friend.

Which is why it’s so fucking inconvenient that your first real single is now under the same label as his—why you pass each other in the hallway at Capitol every other week, the scent of his cologne arriving before he does, heavy and heady and masculine.

But you’re not stupid either. You knew who he was long before you ever stood in the same room as him. You knew the album that broke him, the single that went triple platinum, the first stadium he sold out. You knew the way critics talked about his guitar playing like it was something they’d never seen before. You might’ve even had a crumpled tour shirt buried somewhere in your closet from high school, but that was a long time ago. That was before you learned what it meant when people said never meet your heroes.

But still there were moments, little things that made you reconsider. Once, at the label offices, he held the elevator door open for you even though you were halfway across the hallway. He didn’t look at you when you stepped in. Just said, “You gonna hit the button or stand there all night?” but his voice had been warmer than you expected.

And maybe it’s all in your head. Maybe he’s not thinking about you at all. Maybe he’s just that kind of man—coated in disinterest, carved out of concrete. Still, there’s something behind the way he looks at you that you still haven’t quite figured out.

It’s midnight when Leon finds the fork in the road that decides his fate.

It’s the voice of an angel that seals it.

He’s not even supposed to be standing in the liminal space outside your door and wondering if he should go in. He’s not even meant to be thinking about you at all.

He was thinking about the rain. About how he’d failed to remember an umbrella, about how his car smells like mildew and the CD player is still shot. About how he hasn’t written a decent song in six months. His manager had so kindly told him to go home, sleep it off, stop showing up to the label’s building like a ghost to its haunt.

And fuck if he’s already had his fill with the shitty elevator. Leon’s busy jamming the buttons to the ground floor, stuck on the second, when he hears it.

A pretty litany of sun-soaked lyrics that spills into the hallway and the elevator the same way the light from the half-opened door does.

That’s how he finds himself here: standing outside your studio door, staring at the plaque with your name engraved in gold like it’s daring him to knock.

He doesn’t. Just opens it.

“Didn’t know they let you keep the studio past your bedtime.”

It’s a joke. Kinda. He winces halfway through delivery, like he hears it too late. Nose scrunching like he didn’t mean it, and truthfully he doesn’t think he did. God, Kennedy, didn’t anyone teach you to think before you speak?

You flinch—just a little—eyes snapping open as you pull off the headphones. The track dies in your ears, and the silence feels abrupt, almost rude, like it’s been interrupted mid-confession.

You glance over your shoulder. Leon stands in the threshold looking exactly like he always does—leather jacket, dark jeans, stubble that's a little more dirty than charmingly rugged. He could be anywhere else. He should be anywhere else. And yet.

Your brow lifts, unimpressed. “Didn’t know they let you out of the retirement home either. Should I call someone?”

Leon scoffs. “I’m not geriatric.”

“Sure.” And you turn back to the soundboard like he doesn’t exist.

He stands there, lips pursed like he doesn’t quite know what to do with himself.

“So… what was that?” he asks.

You sigh like it costs you. Slip the headphones off and let them settle around your neck. “A song. You’re familiar, yes?”

Leon rolls his eyes. “Plenty. You’ve got a smart mouth, kid.”

You grin, all teeth. “Thanks.”

He lets that hang in the silence for a beat, then has the bright idea to push off the doorway. He wanders in and makes himself at home in your space. His boot grazes a stack of scribbled sheet music, and he nudges it aside with his toe like he’s being polite. Then he drops onto your couch without asking—moves a cushion, spreads his knees, settles like it’s shared property.

You shoot him a look. “Comfortable?”

Leon shrugs. “Your feng shui needs work.”

“What do you want?” You finally ask, defeated.

He nods toward the board. “Play it.”

You blink. “What?”

“The song. Play it.”

“You’re really bad at this, y’know.”

“At what?”

“Basic human interaction. Hospitality. Small talk.”

He blinks, caught off-guard like he’s never been told that a day in his life.

“Sorry,” you say sweetly. “Too honest?”

“Play the damn song.”

You raise a brow. “Magic word?”

Leon just stares.

You sigh, press spacebar. The track tumbles out of the speakers, raw and half-finished. It holds for a moment, teeters, then collapses—unfinished and unsatisfying. You pull your headphones off with a huff. Leon thinks it's cute.

The weight of his gaze burns a hole into your back, makes heat crawl up your spine. You glance at him when it gets too much. “What?”

“I didn’t say anything,” he hums.

“Felt like you wanted to.”

He laughs a little then, like the meekness to your voice is amusing. “I was just gonna say it’s close.” He murmurs, “But it’s stuck.”

You exhale through your nose, lean back in your chair, swivel from left to right. “No shit.”

You don’t see him move as much as you hear him, the creak of the aged leather couch, before there’s the familiar dull ring of your guitar.

“You don’t mind, do you?” He asks as he slips into the second chair next to yours, you try to ignore the way your skin prickles when his knee knocks yours.

“Mi casa, su casa,” you sigh defeatedly, his lips quirk and you find yourself smiling against your will.

Leon decides your song just needs some weight to it. Typical of him. All his music has weight. A smoky, heady bass, a sexy guitar, heavy drums, but what he plays for you is none of that.

Yes, it holds weight, but a different one to what you pinned him for. It carries something gentler, softer chords that fill your lungs with exactly the type of yearning you were aiming for. 

You pause. “That’s…”

“Exactly what you wanted?”

You nudge his knee with your own, hit record on the soundboard, “do it again.”

And so it begins. 

You find that Leon isn’t so bad when he’s writing music with you. In fact, within the four soundproof walls of your studio, he’s almost nice. He listens when you tell him to change a chord. He lets you needle him, prod at his composure like you’re tuning a guitar string too tight just to hear it snap.

Most nights you’re in the studio until the twilight hours before sunrise. You stay until your voice is worn ragged, fingers blistered from overuse. Until your limbs give out and you’ve passed out in the swivel chair, curled up like a cat in the glow of LED strips and mixing boards. You always wake to something left behind—a lukewarm cup of coffee, a half-drunk energy drink, sometimes the old throw blanket draped over your shoulders. It’s a rhythm now, syncopated and strange, yet something you’ve grown fond of.

It’s only inevitable, the way you grow closer with time. 

“Don’t lie sweetheart,” he murmurs one night in the hush of your studio, “I think I’m growing on you.”

“Like black mold.” you shoot back, but the grin tugging at your lips betrays you.

And it’s just all too easy to think about him when he's not there.

You remember watching his set from the wings at that summer festival—the first time you’d shared a stage. The downpour had been terrible and insistent his entire performance, rain slicking his thread-bare shirt to his skin, turning his hair dark and wild. He’d looked like straight up sex appeal, sweat and storm and strobe lights, and you’d had to physically stop yourself from reaching for him when he walked offstage.

He’d smelt like a thunderstorm, heady as he’d squeezed your shoulders like he was grateful, damp and buzzing with leftover adrenaline. “How’d I do?”

“Not bad, rockstar,” you’d said, but your voice had come out all soft.

Now he lives in your notebooks.

That’s the real inevitability of it, you think. Unreleased verses tucked between grocery lists and studio appointments. Lyrics written in the haze of 2 a.m., voice notes left half-sung on your phone, songs you’ll never show him during your secret writing sessions.

They’re not the kind of songs you should be writing.

They’re laced with want—velvet and teeth, obsessive and desperate. They don’t sound like you, not the way your label wants you to. They’re darker, sultrier, leave you flushed when you play them back. 

It’s not like you mean to write them about him. They just come out that way. Something about the way his voice sounds when he's two glasses of whiskey in and recounting a silent film he’d watched three fortnights ago. They’re all pent up tension—the way he pretty much knows his way around your apartment now, well enough to find where you keep the good wine anyway, the way his fingers move over the fretboard of his Paul Reed Smith with a guitar pick between his teeth, the phantom weight of his palm on your lower back when he passes by you.

You bottle every look, every breathy half-laugh, every fleeting moment where you wonder what his hands would feel like if they dipped lower.

Your songs are about him, yes, and they’re for him, in all the infuriating ways you wish they weren’t.

So naturally, the smartest thing to do is keep them buried—demo files hidden in unlabeled folders, notebooks tucked behind equipment cases. Off-limits. Confidential. A bomb waiting to go off. 

At least, until tonight.

You’re curled up on the studio couch, Leon’s out at some fancy party tonight, said he couldn't write. There’s a half-empty bottle of wine and the glow of your laptop screen to keep you company, but it’s not enough not the same without him.

There’s a particular song that haunts you. It’s a confession wrapped in delicate ribbons of sultry melodies. Your voice a touch away from a moan, lyrics that dance around his name.

You shouldn’t have written it. 

Definitely shouldn’t have recorded it either.

And now you find yourself hovering over the file like it’s taunting you.

Maybe you can blame it on the buzz in your veins, or the way you’d caught his eye earlier that morning in the breakroom. He’d looked at you over the rim of his mug, winked at you like he could read you. You curse yourself under your breath at the memory. He totally knows he’s getting to you. You’d dropped the I-hate-you act three moves back.

So you drag-and-drop the demo. Chew your lip. Hit send.

Check and mate.

But by the time you’ve sobered up enough to panic, it’s already much too late.

Seven minutes. He texts back, and it sounds nearly like a threat.

Bad, bad, bad idea. No, actually, bad doesn’t even begin to encapsulate how horrific of an idea that was. A category-five hurricane of a mistake. 

What were you thinking? 

Well, clearly you weren’t.

You clamber to your feet, pace barefoot on the studio carpet, wearing a frantic path into the fibres. Back and forth, back and forth. Damage control is like a roulette wheel spinning in your mind, you could delete the message, a phone malfunction, yes, totally. Your label leaked it by accident, or it’s just one big elaborate joke.

Or, or— and this is the best one yet, you could change your name, dye your hair, move to another country where six-time award winning rockstars with stupid voices and stupid fingers on guitars don’t exist.

You’re halfway through plotting your escape through the window when the door clicks open exactly seven minutes later.

You startle like a deer in headlights, eyes wide when they snap up to the man of the hour—to Leon— and your stomach drops clean through the floor.

“You drive fast,” is what you manage. Leon clicks the door shut behind him.

His hair’s an artful mess, like he’s either run his hand through it a million times on the drive here, or just rolled out of bed. You like the former option so you pretend it’s that. His shoulders look tense, jaw tight, and his eyes—dark, sharp, dragging over you like he’s trying to see right through you.

His eyes flick to the littered coffee table, your notebook, the bottle of wine that looks at least a quarter drained.

Something strange flickers in his gaze, and for a minute you paint him as disappointed. 

Oh. You realise, with startling clarity, that he thinks you’re wasted.

It’s like a light at the end of the tunnel, a saving grace. It’d be an easy way out, wouldn’t it? Oops, Leon, sorry, wasn’t in my right mind, don’t even remember sending it, haha, how embarrassing!

But you’re not, at least not anymore, you’re standing in front of him with unfortunate sobriety. 

“Are you drunk?” He asks, voice low and rough around the edges.

Your mouth falls open, as if you’ve been scandalised. “Uh, rude?” You gesture wildly to the wine, then yourself. “I had two drinks, max. I am perfectly—” you take a dramatic step forward, stop, then another, arms out like you're proving a sobriety test, “—-fine.”

Leon doesn’t budge, stands there with his brows cinched like he’s in deep thought. It gives you space to take the upper hand back, if it was ever yours in the first place. “You, on the other hand,” you point an accusatory finger across the room, “are looking at me like I crashed your car or something.”

You might as well have with the way you have his heart hammering up his throat. He hates it, how you make him lose his carefully crafted cool. Being this nonchalant doesn’t come easy.

His tongue swipes over his teeth. And fuck him, because that shouldn’t be so distracting.

“Fine,” he starts, slow, “you wanna play dumb?’

“M’not dumb, it’s called being coy,” you hum, all too self satisfied.

Leon lets out a short breath of laughter, sharp, shakes his head and turns away like he needs to physically remove himself from you before he does something stupid.

And you should leave it there, because his buttons are officially pushed, yet you don’t feel familiar satisfaction curl around your chest like it should. “If this is about the song—”

His head tips, just slightly. “If?”

You swallow. “I mean—”

He scoffs. Sharp. Disbelieving. Runs a thumb over his lips. “If this is about the song,” he repeats, like he can’t believe you even tried that.

You open your mouth, then close it, then open it again. "I—"

“Don’t,” he mutters. “Drop it.”

Your jaw shuts, and it takes less than a second for Leon to close the distance between you, effectively stealing all the air from your lungs. You resist the urge to back away, to give him that satisfaction, even when your body screams at you to. Not out of fear, but because he’s looking at you like he can finally see right through you.

"You sent it to me first," he says, quiet, but sure. His eyes flick down, over your lips, your throat, back up.

Your stomach turns, and you force yourself to bite back your words, despite how hard they are to swallow.

“And I wanted to believe you were drunk when you sent it,” he says, voice rougher now than before, “would’ve been easier that way.”

You shift your weight, but don’t bow your head. “Easier?”

Your gaze flickers to where his jaw flexes. "Would’ve been a mistake, then. Would’ve meant I could just forget about it."

Forget about it. That shouldn’t sting.

You shrug, aiming for nonchalance, but your voice comes out quieter than you mean it to. "So forget about it."

His voice, that stupid calibre of his, drops to something even lower, something  barely above a whisper. 

"You really want me to?"

Your breath stutters. He takes your loss of words as an answer.

His fingers brush against your wrist, deft hands circle around the bone, his thumb brushing up against your pulse. Your skin burns where his finger’s graze. His other hand skims up your other arm, brushes against your jaw, and it’s so soft, tentative in a way that makes you shudder, an oxymoron to the storm brewing in his eyes. 

“Tell me,” he murmurs, “if I kiss you right now, are you gonna pretend you don’t want it?”

The question hangs in the space between, thick like tar.

It’s only when his thumb brushes against your cheek, that you feel your restraint, thin as hair, give. Slowly—so slowly—you tilt your chin up, just a fraction, just enough to close the distance so that your lips ghost over his, an echo of a kiss, but not quite one. Your move, rockstar.

It’s a thread-thin dangerous thing that sets his jaw tight, he inhales sharply, and you swear you see him tremble. 

You laugh softly at that, sweet as ever.

Leon caves.

His hand shifts, curls around the nape of your neck, pulls you flush and slots his lips against yours. 

The press of his mouth is warm, wanting, firm and demanding. 

But then you smile against his lips—satisfied, smug, victorious—and he groans something devastated.

It’s a low, deep, wrecked sort of sound, something that comes right from his chest, heavy with everything unsaid. His other hand finds your waist, squeezes tight, feels your skin give under his hold, like you’re finally his to keep and he can’t quite get enough. 

“Minx,” he mutters, breathless frustration bleeding into his words.

You revel in it, your skin erupting in goosebumps.

His hand tightens around the back of your neck, tilting your head just so—like he’s determined to kiss that satisfaction right off your lips.

Spoiler: he won’t.

Because you kiss him back just as fiercely, just as insistently, pressing up on your toes like you need to get closer, like you could crawl inside his skin if he let you. 

Your hands curl around his shoulders, move up to the junction where they meet the column of his throat, tangle in the hair at the nape of his neck. You tug and he lets out something that sounds dangerously close to a moan.

And you wonder if he hates this, how easily he unravels for you, how easily you undo him. It’s like you’ve been sent right from heaven to torture him.

His hands find the curve of your waist, skate down the warmth of your skin, the swell of your hips, the back of your thighs, until he’s pressing in, guiding you backward—steady, steady—until the backs of your knees hit the couch. 

Your balance wavers.

“Careful,” he murmurs, half-amused like this is funny to him.

He doesn’t give you the grace of finding your footing, pressing forward until you’ve sunk into the cushions.

Leon stands there for a second, looking down at you, eyes heavy-lidded, dark with something that makes heat coil in your stomach. He drags a hand over his mouth, like he’s trying to wipe away whatever impulse is written across his face. Like it might be something reckless, ruining. 

Then, he exhales. Sharp and quiet, he sinks to his knees in the space between your legs, a sight so devastating you forget to breathe. 

Broad hands wrap around the plush of your thighs, fingers pressing half-moon divots into your skin. 

“Look at you,” he murmurs, half to himself, half to you, something dangerously close to adoration lacing his words. His thumb brushes absently along the sensitive skin just above your knee, gaze tracking the way your breath shudders. Ruining, indeed.

And then—oh, then— his palm slips to hook underneath your knee, pulls your leg over his shoulder. You suck in a sharp breath, unable to tear your gaze away from his; bright blue eyes that sparkle something wondrous in the low light. 

You try to handle yourself, lest he watch you fall apart from a simple look. “If you think I’m just gonna melt the second you put your hands on me, you’re—” Your breath unfortunately hitches the second his grip tightens around your thigh, makes your pulse jump.

He raises a brow, infuriatingly smug, like he’s daring you to finish that sentence.

You clear your throat. “—you’re sorely mistaken.”

Leon huffs out a laugh, low and knowing. “Sorely?”

You fruitlessly dig your heel into his back, a half-attempt at a kick, a half-attempt at saving some of your dignity. “Yes, sorely.”

His hands slide up in a wordless answer—dragging his nails back down your thigh, nosing at the soft fat, pressing his mouth against the skin. The brush of his lips alone unravels you enough that you can’t muster an appropriate response, shivering, sighing instead.

“Someone’s quiet,” he muses lazily, drags his teeth just barely along your skin before soothing the spot with his tongue. “Where’d all that attitude go?”

You scowl before you can stop yourself. “It’s recalculating.”

A shit-eating smirk tugs at the corner of his mouth, “Yeah?” He does it again, open-mouthed this time, sucks supple flesh between his lips, bites, pulls away. “Let me know when it’s back."

Your chest feels like it’s on fire, so instead, your hands find the broad line of his shoulders, curl into the fabric of his shirt, and pull him up by the collar. He follows without much give, your thigh falls off his shoulder when he climbs up to press you into the plush cushion, cages you in. And fuck—you don’t think you should be this turned on by his weight atop you, by the heat of him, by that look in his eyes.

You can hear the way your heart pounds, blood rushing in your ears. Can feel it in your fingertips when you drag them down his chest, his stomach, until they catch the hem of his shirt. You push it up enough to reveal the hard muscle of his abdomen. He shudders atop you.

Leon’s lips are back on yours before you can even think to be smug about it, before the teasing grin can curl at the corner of your lips. It’s hotter now, deeper, tongue sliding against yours like he’s trying to drown you. And in the heat of it, his knee presses between your thighs. You’re not sure if he does it on purpose, if it’s a brilliant accident, but either way it makes you keen, a gasp of pleasant surprise tumbling from your lips.

He groans into your mouth, one hand tightening on your hip. “You sound better than I imagined,” he breathes heavily, and heat floods your face.

You swallow hard. Shut up, shut up, shut up. 

Your heart jumps at the thought of him having imagined this. Having imagined how you sounded, how he would’ve imagined you falling apart. It does horrible things to your head and even worse things to the slick heat between your thighs.

You should have a response by now, something sharp and devastatingly witty, but all you can really focus on is the way he looks at you. Like he’d let you ruin him and call it a privilege. And then he moves, pressing closer, knee pressing up between your thighs more purposefully than before, and whatever witty remark you had queued up promptly exits the premises.

The sound that leaves your mouth is embarrassing. Mortifying, even.

“Oh,” Leon murmurs, voice all smoke and velvet, “there it is.”

You absolutely despise how much you like that, refuse to let him have it. Can’t. Won’t. His ego is slowly swelling to the size of a stadium, and the last thing you need is for him to think he has you all figured out.

So, you do what any self-respecting, prideful person in your position would do: you take the liberty to push at his shoulders, and when he leans back, you seize the opportunity. Grip the front of his shirt, and push him down against the couch. He lets you, laughing under his breath, hands settling easy against your thighs as you straddle his lap.

“Don’t look so smug,” you warn, fingers sliding down, slow and deliberate. His stomach tenses beneath your touch.

“I’m not smug,” he argues, but he’s smiling something devilish—lazy, lopsided, thoroughly enjoying himself. His hands flex against your legs, and you let yourself believe he needs it to ground himself. “Just waiting to see what you’ve got planned.”

Your pulse thrums in your throat, but you play nonchalance better than he gives you credit for. “You got a request?”

“Don’t think I need one,” he says, watching as your hands dip lower, brushing over his belt buckle. “You wrote a song about it, m’sure you have ideas.”

If looks could kill he would be dead, because you’re glaring at him like he’s said something horrific. He is right, but you don’t let him have the satisfaction of hearing you admit it.

Instead, you hook your fingers under the leather, tug just enough to make him suck in a harsh breath. His eyes darken, and it’s thrilling—watching him unravel, shift beneath you.

“Aw, is that all it took?” You coo, pleased beyond words, leaning in close to brush your lips against his jaw. “Usually so put together, doesn’t take much to get you like this, does it?”

Leon huffs a laugh, but goes willingly, tilts his head to let you mouth down his throat. “You wanna talk about falling apart? What was that sound you made just a minute ago?”

You bite down, enough to make him hiss. “Stop talking.”

You can picture the smile that tugs at his thin lips, feel the way his warm, broad palms skim up, under your shirt, pressing into your back, fingers tracing the curve of your spine, slipping under the band of bra.

His belt slips free with a quiet clink, and you savour the way his muscles jump under your hands as you undo the button of his jeans, the steady sound of his shallow breathing when your fingers brush against the sharp line of his hip bone. 

He tries not to push, but you can just about feel the restraining in him, the way his fingers twitch where they rest against your thighs, jaw clenched, muscles tight like a wire pulled taut.

You drag your nails lightly over the plane of his stomach, card your fingers through the thin trail of hair that leads down from his navel, just to see what he does when you do.

Leon sucks in a sharp breath, his head tipping back against the couch, and the sound he makes—low and barely restrained—sends a rush of heat straight through you.

“You’re trying to kill me.” He swears, voice beyond wrecked, and for a second you think he might start begging for mercy. 

“No,” you hum, tilting your head, hands running up his chest, under his shirt. “Just having fun.”

Leon laughs—all breathless, shaky around the edges. But there’s something desperate in the way he exhales, in the way his hips shift up just barely like he’s fighting every instinct to meet you halfway.

There must be a devil on your shoulder, he thinks, because you make it worse.

Your hips roll down, testing, barely any pressure, but enough he feels it. His breath punches out of him like you’ve knocked the wind from his lungs. His fingers dig into your thighs, desperation in his grip.

His head falls forward, eyes flicking up to meet yours, and fuck, you really weren’t prepared for how he looks at you—half-lidded, dark with something simmering just beneath the surface.

“You enjoying yourself?” he asks, voice low and rough, like it pains him to think too hard.

A grin stretches across your lips, heart thrumming with satisfaction, you’ve won, you think, made him fall to pieces without even touching him properly. 

But then he exhales sharply through his nose, takes your hand.

He presses it to his chest, right over his heart—fast, heavy, pounding. 

“You feel that?” His voice is low, his other hand, still on your back, coaxes you closer. Close enough your lips brush. “You did that.”

You let out a shaky breath, Leon curses because he thinks he finally has you breaking.

You didn’t expect him to do that, to let his walls come down and show you just how much you affect him. Didn’t think he’d pull the rug from under your feet and admit defeat in one fell swoop. He looks at you like he actually wants you, not just the game of it, not just for the win.

He wants you. 

…You want him.

Leon watches your face like he’s waiting for you to stop him, but when you don’t, when your lips part like you’re about to ask for something, maybe even beg—he decides.

He leans up, closes the short space between you, and kisses you deep and slow. Like you’re the best thing he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. He doesn’t rush, nor does he fumble. Just touches you like he means it. Like he really has thought about this more than he’s willing to admit.

His fingers push at the hem of your shirt, sliding up your ribs, pulls the fabric off like it’s nothing. And when your body trembles against his, he swears to himself he’d do just about anything for you.

He lets you tug his jeans lower, helps you. His hands are steady, careful when he presses against the fabric of your underwear.

Leon watches your face, watches the way your lips fall open, breath uneven, the way your fingers tighten in his shirt, and then—

Then you make a sound so sweet, so utterly wrecked that his resolve snaps like a thread pulled too tight.

“Christ,” he mutters, like it physically pains him, and then he’s kissing you twice as hard as before, deep and wanting, swallowing every breath, every soft noise, every shaky exhale.

His fingers press firmer, so, so eager, willing to coax any sound out of you that you’ll let him. Your hands curl at his shoulders, hips bucking deftly against his palm.

“Leon, Leon, Leon,” you murmur, breathless and shaking, spilling his name into his own mouth.

He stills just barely, and fuck, it wrecks him—he doesn’t know if it’s the way you say it, like he’s something sacred, or the fact that you’re coming undone just for him.

“C’mon, sweetheart,” he whispers, pulling away even if it kills him, pressing warm lips against your jaw. “Gotta use your words.”

You blink up at him, dazed. “Don’t baby me.”

His mouth twitches. “You don’t want me to baby you?”

You want to tell him everything. That you want him to touch you like this, and talk to you like that, but also see you, really see you. Want him to want all of it—not just your body, not just the thrill of it, but the gentler parts too. The parts of you that ache when he leaves the room. The parts that want to believe someone like him could care that deeply.

“I want—” you start, then stop, teeth sinking into your lip.

He softens. Just a bit. Just enough. 

“Alright, sweetheart,” he murmurs. “Tell me how you want it.”

Your throat works around the words. You reach down, let your fingers trace along the waistband of his boxers, and look him dead in the eyes.

“Wanna ride you.” You whisper, voice is thin with adrenaline and want.

Leon groans like it’s been punched out of him. “Fuck. Jesus. Shit.”

You grin, all teeth, trying to ease the gravity in your chest. “Oh, c’mon, rockstar. I’m sure that’s not the first time you’ve had a girl say that before.”

He huffs out something like a laugh. “S’different,” he says quietly.

You’re too scared to ask how.

So instead, you kiss him like it’ll shut out the question. Like you can pour your want into his mouth and he’ll take it, keep it, like your secret's tucked somewhere between your teeth and if he’s patient enough, if he presses hard enough, he’ll find it there.

Leon groans into it, hands dragging along the curve of your waist, your hips. His palms are firm there, like he’s claiming something, like he’s grounding you both.

“You ride me,” he murmurs against your lips, “and I swear I’m not gonna last long.”

“Aw,” you tease, all syrup and heat, brushing your nose against his, “poor baby.”

He bites your bottom lip in retaliation, gentle but pointed, and you gasp.

“I’ll make it worth your while,” you whisper, fingers curling in the fabric of his shirt before finally, finally, dragging it up, over his head, revealing sweat-warmed skin that you wish you could lick clean with your tongue.

Unfortunately, there doesn’t seem to be much more time to waste. Leon’s handsiness, you’ve discovered, is both a curse and a gift—he can’t seem to stop touching you, and you’re in no hurry to make him. 

He helps you shimmy out of your underwear, breath catching when you’re bare before him. He drinks you in, staring like a man praying for patience. Then you sit back slightly, thighs spread over his lap, and he does it again, that mouth of his.

“God, look at you,” he mutters, like he can’t believe his luck. “You’re unreal.”

It makes your head swim, the way he says it.

In hindsight, you should’ve taken more time, wish you’d used your hand to stroke his length until he was begging for more, but the heady haze of sex-soup your brain is swimming in doesn’t leave you much choice. You’ll get him next time, you decide.

So instead you hide the flush of your cheeks with the sink of your hips, and you think it just about does it. Leon groans like it knocks the wind from him, his head tips back against the couch, throat bared, lashes fluttering.

The stretch is deep, thick, just shy of overwhelming. It steals your breath and then your balance, and you fall forward, catching yourself on his chest. He’s warm there. Bare skin and heart beneath your palms, his pulse kicking against your fingertips like it might leap out and run to you.

“Fuck— God you’re warm. You’re so warm,” he mumbles, and it’s so hot and heavy it makes you blush hard enough you feel it in your ears, your chest, your thighs.

“Romantic,” you breathe against his jaw, trying for wit but inevitably melting into the moment.

He huffs out a laugh, half-amused, half-ruined. “Mouth on you.”

“You like it.”

“Unfortunately,” he grits out, squeezing your thighs. “You gonna move or just sit there lookin’ pretty?”

He feels you grin against the column of his throat first, then feels you roll your hips sickeningly slowly second.

“Christ,” he moans obscenely, fingers digging into your skin. “You’re—fuck. This is a bad idea.”

You pant, shake your head. “I think we’re way past bad ideas.”

Leon’s hand slides up your back, catches at the nape of your neck, forces your mouth back to his like he needs to taste your smugness. You feel him twitch inside you when you moan into the kiss—high and desperate, something wild climbing up your throat.

“You sound so sweet when you’re full of me,” he murmurs against your lips, and it’s awful, the way your body clenches down at the filth of it. “All that smartass attitude, but now you’re just—” he cuts himself off with a groan, “—fuckin’ whimpering.”

“Shut up.”

“Make me.”

Your hand finds the back of his neck, you tighten your grip in his hair and drop your hips again, slower this time, grinding until he groans like you’ve punched the air out of him. You want to crawl inside him, disappear beneath his skin.

“Pretty girl,” he says, low and reverent. “You sound so fuckin’ sweet.”

You whimper at that. Your rhythm stutters.

Leon finds it really doesn’t take much to melt your poor brain. You’re already gone—thighs trembling, mouth open, whimpering nonsense between the slick drag of your hips. He takes advantage where he can, thrusts up into you with a force that makes you hiccup on a wet moan. Cute, cute, cute. 

“Leon,” you whisper, voice thin and cracked and ruined. You’re not sure what you’re asking for. More? Less? Everything?

“Yeah, baby,” he breathes, eyes glassy as they flick between your face and where your bodies meet. “Feels good, huh?”

God, his voice. You want to drown in the low timber that rattles through your head when he speaks like that. And of course, you nod. Desperate, mindless, somewhere between obsession and devotion. Your nails dig half-moons into the meat of his shoulders, your hips rocking pitifully.

“Can’t—can’t think,” you admit, a choked sound riding the edge of a sob.

Leon lets out a sharp breath through his nose, swears under it. “Good.” His voice is hoarse, fraying at the edges. “Don’t wanna hear you think. Just wanna hear you come.”

“Yours,” you whisper without thinking, tears burning and cresting your pretty lashes. “Yours, yours, yours—”

“That’s it,” he groans, “My girl.”

Your head jerks slightly, like the words ripple straight through you.

“Your girl?” you echo, dazed, like it floated up out of your mouth before your brain could catch it.

He doesn’t answer—not with words. Just thrusts up into you slow and deep, like he can fuck the truth back into you. Kisses you like you’ve ruined him completely. 

And just like that, it’s all too much.

The rhythm you’ve managed to keep starts to splinter, your movements losing precision. You’re clinging to him, breath coming in hot, wet gasps, thighs shaking, body screaming for that last push.

Leon feels it. Sees it in your face.

“You gonna come for me?” he pants, hands sliding down, down, gripping the back of your thighs as you lift and drop, roll and press. “You gonna soak my cock like a good fuckin’ girl?”

“Don’t wanna yet,” you whisper, but it’s fragile, a lie at best. You’re already falling apart.

He groans like you’ve stabbed him. “Jesus, you’re killing me. I haven’t fucked you stupid enough yet, huh?”

His hand slides down, fingers finding your clit, circling slow and punishing.

You arch into him with a cry, loud and unfiltered, every inch of you unraveling.

