#lmk if you don’t want to be @ ‘d in the future

[casmoswhitewall]

Some fanart of ur sona! @the-bonnie39

I saw the update a few days ago and it hasn’t left my mind

I hope you are doing well, and the pain stops!

[taegularities]

entertainer | jjk (m)

Summary: Growing singer Jeon Jungkook is as charismatic as he is self-absored – that is, until he meets you. Caught in a web of secrets, he finds a riddle in you he urges to solve; even ready to turn the spotlight towards you until nothing remains… but regret.

➳ pairing: Jungkook x reader ➳ rating: 18+ ➳ genre: strangers to lovers (or something); angst, bits of fluff, smut!! ➳ warnings: do not fall for this jk i repeat do not f– 🚨 he's kinda hot though; (not so) silent yearning, flirting, a shit ton of sexual tension, sexual fantasies, some jealousy from his side, he is very VERY attracted to her, mystery, oc is a big question mark, full jk pov!, difficult past(s), (mention of) sexual harassment, mentioned past death of a side character, crying, fear, manipulation, confrontation and fighting, aggression, cursing, cocky and selfish kook, overthinking