“There she is,” he breathes, reverent and wild-eyed, watching you fall to pieces on top of him. “God, baby. Just like that.”

“You’re bein’ mean,” You whine, words all slurred, as the tears begin to well and dribble down the pretty apples of your cheeks.

“Oh, angel,” He coos, and god you really do hate how smug he gets. “Me? Mean? You wound me, pretty.”

“Shut up,” you pant, whining high and rutting hopelessly against him. 

“C’mon,” he pants, thumb still working lazy circles against the throb of your clit, “I wanna feel you beg for it.”

It’s cruel. Cruel, the way he says it—rasped out like a curse, like it’s the last thing he’ll ever ask for. His hand is steady even as his breath breaks apart. He’s wrecked. Close. You can feel it in the way he shakes under you, in the stutter of his hips against yours. 

You giggle helplessly into the crook of his neck.

His thumb presses firmer, tight figure eights.

“Leon—!” your voice catches on a sob, you’re so close it’s dizzying, so wet and full and tense that your whole body tightens like a string about to snap. “Can’t—too much—”

“Too much?” he echoes, low and amused, and god, it shouldn’t sound so tender. “Thought you said you didn’t wanna come yet. Changed your mind?”

You nod before you can stop yourself, head lolling as your hips rut down in frantic little circles, chasing the friction.

He groans at the sight, palm spreading wide across your spine like he’s trying to hold you together. “Fuckin’ knew it. Talk big, but look at you now—makin’ a mess on me.”

One arm tightens around your waist, locking you down, and the other braces at your back as he thrusts up into you again—deeper now, sharper, fucking the air right out of your lungs.

You keen, and he laughs—breathy and soft and so fucking fond that it breaks you open.

“Look at you.” He noses at your cheek. “You’re outta your mind.”

You are. You really are. And it’s all him. The heat of him, the rough scrape of his voice, the way he touches you like you’re something to worship and ruin in the same breath.

“Gonna come,” you choke out, breath hitching as your thighs start to shake. “Please—Leon, please—”

“Fuck,” he groans, and his hips stutter. “Go on, baby. Let go. You’ve been so good for me.”

That’s all it takes. The words hit like a match to gasoline. Your whole body seizes—tight and trembling and gasping as your climax crashes over you like a wave, dragging a whine out of your throat that doesn’t sound human.

Leon holds you through it, rocking you through every pulse, every shudder. He murmurs something into your skin, something quiet and unintelligible, and then he follows—his body locking up beneath you, his breath catching.

“Fuck—fuck,” he hisses, head tipped back, mouth open. You feel the heat of him inside you, feel the full-body tremor that wrecks him. He’s still buried deep, still gripping you like he’ll fall apart if he lets go.

It’s a long moment before either of you moves.

You can feel his heartbeat against your chest, wild and unsteady. 

“You alright?” he asks after a minute, voice low and rough around the edges.

You nod, cheek resting heavy against his shoulder, still trembling even when he eases you back. Your body feels like it’s been rung out, soaked in sugar, nerves singing somewhere between pleasure and disbelief.

Your fingers twitch where they rest against his chest, and you murmur something against his neck—something nonsensical, vowels dragging like honey.

“What was that?” he asks, voice hoarse but amused, his hand smoothing over your back, tracing your spine like a secret.

“Dunno,” you mumble, “I think I saw God.”

Leon huffs a laugh. “You talk a lot.”

You don’t respond, just hum again, lost in the float of it—too far gone to be embarrassed, too fucked out to pretend you’re not still clenching around him. You feel him begin to shift, and what starts as a delighted little hum, turns to protest, a whimper slipping from your lips before you can think to stop it when you realise he’s pulling out.

“No,” you whisper, eyes glassy, fingers curling weakly at his wrist like maybe you could keep him there. “Wait—Leon—mmph.”

His laugh is breathy, wrecked. “That good, huh?”

You glare, or try to. It’s weak at best. “Don’t—don’t be mean to me.”

“You’re the one whining.”

“You made me whine,” you grumble, but it comes out slurred, a little dreamy.

Leon grins like he’s won the lottery. He’s still so close, and maybe the way his hands are smoothing over your thighs, up your hips, dragging the touch out like he can’t stand to stop can make up for how empty you feel now.

He has no shame when he cups between your thighs again and presses two fingers there, slow and lazy, you jolt. “Leon—”

He hums, smug. “Messy,” he murmurs, fingers slipping between your folds. “Look at what you let me do to you.”

You shiver hard, half from oversensitivity, half from the way his voice drips with possessiveness. You’re too blissed out to argue, too soft to push him away. Especially when he slides one of those fingers back in, just enough.

You gasp. “Ohhhhh,” you sigh, all delight and dazed affection.

You squirm against him a little helplessly, make a face when you feel him push a little deeper, like he’s guiding what’s left of himself back into you. Your head tips back with a helpless sound.

“Leon—what the fuck?”

He has the audacity to look smug. “What? Can’t let any of it go to waste.”

“Gross,” you whine, trying and failing to wiggle away. He keeps you right there, hands firm but fond, and you know, deep in your bones, that you don’t really want to go anywhere but where he is.

He offers you a real clean-up after your thighs have stopped shaking, drives you back to your place and walks you to the door like a gentleman. It feels all too sweet for the type of night you’ve had, and every part of you wishes this won’t be the last of them.

You half expect him to say something—to ask to come in, or kiss you goodnight, or at least promise to see you again.

But he just smiles. Nods. Taps two fingers to his temple in a lazy salute.

“Night, sweetheart.”

Then he’s gone.

And in the warm lull of dawn, with your sheets still cold and your heart beating somewhere between your ribs and your throat, you wonder what to do with the ache of him still lingering under your skin.

So when morning properly comes—sun high, coffee half-sipped, hair still tangled from the night before—you call.

Just to see if he’ll pick up. Just to hear the line connect.

It rings once.

Twice.

And then you hang up in a panic.

You curse under your breath. Call yourself a hundred kinds of idiot. Your thumb is still hovering over the screen when your phone buzzes in your hand.

Leon Kennedy is calling you.

Shit, shit, shit! You muster whatever dignity you have left, swallow, and answer.

“Sweetheart?” His voice is all sleepy, a little hoarse with morning, makes your heart bloom with warmth. You sink deeper into your mattress at the sound of it, curl into your pillow like it’s his chest.

“Yeah?” you say, like you’re afraid you’ve imagined the whole thing.

“You alright?”

“Mhm.”

“You called?”

“Yeah.”

“Wanna say something?”

You pause to worry your lip between your teeth.

“…No.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. You can hear the rustle of sheets over the line, the sleepy shift of his weight. You picture him in bed—bare chest, tousled hair, phone pressed to his ear, eyes still half-lidded with sleep.

“Alright,” he murmurs.

And then he hangs up.

You stare at your phone, wide-eyed like you can’t believe he really did it. Then you hit call again before you can talk yourself out of it. He answers right away.

“Hi,” you say.

“Hey,” he breathes, voice quiet and curious like a secret. “Couldn’t stay away, huh?”

You roll onto your back, smiling helplessly at the ceiling. “No.”

He chuckles, quiet and fond. “Me neither. Was already thinkin’ about you.”

You close your eyes. “I liked your voice just now.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm.”

“I like yours too,” he says, voice thick. “Sound all soft. Like I should be wakin’ up next to you.”

The room feels warm again, like the night before never ended, whatever figurative line that you’ve drawn in the sand between you seems thinner than ever.

“Maybe next time,” you say softly.

There’s a careful pause. You both hang in the quiet, waiting to see if the moment passes.

“Have you…” he starts, then clears his throat. “Have you eaten yet?”

You shake your head although he can’t see. “No.”

“You want me to bring you something?”

The question bowls you over. It’s too sweet, too easy. Like he’s asked it a hundred times before, like this is just what you do.

“You don’t have to,” you whisper, but the fond curl of your lips slips into your voice and gives you away.

“Didn’t say I had to. Just figured you might want it.” A pause. “Something hot and filling.”

Your throat closes up a little, an uncharacteristic flush to your cheeks. “You mean pancakes?”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Among other things.”

“Leon,” you say his name urgently, too much bubbling to the surface all at once.

“Yeah, sweetheart?”

“You’re being…” You trail off, plucking at the fraying cuff of your sweater, too afraid to name it how it is, to ruin a good thing.

Another pause, you can hear the soft rise and fall of his breath. “I can be soft on you.” He murmurs, “If you let me.”

You press the phone harder to your ear, eyes stinging. “Yeah. I’d like that.”

“Good.” He says finally. Then, “Any coffee left at your place?”

“Only if you make it.”

He chuckles, low and fond. “I’ll be there in twenty.”

likes n reblogs r very much appreciated <3

[h4m1lt0ns]

HEARTBREAK SYNDROME.

episode sixteen :: BABY DEER

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ pairing ︴various drivers x y/n

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ genre ︴social media au / irl snippets

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ summary ﹔y/n finally takes a well deserved break, but leaves everyone with one last song for the year.

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ face claim ﹔ wonyoung jang (28)

꒰꒰◌‧₊ ⬪˙⋆ warnings ﹕ cussing, light angst, none.

t

☆ IMESSAGE with ; BOARD OF DIRECTORS

babygirl alex: wait

babygirl alex: so to summarise what this 3 hour zoom meeting

babygirl alex: HE’S upset because you asked a rational question and decided to push YOU away????

y/n: basically yeah

honey badger: lewis hamilton.

honey badger: lewis hamilton when i catch you

my baby lando: when i fucking catch you lewis hamilton

chal eclair: wtf is his problem

yukino: no like why

PIERRE GASLYYYY: what would push him to even think like this

girlfriend kika: one thing a man will have is the god damn audacity 😒

angel carmen: amen

princess george: exactly

chili!: genuinely what was the reason

papaya baby #2: y/n are you okay?

y/n: no

y/n: that actually fucking hurt me

babygirl alex: my poor baby 💔☹️

my baby lando: it’s on sight when i see him istg.

angel carmen: do you want us to come over? alex and i are close by

y/n: no, it’s okay, thank you tho

y/n: i’m meeting up with seb later, gonna talk to him

y/n: i’m busy for the rest of the week, i have grammy rehearsals so i’ll be in the US

albono: yeah, it’s probably best if you stay out of monaco for a bit

chili!: ^^^

chal eclair: yeah, but we’re always here when you need us

y/n: i know, and i love you guys

y/n

♡ liked by alexandrasaintmleux, landonorris, and 10,382,294 others.

y/n what a year. can’t say it was amazing, nor can i say that it was awful. it was a learning experience to be fully honest. major lows and phenomenal highs, different places, different people, so much seen and heard. this year genuinely re-wired my brain. and to end it with six grammys, i couldn’t be more thankful 💕 i’ve said this so many times, and i mean it more and more each time, thank you —truly, humbly, and from the depths of my heart. for everything. for the love, the support, the messages, the energy, for every time you showed up, for everything you did and every word you said 🫀🫂 i’m so grateful to have all of you by my side, to know that all of you will always have my back 💌 i’m sending you nothing but love and light, and i’m wishing you growth and warmth as we enter this next year. i love you. always. forever. ♾️🤍 very deerly 🦌

tagged: sebastianvettel

the comments have been disabled.

y/n and y/l/nestate

♡ liked by alexandrasaintmleux, carmenmmundt, and 5,204,104 others.

y/l/nestate and for her last trick, y/n secretly worked on a new song over grammy weekend. just one last song for the last month of the year. the newest single “baby deer” comes out at 12:00 am EST, december 1st. set your alarms 🤍🦌🪽. have a well deserved break our deerest y/n <3

view 492,593 comments.

username and the crowd… the crowd burst into tears???

username you ain’t had to release this one brochacho 💔

username “SHE’S HAPPY! SHE’S NOT HEARTBROKEN AGAIN!” i scream as they drag me back to the padded room 😞

username ho did you just stab me

username “but i adore than man, like nobody can, he moves mountains and pounds them to ground again” hey so like, stand up maybe????

username me when i play the song of fucking pure heartbreak

username DIVA DOWN!!!!!! I REPEAT. DIVA DOWN!!!!!!!

username name dropping seb is crazy btw

alexandrasaintmleux 🫂🤍🫂🤍🫂🤍

username WHY ARE WE BACK TO SAD SONGS AGAIN

username hey so how about we not do this 😀

username i just started crying i dont even know why 😭😭

username wait sO WHO IS THIS ABOUT?????

→ username HAS to be lewis. HAAAAS TO BE.

→ username it’s abt m4x i fear

→ username there’s no way she’s still singing about max

→ username deadass this could be about any of the dilfs lowkey

username WHY WOULD YOU DO THIS ME TO ME 💔💔💔

username where does she keep finding these villains oh my god

username may this kind of situationship never find me

charles_leclerc 🦌🦌🦌❤️❤️❤️

username shaking ass to c,s&a then this comes on shuffle 😞

username 💔💔💔💔💔💔WHY💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

sebastianvettel 💐💐💐

→ username wHAT DO YOU KNOW

→ username TALK HOE

username guys i think we know who the perpetrator is ☹️

→ username right. bc who else has bambi eyes

→ username i’m gonna have to turn a blind eye bc i ship them hard

username she said i watch “my” baby deer. dear god why. 🫩

username NAME DROPPING SEBASTIAN?? wtf does he know

username i’m glad she’s on break bc this is getting out of hand

→ username i’m gonna hold ur hand when i say this.. it’s time to stop dating for a while 🫱🏽‍🫲🏼🫱🏽‍🫲🏼🫱🏽‍🫲🏼

→ y/n you’re probably right

→ username OH?

→ username UHMMMMMMM.

mercedesamgf1 and y/l/nestate

♡ liked by alexandrasaintmleux, carmenmmundt, and 4,204,104 others.

marcedesamgf1 Y/n Y/l/n has decided not to renew her contract as the ambassador for the Mercedes AMG Formula One team for the 2025 season. More on our website.

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[monzabee]

the smallest man who ever lived - cl16

masterlist || part 2 || part 3 ||

Summary: The one where you’re thrown into a conundrum when you learn the news of your husband, Charles’, infidelity.

Pairing: charles leclerc x wife!reader; carlos sainz x reader

Word Count: 4.5k

Warnings: angst, cheating, crying, manipulation(?), charles is an absolute asshole (but so is the reader) (but she’s kinda also badass?) (toxic relationship?), even more assholish carlos (gasp), blackmail, mention of pregnancy, mention of sex and sexual acts, physical confrontation (literally just pushing someone off but still)

Request: “Hey girl can I request something angsty with Charles? Maybe Charles cheating on Y/N (we’re already famous and have been married to Charles for years) and the fighting, the finding out, his guilt, angst, etc.”

Author’s Note: hi, hey, hello!! thank you to the anon who requested this because i had the time of my life working on it, and it might be the first fic i wrote in one go for the last six months or so!! also thank you to the getting cheated on playlists i found on spotify and amy dunne for giving me the inspiration to make the reader as toxic as i could. special thanks to @norrisleclercf1 and @percervall who had to listen to me talk about this fic NONSTOP. this is definitely something very different to what i usually write, but i hope you guys enjoy! good morning, noon or night wherever you are, xoxobee

Please also note that all of my works are protected under copyright, and not available for reposting on other platforms. 

There are moments in life where you feel like a complete and utter idiot. Although it could be for no apparent reason at all, there is a perfectly explainable reason why you feel like that right now, in the middle of your trailer on the set, with your manager and publicist both looking at you like you could explode at any given moment. It took you a good amount of time to wrap your head around the news, the news that wrecked you into a million of pieces which left you as the only person who can put them back together.  

“Let me get this straight,” you start, still trying to wrap your head around the news, “they were photographed leaving the club, and there’s a–?” 

“Sex tape, yes.” Your manager mumbles, earning himself a side-eye from your publicist. “It was so kindly attached to the email.”  

“And it is anonymous?” You ask, earning curt nods from both. “Well,” you manage to get out, pressing your lips together not to let out a sob, or a laugh, both? “That is very ambitious of him.” 

Your publicist shares a concerned look with your manager, then turns to you, “I guess so? How would you want us to handle this? I can buy us some time until these are released to public, but I think getting a statement ready just in case is essential given the fact that both of you are public figues. We can say that you’ll attend marriage councelling–” 

Your loud laugter cuts her off in the middle of her sentence. “And just why would we do that?” 

“I–” She gives you another concerned look as she softens her voice, which is quite uncharacteristic for her, you realise. “How would you want us to approach it then?” 

“I don’t want you to approach it at all.” You voice cuts through the tension, your gaze fixed on her. “I’ll handle it.”  

“But Charles–” She tries to reason, but you cut her off again.  

“Decided to get his dick wet where it certainly didn’t belong, he’s a big boy – he’ll survive.” Fixing her with a final look, you turn to your manager instead. “I don’t want this going to Charles or his team’s ears, that’s what the email said, and we should honour it, no?”  

His expression turns into a smirk, matching the one playing on your lips as he nods in thougt, “Would you like us to do anything else? We can talk with the production if you need a couple of days to… well, recuperate. Greta would understand.” 

“No.” Your answer is final as you shake your head. “She thinks this is an Oscar worthy project, I’m not throwing it away because my husband decided to think with his dick and not his brain. Just call my lawyers and tell them to be on stand by.” 

“Should I also book you tickets to Monaco still?” He asks in a monotone tone. 

“Well of course,” you reply in a sweet voice, widening your eyes for dramatic effect, “it’s a family event.” 

Your publicist eyes the both of you, “Okay,” as she drags the word out, “are you sure you don’t want to take a couple of days off?” 

“Positive. I have an EGOT to win.” Raising the script you have in your hands in the air, you announce, “I have lines I need to go over, is that all?”  

And as they leave your trailer to give you some space to ‘go over your lines’, you let a few tears escape your eyes, promising yourself that you would make Charles feel a thousand worse what he made you feel in the moment. 

It is not surprising or a sudden revelation that Monte Carlo has good weather all year around. But as it happens with the last few weeks following you learning about your husband’s infidelity, all you feel is cold – and no amount of warm weather is enough to make your heart feel warmer again. As you stand at the terrace of Café de Paris, overlooking the cityscape of Monte Carlo, all you can think about is how you just want to get this part of you plan over with as fast as possible.  

“Chérie!” The voice you hear makes a lump perpetually situate itself in the middle of your throat, but you brace yourself for the worst as you turn on your heels to face the person you’re most scared of facing in this whole situation. “Look at you, you look incroyable! You had me scared when you told me you were catching the redeye, and that we just had to talk!” 

“Pascale,” you breathe out as the woman pulls you into her arms with the warmness of any mother would do, and for that brief moment, you feel better than you have in weeks. “It’s so nice to see you again,” giving her the warmest smile you can muster up in the circumstances as you pull back, fixing your gaze at the figure behind her as you nod your head in acknowledgement, “Arthur.” 

“Maman is right,” Arthur says as he opens his arms, “you do look good.”  

“Well, thank you.” You reply as you give him a quick hug, and motion the table as you pull back. “Shall we?” Call it common curtesy, or cowardice, the fact that you don’t directly get to the point. Either way, you talk about what you’ve missed in the couple of months in which you’ve been away filming. You’re not necessarily paying attention, though the endtail of Pascale’s sentence catch your attention. “Excuse me, can you repeat that?” 

“Well, I was just telling how sad I was that Charles doesn’t come home as often this season. Though I understand he’s coming out to see you on set, distance can be so hard even for–” 

“He’s not coming out to see me, Pascale.” You voice is softer, and appears more broken than you would want it to be, but your words convey the message enough. It takes you a couple of moments to organise your thoughts, and Arthur calling out your name, to get you back into the moment. “There’s something I need to talk with the both of you, something I’ve already talked with Lorenzo, but I thought it would be better for you to hear it from me.”  

“Okay?” Arthur mumbles, then gives you a supportive smile, “You can tell us anything. Though don’t tell me I’m about to be an uncle because I don’t think my ego can take it at the–” 

You attempt to swallow the lump in your throat as you direct your words to the woman sitting across from you. “I’m divorcing your son, and I thought you should hear it from me and not him.”  

It takes a few minutes for both Pascale and Arthur to say something, and it concerns you that you somehow managed to give your mother in law a brain aneurism, but eventually, she manages to get out, “What? How? Why? Are you okay?”  

“I’m… fine.” You reply, albeit it comes off calculated. “I found a couple of weeks ago that he was cheating on me, I’ve came back to give him the papers myself.”  

“He what?” Arthur exclaims, then realises the level of his voice, and lowers it down as he asks, “Are you sure this is not a misunderstanding? The guy has been in love with you for over a decade, he wouldn’t do this.” With a resigning sigh, you find what you’re looking for in your phone and hand it over to Arthur. Who then, upon seeing what you have pulled up, immediately hands it back to you and turns to his mother, “Trust me you don’t want to see it.” 

“I’ve came to tell you the news, and well, to apologise.” You turn to face Pascale again.  

“Apologise?” She repeats, “Why on earth would you apologise to me when my son cheated on you?” 

“You’ve been nothing but kind to me ever since we’ve met, both of you.” You acknowledge Arthur with a look, and then focus your attention back on the woman, “Though I will make sure you don’t get caught in the crossfire in any way, I wanted to apologise for what I’m about to put your son through.”  

You honestly don’t know how you manage to act as if everything has been going fine in your life during race day. Given the fact that your husband doesn’t expect you to be at his race due to your rigorous filming schedule, and his family members being willing to hide your existence from him, you have no obstacles in your way to carry out the rest of your plan in motion. Which is exactly why you’re sat in the dark, waiting for your husband to walk through the doors of your apartment overlooking the city. With you seemingly being absent for the weekend, he has no reason to not believe that he is coming to an empty house.  

So, imagine his surprise when he enters his home; with his girlfriend in his arm, no less, and sees his wife sitting on the couch with her legs crossed and a drink in her hand. The look on his face is priceless, and despite all the pain and frustration you’re feeling, it manages to bring you some semblance of joy, knowing that it’s going to hurt him just as much as it hurt you.  

“Ma chérie,” Charles stammers, eye wide as he looks at you like a deer caught in headlights, “I – I didn’t know y–you were coming back this weekend.” 

“Well obviously,” you scoff, taking a generous sip from the drink in the glass tumbler in your hand, “otherwise you wouldn’t bring your little girlfriend into my house to fuck her.” You hear a gasp from the scaredy brunette wedging herself closer to your husband’s side, and for the first time you take a good look at her – young, much younger than you, tall, leggy; all the telltale signs that she is exactly your husband’s type. Tilting your head to the side, you rest the glass on the arm of the armchair you’re sitting in, “If you could leave now, I would greatly appreciate it.”  

You hear Charles whisper something in her ear, probably telling her to leave and that he’ll contact her tomorrow, and watch as she gives him a scowl, screeching, “You’re just going to let her throw me out?” 

“Well, considering the fact that this is my house, yes.” You give her a look of pity, watching her face light up with anger.  

“Listen to me, you bitch–” She starts, but your husband quickly cuts her off.  

“Mon cœur!” He exclaims, “S'il te plaît!” 

“Yes, listen to him, like a good little girl,” you egg her on, a smirk widening on your lips as you start swinging the leg resting on your lower one, choosing to focus on your nails instead of your husband trying to soothe his lover. 

You hear her scoff, take a few steps as her heels click on the marble floor of the entrance, “I wouldn’t be so calm if I were you, I’m not someone you want to be on bad terms with, considering the fact that he’s going to leave you for me!” 

“Oh, honey,” you coo, focusing your attention back on her and seeing the look of concern in your husband’s face through the corner of your eye, “and when did he tell you that, like a year ago? Two? Three?” A realisation dawns on her face as the smug expression starts to fade. “Don’t worry, though, you can have him when I’m done with him.” Pushing yourself off the armchair, you down the rest of the drink in the glass before slamming it down onto the glass coffee table. “And not only do I not care if you think I'm a bitch, but I hugely prefer it. Now get the fuck out of my house before I call security and get your ass thrown out.”  

You watch as she looks at Charles with indignation, lets out another screeching sound and slams the door behind her as she stomps out of your apartment. Only then you turn your gaze back to your husband, who has the guts to look at you with a worried look on his face. “How long have you known?” Is the first thing he asks you, taking a few steps closer.  

“A couple of weeks, a month, maybe?” You answer him, leaving your place to get to the small bar in the corner of your living room to get another refill of your drink. “There’s a video of the two, it somehow got into my hands, and it has very graphic details of the two of you having sex.” Popping a lemon into your cup, you make your way back to the armchair and sit down, “Are you stupid enough to cheat on me and make a fucking sex tape, Charles?” 

“I-I didn’t mean to–” He tries to plead, but you cut him off with a shake of your head.  

“You didn’t mean to what?” You ask him; your voice soothing, almost understanding, and it does the job of fooling him. “Cheat on me? Fuck another woman in my bed? Break the vows you’ve made?”  

“Ma chérie,” he whispers, “please.” 

“No.” Your voice is colder all of a sudden. “Tell me how long this has been going on for. Was I right? How many years?” 

“It started five years ago,” his voice is soft, somber and he tries to appear as genuine as he can in the situation, you suppose, “but I knew her, from before...” 

“Before what?” You’re seething now, the complete opposite of his calmness, “Did you fucking cheat me when we were dating, Charles?” 

“Ma chérie,” he gives you another pleading look, “please, I can change. I’ll go to therapy.”  

Now that, manages to get a bark of laughter from you. It’s ripped from the back of your throat, making you throw your head back as you lose yourself in the laughter to the point that there are tears in your eyes when you finally manage to calm yourself down. Putting the glass down on the coffee table once again, you wipe them off, mindful of your mascara, as you shift your attention back onto your husband. “Are fucking kidding me right now?” He gives you a concerned look, hands on his hips as he opens his mouth to answer you, but you quickly shut him down again. “You were bringing her into my house to fuck her, I caught you, I have your fucking sex tape – which is going to be streamlined for the world to see within twenty-four hours, do you honestly think I would go back to you?”  

“Wait, what?” He exclaims, looking at you with wide eyes and a shocked expression. “What do you mean they are going to streamline it, why didn’t you go to the lawyers? 

“I did go to the lawyers,” you shrug, innocently, “my lawyers,” you point out. “Why would I cover up your mistakes after everything you’ve done?” 

“Because I’m your fucking husband!” He barks, his arms widening to his sides as he finally loses his mask and his composure.  

His little tantrum only makes you let out another laugh, “Now, you’re my husband? Not when you’re cheating on me when I’m away shooting, but when you need me to clean up after your mistakes?” 

“How did you even get the video?” He asks, eyes narrowing down, “Who- who– who?” 

“Who? Who? Hoo? What are you, a fucking owl?” You exclaim, this time raising your voice. “You’re honestly more concerned about where I got it and not about the fact that the entire world is about to see you fucking someone other than your wife?” 

“What are we doing to do?” He asks, “Fuck, I have a race tomorrow.” 

“We’re not going to do anything.” You shrug, leaning forward to grab the glass and take another sip, “Or scratch that, we’re actually going to do something.” You stand up from the armchair, walk towards the table and hand him the file. “Congratulations, we’re getting a divorce.” 

“That is not happening.” He scoffs, not even bothering to look at the papers.  

“I don’t think you’re in the position to bargain with me, Charles.” You seethe, “You’re going to sign the damn papers, and you’re also going to sign away your rights to the baby.”  

“What the–?” He looks at you in disbelief, “You’re pregnant?” 

“Congratulations, it’s a boy.” You bite out, “Like you wanted.” 

“You’ve been drinking the entire night.” He points to the glass, “Do you expect me to believe you’re pregnant?” 

Offering him a sweet smile you hand him the glass, tipping it towards him, “It’s soda water, would you like a sip?” 

“Don’t make me do this,” he pleads, “give me another chance.” 

“I would’ve, if you were honest with me from the start.” You resign, a sincere look in your eyes. “I’ll give you a choice: us, or her.”  

He rears back with the offer, looking at you in disbelief. “What?” 

“You either choose me and the baby or you choose to be with her, and in that case, I will never let you near my baby, Charles.” You shake your head, wrapping your arms around your stomach protectively.  

For a second, his eyes linger around your stomach.   But you know his choice when he meets your eyes again.  

“What have we done to each other?” He whispers, and you can barely see the tears in his eyes.  

“We didn’t do anything, Charles. I gave up everything for you, but you just took me for granted.” Walking back to the dining table, you grab your coat and bag, and when you come face to face with him again, your voice is soft despite all the anger you still feel towards him. “You, Charles Leclerc, are truly the smallest man who ever lived.”  

The hotel lobby is calm and empty as you sit at the bar, and it’s surprising when you consider that fact that it is the weekend of the Monaco Grand Prix, meaning that there must be hundreds and thousands of motorsports fans visiting. Not that you’re complaining about the silence, of course. After the night you’ve had, silence and calmness are all you could ask for.  

“I’ll get a whiskey, please, whatever top shelf stuff you’ve got.” A voice cuts through the moment you are having, and you instantly recognise the distinct accent of the stranger sitting next to you. “Thought you were in the States, finishing off filming.” This time, the comment is directed to you, and you roll your eyes as you push the empty glass towards the bartender on duty.  

With a sigh, you turn to the man on your right, “What do you want, Carlos?” Your voice conveys your lack of energy, and Carlos is not dumb enough not to notice the dark circles under your eyes beneath your makeup.  

“I came to check on you.” Is his answer. Simple, curt and to the point. You’d certainly appreciate it more if you had the patience for his antics.  

“Well, you did, have a good night.” Slamming down a hundred-Euro bill onto the counter, you make a move to get up from your place, but a gentle hand on your wrist stops you. “Let me go.”  

Though there is no venom to your voice, Carlos knows that it is not the time, nor the place, to test your patience. “I’m sorry,” he starts and when you take a good look at him, you can tell that he’s being sincere, “I really did want to check up on you, and considering the fact that you have a perfectly good penthouse but instead in a hotel, I think I was right to do so.”  

Crossing your arms across your chest as you get back onto the barstool with a huff, you glare at him lightheartedly, “I didn’t want to stay in the same house as him,” raising your eyebrows, you continue with a lower voice, “thanks to chilisade5594@gmail.com, but I’m sure you know what I’m talking about.” The way his cheeks redden under the dim lights of the lobby bar would make you chuckle under normal circumstances, but you push the thought aside, “Honestly, what were you thinking? You’re lucky it was me who realised it was you, if it was my agent or publicist, we’d have another scandal to deal with.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” he brushes you off with a swat of his hand, “I’m sorry I put you into that position.” 

“Don’t be,” you mumble, tilting your head to the side, “I wouldn’t have known if you hadn’t sent me the video. Just tell me why you did it.” 

“What?” He turns you with a confused look on his face.  

“Why, Carlos?” You ask, voice encouraging yet soft, “Why did you send it? Why now?” 

He keeps quiet for a while, not answering your questions but not taking his gaze off you either. Eventually, he exhales a deep sigh as he gives you a sheepish shrug, “I didn’t like the way he treated you. And I didn’t want to make you worry about it without concrete proof, so I guess everything just... worked out.”  

“Huh,” you let out a small hum in agreement, “I guess you’re right.”  

Expecting more than the words you chose to answer him with, he raises an eyebrow as he takes a big gulp of whiskey from his glass. “That’s it?” 

“Well, what more is it there to say?” You ask, sheepishly shrugging. “We’re getting a divorce; he’s going to move out and I’m gonna make sure the entire world knows just why.” 

Carlos flags down the bartender as he mumbles, “I feel like you need a stronger drink if we’re going to talk about your impending divorce, cariño.” 

Taking a deep breath and exhaling an even deeper sigh, you shake your head. “I can’t.” Thank God Carlos is one of the people who is the proud owner of a braincell around you, because he catches your insinuation quickly.  

With widened eyes, he quickly turns towards you, eyes softening as you offer him a sad smile. “Dios mío,” he murmurs, eyes running over you worriedly, “are you okay?” 

“Well... no.” You let out an unexpected laugh at his expression, patting him on the shoulder lightheartedly. “I’ll be fine, Carlos, I’m a big girl. I can handle this.” 

“I know you will,” he assures you, “but does Charles know?” 

Now that manages to bring a grimace to your face. “He signed his parental rights away along with the divorce papers.” The look he gives you after hearing your words has you worried that his eyes are going to pop out of their sockets, but you try to calm him down as best as you can. “Carlos, it’s fine.” 

“It’s most certainly not!” He exclaims, his voice echoing in the almost empty hotel lobby. “Is he out of his mind?”  

You give him an awkward smile and another shrug of your shoulders. "I... feel like whatever I’m going to say is going to be wrong. So... yes?”

“Cariño,” he says, exasperated, “how are you so normal about this?” 

“Lots of women raise their kids as single mothers while working, Carlos.” Your expression quickly taking the form of a frown, “I can handle this, I don’t need Charles or anyone else to hold my hand and tell me I’m doing such a good job.” 

“I know you can do this alone, tonta,” he rolls his eyes as the endearment making you roll your eyes, “but you’re not going to be alone. Because I’m here.” There’s a certain finality to his words. And just as you’re about to object to his words, he quickly shuts you down. “I know you can do this on your own, but you don’t have to, okay? I’m going to be with you every step of the way.”  

“What if I need waffles in the middle of the night?” You ask, your eyebrow raised in a skeptical way.  

“I’ll adjust my pancake recipe.” His reply his immediate, and he shrugs lightly as he adds, “Pancakes are better, anyway.”  

Rolling your eyes you continue, “What if I need someone to hold my hand in the delivery room? It can get quite gruesome, you know?” 

He provides you with another nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. “I’ve never really been affected by it.”  

“Okay, this is ridiculous, Carlos!” You exclaim, pushing yourself off your seat as you turn your body to face him. “I don’t need you to bail me out, I don’t need your help!” 

“I know you don’t,” he nods.  

“I am capable of doing this on my own!” You shriek, and the fact that your face is starting to get progressively redder worries Carlos.  

“I know you are, but–” he tries to reason.  

“No buts! I’m going to be a good mother, okay?” You point an accusatory finger towards him. “I’m going to choose him!” 

The way your voice breaks at the end of your sentence has Carlos instinctively pull you into his arms, which is not that hard given the fact that you are almost the same height as him as you stand in front of the bar stool he’s sitting on, and he doesn’t say a word as you sob into his chest – letting out all the emotion you’ve bottled up over the past few weeks, no less. He doesn’t you offer you empty promises or tries to soothe you with cliché phrases. Instead, he stands still, holding you between his arms as you sob continuously into his chest. Giving the bar tender an awkward smile over your shoulder, he hands him his card to close out your tabs.  

He only starts talking again once you’ve pulled away and trying to wipe the remnants of your tears from under your eyes. “Do you feel better now?” He asks, handing you a napkin.  

“Yeah,” you mumble, sniffing as you play with the corners of the napkin. Then, you flip your eyes toward his, and fix him with a glare. “You are not becoming my kid’s stepdad.” 

“Of course not, cariño,” he assures you, “I’ll be the dad that stepped up instead.” 

You let out a teary chuckle as you slap him lightly on his chest. “I’m serious, Carlos.” 

“So am I.” He replies softly, and you can see the genuine look on his face. “You’re not alone anymore, I’m choosing you.” Tentatively, he presses his hand softly against your stomach as he maintains your gaze. “Both of you.” 

And though the last thing you want is a promise, this one seems like a real one. So, you let yourself believe that he might just keep it up. 

[whatifitis]

♡ you happened - LN 4 ♡

Summary: Did I just... fall in love with the worst person to fall in love with?! *crashes out in a grocery store*

WC: 2565

CW: fluff, friends or something to lovers, use of swear words ☝, joke about death/banter, also not proofread and I've veen awake for almost 24 hrs and my last sleep was 4 hours long :D

Your whole life, all you ever heard was “Oh the two of you are so cute together!”, “Just wait, you two were meant to be”, “Never say never!”

Everyone, your family, his family, neighbors, even staff at restaurants and cafes you frequented thought it. Spoken as if it was written in the stars that you and Lando Norris were fated. You’re not kidding when you say that both your families have placed bets on when you two would finally end up dating… turns out the person who gets closest to the day will win $1,000. 

At first, it didn’t really bother you. It was quite easy to get on with life and ignore their antics. But as you grew older, it stopped being a little joke or little bits of hope within them. When you started dating your first boyfriend in high school, your family audibly sighed when you introduced them to him. The audible sigh was only the start as well. Soon they were making sly comments about how your boyfriend didn’t have green eyes like Lando or curly hair. 

When your family continued their behavior with the second boy you brought home, you stopped introducing them. 

The pressure didn’t just affect you and your love life. After some time, you and Lando stopped talking. After being inseparable since you were practically born, the two of you were pushed apart because of your families and their incessant need to hope for something truly insane. 

You think it had been about 9 years of no contact before you and Lando had reconnected. And the only reason that you two had found each other again was because you needed a new roommate and Lando was lonely…

It was awkward at first. The two of you had grown up and completely changed as people. The interests and hobbies you once had as children were now nonexistent in your lives today. Everything has changed: your favorite colors, foods, and movies. 

It took quite some time, but now you two know each other better now. Though Lando is rarely in the city where you two live, he’s always home when he’s there. The man never leaves the house and it was quite concerning at first. You wondered if he was deficient in vitamin D. The doctors probably thought he went out less than a vampire. 

The one thing that really helped the two of you to bond, besides having mandatory hangouts at least once a month, was when you had been infected with a cold and had somehow shared it with Lando. The two of you were almost bedridden for a week. To make sure neither of you would need to be sent to the emergency room, camp was set up in the living room. Who knew being cramped together in the same room for a week would make the two of you best friends again. 

Not only did you guys relearn each other's favorite colors and movies, but now you know his favorite video games and what his life is like. Lando also got to learn about what you studied in university and how you once duetted ‘Everyday’ from High School Musical 2 with Phoebe Bridgers at a bar in Manchester. After sharing this information, Lando had mentioned the fact that he had never seen any of the High School Musical movies. Sure his sisters had played it in the house as kids but he never paid any mind to it. Naturally, you forced him to watch all 3 movies and now his favorite song is ‘You Are the Music in Me’, HUMUHUMUNUKUNUKUAPUA’A was a close second though. 

And because you had forced him to watch all the HSM movies, he made you play some video games with him. After some debating, he had decided that the two of you would play ‘It Takes Two’. He claimed it was a great way to “create moral” and “bond” with each other. The only thing you had gathered was that you and Lando would make a terrible team no matter what you two were doing. 

Sports? Someone would break the other's nose by accident. Video games? A controller was going to get broken. 

You had also learned that the both of you liked to taunt and poke fun at each other in a way that would make others concerned. 

-=+=-

“Don’t you think it’s romantic? Dying for each other?” Lando said, leaning his head back to look at you and smiling cheekily. 

“I’d rather kill you myself, thanks.” you say, rolling your eyes and making Lando let out a chuckle. The chuckle then leads to a coughing fit. This in turn made you laugh and now then the both of you were having a coughing fit. 

Through coughs and grasps for air, Lando said “Karma, bitch.”

Some gaslighting from you may have followed after you’d hit Lando in the face with a pillow. 

“Lando, I swear. The pillow just levitated on its own and hit your face.”

-=+=-

You were sitting in the kitchen, working on your laptop when Lando came in and wandered over to the fridge. You watched as he opened the fridge, analyzed its contents for approximately 2 seconds before closing it and turning to look at you, “Heyyyy, y/n.”

Raising an eyebrow at him, you respond “Heyyy, Lan.”

“So, uhm. Do you wanna go to the market with me? I need something for quick meals and snacks and I could use some company.” 

“You could use some company or are you still scared of the pigeons outside the market door?” you question. 

“Hey! Those beasts are out for blood! I swear on my future dog's life, TWO of them came for my head last time I went.” 

“Sure, big man. Whatever helps you sleep at night.” you say as you stand and walk over to pat his shoulder, “You’re driving though. These narrow roads make me wanna swerve into oncoming traffic.”

“Deal.” Lando says as he follows you out the apartment door. 

-=+=-

Lando had already parked the car and the two of you were walking to the doors of the market. You watched Lando try to “sneakily” tiptoe through the market doors, keeping an eye out for any potential threats (pigeons…). 

He was just halfway through the door when a customer in the store had accidentally dropped a box of cereal. Lando tripped and nearly fell before catching himself and trying to brush off the fact that as a grown man, he was terrified of birds. 

“Smooth.” you tease “Smooooth.”

Lando grabs a basket and walks quickly further into the store. Think it's to say he was at least a little embarrassed by what had just happened. By the time you managed to catch up to him, he was already at the opposite end of the store, browsing the tampons.

“Lan?”

“Yeah?” he says as he turns his attention back to you. 

“Is it that time of the month or something?”

“Nah. Just… looking…observing.”

“Right. I’ll just go and grab some crisps.” you say, pointing somewhere behind him. 

“Oh sick! I’ll go with you.” he says, skipping down the aisles. 

As the two of you debated between some of the options of crisps, the song being played in the market had changed and you’re confident that everyone had heard the gasp that escaped Lando’s mouth when he heard the opening notes of ‘You Are the Music in Me’. 

Before you could even register what was happening, Lando had dropped the basket on the floor and grabbed an abandoned whisk off a shelf, using it as a makeshift microphone for his performance. When it was Gabriella’s turn to sing, Lando turned the “microphone” to you, raising an eyebrow in anticipation. 

Reluctantly, you sang your bit, making a smile erupt on Lando’s face. Half-way through the song, Lando was running and jumping up and down the aisle, dancing and lip syncing to the song. 

You couldn’t help but laugh at his antics. You were also laughing at the realization that he was so embarrassed of being startled by cereal that he ran through the store to hide, but now he’s openly performing in the middle of the store, not caring who could be watching and judging. 

God, I’m in love… shit. 

No, no, no, no. This can’t be happening. 

No way you were in love with Lando Norris. You were never going to live this down. Some people in your family will be $1,000 richer. They will comment on this for the rest of your lives. You will have lost. They will have won. This was forever going to be something they would use against you. 

Fuck. 

After a minute, Lando had noticed the sudden change in your emotions. One second, you were laughing and smiling brightly at him and with him. The next, your face had dropped and turned to stone. Did he do something? Were you embarrassed? Of him?

“Hey, what’s wrong? Did something happen?” Lando questioned, concern drawing his features. 

Too embarrassed to be truthful, you tried to think quickly and faked being agitated. 

“Yeah, you happened. Dumbfuck.” you say as you trudge past the man. 

Lando’s heart dropped. What did he do wrong? You’re clearly upset but he wasn’t sure why. He didn’t know how to fix it. 

He watched your back drift away and out the door of the market, standing with his feet planted in one spot, unable to move and chase after you to make sure you were okay. 

-=+=-

What the fuck did I just do? You thought as you leaned against Lando’s car, rubbing your hands down your face in frustration. 

This is insane. How are you in love with him? You mean,  it’s not that there’s anything wrong with Lando and liking him. But why did you have to be in love with him? Why must you be cursed with eternal mocking and teasing from yours and his family? 

And what were you gonna tell him? You were happy one second then mad the next. You almost yelled at him and ended up pushing past him, hitting his shoulder with yours pretty roughly. You crashed out in the middle of a grocery store…

Before you could come up with a game plan on how to explain this to Lando, or atleast come up with a good lie, Lando was already walking to you and unlocking the car. All he did was spare a quick look at you before getting in the car with the groceries. For the split second your eyes met his, you couldn’t decipher how he was feeling or what he was thinking. It was almost as if there was nothing there. 

When you opened the car door and dropped into your seat, he didn’t say a word. He barely paid you any mind. The whole drive back to the apartment was filled with an uncomfortable silence. His eyes trained on the road, never once moving off the road. If you were in the car any longer, you’re sure you would’ve suffocated under the weight of uncertainty. 

-=+=-

You walked into the apartment with Lando carrying the groceries, tailing you. Not only was the car ride spent in eerie quietness, but so was the walk to the apartment from the car. 

You heard as the front door clicked shut, standing by the kitchen counter and fiddling with your hands and tempted to pick at your nails, a bad habit you’ve had for years. 

Lando put the groceries onto the counter and flicked his eyes to your hands for a second “Stop picking at your nails. S’not good for you.”

Thank god. He spoke. So he’s not upset with you?

You watched as the man leaned his hands against the counter before speaking “So, you gonna tell me what’s wrong?” he says calmly. 

“Hm? Nothing’s wrong.” your voice pitched higher than normal. 

“Bullshit.”

“What?”

“I’m not the smartest person but I’m not stupid either, y/n.” 

“I didn’t say you were.” 

“Okay, so tell me what’s wrong. Everything was fine and then all of a sudden your face and mood had dropped. Not only that but you stormed out of the store after telling me that I happened?” he says, trying not to take his frustration out on you. Though you think he should for the way you had behaved. 

“I- I’m fine, Lan.”

“Stop lying. Please. I don’t like lies, especially not from you cause I can tell when you’re lying. You’re a terrible liar.”

Your jaw drops, “Am not!”

“Please. Remember when you ate that last spring roll and you tried to convince me that a squirrel came in through the window and stole it?”

“Okay, well. I see your point.”

“Exactly” he breathes out “So, what’s wrong? Why are you lying to me?”

With a deep breath and a ‘yolo’ you confess “I think I like you.”

“Why do you sound distressed?”

“Because this is distressing.” you rasp. 

“Why?!”

“Lan, you know our families and their incessant need to butt into our lives and force us together. If they found out, I would never live it down. My whole life, I’ve had to fight the allegations. But now?! Now they will forever taunt us with this information. Also I feel the need to point out that some people will be $1,000 richer because of this. Do you really want to give them that? Do you, Lando? Do You?” you ask, furrowing your eyebrows. 

“Well, I mean… would it be that bad?”

“Huh?”

“Well, I think it would be okay? Like, I don’t think it’s a bad idea. And so what if they tease us for this? It just means that they maybe did some voodoo or paid an etsy witch… or we really are meant for eachother.” Lando says, his voice getting softer the more he spoke, as if he was afraid. Afraid of your reaction, what you would say, how you would feel. 

“I- I mean. There’s nothing wrong with it? I guess it’s just unexpected. And things like that make me panic. I think I blew this really out of proportion.” you wince. 

“Ya think?” Lando laughs “You stormed out the market and almost caused a scene.”

“Yeah… I also didn’t get my favorite ice cream and I’ve been craving it for ages.” 

“Oh, well… I actually got it for you. I remember you saying you’d been craving it and wanted to get you some. It was one of the reasons I asked you to come with me to the market. I also ended up getting it cause I thought it would be brownie points for if I had actually done something wrong. I also got brownies… for extra brownie points.” he, totally nonchalantly, winks at you. 

Maybe this won’t be so bad. You’ll be his and he’ll be yours and it will be simple. You truly did feel a lot for him, which was scary. But it’ll be worth it. It will also be worth all the teasing from your families and friends. When you’re with him, you still get butterflies and that in itself makes up for the lost time. And you won’t lie, you’d missed all those years spent apart. Now you’ve got each other and that’s all that matters. From kids to teenagers to adults, everything changed except for one thing, the love you had for the other.

[peoniesnro]

Perfect Partner | Prequel

All Jungkook wanted was to keep his ray of sunshine all to himself.

Paring- Jeon Jungkook × Reader

Genre- Yandere | Dark Romance

Warnings- Yandere (Obsessive love/ Jeon is delusional (Of course he is)/ Violence/ Blood/ Murder attempt/ Assualt attempts/ Clubbing/ Drugs/ Making out/ Dirty thoughts/ Grinding/ Betrayal/ And that bitchy friend) I hope I mentioned everyting.

Word count- 22K

a/n-Hey guys!! It’s finally done and out there. Phew… I feel so relieved and happy. First off, I’m so sorry for the delay. Life has been a lot lately—moving to a new state, starting at a new university, and basically rebuilding from scratch. It’s been tough, especially job hunting as a student, which has taken up a lot of my time. That was the main reason for this chapter to get late since I only wrote in the little time I got in between my job hunt (which hasn’t been very successful yet). That being said, after a lot of thought (and encouragement from my dear mutuals), I’ve decided to create a ko- fi page because a little support from you could help me a lot in this state. But of course, there’s no pressure at all. I’ll still continue to write my stories here free whenever I can because I love you all (A lot). But for anyone who wants to chip in, I’ve also prepared some special perks for Ko-fi supporters! You can check it out here. (Coffee corner) Thank you so much for all the love you’ve shown in this story and let’s meet with the second sequel. Love you all soooooo much. 

THE ONLY EXCEPTION

This is the prequel, read the first parts here -

Perfect Partner - Prefect Partner (Sequel 1)

Next Part

Sequel 2.1

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Jungkook sits on the far end of the lecture hall, playing with his pen. Click. A roll. Another click and then another roll. Over and over. Picking up speed. His leg starts to bob as well. He hates this place. He hates lots of things. The university, that stupid professor, and all the other students. But, of course, after his parents. He hates them the most.

He never wanted to study business to begin with. He was perfectly fine with his computer. He could’ve changed the world if he was just allowed to learn what he wanted. But no. Here he is. Sitting in a strategic management lecture despite his huge displeasure. 

See, he has every reason to hate his parents. Dear parents who made him learn business because they wanted him to take after the family business. Parents who believed punishments and a whip were necessary to raise a boy. Parents who thought locking a child in a dark basement for days, terrified of unseen monsters, was the right way to discipline him. Parents who believed making him unloved was the way to make him manly. 

Well, fuck them!

Jungkook glances at his watch. One more minute until the lecture starts. 

59, 57, 58…

A click…

A roll…

The stupid professor probably won’t start the lecture on time, though. Jungkook knows it by experience.

45, 44, 43…

A click..

His leg bobs up and down uncontrollably.

He just wants the day to end. End it fast so he could haul inside his dorm room peacefully. 

3, 2, 1……

And it’s time but as he expected, the old hag doesn’t start the lecture. 

Jungkook groans in annoyance. When will people learn about punctuality? It’s exactly after 30 seconds that the old professor finally starts the lecture. 

Finally!

Then just as he starts speaking, the lecture hall door barges open. Someone storms inside, panting hard. Another fool who doesn’t know how to work on time. Jungkook watches in mild annoyance as the newcomer bows deeply in apology. So deep that their forehead practically  touches the floor. Then they turn around. 

A girl.

Her eyes roam over the lecture hall, trying to find an empty spot. The entire hall is almost filled by that point. Except for the one next to Jungkook. 

Oh fuck!

The last thing he wants is someone to sit next to him. Normally, people don’t. They prefer to stay away from the quiet kid who always keeps his face hidden in a hoodie. They preferred not to engage with the creepy kid who always wears black from head to toe. No problem, though. Jungkook is just fine. 

Then here comes this new girl, rushing toward him. Jungkook doesn’t bother looking at her as she starts to whisper.

“Hey! You don’t mind if I take this seat, right?” 

He doesn’t answer. The girl doesn’t wait for his answer, anyway. Just sits down. Shuffles around with her things while Jungkook just opens his laptop. He almost pays attention to the professor when her chirpy voice interrupts him again.

“I’m so sorry I’m probably invading your safe space. Shouldn’t have come so late to the lecture but my friends- wait, I’m rambling and you didn’t ask. You probably don’t want people yapping at you. First I made you sit with me and now I’m talking to you when you don’t even look at me- And I’m rambling again. I should shut up. I’m gonna shut up. I’m sorry.”

Then, silence.

Good. Thank fuck. Jungkook is so glad that the girl decided to shut her big mouth. He basks in the peaceful silence for a minute. But then here it comes. Fucking curiosity. Curiosity to know who’s the person that was forced to sit next to him but obviously wasn’t forced to talk to him. He turns his head slightly. To be met with a petite figure. Bright eyes wide and looking at the professor. Luscious lips where the bottom one is trapped between pearly teeth. Soft hair framing a pretty face. 

A girl who casually talked with him.

A girl who is apparently not freaked out by him. 

A pretty girl. 

Fucking pretty.

The prettiest. 

You!

The first encounters are always the funniest. Like this one. You turn your head abruptly toward him. As if you sensed his stares. Jungkook jerks and averts his head away from you. 

“Oh, by the way my name is (___), how ‘bout you?”

He doesn’t answer. Yet again. You don’t mind. Just start yapping. Yet again.

………………………….

You enter your shared apartment with your boyfriend. Feeling exhausted after a long day of lectures and your part time job. Just to be met with a Jimin who casually sprawls across your couch. You wrinkle your nose in displeasure. Not that you hate Jimin or anything, but lately, all your friends- including Hoseok’s and yours- have started living rent-free in your apartment. 

Jimin is a good, funny, and charming guy but in moments like these, all you want is to be left alone with your other half. Maybe just cuddling and watching a movie. Or even better- getting your brains fucked out. 

Well, it seems that the thought would have to wait. 

You walk toward Jimin on the couch. A sheet mask on his face and listening to Thank You, Next. He’s been obsessed with that song for so long now you’re becoming tired of hearing it. You nudge his legs with your knee, demanding him to make space for you. Jimin barely lifts his head before bending his legs and giving you space to sit down.

“Where’s Hobi?” You ask as you drop down onto the comfy leather.

“Around.” Jimin just nonchalantly waves his hand around making you annoyed. 

“Yah!” You bellow when he raises his head up once again.

“Yah!,” He matches your voice. “How the fuck would I know where your boyfriend is?” Asks, bewildered. Well, that’s a good point.

“Why are you here again?” So, you change the topic. Jimin finally stops trying to relax while your annoying figure is next to him. Instead, he sits up and removes the face mask.

“To use your skincare products and, of course, your shower.” Says matter of factly. You knew the face mask was yours. See, they’re totally taking advantage of your place. You open your mouth to give yours and your boyfriend’s best friend a piece of your mind when the sudden sound of a door opening interrupts you. You and Jimin both turn your head behind you. Where the only bedroom in this little apartment is, and a little bit disoriented Hoseok appears. 

Your lips stretch into a huge grin at the comforting presence of your boyfriend. He looks a little red in his face. It takes him a split second to return your grin. 

Weird!

Or not. He was probably asleep and woke up startled by your yelling. 

“Hey, baby!” You greet him warmly. Hold your hand out toward him. Silently asking him to join you on the couch. But before he could, Jimin interrupts.

“Is she still showering?” Gestures in your bedroom. “Yah! What is she? A damn fish?” Almost gets to his feet. You look at him in question when the answer appears through the door. 

Daebi. Your best friend. Her hair wraps up in one of your towels. 

“Oh hi baby, you’re early.” Hoseok finally returns your earlier greeting and takes your hand in his. Sits down next to you. You look at him surprised for a second before you avert your gaze to your best friend again. 

“Really?” You raise one of your brows. This is what you mean when you say they’re abusing your house. Jimin just gots up and disappears inside your bedroom- where you know-he inevitably goes to shower as well. And the idiot put on that mask before he showers. And that’s such a waste.

“Oh, c’mon, your shower is just nice. Besides, you're not the one who pays the bills. It’s your sweet boyfriend.” She winks and waltzes toward your mini kitchen.

“Seriously? This is the time we should move out from this place and let’s make sure we find a place with the shittiest shower.” You state as you still keep your eyes over to where your best friend just walks away. Hoseok snorts. 

“It’s okay baby.” He places a soft kiss on your cheek. You immediately relax at the sensation. He places another. Then another. All over your cheek and then trailing down toward your jaw. Neck. Throat. You swear you tried your best not to moan but an involuntary moan slips through your lips. Makes Hoseok grin against your skin. He gives you another kiss. This time open mouthed. You shudder. But then it hits you. He’s trying to distract you from getting mad at your friends. You shove him away.

“It’s not okay.” You shake your head in disagreement. Hoseok sighs. Rolls his eyes. 

“It’s just a shower (___).”

“I know. It’s not about the shower though. It’s about me wanting to have some alone time with you and-” Your turn to face him. It’s not that you're mad at your friends for real. You smirk. “- maybe I’m just horny….. and-”

He stops your words by attacking his lips to yours. Kisses you deep. Tongue swapping across your bottom lip, inviting you for that familiar heated dance. And you forget about your friends and the shower. Completely. Everything disappears. Just Hoseok. And you. Only living creatures. So, you give him what he’s asking for. Access to the inside of your mouth. He wastes no time in thrusting his tongue forward. Tangling with yours. Creating a hot mess of saliva. Only pulls away when your head starts to spin. “Yeah?” Questions when he does. 

“Yeah.” You whisper, breathlessly. So Daebi won’t hear you. A devilish smirk appears on your boyfriend’s face. 

“Then we should do something about it and let’s just ask Jimin to walk out of the shower with his eyes closed.” He whispers back. Kisses your neck once again. This time with his hot tongue grazing over your sensitive skin.

“Hobi..” You gasp softly. And that’s all it takes for your boyfriend’s restrictions to snap. He stands up at light speed. Almost picks you up from the couch just as your phone dings. You mindlessly search inside your pocket for the annoying device while keeping your eyes on Hoseok. He waits patiently until you check who’s texted you. You reluctantly turn your gaze toward your phone. Unlocking it quickly. Only to find a simple ‘Hi’ from an unknown number. “Who’s that? Anything important?” Hoseok asks you as you lock your phone again and throws it away. 

“Nope. I don’t know who that is. Don’t care either. C’mon, lover boy, fuck me, hm?” You bat your eyelashes at Hoseok. He curses slowly before really picking you up from the couch this time. You squeak as he starts to walk toward your bedroom. Just as Daebi comes out of the kitchen with a horrified expression on her face. She’s allergic to PDA. So, you understand that expression. You give her a quick wave before Hoseok kicks the bedroom door closed. 

……………………..

You’re early today. It feels nice to be early to your lecture and not having to sweat your ass down while running across the university. You stand in front of the almost empty lecture hall. Assessing your seating options. Since you’re early, you can choose to sit wherever you want. But then, your eyes slowly wander over to the back. Stopping at the figure hunched over there. All in black. Face covered in the hoodie. 

You didn’t see his face last time either. Only a set of pink lips. And a part of his cheek while he was busy staring at you. But that was all. He never bothered to remove his hoodie. It almost felt like he was deliberately trying to hide his face from you. Which was fine. It’s his choice anyway. Yet by the parts you saw, you guess the boy must have a goldy face. Such a shame he keeps it hidden.

Lost in your own thoughts, you slowly start to walk toward the back of the lecture hall. You had no option but to sit next to him the last time. And you just know he didn’t like your company that much. Still you decide to approach him. You just feel bad. True, you’ve never even seen him before. But you guess that’s how his entire college life must have been. Alone in the back of the class. Depressing. You can’t help but feel sad. And your altruistic self believes you can be of help. 

He turns his head slightly toward you when you finally approach him. Still not enough to see anything besides his pink lips. 

“Hi!” You chirp. “Mind if I?” You gesture at the empty seat, expecting him to stay silent. To ignore you completely like the last time. Then, to your surprise, he nods. Just once. But nonetheless he does. You grin widely to yourself as you sit. “Thank you.” Mumble. Get comfortable and start fumbling with your laptop and notes. “How have you been?” Question him knowing very well he won’t answer. And your expectations come true. 

See now, you don’t wish to be annoying to people. No. You can pick up a sign when it’s needed. But for some reason, you think this guy- who’s in black- maybe needs some company. Even though he doesn’t engage in any conversation with you. That’s the exact reason  why you keep asking him a question here or there throughout your lecture. And he nods or shakes his head for some of them. The only question that he answers verbally is when you ask what year he’s in. To your surprise, he’s in his final year. 

Well, lucky guy. He’d be out of this hell hole pretty soon. 

Now it’s only fifteen more minutes left until the lecture ends and you’re asking him about his favourite lecturer under your breath when you get distracted by your professor. 

“Okay, class, it’s time to discuss your upcoming assignment.” He clasps his hands and you immediately pay your full attention to him. You might not pay attention to the lectures but the assignments are important. “As you know the upcoming report is a paired work,” He starts and you sigh heavily. You hate group work. “-which will not be that difficult since we’ve been talking about the topic a lot. And I hope you all will do a great job. Then about assigning you partners, I decided that I’ll not be assigning you with random people since it makes it awkward and uncomfortable. I believe you’ll be more effective working with someone who you’re already comfortable with. So, it’s up to you to decide who your partner will be. You have two weeks until the due date.”

Oh fuck!

You have no one you’re familiar with in this class. It’s almost mechanical how you snap your head to your left. Toward the guy in black.

“Wanna partner up?” You blurt out before you can process. “Uh- I mean only if you want to of course. Do you have anyone here you want to partner up with or-”

“You.” He snaps, making you stop your rambling abruptly.

“Huh?”

“L-let’s p-partner up. You’re good.” He stutters out an explanation. You chuckle softly, finding him to be so adorable. 

“Good. Thank you. I mean I don’t know many people and oh,” You perk up remembering your need to make sure he doesn’t get high hopes about good grades while working with you. You’re just bad at this. “But I want you to know that I’m very bad at this. Business is really not my thing. Never wanted to pursue this degree but my mom  made me do it. So, I hope-”

“You have a shitty family too?”

You close your mouth immediately. 

What, now? 

That’s the most he’s said so far, and he’s asking if your family is shitty. A laugh slips through your lips.

“Wh-what? Of course, no-” You even start to shake your head. Because that’s not true. Your family is the best. “Not at all. They’re good. Just didn’t want me to pursue music since they believe it won’t be easy to make a stable future with that. That’s all. They're not bad.” You let him know when he just nods again and looks straight ahead. “Um- but why did you ask that?” You ask anyway, despite his clear signs of not wanting to talk anymore. He shrugs. 

“Because I have a shitty family.” States meekly. Voice almost inaudible that you have to lean in to catch it. And you feel your heart squeezing. That’s awful. See, you knew he was in a bad situation.  

“I’m so sorry.” You mutter sadly. “You didn’t want to study business?” You ask again, hoping that his family situation is just about not letting him pursue his dream. He shakes his head. Nothing more. You wait a minute until he says something else but when he doesn’t, you decide to ask something else. “What did you want to learn then?”

“I.T”

You can feel the melancholy in his voice. 

This is depressing. 

“I’m really sorry.” You mutter again.

………………………………

Jungkook can’t believe it. He really fucking can’t believe that someone- who’s a real person and a girl at that- wanted to sit next to him. To talk to him and then to partner up with him. It feels weird to be honest. Since he has never had such an experience in his life. Sure, he’s done group work but it was always with someone who was assigned to him. You, however, willingly chose to partner up with him. 

And you’re real. Very real. Not some fragment of his imagination. Not a scenario he made up in his head while waiting for sleep to reach him. Most importantly, you’re not someone who he met online either. If you were, then he wouldn’t be so surprised about this situation. Because he is a star when it comes to talking with strangers online. He actually has a couple of online girlfriends, to be precise. He’s this charming guy who can swoon women via texts. Or calls for that matter. But when it comes to reality, he’d just shy away. Knowing very well that no one would want to do anything with him. He’s the quiet kid in black clothes. Then here you are. Mindlessly and animatedly talking about the upcoming assignment. 

The two of you are walking back from the lecture. And he can see the exit. You haven’t stopped talking ever since you left the lecture hall. You’re telling him the way you could do this. Which part and who should do it. While you keep talking you both step out into the cold autumn air. 

“Or, we can do it the other way, you know. No pressure at all.” You look at him hopefully, coming to a halt at the entrance. Jungkook stops with you. Takes a minute. 

“Don’t worry about it. I’ll do it for both of us.” He mumbles slowly. But he knows that you heard it judging by the way your jaw dropped. He should’ve let you know before you start fussing over the details and talk a river. But he likes the way your luscious lips move when you talk. So, he waits until you’re out. You stay that way for a minute before prettily giggling. 

Wow, he likes the sound of it.

“Oh, you’re joking right? I didn’t take you to be the type to just casu-”

“I’m not,” Jungkook interrupts you. Your giggle trails off. “I’ll do it. You don’t have to worry.” He reassures you again since you don’t believe him. You take more than a minute this time. Try to duck a little to get a look at his face in vain. He turns his face away from you. He doesn’t want you to see him. You’re so nice to him and actually enjoy his presence. But what if you change your mind after seeing his face? Not that Jungkook has any problem with how he looks. He thinks he looks quite alright. Yet he’s still a weird kid. He knows he must look pale since he hasn’t gone under the sun for forever lately. And his eyes must look lonely and lifeless. That would surely scare you away. You give up trying to look at him. 

“Wh-what? But why?” Ask instead. Well, because Jungkook wants to do something nice for you. The only girl who ever approached him in real life. It simply makes him happy to do something for you. To see you happy. He doesn’t tell you that, however. He just shrugs. 

“Because I can.” Simply says when you start shaking your head. 

“No-no. That’s not right. I can’t let you do a whole twenty page long report on both of our behalf. Let’s just split the work evenly and-”

“I have lots of spare time.”

“How? I thought you’re in your final year? How can you have so much free time?”

“I just do.” Jungkook grumbles, starting to get annoyed at how you don’t want his help. He just wants to help you. Especially since he knows how bad you’re at this. Academically. Not just from your own words but of course from his research. He couldn’t help but look for you after the first day. Was just curious. It’s really a piece of cake for him to log into the university data. Then access all the details of students. Not that he’s done it before. Never felt a need to do so. You’re the first ever need. And yes, he found a lot about you. Including your personal details. Your permanent address, your current address, your phone number, and lastly your academic records. You were apparently not exaggerating when you told him that you’re bad at this. Barely into the start of your second year and your grades are already suffering. So, Jungkook can help you a little with it and he doesn’t like the way you’re being stubborn. 

But before he can say anything you sigh. To his great pleasure. “Okay, if you insist but I feel bad, you should ask me if you need anything, okay?” You take a step toward him. Come so close to him that he feels your body warmth. And he feels a skip in his heart beat. Even his breath hitch. This is new. He feels a shudder rippling through him. Maybe it’s because you’re a girl. Not that he doesn’t know anything. Of course, not. He can make a girl cum in their pants if he has a phone and an internet connection. This is new, though. But he knows that it’s not the novelty that makes his breathing ragged and heart beats a mile a minute. He has been in close proximity to other women but has never felt this way. “Okay?” You ask again, making him snap out of his reverie. 

He just nods. You smile. 

Pretty!

So fucking pretty. 

Pretty that he’s forgetting to breathe.

Pretty that it hurts.

He wants to just touch you. Just your cheek. Then trail down toward those luscious lips of yours. Then down your throat. Down, down, and down. 

Jungkook can’t help but wander his gaze down where his mind is taking him. Drinking up your appearance. Your silky skin. And the swell of your breasts. His eyes stop there. Even through the layers of clothing, your breasts look so plump. So soft. 

What if he just squeezes them in his large hand? What if-

“Hey!” The sudden voice makes him slightly jump on his spot. You turn around to meet the person who owns that voice at the same time he looks over you. A young man with a bright smile reaches you. Casually. Jungkook turns his gaze back to you right at the time to catch you reciprocating the newcomer's smile. 

It looks like you know each other.

“Hey, baby!” Then you mutter softly. 

Of fucking course you know each other.

The man pecks your lips slowly. And Jungkook feels his skin prickles. He goes rigid completely. Clenching his jaw so tight even without him knowing it. A burn in his chest makes it hard for him to breathe. 

“Who’s this?” The man asks from you, making you avert your eyes back to Jungkook. 

“Oh, this is my….” You start enthusiastically only to trail off. Of course, you still don’t know his name. And how it hurts. Ridiculous. Jungkook turns around without a word. Starts to walk away when you call after him. 

“Hey wait! We just, hey….”  

But he doesn’t turn around. 

…………………………..

Jungkook stands a few feet away from the friend group in the courtyard. He’s trying to stay clear from anyone's sight. Not that anyone would pay him any mind. Still, he doesn’t want you to notice him. No. That’d disrupt his peaceful view. It’s liberating to just look at you. 

The girl who wanted to talk with him by herself. 

The girl who’s so pretty. 

Now, Jungkook doesn’t know why he’s being this way. He found you to be breathtakingly beautiful the first day you sat next to him. You were damn interesting. Intriguing. With your endless chatter. 

And then when you had chosen to sit next to him for a second time, he felt something so deep inside him. He no longer hated sitting in a class where some old professor mindlessly talked about things that never reached his brain. He really liked the feeling of having you next to him. Just sitting next to him. Walking next to him. Standing next to him. It was amazing. The feeling. The way his heart was racing. The way he was feeling hot. It was all so nice. He no longer hated this place as well. Just two days with you, he was already feeling positive. 

He had never thought he’d ever get to feel such a feeling. A feeling that is not miserable. But instead hopeful. You’re like a ray of sunshine that suddenly peeked at him through the years of dark clouds that shrouded his entire world. 

Then, he felt so disappointed in the end.

You didn’t even know his name. It had hurt to think you weren’t even interested in knowing his name. Jungkook really doesn't know why you do what you do. Being all nice to him. Wanting to be around him. Maybe, you’re just a kind person who’s nice to everyone. But something inside him says that’s not the case. That can’t be right, can it? No, it isn’t. You wanted to approach him. That should mean something. Right?

Of course, it means something.

Besides, how well you and he were getting along with each other, even though it was just two days. You have felt so familiar to him. As if he has known you for years. And you share so many similarities. He has found so many interests that are common for you two. Then there is your family situation. You might not admit that you have a shitty family but that’s the truth. You and he are the same. What a match. Isn’t this fate? 

People don’t just be nice to other people. You were clearly interested in him. In some kind of way. Even though you obviously have a boyfriend. At that moment Jungkook had felt such a twist in his gut which he later figured out as jealousy. He was so jealous of the man who had approached you that way and got to touch you oh, so freely. It was not fair. It was maddening. 

He swears that he had wanted to just forget it and continue with his life like he always did. Just go back to his miserable life clouded by gloomy darkness. But it didn’t work. He was so desperate for that ray of sunshine after that first moment. It was impossible to go back to the darkness just after he felt how good it is to be in the light. No. He wasn’t ready to just let go. So, he had no other options but to seek you in any way he could find.

Your every social media account? Checked. He is following you on every platform he can. 

Your address? Checked. He’s been following you back home for a week now.

Your every class? Checked. He knows your daily schedule better than you do. 

He knows where you’d be at what time. He knows where you work part time and in which coffee shop you’d pay a visit every day. Knows what is your favourite order- and he liked it the first time he tried. No wonder you’re ordering the same thing again and again. He knows in which corner you’d sit at the library. He knows how much time you waste under the disguise of studying but spending doing nothing but daydreaming. He knows many things. And he’d continue to know more and more. Every little thing about you. Until there’s nothing more to know. Until you’re a part of him. 

And while he’s at it. He has felt the same warmth. Even though you are not just engaging in an active conversation with him, he felt the same comforting feeling by just looking at you talking with other people. Even though you aren’t laughing and smiling with him, he certainly does find solace in looking at your smile through your pictures. Pictures you’ve posted in your social media or the pictures he has captured at the most random times. 

Oh, how beautiful you look.

And despite all, despite the fact that you have no single idea about you being on his watch for over a week now, he feels so close. So close to you. Closer than he’s even been to anyone. As if you’ve lived with him. 

He loves that. Loves how content he feels even when he’s looking at you from afar. And of course, amidst all these, he’s kind of forgotten that you have a boyfriend. Who can blame him, after all. Besides, as now he’s watching you for probably the hundredth time, Jungkook thinks he doesn’t give a double fuck about your boyfriend either. Why should he? For now, he is more than satisfied with looking at you. When he wants more than that, he’d get more than that. Boyfriend or not. You deserve far better than that anyway. You deserve someone who’s obsessed with you. Someone who could treat you like the goddess you are. Like Jeon Jungkook himself. 

Until his moment comes, however, he will just love you from afar. 

……………………………….

You felt awful after the encounter with the guy in all black who’s now your assignment partner. It feels like such a bitchy thing to do, especially after he offered to do the report all by himself. That’s a huge favor to you since you’re barely hanging there. And yet, you didn’t even know his name.

You wanted to apologize profusely during your next lecture. And you waited expectantly for him to arrive. He didn’t. Which makes your guilt intensified ten fold. Then you waited until your next lecture. He didn’t attend it again. 

What if he’s really mad at you? What if you’ve hurt him? 

True that you don’t know him very well but hurting someone has not been your intention at all. And there’s the fact that he already has a problematic family. It must be really hard. 

Hence, your long face as you enter the university cafeteria after your lecture. Your mind goes around so many different things. You don’t even have a way to contact him. You don’t even know what you should do at this rate. There’s a pending assignment and if he’s decided not to do it anymore, then you need to come up with something. You can’t really afford to fail a subject. 

You sigh heavily as you wait in the line to place your order. Eyes just wandering around with no purpose. That’s when your eyes suddenly land on someone who’s hunched over their laptop in a corner booth.

Wait!

That someone is draped in all black. That someone has their face covered from a hoodie. 

A wide grin spreads across your face as you unmistakably recognize the person. That’s definitely him. Your assignment partner. You jump into action immediately. Practically sprint toward him. Bumping into a girl in your haste. You pay no attention to her as you make a beeline to the booth where he’s sitting all alone. 

“Hey!” You shout just as you reach the booth. Don’t wait for any permission as you slide into the booth right across from him. Someone else would’ve jerked a little at the unexpected barge in but not this guy. He doesn’t even raise his head to look up at you. Just keep staring at his laptop. 

Oh okay, that’s fine. 

“Hey, why didn’t you come to class today?” You ask despite his lack of interaction. And don’t receive an answer in return. You sigh again. Chew on your bottom lip. “Listen, I’m so sorry about what happened the other day. That was such a low thing to do. You even offered to do the report for me and-” You yet again in vain try to take a look at his face when he lower his head even more. “- I’m really sorry.” So, you just extend your sincere apology. He still doesn’t answer. “But in my defense, I asked your name on the first day, it was you who didn’t answer me.” You add stupidly thinking it’d ease him up. Wrong. He’s still silent. 

“Okay, okay, let’s just do this again.” You hold your hand toward him. “I’m (__). It’s nice to meet you Mr?” He doesn’t take your hand in his. Nor does he answer your question. You keep your hand that way for a long awkward second before you let it fall down. “Okay.” You mumble and nod just after another minute. “That’s fine. I get why you’re mad at me and that’s fair. I was a bitch and if you don’t want to do the report all by yourself anymore, I’m fine with it. Just tell me what part I should do so-”

He cuts you off abruptly by turning his laptop toward you all of a sudden. 

“Huh?” You dumbly stare at him. Then at the laptop screen. “Wh-what’s this?” Question tentatively. 

“Report.” Finally, he answers. You turn your attention back to him, not understanding what he’s talking about. “I already finished it.” So, he clarifies. 

What now? 

You hastily start to read the document on the device. Scroll down. Eyes roaming over the words, numbers, statistics, and images. Holy hell, he indeed has finished the report. All twenty pages are done. Your eyes go wide in pure disbelief. Even suck in a shaky breath. 

“Wow…” You whisper even without you knowing you said that audibly. “Wow..” This time, you say it more clearly. Look back at the guy in front of you. Still staring down and his face hidden. “Fucking wow, Mr. No name. How did you even? I mean.. It’s only been two weeks and you already finished this?” You shake your head. 

“Told you, I have a lot of spare time.” He mumbles softly, making you smile. You find him intriguing. And kind of adorable. “I- uh- will send it to you so you can proofread it. Let me know if any changes are needed.” He adds.

“I don’t think this will need any changes. You’re brilliant. Oh god thank you so much,” You chirp happily. “But still send it to me anyway and I’ll go through it.” You pull a tissue paper toward you. Fish out for a pen in your bag. Let out a victorious noise when you find one. “This is my email.” You explain to him as you write it down on the tissue. Shoves it across the table to him. “Thank you again, Mr. No name. You’re the best.” You exclaim yet again. Give him his laptop back when your alarm suddenly goes off. 

“Oh shit.” You take the device from your pocket and turn off the alarm. “I have another class.” Explain to your half- dead companion even when he doesn’t give a fuck. You get to your feet hastily. Looks like you’ll have to forget about your lunch. Almost turn around to leave before you eye the guy who’s nice enough to save your ass at least in one subject. 

You hesitate for a bit. Pondering on your thoughts. Then say fuck it as you hurriedly round the table. 

“Thank you so much!” You state with the bottom of your heart. Lean down to throw your arms around his neck. A fleeting sideways hug to show your gratitude. He’s so nice and you have no other way to show how thankful you are. 

“Let me know if you need anything in the future. I’m quite happy to return the favor.”

You shout that out as you already start to walk away. 

…………………

Jungkook stupidly stares at the tissue paper on the table. Your email address scribbled on it. His heart pounds erratically in his throat. His ears roar. Ridiculous, since it was just a simple hug. But he can’t help it. The way you melted into him. The way your breath momentarily hit his ear when you pulled away. The way your soft breasts just slightly pressed against his shoulder. 

Fuck!

What would he do to have it again? 

To have more. To have you in his hands. Your body pressed against his. Your soft breasts against his hard chest. To touch you all over. Kiss every inch of your skin. Knead your round ass cheeks. To smell you. And then of course, to have you naked and whimpering beneath him. His hard cock ramming inside you while you cry out his name. 

A thin layer of sweat forms on his skin. All the blood in his body rushing downward. How embarrassing this is that he’s getting a hard-on from a simple hug. He can’t help it. He absolutely can’t. 

Jungkook closes his eyes for a minute to relive the brief moment where he felt you against him. An involuntary groan leaves his throat at the memory. He’d have to rush home now. There’s an aching problem between his legs to take care of. Yet soon as he opens his eyes again, he’s met with the tissue paper on the table. 

Weird.

He finds you to be really weird. Why didn’t you text him your email address? Isn’t that the new normal? Or are you a hopeless romantic who loves to do such funny things? A soft smile graces his lips. 

Jungkook picks up the tissue from the table. 

Do you pity him? 

Or do you just like him, like how he thought? 

You approached him after all. Yet again. Like you always do. It makes Jungkook’s heart flutter to think that you’ve been looking for him. Looking for a chance to apologize sincerely. 

Oh, how complicated you are. Like an unsolvable puzzle. And Jungkook loves solving them. 

He pockets the tissue before picking up his phone. Still finding it weird that you decided to write it down like that. You could’ve just texted him. He unlocks the phone and opens a text thread where the last message was from more than two weeks ago. 

Pretty

You’re the one who sent the last message. 

Pretty

              Thursday, 15 March, 2018

Oh, no. I hate Choco Pie. Can’t stomach it. (9. 00 a.m.)

Jungkook hasn’t replied to you because it was just an hour before your lecture. Despite your enthusiasm to talk with him over the texts Jungkook has been pretty nervous that you won’t choose to sit next to him. Then you did. Solidifying his suspicions that you might like him. But then the day didn’t end well and he didn’t want to text you back. You didn’t either. Not even an apology. 

You’re weird.

First, you never asked his name even over texts. 

Second, you could’ve just text an apology but you sought him out instead. You decided to be a little romantic and write down your email on a darn tissue paper. Another smile graces over Jungkook’s lips at the prospect. Maybe he was right. Maybe you like him. It doesn’t matter that you have a boyfriend. Maybe you’re not in love with him. Maybe it’s not only him who’s been feeling so connected to you. 

Jungkook shoves his phone inside his pocket as well, deciding not to ponder on the thought anymore. It doesn’t matter. What matters is the fact that you actually came. Made amends. So, he turns off his laptop. Gathers his belongings to leave the cafeteria. Is pushing everything inside his bag when a loud chirpy voice catches his attention and makes him look in the direction. The way that someone happily bellowed really matches the way you do it. Hence his sudden interest. Yet he’s met with a stranger. A girl who just enters the cafeteria. A boy follows her. Jungkook almost looks away in disinterest before his mind registers the boy who entered. He does a quick double take.

And he wasn’t wrong.

There he is. Your so-called boyfriend. 

Jung Hoseok!

Of course, Jungkook knows everything about the said man from A to Z. Of course, he dug deeper into the said man’s life since the day he saw him. All it took was a simple stalk over your Instagram to find the needed person. Then it was just as easy as eating a piece of cake for Jungkook. Maybe, he recognizes the girl too. She was in your photos. She didn’t pique his interest, however. Only your boyfriend did. 

Oh, how Jungkook hates Jung Hoseok. Just because Hoseok exists. Because he exists and found you before Jungkook did. 

Not that Jungkook can do anything about it though. So, he proceeds to finish packing up his things. Swings his backpack over his shoulder. Takes a step forward just to stop dead on the track. Eyes wide at what he sees. 

The girl pouts. Whines about something he quite can’t hear. Then she turns around. Goes to her tippy-toes just to connect her mouth with the man behind her. The man who is unmistakably Jung Hoseok. The man who is definitely your boyfriend. 

Jungkook lets out a soft, inaudible gasp. 

Well, isn’t this so fucked up?

Hoseok doesn’t shove the girl away immediately. He revels in the kiss for a moment before suddenly pulling away as if the girl burnt him. His eyes scan the cafeteria furiously afterwards. Panicked. His eyes roam past Jungkook without recognizing. 

Good!

Jungkook doesn’t know what his initial thoughts about the situation were. But now he is quite sure. Your dear boyfriend is cheating on you. And probably with someone who’s close to you, if she’s the girl Jungkook saw on your profile. 

Jung Hoseok is cheating on you! The fucking bastard is cheating on a woman like you!

See, he knew you deserve much better. 

………………………………

“So…” Daebi drags out while twisting the mascara cap closed. You watch her through the bathroom mirror, applying lip balm to your lips which are drier than Sahara. 

“So what?” You question when she doesn’t complete whatever she was about to say and gets distracted with checking her blemishes instead. You get her attention back to you, successfully. 

“So… you mean this weird guy in a hoodie from your class completed a whole damn report for you and you don’t even know his name yet?” Daebi finally asks. You shrug. 

“Yep. And it isn’t my fault, you know. He just refuses to say his name. I asked him a million times.”

Daebi chuckles. “And you think it’s safe to hang out with someone who refuses to reveal their identity? I mean you haven’t even seen his face?” Turns around and leans against the counter. You scrunch up your face in displeasure. Why does everyone think that a quiet kid is always a danger?

“Don’t be like that Daebi. He’s just shy. Other than that he’s a really nice guy. I mean have you ever met someone who’s willing to do a group assignment all on their own happily. And he doesn’t even want anything in return.” You finish up applying lip balm and place it inside your bag. 

“That’s exactly why you should be careful. People don’t do stuff like that, not anymore at least. There’s always a hidden motivation. Who knows? Maybe he likes you.” Daebi casually inspects her perfectly manicured nails as she states that. A smug smile on her lips. You take a minute at that. Eyes wide. A minute of uncertainty where you consider what she just said. 

Could it be?

Of course not. Your stupid best friend is messing with you. 

“Yah!” You nudge her away with your hip. Makes her giggle. “He literally saw me with Hoseok the other day. He’s just a nice guy.” You turn around as you say. Place your bag and phone on the counter top. Leave them behind knowing Daebi will stay for you.Walk toward one of the stalls. 

“That doesn’t matter dude. He still can be deeply, madly in love with you.” Your best friend shouts after you as you close the bathroom stall’s door behind you, making you reopen it and flip her off. 

………………………

You eye your classmate suspiciously as you sit in your designated spots in the familiar lecture hall. Not that you can see much. His face is mostly covered in his infamous hoodie. By now, you’ve grown mostly comfortable around him. After all, you’ve attended more than five lectures together. He’s still not one of your best friends but you genuinely like him. You may not stay in touch out of this class room but when you’re inside, he’s the best company you could ever wish for. You haven’t asked for his number mainly because you thought he wouldn't like to share it with you. He doesn’t even want to tell you his name. And you find it ridiculous how you two sit next to each other for every lecture but how you still haven’t seen his face.

You’ve grown accustomed to that fact, however. 

You and he have been good to each other. Just two normal people who share a class together. 

Yet today, something feels off. Not that he’s done anything to make you uneasy. Quite the opposite to tell the truth. He’s done nothing at all. You know it’s your stupid best friend's words that are plaguing your mind. You can’t help but let your head get ahead of yourself. Let your mind wander. 

What if what she said was true? 

He’s been so nice to you. Who would volunteer to complete a whole ass group assignment by themselves?

Gosh, you’re being ridiculous now. Not everyone is the same. It doesn’t mean anything just because he did something nice for you. Besides, if he’s really interested he’d at least ask for your number, wouldn’t he? You shouldn’t let Daebi’s delusional ideas get to you. You shake your head to get rid of the silly thoughts. Turn your head to pay attention to the lecture. Which apparently is a good idea but acted upon a little late. Just as you turn your head, you’re met with your professor’s direct gaze landed up on you. Your eyes go slightly wide at the sudden attention.

“Anything interesting on your friend’s face Miss (___)?” He questions while crossing his arms across his chest. 

Oh!

You instantly go red at the professor's words. Cheeks burning. 

Embarrassing. This is oh so fucking embarrassing. And it turns worse when the whole class turns around to look at you. You would very much be glad if the floor could split up and swallow you whole. Unfortunately, that isn’t an option. Hence, your little bow and the muttered apology. 

“I’m sorry professor.” You’re not entirely sure that he heard it. He nods nonetheless. 

“Pay attention child.” 

You’re so relieved when he turns around to continue with the lecture with that. Yet the residue of your embarrassment remains. Your face is still burning, making you press your cold hands across it. Trying to soothe the flaming skin. It’s really hot here. But at least it won’t get any worse-

“You were staring at me?”

Of course, it can get much worse. You know your friend isn’t teasing you. He is not the type to tease. Still it feels like he is taunting. Making fun of you. You turn your gaze down toward your notebook. Wishing you had a hoodie to cover up your face as well. 

“Uh- it’s- it’s not like that, you know. I- I wasn’t staring-”

“I like that you were staring.”

You snap your head toward him so fast that you’re certain you just broke your neck. Mouth agape and eyes wide in surprise.

“What?”

“I would love it if you were looking at me.”

You close your mouth shut. Not knowing what to say. Besides everything, who would admit to such a thing? It's one thing to secretly like something like that but admitting it? 

He’s weird. 

“W-why?”

“Because, I like it.”

He states nonchalantly. Stark opposite to the way someone should say it. 

Wasn't he shy? He was so shy. He is not the kind of person to admit things like that. And this is so sudden. Something doesn’t feel right. Yet you don’t question it. Instead, you just pay your attention back to the lecture silently. Forcing yourself to believe that there is nothing wrong. It’s just your best friend’s words making you think something is up.

Who knows? Maybe he likes you? 

Does he like you?

Is that it?

If that’s the case you might have to make the air clear between you two before things get complicated. You love your boyfriend and you don’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. Yet you can’t do that when you’re not certain about his feelings. 

Maybe you should just wait. Wait and see. 

……………………

You nuzzle your nose against your boyfriend’s chest. Whining and complaining. Hoseok chuckles softly, the sound reverberating through his chest in a soothing way.

“Oh gosh! Will you two stop acting like clingy cats? You know I’m fucking allergic to PDA.” Your best friend interrupts your sweet moment as she throws a pillow at you. It hits right across Hoseok’s face. 

“Yah!” He complains in annoyance as you regard your best friend with a scowl in your face. 

“Well this isn’t a public display of affection you idiot. We’re in our house and all of you damn annoying germlings should leave us to ourselves.” You point out the obvious, looking at each of your friends. They all, yet again, are in your sweet home. 

“Not until we come up with a plan for my birthday. This is really awkward, you know?” Daebi munches on some chips before continuing. “That I have to plan my own birthday. I have bunch of damn friends, and no one gives a fuck. I have to fucking surprise myself.” 

“You don’t necessarily give any of us any time to plan anything Daebi. You’ve been planning on your own birthday ever since your last one ended.” Jimin defends you all. You and your other friend Nina can’t help but snort unpleasantly at how true that statement is. Daebi pouts adorably. You think it’s ridiculous that she doesn’t have a boyfriend yet. She is so damn gorgeous and adorable that it’s baffling how boys aren’t swooning over her 24/7. 

“Okay, fine. My bad. I’m so fucking sorry Jimin.” She hisses at Jimin. “But still we need to plan my birthday. Tell me where we should go?” Yet doesn’t back away. All of you sigh frustratedly. Her birthday is a week away but you know she won’t shut up until you come up with a thorough plan. 

“Well, it’s your birthday so you should decide how to celebrate.” You finally pull away from Hoseok’s warm embrace. Daebi lights up instantly.

“Really? And you gonna agree with anything that I come up with?” Asks. You all nod in unison. “Yep.” Nina even adds. “And you won’t say no? Won’t back away at the last minute?” Daebi asks again. “Jesus, woman, we won’t. Go ahead with this shit please.” It’s Nina who mutters irritatedly again. 

“Elysium” This time Daebi doesn’t even blink as she excitedly bellows where she wants to celebrate her birthday. Yet only she looks excited. Aside from her, the entire room falls into a shocked silence. 

“You want to go where now?” Nina leans forward on her seat. Disbelief written all over her features. She asks the exact same question you wanted to ask. 

“The Elysium.” Deabi repeats with a nonchalant shrug. 

“Are you fucking serious Daebi?” Hoseok is the one who questions this time. His brows pulled together. 

“Yep.” Daebi looks around the room. “Why are you all looking at me like that?”

“Looking at you like that? Dude, you want to go to Elysium. The fucking Elysium. Of all the damn places you can choose, you want us to hang out in the shadiest and most dangerous club in the city?” You practically yell at her.

“Oh c’mon, that’s just a myth. It’s a club just like any other club in the city which has a bad reputation due to something some idiot said.” She argues with a straight face. 

“What if it’s not?” Jimin points a finger at her. 

“Then we’ll leave. No biggies. I’m fucking curious about the place guys. C’mon, you promised you won’t say no.” Daebi whines. 

“That was before you chose the fucking Elysium.” You groan. 

“That doesn’t matter. Trust me guys, it’s just another club. Why are you people like this? Let’s live a little, yeah? This is our college life, if we won’t do such things now, when will we?” She gets to her feet. Obviously mad at all of you. Ready to leave. Makes you feel bad but you still can’t agree to go out into the one place everyone should stay away. It’s just common knowledge. It’s undoubtedly an illegal club. Can go inside only with an invitation. Or so people say. So, you have no idea how Daebi plans to go inside even if you all agreed. 

“Okay, fine. But we will leave if anything suspicious happens, okay?” 

Just before Daebi turns around a voice next you adds with a heavy sigh. You snap your head to your right at light speed at the same time Daebi stops on her track. You gape at Hoseok in utter pure disbelief. 

“Really?” Daebis asks slowly.

“Really?” You shout loudly.

Hoseok turns to you first.

“I mean, it really can be a rumor baby. We’ll go inside, and if anything seems off, we’ll leave right away.” He assures you despite the uncertainty laced in his face. 

“Ha! We’re about to die on the day Daebi was born. What a way to go.” Jimin snickers before he gets up and disappears inside your kitchen. You look at Nina, hoping to have some back up on your side. She sighs heavily. 

“I really don’t know guys. As long as you keep me safe, I’m down.” She gets up as well. 

“No but-” You turn to Hoseok again. “You got nothing to be afraid of, baby. I Got you. C’mon it’s just for this once and she’s your best friend.”

He snakes a hand around your shoulders and pulls you into his body. Places a soft kiss in your hair. You squeeze your eyes shut in frustration. You swear you want to argue. Say no. But Hoseok has this soft spot inside your heart that makes it impossible for you to say no. 

Gosh this is so fucking annoying!

“Please.” Hoseok plants another kiss on your cheek. Then another. Another plea. And you’re melting. 

“Okay.” You relent at the seventh kiss to be precise. “But I swear to god Daebi-” You try to speak over the squeals Daebi is letting out. “-I’m gonna kill you both if anything happens. Yah! Are you listening to me?” You shout through the top of your lungs. Just to get ignored. Hoseok shakes you softly in his hold. You give up trying to negotiate. A smile creeps across your lips as your other two friends join you back again. 

“Still, you can’t go in without an invitation Daebi. How are we gonna manage that? Break in? Oh, God please don’t tell me that’s what you want.” Jimin points out a very valid question, sitting back with another packet of chips. Great. 

“Just leave that to me.” Daebi chirps excitedly. Everyone regards her with curious looks. Waits till she clarifies further. She doesn’t. Just smiles mischievously. Guess she has her ways and knowing Daebi, you know she won’t tell you even if you begged. So, you all leave that up to her. Just like she asks. 

……………………………

You knot the trash bag tightly. A sigh escapes your mouth as you pick it up to take outside. Despite how annoying it was to have your friends over at your place all the time, it gets a little bit lonely when no one is around. Your entire apartment feels hollow. So empty and quiet that the sound of a needle dropping would echo as a bomb detonating. You would’ve appreciated the peace if Hoseok was here, though. 

You click your tongue in annoyance, making your way toward the front door. All you want is one alone moment with your boyfriend without your friends around. And in the one time you get such a chance, Hoseok has to leave you alone for- in his words- much needed boys night. You asked Daebi to come over tonight, but it turns out she was busy for the first time in her life. 

Guess you are alone for the night. 

Crisp night air kisses your face the moment you exit the apartment building. You  shudder a little. You hate taking trash out but it was becoming unavoidable. The entire apartment was starting to smell like rotten cabbage slowly. That was your cue to tidy up the place. Hence, you’re using your one peaceful, lonely, shitty night to do just that. You open the lid of the trash bin and throw the bag inside. Trying not to breathe so the disgusting smell won’t reach your innocent nostrils. You close back the lid faster as possible. Drag in a deep breath when you do and turn around absentmindedly. 

“Hey!”

You jolt so hard that you almost lose your balance. A very inhuman scream escapes your throat. Your hands immediately go up to cover your face in a pitiful attempt of protecting yourself. 

“Shit! I’m so sorry. It’s just me.” A voice reaches you at the same time a pair of hands are shot up in a surrendering position. 

You instinctively step back. It takes your startled brain a good long minute to register what’s happening. To register the figure in front of you who suddenly emerges there. First thing you notice is a black hood. Then all you notice is black. Black clothing from head to toe. Face hidden behind that hood. 

No Name!

You exhale a shaky breath in relief. 

Fuck! You had thought that you died. 

“No Name? What the fuck! I nearly died, dude.” You finally manage to mumble in between your shaky breaths. Your head is still throbbing and your heart is running a marathon. 

“S-sorry. Didn't mean to scare you.” He meekly mutters with a gentle nod in his head. That makes you calm down completely. It’s just him. So, you nod in return. Place your hands on your hips. Let out a final breath of relief. Open your mouth to ask what the hell he is doing here when he starts looking for something inside his pants pocket. Few more seconds and he is stretching his palm out for you. A wallet placed on his outstretched palm. A pink one to be precise. A familiar one. Very. 

Wait! That’s yours. 

Your eyes go wide as you recognize your wallet. Hell, you hadn’t even realized it was missing until now. When did you lose it? Today? Yesterday? When did you last see him? How did he find it?

“I-is that mine?” You ask dumbly when you already know it’s yours. “H-how?” Ask again without any effort to take the wallet in your hand. 

“You left it in class the other day.” He answers simply. You blink at his face. That can’t be true. It’s been more than two days since your last lecture and there’s no way you were so oblivious to the fact that your wallet is missing. How come you never noticed?

But then again, he has it in his hands. There’s no other way for it to be in his possession. Maybe you accidentally left it there. Hoseok or someone else always paid for your food and stuff. Maybe you didn’t have to use your wallet. Or not. You’re not sure. You can’t remember. Using your wallet is such a normal and typical day to day activity that your brain hasn’t memorized the times or places you used it. 

“O-okay.” You hesitantly accept his answer in the end. Slowly take the wallet in your hand. “Th-thank you.” Show your gratitude with a deep bow. He just nods again. A silence falls as you awkwardly stare at the man who is standing before you when a sudden question pops up in your head. “Wait!” You perk up. “How did you..? Uh- how do you know where I live?” You ask, suddenly alert.  You’re pretty certain that you haven’t told him your address before. 

“Uh…” He  hesitates for a minute. Then a shrug. “Your friend.” Says making you even more confused. 

“Friend?” So you question back. Brows furrowed. 

“Your best friend. She told me she’s your best friend.”

“Daebi?”

“I guess so.”

“How did you meet her?” His answers don't ease your confusion but make it worse. Nothing makes sense to you. 

“Today at the cafeteria. I saw you together once on the campus. I-uh so I reached her when I saw her today.”

Oh, that makes sense. Only that Daebi failed to let you know about it. She should let you know when someone reached her and ask her about your whereabouts. But this is Daebi. She doesn’t think things through even just to save her life. Of course, she just gave away your address to someone like that. Good thing it’s just him. You sigh in defeat this time. Nod.

“Okay. Thank you again.” You finally smile at him. “You helped me again. Uh- I didn’t even notice that this was gone.” Show him your wallet. “Thank you so much Mr. No Name.” Ease up enough to joke around. Another bow. Another smile and then back to being awkward. “Uh..” You stall, staring at him. Not knowing what to do. “Um.. do you like… uh, wanna come inside?” You blurt out in the end. Yep. That’s the right thing to do. True, you don’t know him well besides the few times you met him at the classes. But you know him, nonetheless. He even finished your report for you. And now he brought your wallet which you didn’t know was missing. 

He takes a minute. Then nods. 

……………………

“Would you like a drink?” You ask your nameless classmate, already rummaging through the fridge. Receive no answer which forces you to turn around. “No Name?” You quip, feeling amused to see him looking around like a lost kitten. Funny, how you still haven’t seen his face. Only tidbits here and there. Now as he’s looking up, you catch a glimpse of a chiseled jaw. Only for a moment because he snaps his head toward you at your voice. 

“Where’s your boyfriend?” 

He catches you off guard with that question. 

“Huh?”

“Your boyfriend? Where is he?” That’s the most this nameless, faceless guy has talked with you. And he asks such questions. You almost think there’s an underlying demand in his tone. You’re hearing it wrong probably.

“Out with the boys. Why?” So, you answer him anyway.

Of course, he doesn’t answer your question again. You wait for a few beats to pass hoping he’d continue the topic but when he doesn’t you decide to let it go. “So, do you want anything to drink? I have beer here. Or if you want anything-”

“What about your friend? The one I met. Your best friend.” He interrupts your little drinks offering. Nearly makes you mad about how he disregards your questions but interrogates you in return, as if he has any rights. 

“Why are you asking?” This time you don’t answer. 

“You don’t know?” 

“‘Course I do. But why would you want to know?” You’re slowly getting irritated. 

“Just asking. Because you’re alone here.” He answers so innocently that you instantly feel bad for feeling irritated even for a second.

“She has some assignments to finish.” 

He nods in response to your answer. End of that conversation. Right? But you swear you feel that it isn’t finished. As if he has more to say but is trying to keep it shut. There's a sudden tension that fills the air. You feel uncomfortable. Something seems off. Maybe it’s because of the fact that he doesn't normally talk this much. Or the fact he has appeared on your doorway with a wallet that you didn’t know was lost. Or simply you’re being ridiculous. Or-

“You’re really pretty!” If his previous questions caught you off guard, this one leaves you tongue-tied. Your mouth goes into a perfect shape of ‘o’. That is so sudden. Completely out of the blue.

Is that normal? Do people say stuff like that to others? 

“What?” When someone compliments you, the right thing to do is thank them. But this feels abnormal. 

“You’re really pretty. And I’d like to have a beer.”

Oh!

It’s very rare when you don’t know how to act or what to say. This apparently is one of those rare moments. So, you simply nod and hand him over a beer. Wait uneasily until he finishes it, in hope that he'll leave afterward. You want him to leave because you’re in discomfort. Something isn’t right. You can sense it. He doesn’t leave, however. No matter how long you wait, drowning in that uncomfortable silence, staring at his black hoodie, he doesn’t even show a sign of wanting to leave. If anything, he shifts uncomfortably in his position a few times. You note how he clutches the beer can tightly. He definitely has something to ask you. And you’re getting impatient. 

“Uh.. are you, um…” He leaves you with no other options but to ask. 

“I have a favour to ask.”

You knew it!

You’re surprised again, though. Never thinking that it was about a favor. But at least this makes it a little bit less awkward. Better than engaging in an alone staring competition. “Oh yeah? What is it?” You’re honestly happy to help him. He did that report for you after all. 

“Are you free tomorrow?”

“In the morning, yes. Why?” You furrow your brows. 

“Want to go out for a coffee with me?”

You thought surprises are over. Thought he was just complimenting you generally. Now, this doesn’t feel like that. Suddenly, Daebi’s voice haunts your mind again.  

Who knows? Maybe he likes you.

No. This can’t be that. He’s just asking. Like a friend. And you are fully allowed to decline the invitation. Which you should because you feel weird. Weird about something you can’t quite decipher. 

You inhale a shaky breath, preparing yourself to decline his offer. Mentally going through all the excuses you can offer when a sudden sound disrupts you both. Both of you snap your heads to where the sound came. Undoubtedly that was the sound of the front door opening. Makes you confused since no one would come here around this hour. You almost walk out of the kitchen thinking maybe it’s Daebi when your assumptions come wrong as the person who just entered your apartment just walks over to the kitchen.

“Hoseok?” You exclaim in surprise. It’s not even past 10 at night and you can’t believe he’s home this early. When they go out, he doesn’t usually come home at all for the night. This is a nice surprise. Even a gentle smile spreads across your face. You hurry over to your boyfriend. Just to stop after a few steps. Brows furrowing at the sight of your boyfriend scowling deep. It looks like something happened. Yet before you could ask, Hoseok turns away from you. His scowl deepens.

“You have company?” He grumbles, making you turn around as well. A figure standing in the middle of the kitchen comes to your vision. 

Oh, you forgot the presence of your classmate. 

“Oh, he was just bringing me my lost wallet.” You explain quickly.

“You lost your wallet?” Hoseok pays his attention back to you. 

“Well, I didn’t know that I lost it but apparently I have and he-”

“You didn’t know you'd lost your wallet.” Hoseok snaps suddenly and a quick jerk ripples through you. It’s rare when he gets mad. You quickly glance at the stranger in your house. Hoseok and you need to have this conversation later. He’s probably in a foul mood and letting it out on you. You gulp harshly before turning to the visitor. 

“Hey! I would- uh- see you in the next class. Thank you again for bringing my wallet. That’s so nice of you.” You still don’t want to appear rude and give him the impression that you want to get rid of him. You have no other choice though. Luckily for you Hoseok doesn’t intervene. He says nothing as you walk your friend back to the door. Says nothing nor does follow you until you bid goodbye to your nameless friend and return back to the kitchen. Only after then he speaks again.                    

“What the fuck do you think you’re doing (__)?” He lashes at you the moment you return to the kitchen. Makes you furrow your brows in mild annoyance.

“What?” You still try your best not to get mad and just talk this through. 

“Inviting some stranger inside?” 

“He’s no stranger. He’s this kid from my class. You even met him once and he was my partner on that darn assignment.”

“Yeah? The kid who you don’t even know the name of?”

Well, you have no answer for that. Maybe even when the guy wasn’t telling you his name, you should’ve at least tried to figure it out on your own. “See?” Hoseok continues in your silence. “He’s fucking weird (___). I mean, who the fuck keeps their face hidden all the damn time. And why the fuck he can’t tell you his name? Who is he? A fucking spy?” You watch at your boyfriend’s reddened face in partial anger and partial surprise. You don’t think that he should really make it that much of a big deal after all. “And you decided to invite him inside while you’re all alone?” He grits making you finally snap. 

“Yeah, and who’s fault was that?”

“Oh now it’s my fault? What is this now? I can’t even go out with my friends?”

“For fucks sake Hoseok! What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing. I’m just fucking mad to see my girlfriend is hanging out with this weird man when I come home.”

“He’s not fucking weird. Gosh, you guys are all so fucking mean.” You yell so loud that Hoseok instantly shuts his mouth before you turn around on your heel. Leaving him alone in the kitchen and making a beeline toward your bedroom. See, it’s not that you really wanted to defend No Name against your boyfriend. He was weird to tell the truth. You were so uncomfortable with him and are so glad that Hoseok made an appearance right at the time. Yet, the fact Hoseok isn’t clearly interested in your well being but just letting out something else on you makes you so angry. Hence your sudden outburst. 

You don’t even look back as you storm into your shared bedroom and slam the door shut behind you. Hoseok can sleep on the couch tonight. 

………………….

This has been the longest you’ve fought with each other. Ever since you started dating, which wasn’t that long ago, you haven’t really fought except for a little argument here and there. Now, after a week of tiptoeing around each other, you feel like shit. It’s completely your fault, to be honest. Hoseok had knocked on your bedroom door and apologized right away. Had begged you to open the door. It was you- stupid, stubborn- you who had started another fight right that moment. And Hoseok hadn’t apologized after that. Which is very fair. If someone has to apologise, it should be you. Something that you’ve failed to bring yourself to do so far. 

You sigh wearily as the professor starts today’s lecture. You’re once again seated on the far end of the lecture hall. Next to the very same guy who caused a fight with your boyfriend. The same guy who made you feel so uneasy and asked you out for a coffee. You’ve convinced yourself he only meant it as a friendly gesture. It was your shameless twisted mind that had misunderstood it. And you’ve decided to ignore the way he called you pretty. That’s why you’ve decided to sit at your usual seat. 

Despite everything, things have been going normally with No Name for your pleasure. He hasn’t acknowledged you really. Which is how normally it is and you’re pleased. You’ve asked him how his day was and he has only just nodded. See, he was just being nice and it was you who made it awkward that day. You mentally slapped yourself for the millionth time at the thought of how wrong you were to interpret something like that. 

Everything will definitely be okay if you just apologize to your boyfriend. You plan to do that tonight. Before going to celebrate Daebi’s birthday. It’s finally the day and you really didn’t have a time to dread the moment. Because you were actively busy with being mad at your boyfriend, you forgot to be afraid of going into a shady club tonight. 

Well, all the more reasons to apologize to your boyfriend before you die tonight. 

“Is he still mad at you?” The voice is so unexpected that your body does a mini jolt. Your head snaps to your left where your new friend sits. “Your boyfriend.” He clarifies without you asking. You chuckle nervously, wishing it would sound like scoffing. 

“Why would he be mad?” Ask in return. 

“Because I was there. Did he ask you to stop seeing me?” 

You take your time at that question. You think it’s impressive how he really knows Hoseok was mad because he was there. Yet, that question feels personal. You’re not that close to discussing things like this.

“Of course, no.” You scoff this time for real. “Why would he do that? He was just upset about something that happened with his friends.” You explain though there is no reason to do such a thing. Your friend just hums. 

And there it comes again. A feeling that there is something he’s not telling you. Like he knows something you don’t. It wasn’t about the coffee, was it? No. This is something else. You badly want to question what it is but the class ends before you could. And you change your mind after that. It would sound crazy if you ask something like that anyway. Yet the feeling never ceases. It hangs in the air while you walk back out. It hangs between you when you bid goodbye and be ready to part your ways. It hangs in your mind even when you turn around and walk a few steps away and hear him calling for you suddenly. 

You turn around curiously. 

“What about the coffee?” He shouts aloud since you’re too far across to talk in a normal voice. 

Again?

“I-uh…” You’ve really hoped that he’d forgotten it by now. That he’d let it go. You hate when you have to turn down people. You’re a people pleaser. 

“That’s fine if you don’t want to.” He shouts back while you just try to come up with something. You almost take a step forward. A sincere apology is at just the tip of your tongue. “See you later (___)!” Yet he beats you to it. Turns around and walks away. Leaving you to just gape at his retrieving back. 

You feel uneasy. An uneasy feeling. But what’s most annoying is the fact that you really can’t pinpoint it. Yet still it is there. He knows something that you don’t.

………………………… 

You stand near the bar adjusting the hem of your short dress. Trying to pull it down. You chose this dress and there’s no one else to blame but your stupid self. After a few useless attempts you give up. You stand beside Nina. All of your other friends, including your boyfriend, have gone for a smoke. 

“It looks okay? Isn’t it?” Nina snaps you out of your thoughts. You scan the dimly lit club for what must be the hundredth time before answering her. “I mean yeah. Like it looks okay but who knows?” You’re still not completely on board for this idea. If it weren’t for Daebi, you’d rather study your entire degree all over again than be here. True, it really looks like a normal club- just duller than the ones you’ve previously visited and crowded with much older people than young college kids. Yet that doesn’t mean this is an illegal club where all these people are criminals in one way or another. 

Daebi can be completely correct. This reputation Elysium has can be just a myth. Something someone made up. Something people like to believe because of the invitation system. You still have no idea how Daebi managed to get you an invitation. She somehow did and now you’re standing here stupidly. 

“Ugh, I’m pretty sure nothing’s wrong. All of these people look normal.” Nina adds after your negative response.

“Of course, they are Nina. What do you expect? For these people to kill each other?”

She tries to counter but stops when Jimin joins you back. Closely followed by the birthday girl and Hoseok. You and Hoseok haven’t made up yet. This time it’s his fault. You’ve tried your best to apologize and resolve the issue. It was him who had avoided you saying you should talk about this later. Now you would have to wait until the night is over to patch things up with him.

“See guys? Told you it’s just a myth. This is just another normal club with lots of drinks.” Daebi squeals. Walks to you and drapes an arm around your shoulder. 

“How would you know for sure?” You shrug her hand off. You still feel off. Something feels off. Call it a gut feeling. Maybe this feeling has nothing to do with this place since you’ve been feeling this way for quite some time now. Ever since the day Mr. No Name brought your wallet to your house. Daebi clicks her tongue. 

“Look around you (__),” She grabs your chin to forcefully make you do as she asks. You take brief glances over at people drinking, dancing, grinding, kissing, making out and doing every other thing they would do in a club. “Can you see anything illegal happening?” Asks. No. That’s the answer. But why on the earth your friends can’t understand that dangers don’t always lie on the surface. These people might seem harmless but there's a fat possibility that someone is carrying a gun in their front pant pocket. Casually. Just like someone would carry their mobile. You try to tell the exact same thing. Hoseok interrupts you before you can, however. 

“Oh c’mon, (__). Just fucking loosen up a bit. You don’t have to kill the mood every time. Just grab a drink and have fun.” He barks, making you completely speechless. Really? Shouldn’t he take your side? You would’ve gotten really mad at him again if it wasn’t for Jimin just reassuringly patting your shoulder. 

“Hey, it’s really fine (__). We won’t keep you in a dangerous place. C’mon, let’s have a drink.” He guides you toward the bar with the hand on your shoulder. You throw a disappointed glance at Hoseok, which he disregards completely. As if you don’t exist at this moment. 

“You guys go ahead, I just want to use the bathroom.” Instead he mumbles. Turns around and almost leaves when Daebi perks up. 

“Me too. Coming?” She asks Nina. Not you. Well, that’s fine.

“Nah. Just go ahead.” Nina turns to you. Daebi gives a ‘whatever’ kind of nod before disappearing after Hoseok. 

………………………

Night officially started for your party over an hour ago. Yet you aren’t even tipsy. Haven’t even started to feel it. Fair, considering that you’ve been sipping the same glass of wine ever since Jimin brought it to you. This is not how you normally act. It’s unfair of Hoseok to say you always ruin the fun. You know how to have fun. You and he always have fun. An involuntary pout graces your features at the reminder of his hurtful words. It’s just you don’t feel it tonight. At this specific place. You really wish your boyfriend would just understand that. 

You take another small sip from your glass of wine. Alone at the bar. All of your friends have gone to enjoy the night with whatever they like to do. You can see Nina and Jimin rocking it on the dance floor from where you are seated. Hoseok and Daebi, however, are nowhere to be seen. Makes you really worried. You want to make sure everyone is okay. You want to keep an eye on each and everyone. 

A frown appears on your forehead after you try in vain to catch a sign of your boyfriend or best friend for the ninth time .  Maybe you should just give up and get completely wasted. 

Yes you should just do that. 

With one last heavy sigh you bring the glass to your lips. Almost succeed when a sharp voice interrupts you. 

“You might want to slow down with that, young lady.” You just avert your gaze to the owner of that voice. A man. Probably a lot older than you. You disregard his presence and his words as you down the entire glass. “Woah!” He exclaims with an amused smile. 

You intend to ignore him further. That’s your plan. Yet you still give him a polite smile just so you won’t come out like a rude bitch. A mistake. 

“Next drink is on me but take it slow beauty.” He mumbles in a way which you know that he thinks is charming but sounds comical to your ears. Already turns to the pretty bartender. “One more-”

“No thanks. I’m good.” You stop him before he can continue, drawing his attention back to you.

“Why not?”

“I’m just not in a mood to drink.”

“Now, that is a very obvious lie. You were drinking wine like it was water sun shine. You’re hurting my feelings. Don’t be like that. Let’s just have one drink.” You should’ve thought more about the lies you tell. Too late now. But you really don’t want to accept a drink from a stranger. He doesn’t look shady but just a little bit older. It’s just you haven’t completely let your guard down. You shake your head while almost standing up to leave.

“I’m really good. Thank you.” 

Almost. Even before you can place your feet properly on the floor a glass of wine is placed in front of you with a loud thud. You gasp at the unexpected sound. Take a moment to realize what’s just happened. That’s only when you turn your head to look at the man’s face. Dark. Not a single sign of a smile. Your throat goes dry instantly. 

“No one says ‘no’ to me princess. A bitch should know her place after all. Now drink up.”

What now?

You gape at the man as if he has grown two heads. This is not good. You should leave immediately. But the man doesn’t look like he’d appreciate you suddenly leaving. You shift your gaze from his face to the drink that has been put on the counter. Then back to the man. He raises a menace eyebrow. You have no idea what he would do to you if you refuse again. You’ve met your fair share of drunken assholes while clubbing. Yet all those assholes were just pathetic college kids and nobody has ever called you a bitch. No one. 

This man must’ve looked normal a minute ago but now he seems like someone who could kill someone with his bare hands. “Drink up you little whore.” He suddenly spits out. You inhale a shaky breath. Maybe you shouldn’t show any weakness. Maybe you should argue and stand up and leave with your head held high. But then for your great dismay you undoubtedly notice the silver of metal glinting from the pocket of his coat. If you think your throat went dry earlier now you’re certain you’ve eaten sand. Heart is starting to beat madly. Head is starting to pound violently. 

You were right after all. This place wasn’t just having a negative reputation. It’s true. What you’re just seeing in his pocket is undoubtedly a grip of a gun. You’ve never seen one in real life but the movies exist. You know it’s a gun. And somehow you know it’s not just a plaything. 

Act cool. Act cool.

You shouldn’t show that you’re scared.

You eye the drink again. Mind swirling around all the possibilities that would occur if you try to just leave. What could he do? Shoot? There are people around here. He wouldn’t be able to get away after firing at a college girl. Would he now? You decide you don’t want to find out. It’s your life. You can’t take a risk. It’s just a drink after all. You can just drink it and then find an excuse to leave. With that thought you just don’t waste any time. Just grab the drink and drown it in one go, hoping that’d be the end of the ordeal. But of course who were you kidding, after all. Just as the glass is emptied, it is filled to the brim again. Then again. And at the fourth drink you decide to slow down, understanding that you downing drinks faster than a thunder won’t be of any help for you at all. 

“There you go princess. See, it wasn’t that hard now.” The older man smiles at you which looks like an ugly sneer to you. It must be more than half an hour now. Where the hell are your friends? On top of all, where the hell is your so-called boyfriend? Why’s no one coming to save you? You take a brief glance at the dance floor for what must be the hundredth time. No sign of Jimin or Nina. They’ve disappeared somewhere in between your first encounter with this man and your first drink. It looks like you’re all on your own at this rate. You’d have to come up with something. 

“Guess so.. Yeah.” You take another harsh sip. Nervously. Trying to hide the tremble in your hands. “Would you mind if I go to the restroom quickly?” You question hoping him to not take your bait at all. Hundred presently. But then your eyes go completely wide at his response. “Of course not. Why are you even asking?” A chuckle escapes his lips. You, however, don’t wait to ponder your sudden luck. Just as the words leave his mouth you’re on your feet. Already on a half run toward where your head turns. You don’t even check where the bathrooms are. Just in desperate hope to find at least one of your stupid friends. Then just leave this damned place. You may have lucked out once, but that doesn’t mean you will again. You need to get the hell out of this place. 

………………..

You rush through the sweaty bodies. Pushing past annoyed people. Your head throbbing painfully. Maybe you’ve drunk too much. Even your sight is getting blurry. You look around in panic. Still no sign of your friends. You’re starting to feel nauseous. Something doesn’t feel right. So far, you've been lucky that the scary man hasn’t followed you. Yet everything feels far scarier to you suddenly. Every man and woman you pass. Every glance they cast your way. Every word they murmur. They all look like they’re about to kill you. Your heart pounds in your ears now. You barely can hear the loud music over the roar in your own ears. 

Where are they?

Where the fuck are they?

You mumble an apology to another man you accidentally bump into.

“Watch where you’re going, you little tramp!” He spits. You shrink away instantly. Your headache is intensifying. In your haste to get away from him you bump into someone else. 

“Holy shit!” You turn around to find a woman. Her drink has spilled all over her. You probably did that. You try to apologize but she shoves you away before you could. “Move!” Shouts as she does. You lose your balance at the force. Or not. Maybe she didn’t push you that hard, but you’re too drunk to stay on your feets. Your hands try in vain to grab something when you stumble back. You brace for the impact, but it never comes. Instead your back hits something, or someone, saving you from presumably hitting your head. You almost let out a sigh in relief. Almost though. Even before you can begin, you are turned around harshly by your arm.  

A whimper escapes you. It’s the same man who called you a tramp. One look at his furious face tells you that you’ve fucked up.

“S-sorry.” You mumble so fast that you stutter pathetically. It’s like your word doesn’t even reach him, however. 

“The fuck’s wrong with ya?” He growls. His grip tightens. 

Oh, no, no, no. 

How did you escape one danger only to end up in another? Why can’t you be careful? Why can’t you just walk straight? 

“I- I’m so-”

“Can’t even walk straight, huh? Stumblin’ round like some dumb bitch lookin’ for trouble.” 

You really want to say no. Want to argue. But his words are slowly drifting away. Like he’s moving farther away from you. 

“What? Too drunk to speak now?” His fingers dig into your arm, yanking you forward. His stinking breath hits your nostrils. You’re going to throw up. 

Oh god what’s happening?

You’re sweating like a pig. Sounds around you are getting overwhelming. People’s voices are echoing inside your skull. 

Why can’t you find anyone?

Why is this place getting hotter?

“Or…. is this your way of hitting on me you little minx? That it? Ain’t gotta go fallin’ all over me like some desperate little slut. Shoulda just asked, sweetheart.” The gruff man’s voice suddenly comes into your senses. 

No. No..

What is he even talking about?

You try to protest weakly. Try to disagree. But words don’t come out. Your throat is burning. So is your chest. Things don’t make sense to you. Yet at the same time you know you’re in danger. Warning alarms ring inside your head. And your head nearly explodes in panic when the man starts to drag you forward. Away from the crowd. 

“No..” You finally find your voice. It’s strained. As if you’ve not used it for years. Sounds like it’s not yours. “No..” You try to yank your arm free to no avail. The man’s grip is like iron. Besides, you're in no position to fight. 

Could a few glasses of wine do this?

This is not the first time you got drunk. You’ve certainly drunk more than this but have never felt this way. Too fucked up. Too out of it. You have no control over your body. Just your mind in high alert and trying to escape. 

“No. Let me go.” Still, you keep trying. Keep trying to free yourself from the harsh, disgusting hand on your arm. It doesn’t work. God, it doesn’t work. Before you know, you are dragged into an empty backroom. Before you know, the man pushes you into a wall. You hit the concrete behind you with a loud thud. A sharp jolt of pain shoots across your body at the collision. As if your spine just snapped. You yelp in pain which he disregards completely.

Instead of worrying about your possible broken back, he instantly throws himself at you. You do your best to turn your head away just before his chapped lips can land on yours. Makes him mad apparently. He snarls something you really don’t hear. But you certainly do feel the sting when his palm hits your face. A loud gasp leaves past your lips. Weak limbs come forward to fight with a man who’s strong like a bull. You try to push the scumbag away. Try to claw at his arm, face, any place you find. 

It doesn’t work.

You’re too weak.

The man tangles his rough fingers in your hair. Yanks your head back. You cry out. You can’t even scream. He holds your head in place. You writhe in your place. Trying desperately to wrench yourself away. Your mind screams the words you can’t get out. 

No… Don’t. 

You don’t even realize that you’ve been crying. At least not until you start to taste your own tears. 

None of your efforts succeeds. You feel his breath on your face first. Then his dry lips ghosts over yours. Bile rises in your throat. A strangled sob finds its way out. You close your eyes tightly. Finally accepting the defeat. Brace yourself to feel his rotten lips engulfing yours whole. But then just a millisecond before that happens, you hear a loud groan. Groan in a painful way. 

Something wet splashes across your face. 

Something hot. 

You snap your eyes open. Just in time to find the man being yanked back by a figure. Your attacker's hand leaves your body and hair. This time, instead of grabbing you, he clutches his own neck with both hands. Grumbling. Gurgling. 

It takes your shocked brain a minute to understand anything. 

A long minute.

Then you see blood. Red, hot blood. Dripping down from your attacker's throat to the floor. Seeping through his fingers. His hands are covered in bright red. Then you hear the choked, wet gasps he is leaving out. 

Blood.

Wounded.

You didn’t know it is possible to feel more scared. More terrified. Yet here you are. Eyes wide in horror and not being able to breathe properly. 

Blood.

Blood.

Blood.

Only one word rings inside your head. Blood everywhere. It was blood that splashed in your face. You press yourself more against the wall desperately just as the man falls into the floor. A loud thud erupts. Your eyes naturally follow the movement. Catching the gruesome image of him writhing on the dirty floor. And you see that a sleek silver metal is buried in the side of his throat. Blood oozing from where it’s swallowed by torn flesh.

A chopstick!

Your heart rate slows down. Vision is starting to turn dark. Your hands unconsciously come up to cover your own mouth. Legs give up. You fall down halfway against the wall when a second figure lunges at the man on the floor. In a blink of an eye the second man pulls out the chopstick from your attacker's neck. Makes blood stream down like a waterfall. Then even without a second thought the newcomer pierces the chopstick through the first’s shoulder. A loud scream erupts from the first. Yet does nothing to stop the man with the chopstick. He pulls it out again. Attacks the other’s chest. Pulls out again. Then stabs a different spot. 

“How” Pulls out again. “Dare” Stabs again. “You.” Pulls out. “Fucking” Stabs. “Touch” Pulls out. “Her.” Stabs. Stabs. Stabs. Blood splashing everywhere. Each time a new spot. Merciless weak cries fill the air. 

And your hands fail to keep your mouth shut anymore. This time who lets out a weak scream which is nothing but a pathetic whimper turns out to be you. Your eyes wide in horror and body trembling like a leaf in a storm. Yet no matter how weak the sound you make, he hears it nonetheless. 

The second man who just pulled out the chopstick once more and ready to attack the man back stops dead at your sound. 

Fuck! Fuck, fuck. 

You shouldn’t have screamed.

You shouldn’t have grabbed the attention.

It’s already too late, however. That second someone turns his head back. Toward you. A second pass. And at the same time you almost turn around to run away he gets to his feet, abandoning the now wounded man whimpering and crying on the floor. Drops the chopstick to the floor and it clatters against the dirty concrete. Your delayed attempt to run is futile as a pair of hands wrap around you tight. Before you can even make a sound, your face is buried in a broad, heaving chest, its rapid heartbeat pounding against your ear. You yet again fail to make sense of the situation.

What’s happening?

“I’m so sorry. I was a bit late. So sorry (__).” 

A voice reaches you. A voice that is breathless. Hands protectively wrapped around your shaking body.

Your brain instantly falls into an alerting mode. The first thought that crosses your mind is that this person is going to hurt you too. Hence, your weak and pathetic attempt to wriggle free. Of course, it doesn’t work. It won’t work. You’re still very much in the same state you’ve been a minute ago. Still too out of it. If anything, you feel more vulnerable now. Growing weaker and weaker by every passing second. 

The newcomer, however, starts to gently rock you. Trying to soothe your trembling, writhing body. Shushing you softly. 

“Hey, hey, it’s okay. It’s just me (__). It’s just me.”

You have no idea who this me is. At least for a second you don’t. Then somewhere in the back of your mind a bell rings. A familiar voice, isn’t it? You’ve heard it before. So close. You know this person. You know him, to be precise. 

With a great struggle against his vice hold you manage to turn your head up to catch sight of a black hoodie. You can’t see a face because the face is covered in the said hoodie. You inhale a shaky breath as you recognize him. Sure, you watched him before but it’s only now that things are registering in your mind. 

“N-no n-name?” 

“Yeah,” He holds you tightly again. You think you hear a hint of joy in his voice. “Yeah, it’s just me. It’s fine. Calm down baby.” He murmurs in your ear. 

Baby?

Your panicked mind runs a mile a minute to make sense of the situation. How quickly things are happening. You were just fine half an hour ago. With your friends. And then this happens? And he is here? Why is he here? 

It’s just me…

It’s just fine…

Fine !Fine?

What’s fine? Someone tried to fucking assault you. And that someone is now half- dead. He- your damn classmate- brutally attacked him, didn’t he? It’s like a whole another realization that dawns upon you. He stabbed that man with a fucking chopstick. Mr. No Name- a college kid who is just like you did that. 

Oh, god!

This can’t be happening right now. You need space. Can’t breathe. You want him to move. Don’t want him touching you. He has blood on his hands.

True, he saved you by doing so. If it weren’t for him, you’d be lying somewhere, unable to fight back, facing the cruelest fate. You’re a teeny bit glad but nonetheless you’re scared to death. A man is dying in front of your eyes. You saw a man with a pierced throat. You saw blood spurting out of his body. Eyes open and becoming soulless. 

And the person who caused that,- this kid is saying to you that it’s fine. 

No! Nothing’s fine. You want to run away. You need someone who you can truly trust. Need your boyfriend. Need Daebi. Someone who’s not a murderer. You try to push him away. He, however, doesn’t take the hint. Instead of letting you go, he hugs you into his body even tighter. 

“It’s fine baby. Just calm down. I’m so sorry.” He places a hand on the back of your head. Holds you so close. So gently. As if you’re made of fine china. As if you’d break if he touches you a little rougher. Buries his face in your neck. His breath hits your skin soothingly. Rocks you ever so gently. Oh, so gently that you almost calm down. Despite all the chaos and the horror of what he’s done, you find sudden solace in his arms. Maybe that’s because you’re familiar with him. Or it’s just how he holds you. Allowing you to sob into his chest. Whatever that is, it could’ve worked perfectly if it wasn't for his next actions. If it wasn’t for the sudden hot, wetness you feel on your neck. And his shaky breath. You snap out of the false sense of protection you’ve been feeling instantly at the sensation of his lips pressing against your skin. Ready to move away. 

He doesn’t let you. 

“I’m so sorry.” He murmurs again. 

“Wh-what are you.. Le-let me?” You stutter. Your still confused, frozen brain struggles to react. You’re so slow on your movements that your efforts on moving away does nothing but expose more of your skin for him to pepper with soft-wet kisses. He kisses every inch of skin he can find. Over and over again. As if he’s going mad. 

“So sorry, princess.” He mumbles as if it's some kind of mantra. In between his sloppy kisses. Nuzzles your neck with his nose. Inhales. Groans. Like he’s getting drunk on your smell.

No. 

Oh shit!

He likes you. 

It’s too late now. You’ve waited too long. 

Why does that matter now? 

What are you even thinking?

What matters is the fact that a person is dying. You can still hear the gasps he’s letting out. You can still hear the sound of blood flowing out his weak body.  

He killed a man. He’s kissing you over a dying man’s body. You shut your eyes tight. In a desperate attempt to find strength. To escape reality. As if everything would change once you open your eyes. Yet as soon as you close your eyes, your mind is plagued with blood. Splitted throat. Wet chokes. 

A cry tangles in your throat as you open your eyes back.

You want to run away. Want to hide. You’re going to be sick. 

But then his warm lips press on your pulse point. And regardless of your horrified state a shudder ripples through you. A sensation that almost makes your toes curl.

What? What’s happening?

How come you feel that way when you’re so scared? How is it that your body doesn’t comply with your mind? 

“Y-you ca-can’t-” Another failed attempt. Another bunch of words that don’t even reach his ears. He seriously can’t be doing that now? Among million other reasons why he can’t, the fact that he almost killed a damn man holds the highest spot. What kind of monster someone should be to be able to kill and then casually forgets it. 

Your classmate apparently does. Which means he is that kind of a monster. He’s acting like nothing happens. Like it’s his right to hold you like this. Kiss you like this. He changes the path of his kissing. Trails his lips along your jawline. Toward your cheek. Inching closer and closer to your lips. And for a second time, you tremble like a leaf. Not from fear. No. Purely due to the sensation he’s creating. Your mind is going numb. Your senses are becoming dull.

You’re losing it completely. 

Despite what you really want, your body is giving away. 

You should shove him away. You should scream at him. You should run away. 

But you can’t. 

You feel tired. Exhausted. You can’t fight anymore. Not that you’ve been doing an effective job at that previously either. You were already lost. So, you give up. Your hands fall limp between you. You give into the sensation while your mind still screams. While your stomach still churns awfully. While tears still flood down your cheeks and your heart still pounds violently. While you’re still very scared, you do nothing when his lips find yours. 

How ridiculous this situation is. He saved you from an assaulter just to become another one. Only different is the way you’re just standing there as his lips are pressed hard against you. For a minute. Then he is moving them. His tongue gently licks along the seam of your lips. You don’t intend to understand the silent invitation and open your mouth. Yet, that’s what you do. Unintentionally. As if your body is doing something you’re very familiar with. You open your mouth immediately. Welcoming his soft tongue to explore your insides. He does that very eagerly. Licking inside your mouth and sucking on your tongue. Groaning. And you can’t stop moaning into his mouth in return.  

Can’t stop curling your toes when he roams his hands over your body. Your waits, your back, and your ass. He squeezes your soft flesh and you feel a fire lighten inside you. That fire turns into lava and shoots across your veins when he presses his lower abdomen against your body. Letting you feel the unmistakable hardness inside his denim. 

It feels good. No matter how wrong that is, it still feels good. No matter that you’re still terrified and want nothing but to run away, this feels good. Too good to be precise. Ecstatic as he slowly starts to grind that hardness into you. So, you moan again. Moan into the searing kiss. Delwing in the sensation of his hands, hard cock, and his soft lips. 

He kisses you sensually. Like a gentle lover. Carefully. Oh, so lovingly.You would’ve believed he loves you if it wasn’t for the situation. The truth is he doesn’t. He’s taking advantage of you.  And you feel so helpless. 

Why’s no one coming down this path?

How’s no one seeing that someone is wounded?

Oh, god! Someone is dying. The killer is kissing you. He’s holding you with blood splattered hands. 

You need to stop this. You should just try again.

And so you do—only for it to be in vain, of course. Trying to shove him away with weak hands. This time, however, after a few efforts he actually pulls away. Just to rest his forehead against you. Sharing the same breath. You hold onto his black hoodie for your dear life. You’ll fall your ass down otherwise. A sob after a sob still escaping your dry lips. You do your best not to look down. To not look at the man. At blood. Instead you try to focus on breathing. Because it has become so difficult. 

“You’re fine baby. I’m so sorry.” He brings your attention back to him. You say nothing. You’re not capable. “I promise I didn’t mean to let someone else touch you. I’m sorry I was late.” So, he continues in your dead silence. “It was only meant for me. It was supposed to be just a little dose.” A kiss into your hair. “Just to loosen you up for me. I never meant to scare you so much. Oh, baby-” His grip tightens. “I didn’t mean to scare you, hm?” 

A kiss to your forehead. 

It’s like your brain works extra slow. It’s like his words come from such a distance that it takes you time to register them.

A kiss to your crown line. 

“I really didn’t mean to let someone else touch you. I’m so sorry.”

What did he say now?

Supposed?

A little dose?

A kiss to your temple.

Your heart beat is getting slower. Dots slowly but surely getting connected in your heavy mind. 

Only meant for me.

To loosen you up for me. 

Little dose! A dose! Loosen up! A dose!

Drugs!

You’ve been drugged. 

Suddenly, everything makes sense. The reason for all of this. For your weak body. Why your body doesn’t comply with your mind. He drugged you. The man back there, drugged you. No. No. Wait. It wasn’t him. 

It’s this person. Your classmate. 

He drugged you!

And then he killed a man. Or tried to. 

This time you tremble actually from the fear. A fear that engulfs you whole that you’re certain there’s no way of getting rid of it. Yet you scream. For the first time in this night you manage to get your voice out. A shrill scream. Enough to awaken the dead. You manage to at least make a distance between you two even if you still couldn’t push him completely away. 

With your head still violently pounding and spinning you manage to take a step to your side. Not completely knowing what you’re doing. Just wanting to get away. But he’s quicker than you. His hands are on you even before you know it. Holding you tight. Preventing you from running away. 

“Hey! Hey! (___), it’s fine. It’s fine now. You’re going to be okay.”

“No. No. Stay away from me!” You shriek. “No.” Your vision is turning dark. In a minute everything turns back into a desperate struggle. You’re struggling to get away. He’s struggling to keep you stay put. 

“Baby please! I’m sorry I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

What is he even talking about?

“Let me go please.” You mutter under your breath one last time before completely giving up. Your body once again being victim to the extreme exhaustion you’re feeling. He just doesn’t listen to you, however. Says the only things he’s been saying all these time. That you’re fine. And you almost make up your mind to accept your fate. Accept that there’s no way of getting away. Away from this night. This nightmare. You almost believe that you will never be able to wake up. That you're forever trapped in his vice grip. Yet, just as you’re about to fall limp against his hold, a shadow of a figure appears in the doorway. Suddenly. Rushed sounds follow it. 

You snap your head toward the sound. Hope bubbling inside you. Hope that is paired with a fear that you’re not getting any help. A fear that everything is about to get worse if that’s even possible. But as you turn your head you’re met with an extremely familiar pair of brown orbs. Panicked. Wide. Face twisted ugly in fear. Panting harshly.

Jung Hoseok!

A breath you didn’t know you were holding escapes you immediately. Relief flushes over your every cell. 

“Hoseok!” You cry out. In relief. Your tears suddenly turn out to be ones of joy. “Hoseok.” You repeat. Voice a breathless whisper. His eyes land directly on you. His panicked eyes. Then he averts his gaze down. Despite your best efforts you follow his line of vision. Eyes back on the man on the floor. Throat pierced and covered in blood. Your stomach churn awfully again. 

“Holy fuck!” Hoseok curses, turning pale like cold ashes. Everything shifts into a frozen stillness following his curse. For a second. It’s like things are happening in slow motion. Like it’s a movie instead of your very reality. Only the club music and distant people chattering fills the air.  

“(___), fuck. Fuck, let her go!”

That voice breaks the stillness and everything comes crashing back into motion. You barely recognize that voice to be Jimin’s. Arms around your body tightens like a coiled serpent. Like a trap. Holding you tight. Tight like a drowning man clutching a lifeline. Like he’s afraid. Afraid that you’ll go. As he should since that’s your intention. You thrash against his iron-like grip. Clenching your jaw. 

Only now do you realize that Hoseok hasn’t been alone. Somewhere in between the tightening grip around you and your struggle you’ve noted each of your friends one by one. 

Jimin is the one who jumps into action first. Who breaks the shock of seeing fresh blood oozing from a dying man first. He lashes at your captivator like an enraged lion. Then just after a split second Hoseok does the same. 

A harsh punch thrown in your classmate’s face by Jimin and you feel the grip around you loosens. Then you’re being completely free from the tight hold. You barely catch the sight of Jimin grabbing your nameless friend’s hoodie and the way he does the same to Jimin’s. 

And everything happens so fast for you to comprehend. A fleeting hug of comfort and you’re pushed into your best friend’s hand. Hoseok and Jimin tackle down your ex-classmate together. For a skinny, quiet kid, he sure has a lot of strength. Yet is facing defeat against two other men. You hear lots of groans and curses. The sound of bones cracking. You see the livid faces of Hoseok and Jimin. And you think they’re going to kill the kid. 

You’re paralysed with fear. Being able to do nothing but just watch. 

They’re going to kill him.

Someone else is going to die. 

He’s about-

Daebi lets go of you suddenly. You don’t even get a second to process what’s happening before Daebi is barrelling at the mound of human balls on the floor. Then she’s doing her best to yank Jimin off from the kid’s body. Trying to stop him from landing punch after harsh punch in his already battered face. When she fails, she tries to get Hosoek away. While you and a frozen Nina just watch. 

“No.” Daebi’s voice mixes into the disgusting noises of bone cracking and whimpering. “No. You’d kill him. Hoseok, stop it.” She tries her best to no avail. Two men don’t even budge. But the good thing is your best friend doesn’t know when to give up either. “There’s someone dying. We-” She yanks from Hoseok’s arm. Says something you can’t hear. Then all of sudden she yells through the top of his lungs.“Someone is fucking wounded Hoseok. We need to go.” That somehow does the trick. Hoseok stops his violence immediately. As if he just remembers the man just lying a few feets apart from them. He turns his head toward the said man. Then at you. You watch as indecision flashes across his eyes. And you think he wouldn’t care. But just as the thought crashes in your mind, Hoseok rushes into his feet. He yanks Jimin apart from the now beaten guy far more easily than Daebi. 

“No. That’s enough Jimin. We need to go.” He practically dargs Jimin back. Jimin protests. Violently. But Hoseok manages to drag him away. Away from the kid who’s lying down on the floor. And for the first time you see his face. Face covered in blood. Ruined. Pink pretty lips you’ve grown to admire are splitted. But even in this state you just know he’s breathtaking. You have no time to admire anymore, however. Just after that brief glance, you find your face buried in Hoseok's broad chest. 

“Oh, I’m so sorry baby.” He mutters into your hair as new sobs ripple through your body. You will never be the same again. Have no idea what’s going to happen next. Yet your friends are arguing. Or at least Jimin and Daebi are. Nina is just staring ahead. Emptily.

“We need to leave.” Daebi hisses hurriedly. 

“For fucks sake Daebi, there’s someone dying, we need to help him.” Jimin hisses back.

“Yeah? And what do you think would happen then? That someone would come and give you a fucking medal for saving his life?”

“Then what? We’re leaving him to die?”

“Yes!” Daebi shouts so loud that you wince. “That’s exactly what we’re doing. C’mon let’s go.” She almost turns around but stops when nobody else follows her. No one even moves a finger. “What?” So, she faces everyone again. 

“We’re not leaving someone to die, Daebi.” This time it’s Nina who comes to help Jimin. Makes Daebi drags in a heavy breath which she exhales shakily. You watch as your best friend takes a firm step toward Nina. 

“If we stay here, trust me, Nina, it won’t be just him who’s dying tonight.” Her gaze wanders over everyone. Slowly. One by one. “That dude,” She points at the man who’s barely hanging there now. You don’t follow her gesture. Just stay in Hoseok’s embrace, shivering. “We don’t even know who he is. What the fuck are we going to do, if he’s a fucking big deal. What if he's a capo? No- no, what if he’s the fucking leader-” She trembles visibly. Oh, she knew the rumors aren’t just rumors, then. But you can’t fight over that now. “Staying here won’t do any good to us guys. We just- fuck, let’s just leave.” She ends her rambling with a desperate plea. “Please.”

This time everyone regards her with shocked silence. Until Jimin tries one more time. 

“B-but, we didn’t do anything. We have the guy, we just-” Jimin stops mid sentence. A horrified gasp leaves his mouth. Then a low curse. You find it impossible not to pull away from Hoseok and see what’s going on. Everybody does. Follow Jimin’s vision. “Where the fuck did he.. Go?” Jimin whispers inaudibly. All your eyes land on the spot where the beaten to death kid was laying. Empty. Now in the spot is a pool of blood but nothing else. You gasp aloud.

How did he?

But apparently that’s the least of your problems. Hoseok’s voice reminds you of that. 

“Fuck! We need to leave.” He repeats Daebi’s words. In a hurry. You turn to him in disbelief. 

“B-but…”

“Baby we need to leave. I don’t want any of us to tangle in this mess. We are going.” He cups your face. You peer at his brown eyes. Comforting. Strong. Panicked, yes but he’s providing you strength. You don’t know about the right thing or wrong thing. You just need to go home. Just to hide. Forget. So, you just nod. 

“What about the fucking proofs dude? They’ll fucking find us and we’ll be fucking suspects if we run.” Jimin still disagrees. 

“No. Trust me Jimin. As long as we get away from here, no one would know. I’m pretty sure he has millions of enemies who want to kill him and this is a club that covers every shit. We just need to run and save our fucking asses.”

That’s the last thing anyone says. You don’t question anything again. Just allow Hoseok to drag your weak, shaking body back into the crowded club. Through the drunken people and out. You don’t even look around to see if your classmate- Mr. No Name- was there. You no don’t care what happened to him or where he disappeared. You just let your friends guide you back home. 

Like you’re in a dream.

……………………………

After a month 

“I can’t believe you fucked up that chance Jungkook.” Daebi places her hands on her hips. Eyes warily graze over the pale kid on the spacious bed. A black patch over one of his doe eyes. Face still very much ruined and covered in a dozen plasters. Lips chapped and pale. He looks starved but Daebi knows it’s quite the opposite. He’s been receiving good care. Parents have filthy money, after all. A little lie about an accident covered it all up. 

Jungkook scoffs. At least try to scoff since all that comes out is a wince. A wince in pain as he still can’t move his lips. “You left her alone way earlier, Daebi. It wasn’t my fault.” He mumbles in between painful breaths. Turns his dark eyes toward Daebi who’s just standing there casually. As if she’s familiar with the place even though this is her first time at Jungkook’s parents’ house. Daebi does a very successful scoff. 

“So, it’s my fault now?” She gestures at herself.

“Yes.” Jungkook grumbles. And Daebi feels a slight shiver at the way his eyes darken. “And that motherfucker’s who thought he could get away after fucking touching her.” That crazed look clouds his eyes again. Daebi saw it that day at the club. A moment before everything went crashing down. A moment before she pointed him in the direction you disappeared with a strange man. A crazed look that screams murder. Destruction. It takes her a moment to collect herself. 

“Y-you’re so fucking crazy Jungkook.” She manages to get it out without shaking. “If you hadn't done something so stupid—” A harsh gulp to soothe her suddenly dry throat. “Like, what the fuck dude? Killing someone?”

“He’s not fucking dead apparently.” Jungkook disregards the way Daebi starts to look frightened. Says that with a regret in his voice. This time Daebi does tremble. “And you think that’s stupid?” He questions with a raised eyebrow. “I would’ve fucking skinned him alive if (___) hadn’t interfered.”  

Daebi doesn’t answer that. Simply because she doesn’t know how. 

He’s regretting that he couldn’t kill him.

He is crazy.

Crazier than she thought when she met him for the first time.

“And you shouldn’t have left her alone that early. What were you thinking Daebi? You were in that much of a hurry to suck Hoseok’s cock?”

Jungkook continues when Daebi doesn’t answer. She flinches at his words. Because, in fact, that was what happened. She was in a hurry to get alone with Hoseok. But that wasn’t her fault entirely. Jungkook should’ve been there. 

“Well, you should’ve come early. Besides, if you have managed to take her the first time, then none of this could’ve happened.”

Jungkook straightens up in his bed. 

“What first time?” Asks. Doesn’t receive an answer. “Ah.. that first time where you fucked it up by sending her boyfriend home early?”

“That’s not my fault that Nina fucking decided to crash at my place that day. You had more than an hour, Jungkook. Wasn’t that enough.”

“Yes, it wasn’t.”

“Okay, then let’s just say we fucked up, huh? We failed twice. But remember it was me who walked that much of a length to get her into your hands and you lost it.”

“Because, you wanted to help me?” Jungkook finally manages to scoff through the pain. 

“That doesn’t matter, Jungkook. We both failed. I don’t know why I came here today. You seem to be doing fine. Good. Let’s not see each other again. Have a great fucking life.” Daebi grits her teeth. This kid makes her scared in a strange way. Yet at the same time he makes her mad nonetheless. It was completely his fault. She managed to steal your wallet. Created a perfect opportunity for him to take you. You were just a girl after all. And Jungkook is undeniably a hot man. Daebi believed that Jungkook would have a trick or two to play hidden up his sleeves when it comes to women. Even if he didn't, that was fine. Daebi wouldn’t have cared as long as Jungkook took you. Made you his. So, Hoseok would be hers. That was the plan. And he- stupid Jeon Jungkook- ruined everything. So, she had to sacrifice her birthday to the mission. When she had suggested Elysium, it had never been her plan to cause anyone any arm. It was not what she wanted. All she wanted was a fun night at a place that is dangerous. Danger gives Daebi a thrill. But since Jungkook failed the first time, she had to make alterations to her birthday plans.  And that was ruined too. 

Fuck this!

Daebi grabs her bag from the armchair next to her. Almost leave the room when Jungkook speaks up. 

“You failed. I didn’t.” He mumbles slowly. Makes Daebi turn around in sudden interest. 

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I haven’t given up, Daebi. I won’t. I just-” He sighs heavily. Eyes getting dreamy. “I- I just need a little time. I will never give up on her.”

A silence falls following his words. Daebi just gapes at his face. 

This is interesting.

A spark of hope bubbles inside her. 

She was so close to getting what she wanted. Hoseok and you were finally starting to crumble. Her plan was to let Jungkook have you, but it has turned out to be in her favor in the end anyway. You were apparently playing with Hoseok's patience, being stubborn. Being a nuisance. Being a nag. The fight that broke between you two was doing Daebi a great favour. 

See now, she knows Hoseok loves her. It’s just he’s a little coward who can’t make a decision. Or to act upon one. He has a heart too good for himself. He doesn’t want to dump you that way. And he doesn’t believe he loves Daebi. Or that Daebi loves him. In Hoseok’s mind, it is just lust. Which isn’t true. Daebi just knows it’s love. Ever since the day she saw him, she has loved him. Too bad that you are an inseparable part of the equation. Too bad Hoseok thinks he genuinely loves you. He doesn’t. If he does, he never would have ended up in Daebi’s bed. Still he believes that and he was so close to breaking off his sexual affair with Daebi. Of course, she has no other options but to do something. That’s when she found Jeon Jungkook. Someone who could understand her feelings. Someone who loves you madly. Like she loves Hoseok. 

They both could’ve won if it wasn’t for Jungkook’s sudden thirst for blood. 

Hoseok was about to break up with you. Then everything took that damn turn. Daebi had to watch Hoseok rocks and soothe you the entire night. Kissing you over and over. Apologizing for not being there. Whispering sweet nothings to your ear.

Daebi had to endure his harsh words after a week. That they are nothing but a mistake and they should stop. Had to listen to him confessing his true love to you. Had to watch his guilt trip, blaming everything that happened on himself. Had to pretend to be your best friend and not hurt when you became the main character of everyone’s life. The way Hoseok became a doting boyfriend who did his everything to make sure you’re fine. 

And she’s getting tired. Fucking tired. 

But Jungkook’s words suddenly give her hope. 

Just like he gave her hope months ago.

……………………..

Two months ago

“You’re the one who texted me?” Jungkook clenches his jaw. His voice a low, dangerous grumble, that Daebi takes an involuntary step back.

“Y-yes.” Nonetheless she answers without missing a beat.

“Why?” Another growl from the guy hidden behind a hoodie. This time it’s not exactly low. Okay, maybe Daebi has fucked up. The thing is, she doesn’t know the answer for herself. It just happened. She saw an unknown number pop up in your inbox. She was mad at the way Hoseok carried you inside the room. As if he hadn’t just fucked the life out of her a minute ago. So, she replied. Pretending to be you. She didn’t know who the person texting you was. She just texted back. Maybe deep down she expected to cause trouble between Hoseok and you. But then she found out who was texting. She found out about Jeon Jungkook. Thanks to her extensive research skills. 

And then she got an idea. In between her sneaky texting with him, whenever she got a hold of your phone, she realized that he obviously likes you. That’s where the idea struck in. Hence the reason for this meetup. A quick text to meet her here. 

“Why the fuck did you do that?” This time the guy shouts so loudly that Daebi jumps on her feet. This is a bad idea. 

“I don’t know.” She shouts back. 

“For fucks sake, bitch!” The guy- who she now knows to be Jeon Jungkook- takes a hurried, threatening step toward her. Fast and unexpected that she almost loses her balance. Ends up balancing herself on the rusty fence behind her. 

“No. Wait.” She brings her hands forward. Stopping the guy from coming any nearer. He listens surprisingly. Halts his steps for a beat. “You like her, don’t you?” Daebi asks hurriedly. A silence. 

“What’s that for you?”

“I would like to help you.”

Another silence. A long one. A very long one before he takes a step back. Brings a hand up to push his hoodie back. Looks Daebi dead in the eye. And her breath hitches. It’s ridiculous how Daebi has to bite inside her cheek to not to gasp at the sight.

He- if nothing else- is freaking beautiful.

Daebi has thought he had a scar or something in his face that made him hide his face. But this? This isn’t a type of face someone should hide. 

“Why?” He questions again, making her come down to earth. She opens her mouth to answer but he beats her up to it. “Because you are in love with her boyfriend?”

The breath gets knocked out of Daebi’s lungs. A loud gasp escapes her. Eyes wide and jaw dropping to the floor, she presses herself more against the rusty fence. Nobody knew. Not Jimin. Not Nina. No one. So how could he- 

“What made you think I need your help Daebi? (___) would be ecstatic to hear what her best friend and boyfriend have been doing behind her back. I don’t need your help. I can manage for myself.” A sly smirk appears on his face. Daebi almost forgets to reply at her shocked state. Despite the urge to ask how he knows, she decides to play the cards. And win, of course. 

“What made you think that just telling her about us would make her fall for you? What are you going to do? Become her pathetic shoulder to cry?” She finally pulls away from the fence behind her. It’s now Daebi’s time to smirk when Jungkook’s smile slowly starts to disappear. “And you think that would make her love you? Oh, Jungkook, she loves Hoseok a little too much for that to happen.” Daebi takes a step forward. Now in confidence. She starts to take part in the game as well. “She never even intended to reply back to you-”

“How would you know?”

“I’m her best friend, of course, I know.”

“You’re wrong. She already likes me.”

“In your fucking dreams, Jeon,” Fuck! She shouldn’t have said that. Jungkook’s eyes turn dark as she watches. Dark and empty. Crazy. A shiver runs down Daebi’s spine at that look. “Listen to me,” Yet she manages to hide that shiver. Manages to appear confident. “She damn loves Hoseok. Even if you go and tell her that he’s been cheating on her, that’s going to do nothing but breaks her heart. You-” She points a finger at the kid in front of her. “Are nothing but the pathetic kid she decided to pity,” That crazed look intensifies. She’s playing with fire. One wrong move, and she’d burn. “It’s just pity, Jungkook. She pities you. But-” Daebi holds a hand up at the right moment Jungkook tries to say something. “Maybe we can change that. Let’s get this clear. I want Hoseok and you want (___). I’ll help you and in return you’ll help me. Take her away from Hoseok. I know you love her and maybe you can treat her better.”

Jungkook’s crazed eyes immediately brighten..

Oh, he’s crazy. 

But also stupid.

Daebi just knows that she hit the jackpot with those words. 

“And if you don’t believe me, just try asking her out for a coffee. See if she would agree even on friendly terms.” Yet she continues to play. She has an idea after all. All she needs is for Jungkook to comply. She waits a minute to see what he would say. And just like she knew his face goes a slight red. A warm red that makes him look adorable. 

“H-how?”

“What do you mean, how? Just ask her out.”

“I just can’t do that. What if she just-”

“Reject you? And stop talking to you ever again?” Daebi raises one of her shaped eyebrows. Jungkook says nothing to that. “Well, you shouldn’t just let her do that then. You really love her, so make sure she knows. I’ll find a perfect opportunity for you to be alone with her. What do you say?” 

There it is. Daebi’s meticulously crafted plan to make you fall in for someone else. She can’t think about someone else other than this person in front of her to be honest. She waits patiently until he agrees. 

“I can ask her out during a class.”

Then he answers, much to her dismay. Daebi hadn’t expected him to disagree. Hence, a moment of hesitance on her side. Only for a moment, though. Daebi is a woman who knows what she does, after all. There’s no way she would just back up. 

Here’s the case. It would be alright to let Jungkook play his game alone. But the thing is Daebi knows you like the back of her hand. You are in love with the same man as she is. And you will never fall for someone else. Not that easily. That’s why they need a plan. Like Daebi offers. See, Jungkook is stupid. 

“Well, then she would have the perfect chance to say no and walk out. Now we don’t want that, do we Jeon Jungkook. Trust me this once. Just try asking her and-” Daebi stares at the innocently crazed look in this man’s eyes. Maybe he would get angry at her. Maybe she shouldn’t complete her sentence. Now it’s too late to back down, however. “- and- if she says no then you can make sure she- uh… let’s say… understand that you love her.”

Silence.

Utter, deafening silence. 

And the threatening look he gives her. 

Then, at last, after what feels like years, he gives a nod. 

“Of course, she’ll understand that I love her.”

“Perfect.”

…………………….

A month after the incident (At Jungkook’s parent’s house)

Jungkook looks into Daebi’s hopeful eyes. For some reason, this woman disgusts him. Probably because she’s hurting you. You don’t know it yet, but she is. But she’s a useful ally and he can’t deny that. 

 I want Hoseok and you want (___).

She had said. But she was wrong. She wants Hoseok but Jungkook needs you. It’s not just a want. Not anymore. Now after that one taste. After he held you. Kissed you. Smelled you. The need has become feral. He won’t give up. Not ever. Even if it takes years. 

“You should  stick to what you’re good at, Daebi. Being a bitch. Let’s be sure to see each other again someday.” Jungkook tries to smile. Daebi hesitates for a moment. Then as if she knows that this isn’t the time, she turns around. Walks away. Without another word. And Jungkook falls back onto his bead. 

Ready to lose himself in thoughts of you.

Oh, he’ll definitely treat you better. 

And he’ll wait till the day he can do so. 

END

..............................................................................................................................

I planned on writing smut here but then got a better idea (trust me)

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[knight-commander]

Observations on an Empty World

I recently started a new game in Dragon Age: Origins as part of the grieving process, and I'm struck by how allergic the writers of Dragon Age: Veilguard were to providing rich opportunities for roleplaying and exploration – fundamental elements of the franchise that previous entries excelled at and audiences clearly expected. It's extremely noticeable in the differences in how we interact with other characters in Thedas, and especially prominent in the first hours of each game.

While playing as a Dalish Elf in Origins, during the prologue alone, you can speak freely to and question:

Tamlen, your childhood friend

Keeper Marethari, the leader of your clan

Merrill, the Keeper's second-in-command

Maren, a gentle woman who works with the halla

Ilen, the clan's craftsman, who teaches you about the Vir Tanadhal

Paivel, one of the hahrens who raised you and Tamlen

Pol, a city elf come to the Dalish to avoid being hanged for theft

Junar, the hunter teaching Pol about Dalish life

Ashalle, who tells you the sad story of your parents (and the game lets you decide how to react to her telling you this)

Fenarel, who wants to come with you on your search for Tamlen with or without informing the Keeper

The 3 (nameless) humans encroaching on your clan's campsite, who you can choose to ruthlessly kill or scare off, but either way contributes to the clan having to leave

Duncan, of course

You can talk to many of these characters twice or more, once when you awake in camp the first time, and again after returning empty-handed after your search for Tamlen. They have different attitudes towards you and the politics of the world they live in. Often, you can interrogate them for more information. Some have interesting insights, others provide context for the world your character inhabits. Sometimes, you'll unlock codex entries from conversations you have with these side characters (or items in their vicinity), elaborating even more on what you've learned. All of this is in service to helping you roleplay: each interaction layers choices upon choices, building a picture of how your character interfaces with friends, acquaintances, and strangers, as well as how you'll fit them into the ideological jigsaw puzzle that is Thedas.

You will talk to none* of these characters again after the first two hours of the game. They are "not important", but they provide vital glimpses of a wider world that could exist outwith the boundaries of the main quest. The implications of the history they've lived – Paivel's sorrow at having to "bury babes he once held in his arms"; Ilen's recollections of his father's successful first-strikes against Ferelden tribes; Ashalle's reasons for withholding the sad story of your parentage – are all unnecessary to the plot of defeating the Blight, but they make Thedas feel lived in. Alive.

Before I move on: I could be very cruel to Veilguard here and count Ostagar as part of the prologue – which it is. In this case, the number of richly-characterised NPCs balloons massively. For the sake of the argument, I won't.

In Veilguard, the prologue has you interact with:

The nameless bartender, with whom you are given one singular dialogue choice (to persuade with violence or a silver-tongue).

Varric, whose goal in the opening fifteen minutes is to lead you to the next plot point.

Harding, who saves some nameless NPCs and comes with you to the next plot point.

Neve, who is the next plot point and who Varric and Harding already know, so they briefly introduce you to each other in between fights.

... Let's extend it a bit, otherwise that's a sad little list. In the follow-up mission to Arlathan Forest, you can talk to:

Strife and Irelin, faction leaders and darlings of the extended universe (aka, the heroes from another short story), who tell you who you're going to talk to next.

Bellara, who already knows who the Neve Gallus is, of course, and is all but ready to jump into action, even if you don't know who she is or her motivations for being out here in this pickle.

... Uh-oh, it's not looking that much better. Can we keep going? Including the D'Meta's Crossing section, you can also talk to:

Jahel, the surviving Veil Jumper you came looking for. This shouldn't really be counted, because it's not really a back-and-forth. He dies after approximately 2 lines of expository dialogue about the plot of this immediate section. His named Veil Jumper partner, Mihiva, is dead when you arrive.

Arguably, you could "interact" the nameless villagers afflicted by the Taint on the way there, but they do the 'crazed mutterings' and it's not really a back-and-forth, just an environmental button press when you approach.

Julius, the Mayor of D'Meta's Crossing, who you can lightly question, then decide his fate.

Morrigan, for the cameo, I suppose.

Look, I could tack Treviso and the Ossuary on. It might look slightly better. I could count the Caretaker and the faction shopkeepers with their AI-generated ass one-line introductions (but I absolutely will not, because that's ridiculous). The problem is, to me, transparent.

Veilguard is only interested in interactions with the "main characters" of Thedas – the cast of action heroes that surround your Rook. These include your companions, characters from previous games (Varric, Morrigan), and names from the comics or tie-in novels who you are supposed to whoop and cheer for when they appear without ever getting to find out who they are. If I was being unkind, I would even say it is uninterested in providing opportunities to converse with these characters given the superficial, skin-deep nature of the dialogue.

Of the short, sparse interactions you are allowed to participate in during Veilguard's opening, you can have a brief back-and-forth with at most three characters who are not other party members (past or present) or faction leaders. Two are named. I won't do the labour of counting lines of dialogue, but there are only a handful for all of these characters combined.

Throughout the game, these "other characters" exist to be beaten down in service to the plot, as quest markers in service to the plot, or to be saved in service to the plot. If you are lucky, they might have names, but they will never be so fleshed out that you could imagine an internal world for them. You can never imagine what their place in Thedas might be beyond the context you meet them in. They stand or sit or lie stationary at map markers, waiting to be talked to, and cease to exist once their dialogue tree is concluded.

The game tells you, at every possible opportunity, to keep moving. Move onto the next plot point, it says. Forget who you just talked to – they're not important like Neve, or Harding, or Lucanis, or Emmrich. You don't even need to know their names. They don't have an exclamation mark above their head. They weren't here five minutes ago, and they're not going to be here in five minutes. The words they say don't matter, it's just padding for the script to get you from Point A to Point B. Varric says you've got the elven gods Elgar'nan and Ghilan'nain to take down, isn't that thrilling?

[blackbirdsblackberries]

I Hate The New Hero!

Pt 8: The Trapeze Artist's Fall

Pt 1 - Pt 2 - Pt 3 - Pt 4 - Pt 5 - Pt 6 - Pt 7 - Pt 8 (You're here) - Pt 9 - Pt 10

It was his second week of school for him. In no way was he excited. Gotham was a fresh start for the young boy, private school was meant to be a fun experience - many would kill to be able to get premium education - but he finds he misses the countryside hills that he'd watch pass by as his mamă taught him how to spell and read. He misses his tată teaching him math and cool sciencey things.

He misses his family.

The school wasn't the problem, though he found he was falling behind in learning due to his homeschooled life beforehand. The problem was his classmates, the ridicule he'd get for simple slip-ups. It wasn't his fault English is his second language, it isn't his fault he slips-up.

Last Friday one boy in the class, Mac Doust, had put gum in his hair. Dick ended up crying in the bathroom until Alfred came to pick him up - not Bruce, no, Bruce was as unavailable as Dick's dead parents honestly.

Gripping the straps of his backpack Dick mutters under his breath, trying to assure himself he'd be okay. The whole weekend he had practiced hiding his accent so kids would think he was normal.

Upon walking into the school he held his head high and didn't mess around, he headed straight to class.

...

That's strange, why was the door only opened partly? Ms Xavier keeps the door wide open, always greeting Dick with a wide smile and some Romanian she had put in the effort of learning for him.

Dick opens the door hesitantly, peeking inside.

He only gets to see Mac's stupid grin before water is dumped on him, the metal bucket clanging on his head harshly.

He doesn't know what to do, he stands there, the bucket on his head as the sounds of giggles and cackles fill his ears. Warm tears contrast with the cold water soaking his face.

Dick went home early that day. The incident struck a chord in him. If he wanted to stop the bullying he had to become better than them, put in the work and effort.

He will be popular, he will be better.

He will never do that cruel prank to anyone. Never

Looking down at his phone as he walks he feels nothing but a cringing sort of pain. He stooped to a level he never thought he'd get to. It was disgusting really.

Dick feels like he's no better than Mac. That he's no hero. The video plays on loop as the man takes in the pained look on your face, he can't bring himself to look at the messages in the group chat.

They're most likely supporting it, congratulating him for doing what they all wished to do.

Hell, if he was in their place he'd probably be celebrating it too. But to be there, to be the reason you reacted that way, is sickening for the young male.

Even now all he can think about is himself, how he feels. God, how self-centered could he be? It's not like he was the victim in this.. But still, surely he can't be the true bad guy in this, right?

Dick had decided against getting driven home, he felt that if he walked to the manor in the rain it'd be enough to be even with you - look, we both ended up soaked! Everything's better now!

He chuckles under his breath at his thoughts - what would Aranea even think of him?

She'd probably be angry at him for his actions but comfort him, telling him the things he needed to hear. That it wasn't his fault, that Y/N was a bad person who deserved it.

Whatever words needed so he could sleep at night really..

Dick finally decides to exit the looping video, the image of you burnt into his mind forever.

He goes into his messages and pulls up Aranea's comm number - he had put it into his phone so they could talk off shift, something she was hesitant about but ultimately caved in.

He types out a simple message. Then another. Then another.

"Heyyyy!!! Are you busy rn??"

"It'd be cool to hang out and patrol together!!"

"Bruce doesn't have to know"

He stares at the messages, waiting for them to be marked as read. 1 minute turned into 5, then 5 turned into 10. Dick sighs and exits out of the message log, clearly Aranea is busy.

He gazes on the chat log "Y/N. 🤮"

Maybe he should message her? Say sorry and try to make it up to her.. Yeah, that's what Aranea would say to do! She was always about communication.

"I know you're probably upset, I get that. I'm super sorry for what I did|

"I know you're probably upset, I get that. I'm|

"I know you're|

"What I did wasn't right. I'm sorry that I did that because you had a different opinion than me. I never meant to make you cry, only angry, I promise!"

Finally happy with the message he sends it off.

Only to remember the wonderful fact that your phone is fried due to the water.

Lucky him. He sighs, fed up with this bad luck streak he's been having.

Suddenly he remembers that he has money! More than you can even imagine!

He can buy a new, amazing phone to make things even. Yes, it's perfect. Surely you'll forgive him now!

He changes course and heads to the nearest electronic store, determined to make things right in his head. The purchase was swift and quick, the best phone he could find in the place.

Now, all he had to do was go to your apartment and give it to you!

Lucky him Tim leaked your address to everyone in the family as soon as he entered your apartment. So, with a high head he makes the slightly anxiety-inducing journey to you.

Knocking on the door of the apartment Dick stands straight as a board. The door opens and on the other side is a woman, she has severe eye bags and (H/C) hair. She seemed to have just gotten back from work. Her grey, lifeless eyes peer at him with suspicion before realizing who he was and smiling brightly.

"Mr Grayson! What a pleasure, is there anything you need?" She asks, Dick internally cringes, there was something about her voice that just grated against his ears.

There was just something so... Off... About her.

Still, he does what he usually does. He smiles and remains patient.

"Hello ma'am, is your daughter available? Something had happened and well.." Dick trails off, he doesn't want to get on Y/N's mother's bad side.

Her mother's eyes seem to cloud over at the mention of an incident, yet her smile remains in tact, if not strained. It's possible you told her already..

"Oh. An incident? What has she done, Mr Grayson?" Her mother asks, dark undertones coat her otherwise curious words. Dick furrows his brows slightly at the sudden change in the woman's mood. "Ah, well, it was my fault. I had played a nasty prank on her and her phone was ruined, I bought a new one to make it up to her!" He shows the brand new phone in it's box.

The woman doesn't look impressed, still, she smiles and hums. "Hm. Well that's lovely! Would you like to come inside? She isn't home currently but I'm sure she'll be home soon."

Something in Dick tells him not to go inside. Something was wrong. Yet, he reminds himself that he is a hero, if anything happens he will be prepared.

So, he heads inside, trailing behind the woman as he takes in the dungeon-like interior. "It's a... Lovely place, ma'am" Dick says, hoping to seem polite. The woman scoffs.

"M/N, my name is M/N. No need for such formalities!" The woman hurriedly states before flicking her hand dismissively "Y/N's room is the second door. You can wait there, or, if you want, you can hang around me!" She smiles sweetly, too sweetly, disgustingly sweetly. It reminds him of eating giant spoons of brown sugar.

He smiles politely, trying not to show his discomfort. "I'll just wait in her room for her..!" He hurries to Y/N's room, shutting the door once he's in. That woman gave him the creeps.

He looks around the small room, holy shit, no wonder you're always so pissy! He'd be pissy too if his room was just a bit bigger than a school storage closet!

The man knows he shouldn't snoop, he's done enough damage. But, maybe, if the guilt doesn't settle he can use information gathered here to help!

Dick makes his way to the chest and looks around, picking up an engineering bit, he isn't too into the whole mechanical side of things so there was no name he could pin it to.

Placing it back he moves to sit on the bed and wait. As he sits on the bed his eyes are drawn to a floorboard that seems to stand out from the rest. He kneels on the floor and digs his nails into the floorboard.

He starts to lift it up when..

RINGGGG

RINGGGG

RINGGGG

His phone goes off, he scrambles to answer the call, not checking who the caller was.

"Dick? Dick, okay, you're the only one that has answered!"

It was Duke, he sounds frantic. What happened..?

"Duke? What's going on? Is everything okay?"

"No, no, something bad's happened! Steph, Cass and I were at a cafe and Y/N and her friends were there as well but some waitress had messed up the orders and Y/N had an allergic reaction - or something like that!" Duke rambles, his words slurring together in a rush.

Dick's eyes widen and he feels the air leave his lungs, forgetting about the floorboard and quickly leaving the room. He'll put the new phone on your bed for when you return.

He brushes past M/N and leaves the apartment. Holy shit your luck was bad, he couldn't help but think.

"Okay, stay calm, are you guys at Gotham City Private Hospital or Gotham City Public Hospital?"

"Private."

"I'll be there in half an hour, it'll be okay."

With that he hangs up and runs out of the apartment complex.

Like hell was he about to let anything bad happen to you before he could make things right!

Taglist:

@rissareader @delias-stuff @hogwarts9 @marsmabe @randomlyappearingartist @coralaura @nervousalpacalady @citrushalo @chericia @soriansick @v0idl1nq @scrumdidiliyumyum @kittykatcreatster @feral-childs-word @anon34570 @shycreatorreview @sunny-sp3lls @fluffypackofships @cynniee @yuyuzi-ling @coffeeaddictxd @starryperson @readermommy @niggrrooo @bunbunboysworld @yanrandom @fluffypackofchips @vanilliona @wizzerreblogs @cens0r3d

[desireangel]

Dark Cherry | Aemond Targaryen

Part One (potentially ??? xoxo - indecision)

Summary: after months of a marriage that hardly harbours the passion that you'd dreamed about, you stumble across the reason for your husband's indifference and decide enough is enough. Aemond will learn just exactly what he's been missing out on.

Pairing: Aemond Targaryen x fem!reader and also some Aemond x some random girly pop who could be impliedly understood as ms Alys ;o

Word Count: 3.3k

Warnings: smut - mdni 18+!!! infidelity, kinda angsty? second-hand smut? reader is a cheeky voyeur, oral (m receiving), talk of sex, masturbation, bad words, very little dialogue, I wrote this in 2 hours and it is barely edited so it may be shite. guys. please tell me if I've missed a warning, luv u xoxo

Author's note: here's a wee smth while I get my head around part 2 of Infernal Desires! the idea I had for this fic was for a multi-part but idk depends on how we're feeling so there will potentially be a part 2 ;D. kisses!!!! <3

Masterlist!

Whatever pretence was in play, you would be the first to admit that you were tired of it. A loveless marriage was nothing less than what you had expected–a union that was entirely for show and born from the political motives of your families. It was only expected.

You tried to convince yourself that you were content with such an arrangement. It suited your ambitions, meant that you could be left alone to do as you please while quenching the thirst to make your family proud. 

Somehow, despite your hesitance and despite your husband’s ignorance toward you, the one thing that you knew you would never truly hold had become your greatest wish. 

The reality was such that you found yourself longing for affection.

Preferably-of course-your husband’s affection. 

Between the forced smiles put on for expectant eyes, the brush of your shoulders whenever you sat next to each other at the dining hall and the gentle caresses at the small of your back until his touch was hurriedly removed once you were again behind closed doors, you had grown an incessant, consuming desire for the prince you were married to. 

Aemond was a man of great beauty and strength. While many had chastised his singular eye and told tales of his ruthless temper, Aemond had grown to be well respected and the object of many lustful gazes.

Eight months had passed since Aemond became your husband and you, his wife. Eight months of tense silences, lonely nights in a bed you had expected to share and eight months of nothing but false affections that were nothing but a performance.

You had considered yourself a romantic right until you felt the loneliness and realities of this marriage. Your naive desires to feel the throes and excitement of love that you read about were subject to a rude awakening the moment you became disgustingly aware of your husbands lack of it. 

Aside from the night of your wedding, Aemond seemed to avoid your bed as if it would burn his skin. Until two months ago, when you had pushed aside the sting on your pride and all but demanded he spare some time for you. 

Friends had warned you that it was hardly special. But if he was kind enough, as few of their husbands were from time to time, he would give you a chance to experience some of the pleasures of your body.

Aemond was hardly a passionate lover, it had seemed. With instruction to simply lift your skirt, he had you laying with your hips at the foot of the bed where he silently and effortlessly fucked his seed into your womb. It had not yet borne fruit despite his fortnightly visits. 

It was never enough. Your body had eventually begun to crave more. In a very raw and unmistakably physical need to find the release it had been denied for so long. Despite Aemond’s assurance on the first nights of your marriage that neither of you were to have any interest in whores or paramours, words and whispers of the prince’s capabilities had picked up over recent weeks and you came to understand that if only Aemond had wanted to, he could give you exactly what your body desired.

Even if you had the same freedoms as men when it came to taking on lovers outside of your marriage, you couldn’t. Admittedly, you’d developed a taste for luxury - a taste only for your husband. Or at least, the fantasy version of Aemond that you had concocted within your head. 

And when your hand made its way between your thighs in the small hours that followed restless nights, the only thoughts that existed in your mind were those of him. Of all the things you had hoped Aemond would guide you to discover about your bodies. Of all the things that you had read about in the books you’d sneak out to find. 

Sometimes, you wondered if Aemond thought of you while he touched himself. The idea of it often crossed your mind and you had since convinced yourself that you had been driven insane. 

Realistically, you knew that the arrangement you had with Aemond was out of necessity. Nothing more. But you were much like him in certain ways - hungry for what you know you deserve, relentless and cunning. But you had little patience left. 

The moment you had decided to make your worth known to your husband wasn’t one you could place a finger on. It was a gradual thing - as you had gently started shifting your attention past the lovers in your books who no longer calmed your lustful needs. 

You wanted him more fiercely than you had wanted for anything in your lifetime.  

So you gently lowered the neckline of your dresses to highlighted the bump of your collarbone, had your maids do your hair so that it framed your face perfectly while accentuating the shape of your neck. You had soon foregone the paler tones your mother had you wear, colours that announced your purity and innocence. The colours that you wore were deeper, richer and more sultry against the tone of your skin. 

With difficult ignorance of the nervous, shy and pious girl your parents had raised for such a match, you forced yourself to seek out Aemond’s gaze with an extra glint in your eyes. You let your once hesitant touches linger with a newfound confidence that stole your breath away whenever Aemond would escort you to and from the dining hall. On the days Aemond would spare time to walk you through the gardens, you made an effort to speak of more than just the weather. 

At times, you felt uneasy about the act you were putting on. Were the prospect of his affections so important to you that you forced yourself to act so differently? In your mind, being a seductress was never so dishonourable as many made it seem but you had hoped this act would pay off in a matter of a few weeks. 

Your impatience becomes painful when you have every other desire at your beck and call. 

But you were mistaken. If anything, Aemond’s indifference had only grown. And at each hardened glance from your head to toe, at each moment in which he continued to ignore you or look past you, your resolve weakened.  

Aemond could not have found you unattractive - this much you knew as a fact. You knew from the way he used to look at you with a gentle fire in his eye and made sure that your every other need had been taken care of. From the way he clenched his jaw in restraint when you would lay back for him, how his grip on your hips and your thighs left marks on your skin as he fucked into you - even if there was little more than a duty being performed. After all, he was still just a man. 

So despite the fact that your efforts were shaping up to be of no use, you didn’t give up. You started taking breakfast in your chambers, requesting Aemond to join you when he was available, dressed in your softest, prettiest nightgowns instead of having dressed up already. 

You made a show of it, unashamed and brazen. Almost surprisingly, Aemond enjoyed the dark cherry more than you could have hoped. There were subtle changes in the way his eye would linger over the dip of your neck, the way his wordless gaze would follow the deep red that would stain and spill from your lips as you bit into a cherry from the bowl of fruit that you shared.

Your conversations have always been comfortable. Aemond may be a brooding, arrogant hardass sometimes but he was always respectful and kind to his you in the time you shared together as husband and wife. But now he would falter, his words getting caught as he watched you gently sucking off the juice of a cherry from your fingers, humming gently as you glance at him with false nonchalance mixed with your best bedroom eyes. 

And it did drive him insane. Aemond had never seen this side of you, much unlike the quiet, prudish woman he had married. But then again, had he ever truly known you? Either way, you had caught the amusement in his gaze and the way he challenged you wordlessly with a shift of his hips and gentle smirk.

Much to your disappointment, little else changed. Nearly three weeks had passed and Aemond had given you little more than those lingering looks and a few stolen breaths. He had at once withdrawn and become increasingly lacklustre, and when you had even tried asking him about his training with Ser Cole, you received no more than curt, blunt answers at each try. 

It had become too much by the time you had retired to your chambers alone once again. The day had been long and uneventful, Helaena had been by your side for most of it which had been nice but you were in no mood to fake an interest in sifting through the performative duties of a princess. 

In all honesty, it was frustrating. You were starting to wear thin on the constant nagging of absolutely everyone about your lack of a child. It has been almost a year and you have failed to perform your duty as a wife, almost a year and you have not missed a single cycle, almost a year and you haven’t blessed the prince with an heir. 

Because, as a lady whose name you hadn’t cared enough to remember had not-so-gently uttered to you over her dreadful playing of a stringed instrument; what was the point of being his wife if you didn’t bed him well enough to carry his child? 

You had, in truth, been distracted. And the idea of carrying the child of a man who only paid you the necessary courtesies out of politeness and good manners made you feel ill. 

Queen Alicent, although you could tell she was inclined to agree with the lady, had placed a gentle yet firm hand on your bicep to calm the anger that had clearly taken you over. With a glare at the loose-lipped woman, you quickly picked up the handkerchief you’d been attempting to embroider and excused yourself. 

If anyone had noticed your absence from the evening meal, which the Queen had always insisted upon eating together, nobody bothered to say anything. 

Over an hour had passed, tossing around in your bed and your eyes stinging from embarrassment. Why was Aemond so averse to you? Why would he stare at you as if you set his blood on fire in one moment and then glance straight past you in the next? What had you done that convinced him so strongly that you were not even worth trying to be familiar with? 

The gods had surely intended to punish you for something in a past life if they were so adamant to trap you in a marriage with a man who would much rather be anywhere other than with you. 

You may as well be strangers to each other. 

The ache of your anger led you straight out of your own chambers and towards his. You spared Ser Tunsley, the knight standing at your door, a harsh glare and snapped at him to give you your privacy otherwise you’d have him stripped of his cloak. He was a timid one, you noticed, and with a nod he stood back, his eyes staring straight past your shoulder in an attempt not to stare at the thin nightgown that clung to your skin. 

It was an outrageous hour and you were of half a mind in your frustration to thank the gods for the empty hallways. In fact, you noticed the lack of an armoured man at the door to Aemond’s chambers and wondered if maybe the prince was elsewhere. 

You stepped towards the door, curiosity peaked at the sound of shifting, followed by some voices and you hesitated. Frowning, you ran through what you would say if Aemond opened the door - there was nothing that would make sense. 

As you stepped closer to the door, a soft light spilled out and you noticed that it was, in fact, just barely ajar. 

It was unlike Aemond to leave his door open and you were certain he would question you sneaking around the hallways in the small hours, dressed only in underclothes. But you ignored the rational voice at the back of your mind and took silent steps so close to the door that it would be cowardly to back out now. 

You couldn’t hear the voices anymore, ears ringing as you held your breath and gently nudged the door while muttering a silent prayer that it wouldn’t make a sound. 

Shock first. Then fear, anger, desire and an all consuming jealousy as you took a moment to understand what you were seeing.  

Aemond was resting at the end of his bed, naked and resting his weight lazily on one arm, his free hand tangled in the dark hair of a slender woman, just as bare as him, kneeling at his feet and moving her head in an up and down motion. Aemond guided her movements with a firm hand, his head tipped back gently. 

He wasn’t wearing his eyepatch. You’d never seen him without it–he never let you. His eye was firmly shut and you caught the glint of the sapphire in place of the other that was stolen from him. The movements of his chest were heavy and you could hear him panting gently, lips gently parted. 

You were unable to tear your eyes off of Aemond. He looked more beautiful than you had ever seen him, under the golden hue of the lamps, his body lean and chiselled–each curve and muscle glowing under the lights. You could see his pleasure, in his expression, the tinting of his skin and the way he roughly tugged at the mystery woman’s hair. A couple strands of his own hair, usually pulled away from his face, fell forward and the flush of his cheeks were starkly pink against the silver of his hair. He let out a breathy groan, murmuring something you couldn’t quite hear as he opened his eye, dark with lust, and gazed down at the woman that was hunched over his lap. The lewd sounds of her mouth on him almost made you gasp and you thanked the gods that Aemond could not see you. Because you could not move if you tried. 

You couldn’t see anything other than the back of her head, and you were glad of it. Because you knew that seeing her face would have been too much and staying hidden and quiet would have been ten times more difficult. Despite the pressure between your thighs, the uncomfortable slick that you felt against your small clothes and the heat that rushed through you from head to toe, you glared viciously at the back of her head. 

Aemond’s breathing stuttered, a string of curses falling carelessly from his lips while he watched the woman as if he were entirely enchanted by her. Despite the fact that you couldn’t really see what she was doing, so expertly that had him in such a state, the entire thing felt obscene. And you could hear her muffled moans, the wetness and her light gagging when Aemond tightened his hold on her hair and thrusted upwards.

Your cheeks burned and your blood felt like lava coursing through your veins. The intensity of your want for him–as he was right now–made you dizzy and you drew in sharp breaths, careful not to make a sound. Because if he turned his head slightly to the left, just for a second, he would see you. You didn’t want to know the consequences. But nothing  that existed among all of the realm could force you to turn around and leave. 

Aemond’s groans were quiet and deep but they grew slightly louder than before, his breath catching as you could see him grow closer to his peak. Your thighs trembled as you pressed them together, barely thinking about how you would be able to escape after he was done–when he would surely see you watching unashamedly. 

The sounds that Aemond was making sent shockwaves straight to your wetness and as you could see his entire body grow visibly tense, hips jerking as his groans turned strained amongst grunts and whispers of just like that and fuck and—a name. 

It was your name. 

You couldn’t help but gasp, clenching around nothing, squeezing and rubbing your thighs together to try and relieve the throbbing of your clit. The woman faltered, much to your satisfaction, and she pulled her head back from him. You couldn’t see past her but her hands remained as they were, biceps moving gently as she continued to touch him. 

“Aemond-” you winced as she said his name, no bother for formality. Her voice was slightly husky and it remained sultry and smooth. “I’m not-”

Your husband’s jaw ticked, squeezing his eye shut and pushing her head down towards his hips again. “I know. Fuck–” he grunted, roughly pushing her further down, cursing as she gagged. She hummed around him. 

Suddenly, the desire in your veins became secondary to the jealousy that burned your lungs and the betrayal that caught in your throat. You knew men were not faithful creatures, and even though part of you had known Aemond had been no different–not with how you have heard the servants speak on a couple occasions–but foolishly, you had hoped that he had been a man of his word. Another naive part of you truly did believe him when he said he would have no other woman. 

Whatever she was doing, however she was doing it and no matter that it was your name that fell from his lips, Aemond was enjoying it. He was praising her–telling her she was his, telling her she was doing so well and letting himself get lost in the pleasure she was giving him. 

It was painful to watch and you cursed your body for yearning so badly for reprieve. You’d become soaked, thighs slick from where you’d dripped down. But you would be damned if you gave in and as Aemond’s hips started jerking, his strained grunts becoming desperate as he chased the peak he was nearing, you pushed yourself away from the door and ran back towards your own chambers. 

The entire scene had seared itself into your brain and you trembled as you shut yourself away in your bedchambers, ignoring whatever questions Ser Tunsley had been asking you. 

Who was that woman? You couldn’t make sense of all the questions that flooded your brain. The emotions that fought for dominance. How had they met? Was she a whore? 

Did they see you? 

Your mind replayed the way he’d groaned your name, unable to help yourself from whimpering at the memory. It didn’t make any sense. Aemond was clearly thinking about you yet he had never so much as spared you more than a heated look - he had never even given you a kiss. 

Aemond had never been so comfortable with you. Not the way he was with her. The way he let her say his name–free of his title, like she was his equal. You had only addressed him without title once, on the night of your wedding. 

You laughed. How silly this all was. 

Despite your arousal, and regardless of your hurt, you were angry. 

How dare he? Did he think so little of you? 

Did he love her? Is that why he never tried for you? 

It was infuriating. And there was little you could do about it. But nonetheless, you saw an opportunity through the tears you scolded yourself for shedding over a man who never gave you what you deserved. 

Aemond would regret it. And he’d learn that his wife was the only woman who could give him what he needs. But for now, you let yourself grieve the Aemond you had led yourself to believe was real. The man who held your hand in his and told you that while he couldn’t be the husband you wanted, he would never disrespect you so much as to let another woman into his bed. 

[thatsmooji]

dogtooth.

sigma!connie springer x reader

1.4k words: connie springer x reader, mixed!connie springer, black!reader, light angst, hurt/comfort, arguments, foul language, mentions of violence, neglectful partners, past relationships, jealous exes, pet names (ma, mama, baby, pretty girl), not really proof read

notes: hiiii! sorry that this took so long, but i finally got a laptop! it actually sucks ass, but i can write much faster on here! i lost a bit of motivation, but i know that i definitely want to write more sigma!connie and alpha!ony, so expect to see more of them! this fic doesn't have much to do with greek life, but i just wanted to note that this is part of the sigma!connie series anyway :)

“you can't keep getting into fights, connie baby.”

your boyfriend didn't respond, choosing to look out the window at the passing city as you drove him back to campus. the lights of the town shown gently on connie’s face, letting you catch slight glimpses of the bruises plaguing his beautiful cream skin. you sighed, turning your attention back towards the road.

your heart had nearly fallen into your stomach when connie called you from the police station, softly asking you to pick him up. it made you sick to see him hurt, and it didn’t help that he was being so nonchalant about it.

“they're not gonna keep giving you breaks forever, you know,” you started again, ignoring the way connie sucked in a breath next to you. “your frat brothers can only do so much. hell, i can only do so much-”

“well what am i supposed to do, ______? just let that asshole keep messing with you?” connie snapped. he was frustrated. beyond frustrated, and you'd be stupid not to know it. “he keeps playing in my fucking face.”

<3

when you got accepted into your university, you were so excited to just escape. leaving your old friends, unbearable family, and past mistakes behind. it was a new chapter in your life, and the last thing you expected was for an old character to make a reappearance.

your ex-boyfriend, aran, had followed you out of state to your university. apparently, he had been accepted on an academic scholarship, but that was very hard to believe. there was no room for anything besides high praises for himself in that brain, let alone any academic knowledge. the boy was arrogant, narcissistic, even.

looking back, the only reason you got involved with him was to maintain the high-standard image you had worked so hard to portray in high school. he was rich, and so were you. you were stunning, and he was beautiful. popular, wanted, and adored. a match pulled straight out of a high school novel.

but behind the scenes, aran was mean. at first, you believed you could learn to love him; making him lunches and dropping them off at his homeroom class, showing up to support him in any activities he decided to participate in, and even going on halfass dates with him outside of school, which usually only ended up with him heading home with a new girl’s number in his phone. it was hell dating aran, and you were so glad to leave the part of you that was ever involved with him behind.

but now he was here, tainting your new (genuine this time) picture-perfect life. everywhere you went on campus, he was there. hollering at you in the courtyard, standing behind you in the cafe, hell, even showing up to your dorm room at the ass crack of dawn. despite all of this, you ignored him. you were determined to continue revelling in the comfort you had built around you. you had new friends, new goals, new ideals, and a new and very loving boyfriend. you weren’t the selfish, inconsiderate bitch that you were in highschool anymore. you had things that you cared for, and aran was not a part of that.

it didn’t take long for aran to realize this either. and while it wasn’t as easy to break you down, it was almost comical how simple it was to get under connie’s skin; and he knew that your precious connie baby is what mattered the most.

it started harmless enough. minor taunts everytime aran caught glimpses of connie around campus, as well as the occassional shade thrown toward him on instagram or snapchat. during this stage, connie was much slower to anger, and you miraculously managed to keep him from doing anything he’d regret. you’d convinced him that the sigmas and you mattered more, and connie held onto that notion deeply.

but aran was nothing if not persistent. he began making passes at you in connie’s presense, even going as far as to slap your ass when he walked past the two of you. that was when connie’s resolve began to slip.

<3

now you were here, driving a slightly battered and bruised connie back home. you hadn’t even been present to know what went down. you were hanging out peacefully in your dorm, helping your roommate get herself together after a night out when connie called.

“what even happened, connie?” you asked, glancing over once more to see him still staring out the window. “whatever it was, i’m sure putting your hands on him wasn’t the solution.”

connie was quiet for a moment, but he sure as hell knew better than to ignore you. he scoffed before turning back to you, staring daggers as if you were the one in the wrong.

“why do you keep defending this boy?” he sneered.

your mouth gaped, honestly trying to grasp what the hell connie was talking about.

“connie, wha-”

“every fucking time me and him get into it, you always crying about ‘not putting my hands on him’ and ‘you don’t have to do allat.’ who’s side are you on, ? cause it sure as fuck don’t seem like mine. you still like that nigga or something?”

you whipped your head to look at connie, anger lacing your face. “are you fucking kidding me connie? you think i want him to keep bothering us? you think i want to see you stressing everytime aran is even mentioned? don’t talk fucking crazy to me.”

you weren’t even watching the road anymore, praying that your hand stayed steady and no one pulled out in front of you. “what? you think i’m not bothered by him too, connie? that nigga followed me here like some fucking stalker, and you think i’m okay with that? you think i like it? i don’t, but i sure as hell don’t like dragging my ass out of bed in the middle of the night, worried fucking sick, to come get your ass out of jail for fighting a mistake that i made several years ago.”

the car swerved slightly before your turned your attention back to the road, tears stinging at the back of your eyes.

“all of this ‘nagging’ and fussing i’ve been doing is for you. i don’t wanna see you lose the shit you care about because of me. i never thought i would see him again, connie. there was not a single ounce of love between us back then, and i promise you that there isn’t now,” you sniffed, scrubbing the tears off your bare face with your sleeve. “i’m sorry that he’s here. i didn’t know he would do any of this. he’s ruining everything that i worked so hard to get, bringing back the things i ran from and-”

“pull over.”

you sucked your teeth, looking over expecting to see a look of judgement, but there wasn’t. connie stared at you with soft, comforting eyes. you only ever saw them when you cried, whether you were stressed over an exam or distraught because your hair didn’t act right that day. connie has never judged you, so why would he start now?

“pull over, ma. it’s okay.”

you coughed nervously, pulling off the road into a Target parking lot close to campus. once you parked, you immediately felt connie’s arms wrap tightly around you. he gently pulled you over the seat into his lap, wiping the raw spots under your eyes with cold fingers.

“’m sorry for fighting, mama. ion wanna see you crying over this,” he started, using his other hand to rub soothing circles into your back. “i know i let my temper cloud my mind sometimes, but everybody knows i don’t play about my pretty girl.”

you looked away, trying to stifle your laugh.

“ahh there it is, look at them pretty lips,” connie grinned, pushing your face to look back at him. “i know that you’re mine, and you ain’t going nowhere. especially not for some nigga who wears skinny jeans.”

connie leaned forward, resting his face in the crook of your neck. “all i see is somebody bothering my girl, and i just don’t think. i didn’t know it was bothering you this much, baby. all my fighting and shit has been for you, but if that ain’t what you want, then it’s not gonna happen anymore.”

you nodded into his shoulder before pulling back and pressing a kiss onto connie’s forehead.

“thank you, connie baby.”

connie leaned up, quickly pressing a kiss into both of your cheeks.

“anything for you, ma.”

“…now if that nigga put his hands on you…”

“connie, please,” you scoffed before playfully nodding towards your purse. “he knows better.”

connie snorted before pulling you back in for a hug.

“that’s my girl.”

[yunwangja]

⋆｡°✩ unrecognized, part 2 °｡⋆

kenma kozume x fem!reader

after kenma catches you off guard with a casual confession, he acts like nothing happened - which leaves you frustrated, and end up doing something you were never good at.

➤ masterlist | third

genre: fluff, slow burn, lighthearted romance

tags: kenma x fem!reader, univ setting, fluffy, pining!! yearning!!!

notes: might be ooc! this is now less introspective and more just some fluffy fluff and my bestie theme, pining <3 we're just exploring how yn and kenma will develop their rs teehee i hope you guys like it! I HOPE I CARRIED AHHHH

you think you’re going crazy. no—scratch that. you are out of your mind.

why are you doing this? sitting here, fumbling with controls, trying to play a game you know absolutely nothing about? and for what?

“how do you… do this…” you mutter, squinting at the screen. you move your character forward—only to be eliminated again.

the screen fades to black. game over.

you groan and throw yourself onto the couch. “why am i even doing this?”

laughter erupts from the call.

“yn, you’ve never cared about games before,” one of your friends says, amused. “why the sudden interest?”

you scramble for an excuse. “just… thought i’d learn something new.”

a lie.

the real reason is too embarrassing to say aloud. because ever since that night—since kenma casually dropped those words, you haven’t been able to stop thinking about him.

not that you’ve actually spoken to him since. no, after that moment, he went right back to being his quiet, unreadable self. like nothing even happened.

it’s fine that he wasn’t talking to you, though. you were to scared to talk to him again, fearing that he would say another thing that would take you off guard.

but—why wasn’t he talking to you?

you hate how it bothers you. now, you notice everything about him. everything he does, how he moves, how he speaks.

the way he stretches his neck when he’s listening to music, how his fingers tap against his leg when he’s focused, how his smirks are the closest thing to a laugh when someone cracks a joke.

god. and this man thinks you’re pretty.

it’s driving you crazy. you hate it. why.

then, last night, at a hangout, you saw him playing a game with some of your friends—headset on, gaze locked onto the screen, completely immersed.

and for some reason, that led you here. fumbling with controls, losing every round, questioning every life decision that brought you to this moment.

you really didn’t know why you decided to do this. really.

“yeah, right,” your friend teases. “you totally just had fomo when we played the other night.”

you open your mouth to argue when someone suddenly says—

“oh, wait, kenma’s joining.”

your stomach drops.

what.

you sit up, gripping your keyboard like it’s a lifeline. no, no, no— you are not ready for this.

“are you guys already playing?” kenma’s voice comes through your headset.

you hear rustling as if he’s adjusting his mic.

you panic. “uh—i mean, i can go—”

“no, of course not,” your friend cuts in. “play with us.”

you curse internally. there’s no escape.

a few seconds later, a new player joins the squad. it's him, you assume. then—

“hey.”

kenma’s voice is smooth, casual.

“oh, yn’s here?” he realizes.

you let out a nervous laugh. “yeah. um. sorry, i wanted to try it out.”

he chuckles. and god, you wish you didn’t notice how nice it sounded. “i see. that’s cute.”

your brain short-circuits.

you are so done.

the game starts, and as expected—you are a complete disaster.

this game is fast. too fast. there are bullets flying, enemies flanking, and you can barely aim without accidentally looking at the sky.

meanwhile, kenma is a menace. his movements are calculated, precise—he barely speaks, but he doesn’t need to. he takes down enemies effortlessly, revives teammates without hesitation, and somehow keeps the whole team afloat.

you, on the other hand, are a burden.

by some miracle (or kenma hard-carrying), you win.

but you don’t feel like celebrating. you bury your face in shame. “i’m so bad at this.”

kenma hums. “good round.” you bet he’s just saying that. “another one?” he asks.

before you can respond, your friend stretches with a yawn. “ah, sorry, i’ve been playing all day. i’m worn out.”

relief floods you—until they add, “but you can play with yn, kenma. she says she wants to learn.”

betrayal.

pure, utter betrayal.

you sit there, eyes wide, screaming internally. no. do not leave me here.

“uh—no, it’s fine! i can just play again next ti—”

“sure,” kenma interrupts smoothly. “let’s go, yn. i can guide you through.”

you slam your face into your hands. why is this happening.

but you have no choice. your friends leave the call, and the next match loads.

and, well—you are still terrible.

kenma is patient, though. he keeps his voice calm, telling you where to go, when to shoot. sometimes he makes small sounds—an approving hum when you survive longer than expected, a soft chuckle when you mess up in a way that’s too bad to ignore.

you still die. a lot.

“where are you?” he asks.

“i—i don’t know—”

“turn left.”

you turn right.

“no, other left.”

you die. again.

by the end of the round, you let out a groan, collapsing onto your desk. “i hate this game.”

kenma laughs. laughs. he never does that. well, at least for as long as you knew him.

“don’t worry, you’ll get the hang of it.”

you sigh dramatically. “i’m deleting it later.”

he chuckles. “please don’t. but why’d you want to play in the first place, anyway?” asking the same thing your friend did earlier.

you freeze.

“nothing,” you mumble. “just wanted to play, too.”

kenma hums, unconvinced. “i doubt it. from your perspective, this game would look difficult.” a pause. then, teasingly, “you couldn’t even do roblox parkour.”

your mouth falls open. “you know about that?!”

he laughs again. “of course. i like you, remember?”

your heart stops.

you grip your keyboard mouse tighter. stop being like this, kenma kozume.

you take a shaky breath. “well, erase that from your memory.”

“mm. no can do.”

oh.

oh, hell.

why did he say it like that? he has no idea what he’s doing to you. no idea.

or worse, he does.

but then, his voice softens. “i still don’t believe you, though. tell me why you really wanted to play.”

he nudges you, but you hesitate. your grip tightens.

“…well. fine.”

he waits. you squeeze your eyes shut, embracing yourself for what you were about to say.

“youweren’ttalkingtome.”

kenma blinks. “what?”

you exhale sharply. “you weren’t talking to me.”

thank god it was just the two of you on the call. if anyone else had been here, you’d never live this down.

silence. then—

“oh.” a pause. then, suddenly— “wait, what?”

he bursts into laughter.

“you did all of this… just to talk to me?”

“you weren’t doing anything!” you blurt, hating how defensive you sound. “it’s not fair that we had that conversation and you just pretended that nothing happened.”

kenma hums in amusement. “so you missed me?” why can you feel him smirking from across the screen?

you wish you could throw something at him.

“shut up.”

he laughs again, soft but exasperated. “oh god, yn,” he says. “what am i going to do with you…”

“what?” you snap, a little too quick, a little too defensive.

he chuckles, “where are you right now?”

“what? why?”

“just answer.”

you hesitate before answering. “…my dorm. why?”

“can i come over?”

your heart nearly stops.

your breath catches, pulse hammering in your ears. “w-what?”

“let me rephrase that,” kenma says, tone gentle. “do you want me to come over?”

you swallow thickly.

your fingers tremble. fuck it.

“hurry, then."

[twilightofthesandwiches]

The heavy Weird Route References in the Shadow Mantle are very… chilling (if you excuse the pun), no matter how you interpret them.

I’ve seen people theorize that since Spamton used to live in the Z-Rank room that has access to the S-Rank Room, this is actually how he learned of the possibilities of the Weird Route and how to use it for his own BIG SHOT benefits.

I’ve seen this interpreted as… almost the game trying to goad you into a Weird route if you haven’t done one yet. After all, you’re here cause you wanted to Complete the Game, see everything and achieve everything, and gain literal Game-Breaking Power. Wouldn’t the Weird Route be perfect for you?

Or you can look at the elements that haven’t appeared in the Weird Route as perhaps prescient to future changes caused by Snowgrave on the rest of the game. Like that we will eventually meet a ‘real-life’ counterpart to the Shadow Mantle boss…

Or that we will eventually face situations kinda like…

Or that this is maybe a sign for things to come in a different way. That Snowgrave being an alternative method for getting the Spamton NEO boss fight was just the tip of the iceberg. That later ‘Secret Boss Routes’ will require you to do increasingly morally repugnant things to complete them - up to and including requiring a Snowgrave-like route to even reach the Secret Boss. Basically circling back to Undertale’s Murder Routes themes of a Player doing horrible things just to ‘complete’ the Game.

But the idea I’m fixating on is… there are multiple angles to the idea of ‘Your Choices Don’t Matter’ that Deltarune can explore or has explored. There’s the idea of railroading, which obviously works in tandem with this whole storyline idea of the prophecy and the characters' attempts to fulfil or defy it. There's the matter of Character Agency versus Player Agency, with characters (including Kris) expressing their free will by overriding the Player's choices and on the other hand, the Weird Route allowing the Player 'freedom' by stripping the agency and will of Kris and Noelle. There's the idea of an ending being recontextualized by certain choices even when it's technically the same, which Chapters 1 + 2 + 3 all touched on.

And… if there's one the Game hasn't quite touched yet, it's choices not mattering due to the existence of a multiverse/alternative timelines. Your choices don’t matter because the world where you made another choice exists is just as real as your current one.

Well, I mean… it wasn’t overtly touched on. The existence of Multiple SAVE Files, unlike Undertale, the ‘Your Choices Matter’ Game, and its singular SAVE, kinda plays into the theme. Both in the sense of “having multiple SAVEs with different routes was be inherently counterproductive the emotional impact of Undertale’s choices… but now your Choices Don’t Matter so now you can have multiple SAVEs!” and in the sense that the multiple SAVEs themselves are part of the reason why your choices don’t matter. You are both fully aware of and capable of freely switching between three different timelines and can just pick your Favorite Consequences. And that robs your Choices of any real impact.

But also… most Players are aware of more than just the three timelines assigned to them. Undertale and Deltarune are games with huge online fandoms, who spend a lot of time experimenting and documenting and sharing every single variation and detail in these games. Undertale was primarily invested in your personal choices in your version of the Undertale, and only had a chance to allude to this idea…

But Deltarune already having more to do diverging Timelines, both with the three SAVE Files and the fact that it’s an alternative universe of Undertale. So honestly, since Chapter 2 and the Weird Route, I have been considering the possibility… what if your Choices Don’t Matter even in the Weird Route because even if you personally choose to not Go Snowgrave, the existence of the Weird Route and the fact that someone, somewhere did decide to do it, still had affects over the entire multiverse.

Basically, what if eventually the Weird Route creates some sort of rogue power like a Weird!Noelle or Weird!Kris who decides to go after not just the Players who tormented them, but even Players from other universes who chose differently. Where basically your choices didn't matter because every Player will be 'punished' for the Weird Route. (Obviously giving some exposition of who and what they are for the Players who aren’t involved with the Fandom and actually have no idea about any Routes but their own.)

Or that the Weird Route is simply so wrong that the harm that it created echoes through the multiverse in a way that corrupts even timeline where it did not happen. Kinda like…

And of course, here it gets into the point of Deltarune's theme being less "Your Choices Don't Matter!" and more "Your Choices Don't Matter?". Because even if Sir Berdly the Defrosted is gonna show up from the void between worlds to give you a Bad Time, does that mean it doesn't matter at all if he's punishing you for your actual misdeeds or if you're basically an innocent bystander screwed-over by the sins of someone else? Is "oh well, I would have gotten 'punished' even if I hadn't done it" a good reason for your torment of Noelle and Kris? Is the fact that there are timelines where Noelle came out of Cyber World traumatized and afraid (…I mean, even more so than she already was) makes the happier timelines where that did not happen meaningless? Do the existence of the multiple timelines (and even our ability to switch around between three of them) actually rob our Choices of their Meaning?

[controld3vil]

sand walking?

pairing(s): dune 2 cast x actor!reader (platonic!!)

synopsis: requested by this ask!

⤷ alt: how to seduce someone walking on sand.

notes: there hasn't been confirmed for dune 3 yet but denise villeneuve has said he's writing for it to happen. ill patiently wait for the day it's confirmed :) ALSO there are fictional/made-up mentions of the novel for the sake of the reader. they're made to be gender-neutral!! and this includes platonic flirting between cast members. i MAY have gotten carried lmaoo

“I mean- what do you think of the character? Do you think they deserved more screen time?” The clip starts off with you comfortably conversing with the interviewer. To say you weren’t deflecting their curiosity. In actuality, you were eager to learn what others thought about your performance and take on the character. The only other interpretation had on-screen was from the classic 1984 film by David Lynch.

The clip that has been widely retweeted back is of a cute moment you had from the first film of Dune (2021). Before release, little was known about your character’s potential. Apart from the enthusiastic book lovers, film viewers were clueless about what role your character would play after the first movie.

Denise Villeneuve didn’t reveal much to you in person. He wanted to keep ideas confidential until he was 100% on board making the project come to life. Still, rumors sparked through speculation and interviews with the cast members of Dune. Including an infamous short, that you forgot about, of yourself boasting about your hopes and wishes for your character.

“Yes! How could we not!” On the opposite side, the interviewer exclaimed as they leaned forward from their chair, closing into your proximity. Their hands clenched, tightening their grip on the flash card, full of questions. “The movie left us on such a cliffhanger. I think everyone would want to know what happened to Nerre,”

“That’s for Denise to decide,” Nodding you gave a relaxed smile while lifting one leg over the other. Your shoulders relaxed, feeling content and ecstatic about their response. “I can’t confirm anything until he gives me the green light to say anything,”

“I’ve also talked to Timothée this morning,” A shift in gears as the journalist flipped over another flashcard. You two had just fussed about the finale and its dramatic cliffhanger. “And all he had to say were the sweetest things about you,” At the mention of your costar compliments, you felt your skin heat up. Your eyes soften, expressing only fondness for the lovely message. A soft awh escaped your breath. “He’s very sweet. Timothee's always been fun to be around.” A fervent chuckle from the interviewer sends them into a feverish excitement. “And- he said- you had great flirting skills!” It was then your face morphed into complete shock and giddiness . “Really?!” The camera pans up on your initial reaction, eyes popping out in surprise and a bubbling laugh slowly erupting. “I’m glad someone appreciates my talents!”

Without context, the short clip seemed harmless. Your sheer reaction to Timothee's comment emphasized the fun chemistry the two of you had on set. Mirroring much of Paul and Nerre's friendship, you both complimented each other well in the first film, being the youngest surrounded by well-renowned actors. But the reason for the recent spike of interest was partially from Dune: Part Two and their interviews.

Fast forward to the debut of Dune: Part Two, it made success at the box office. Even surpassing the first film altogether. The entire cast of Dune was proud of the work they've made. The introduction of new characters played by wonderful actors and actresses all around.

Weeks after the early IMAX screenings, press interviews were being published amongst of the young cast members. A particular interview by IGV Presents brings together Timothee Chalamet, Zendaya, Florence Pugh, Austin Butler, and yourself.

This would be considered to be one of your first interviews with the Dune cast after the box office release. You felt nervous yet overjoyed at the same time to be meeting your co-actors again after the conclusion of filming had taken place.

The spokesperson of IGV, Simon Harkness starts off the interview strong with a pleasant greeting. "Congratulations on an incredible movie. Uhm it is the definition of a sci-fi blockbuster and is absolutely phenomenal, so huge congratulations to you all!"

"Thank you!" The five of you all politely cherish his kind words.

"It's so lovely to talk to you. Um- Timothee, Zendaya, I'm going to start with you. This is probably the hardest question I've ever asked in an interview so you've been warned." An endearing giggle can be seen from Zendaya before allowing him to continue. "Sand walking, who does it better?"

Timothee immediately lifts up his microphone. "I'm going to give it to Zendaya here." Without glancing at her, you could tell Zendaya was happily smiling at his compliments. How quick he was to answer made it seem how well connected the cast was even given the amount of time spent together. The main lead continues very swiftly, diving more into how cinematic the shot was from an outside perspective, "I think it's the most- one of the most cinematic shots in the movie and she really has it very precisely down but it's the nature of the movie too that she's supposed to be better than Paul,"

"Is that what it is?" In return, Zendaya who sat next to him gave him a teasing look.

Quietly from afar where you sat, next to Austin Butler, you whispered. "He acted like he couldn't do it but," Soft snickering can be heard across the room.

"In fairness to me, I was going 65%- 65 to 70 too hard," Chalamet reasons justly as he glances in your direction before looking back to the interviewer.

"You dumbed it down," Harkness nods in a high-spirited manner. Right after, Timothee reluctantly agrees, keeping the mood light-hearted.

"I had to!"

"Just how committed you are!" Austin steps in, joining in on the joke.

"Zendaya, you can take that crown. I love that," The brown-haired man reassures as she recuperates with appreciative laughter. In truth, it was a beautiful scene between Paul and Chani you were lucky enough to witness behind the camera. And contrary to their light banter, you thought both actors did well at accomplishing what it was meant sand walk. Truthfully you had no scenes beyond walking through the desert but understanding the mechanics and traditions of the Fremen was as fascinating as it was watching it up close.

Suddenly it was Florence's turn to speak, "Zendaya taught me the other day and I had to just stop to stare at her feet."

"The swoopy swoop?" You asked in a cutesy tone, with furrowed eyebrows. You couldn't help but remember the few instances you witnessed your costars practice the sand walk to be one of the more adorable rehearsals you've seen on the sand.

"Yeah, her feet were so pretty! She was doing the swoopy swoops," The blonde acknowledges, waving her hands in a zig-zag pattern. As the replication of water and how her feet moved.

The interviewer's eyes light up, "Honestly I tried to swoopy swoop at home- um because we have a carpet in the bedroom."

"How did it go?" The mixed actress puts forward.

"Awful!" An assembly of bewilderment is seen between Zendaya and Florence as they quickly question why. However, they reassure him in the end that they would practice together in hopes of him archiving the sand walk.

Talks with simple questions went down the row. Florence discusses her experience from her beginnings, starring in Little Women, comparing those scenes in terms of royalty to Dune. In both films, she's worked with well-known actors and now Christopher Walken as the emperor and her father. She raves about how it was a dream come true. A dream she had when she was little. From this experience, Florence emphasizes the concept of learning and observing her fellow actors.

Another intriguing topic follows Austin for his experience between learning choreography fighting and Elvis's iconic rubber legs. In a sense, as you leaned forward on one of your seats, you became fascinated by the Elvis actor's comparison of it all. While Elvis's moves were televised and had to be precise for the camera, being a Harkonnens gave him more leverage in the freedom to move. It was a captivating question that you couldn't help but want to listen to more.

Comparisons aside, you didn't have much to note for your upcoming question. Which is exactly why you felt unprepared for what he was going to ask.

Harkness brings up your name for the finale. "You have done stunt work before. For the first and now second film, I've heard you compared it to rather- dancing. Is that what you think your relationship with the choreography has been?"

You gave a content hum, "You see it with the Fremen or Harkonnens right? Everyone moves so differently and for the course for me, I've had to adjust my choreo little by little. And I think that analogy you mentioned really does relate back to dancing. I don't know if it's because I was once a dancer or that I'm a visual learner," You shrug your shoulders, "But I see the choreography as a dance routine. You're moving alongside people, doing hits and jabs. Both are very hands-on so I would like to approach it as something I can always work on." Satisfied with your answer, you clapped your hands together.

"Kind of like sand walking no?" It was then that Zendaya swerved counterclockwise to face you.

Bringing back the conversation they had in the beginning about sand walking, your eyes instantly brighten. "Exactly like that!"

"I feel like you would be great at sand walking," Florence puffs, mindlessly shaking her microphone back and forth. "You- You already got the moves." Even Timothee came into agreement, humming and commenting you worked well with the choreography.

Austin Butler raises his microphone. "I think you gotta learn with me because I don't think I could,"

"Nonsense!" You give him a silly glare. "If you can do a killer rubber leg, I think you can sand walk." Florence and Zendaya both mumble their support and your male costar leans to have his arm around the back of your chair, warmly.

"Is that an open invitation I see?" The spokesperson, Harkness giggly pokes at than the rest of the cast turns to look at you. Your scowl morphs into an innocent one.

"Hm?" As you squint your eyes in hesitation.

"I feel like you could have the potential to sand walk but just with the right partner," Timothee chimes in, spreading his arms over his chair as well. Your brows furrowed accusingly, as if wanting to clarify what he meant by his comment.

And the French actor gives you a look, one you became so sure of. "Mm right!" A slight eruption of laughs before you straightened your back with proper posture. "With just the right partner,"

There were also hints mentioned in your interview with Timothee surprisingly not. This was one of the more recent ones to be published, as you finally were able to pair up with your favorite co-star (besides Brolin) from the first film. The two of you had strong chemistry despite having less screen time together in the second film.

The beginning of the video cuts to a clip of you answering an innocent question. "What I think about every day, is Timothee going to send to me a meme today? Uh, I hope so!" You give a sarcastic look to your seat partner as he latently laughs in front of you. "Or when is he going to text me you know?"

It then transitions to an interviewer from Heart commercial radio as he shouts out your names. "How are you both?"

"I'm doing good!"

"Going great!"

The radio show was more relaxed than you would've expected as the spokesperson was very down to the earth with his conversation starters and contagious warmth. Timothee was able to catch up with him from his last interview when he premiered his Wonka film. Eventually, the interview became more casual discussing working together, cooking, and trendy topics.

Timothee and you both went back and forth on favorite memories you had of the first film. And talking about the new cast members and new elements it had brought to the table for the film itself.

"Cool new characters this time," As you played around with the fuzzy microphone the camera crew gave to you.

"Yup lots of new people to meet," Timothee adds on, nodding.

The interviewer proceeds with the question, "And also you have seen- there's a clip about of you running around actually." He signals to you, "Of your reaction to something Timothee said about your performance in the first film,"

"Oh! I've seen it," Almost instinctively, your co-star raises his hand. "I was supposed to send it to you but I forgot." As he turns, to finds you looking lost at the topic at hand.

"Really what was it?" You almost looked concerned, seeing how you didn't understand what they meant.

Luckily for you, the Heart radio spokesperson managed to get a hold of the video from his phone, "It was a little callback of Timothee raving about your flirting skills."

As it plays, the camera zooms in on you and your co-actors reaction. The French actor couldn't help but look slightly embarrassed but smitten when the timing of your reaction came on screen. While you held an intrigued stance, arms crossed and a content grin.

"I am pretty good at flirting,"

"You really are, huh." At the same time, you both turn to make eye contact.

"I also heard Tim- that you thought that they would be your love interest initially?" At the radio speaker's inquiry, you couldn't help but in mid-sentence, finally, swerve your head suddenly.

"Yeah well, fun fact actually," The male actor tries to reason, sitting up. "In the novels, Paul and Nerre almost did become a couple!"

It was a well-known fact of that in the first novel, there had been slight changes to the story. Initially, it was said that the author, Frank Herbert had planned for Paul and Nerre, the character you played to have a romantic connection after the fall of House Atreides. Nevertheless, it was later scrapped for another plot, that of instead having Chani as the love interest. But even decades later after the novel’s release, it was something fans still fuss about.

"Oh, I heard about that!" Almost in awe, you nodded, your attention fully on Chalamet, wondering how far he was willing to go beyond spoilers.

"Do you think Nerre would ever meet someone then?" The afro man questions, adjusting his microphone. "Since- Paul has Chani, I feel like if we ever get a potential third film, that could open some doors!"

"If a third film could happen," You start, fiddling with the lining of the mic cover, "I hope so! I mean I got the moves, I got the skills!"

"Keep practicing your sand walk and we'll see," Timothee cutely chimes as you proceed to blow a raspberry at him. Only for him to lightly swat you away.

Despite your failures to have scenes of sand walking, your cast of a crew were more than happy to show you. Javier Bardem and Jessica Ferguson were quite supportive in your interest for something you did not have any part-time. A few behind the scene videos show the actor demonstrating from afar the slower version of the walk.

Though your back was facing the camera, viewers would pick up and recognize it to be you. Jessica as well was off to the side, in her luminescent costume of a million robes, clapping from side to side.

Another later pans to you taking long strides across the sand in the background. In front of the camera are Josh Brolin and Javier having their turn in the video, to discuss their relationship and the previous they have worked on together. However, viewers couldn't help but pinpoint your figure alongside the frame trying to master the patterns of what Javier taught you from the previous clip.

[bigmacari]

Could you do a Mateo x fem reader? Just a fluff cuddle session!

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Mateo Manta x Fem Reader

☆ You two cuddle up after a long day of taking care of the inaminals.

☆Warning(s) None

☆Author Note(s) Sorry if this is out of character. I have played through Mateo's story, I just kind of...forgot it? 😭 I hope you enjoy <3

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☆ You sighed, falling onto the living room couch, running a tired hand through your hair.

Today had been particularly harsh, leaving both you and Mateo to be incredibly exhausted and honestly? Kinda sore. It had been the inanimals grooming day, and like the lovely girlfriend you were, you decided to help Mateo. Little did you know, bathing, brushing, feeding, and nail clipping over twenty plus inanimals was a lot of fucking work.

Every single inanimal had their own routine, personality, and preferences. The amount of information you had to take in made your head spin a little. Of course, your boyfriend made sure to give directions clearly, which you're very grateful for, but that didn’t stop the dull ache that was forming in your back.

Honestly, you can’t even imagine how Mateo must feel having to do this every single day.

You know Mateo absolutely loves the inanimals, and wouldn’t trade the world for them, (that was one of the reasons you loved him so much after all), but you can’t help to wonder how stressed he must feel. This was not an easy job, after all, and you’ve learned that your boyfriend is stubborn when it comes to taking help from others. It's not like he takes many breaks either.

Now that you think about it, you don't think you've ever seen Mateo take a proper break. Sure, he's taken time to love on you and stuff, but you'd hardly count that as a break.

You were gonna have to change that.

With a determined huff, you get up to go find your boyfriend.

A few moments later, you see the back of the white-haired boy you were looking for. Mateo was currently playing with one of the dog inanimals, telling it to do different tricks and then giving treats after. You smile as he gives the dog some scratches on its head with a faint "Good boy."

You watch for a minute with a dumb lovestruck smile before deciding to interrupt the sweet moment.

"Hey, Teo!"

Mateo looks over his shoulder, halting his praise for the inanimal. Once he sees you, a big grin spreads across his face.

"Well, look who it is, my favorite human." He turns to you completely after giving the inanimal two more pets, then starts walking over to where you're at.

You immediately take the opportunity to wrap your arms around Mateo's neck, pulling him closer to you. He then slides his arms around your waist, enveloping you completely.

You two stay there for a while fitted like two puzzle pieces. Mateo gives a hum of satisfaction, rubbing his hand up and down your back.

"I wanted to say thank you again for helping today, I know it can be a lot, but it helped more than you could possibly imagine." Mateo lifts his head from your neck and gives you a chaste kiss on the cheek. You suddenly feel your face get warm.

"You don't have to thank me. You work so hard all the time. The least I can do is help, especially if it means you can catch a break." It was now your turn to give him a small kiss. "Which reminds me, are you free right now?"

Mateo, now sharing the same blush as you, lets you go (much to your despointment) and crosses his arms.

"Yea, I just got done feeding all the inanimals, actually. Though, now that I think about it, I probably should- ah!" Mateo feels a sudden pull on his sleeve.

"Great! Now, come-come!" You pull him to the couch, falling down on it dramatically while Mateo chuckles at your at your actions.

You hold out your arms for him, inviting him to come sit with you. He, of course, accepts and leans against you, wrapping a padded arm around your waist pulling you closer towards him.

Mateo lets out a soft sigh, and relaxing into your touch. It seems like he needed this more than you thought.

"I really should make sure the inanimals are alright..." Mateo says after a while, his voice soft and light.

You run a hand through his hair, making sure not to pull any knotts he may have.

"Mateo, I promise I'll keep an eye out, just take a rest okay?" You plead tenderly.

You give him kiss on the forehead, then another on the nose, and one more on the lips. Mateo returns the kiss, putting a gentle hand on your cheek, rubbing his thumb back and forth. When you pull back, Mateo is looking softly at you, a blush very prominent on his tan skin.

"Alright, just for you, mi vida."

...

You're so good at this.

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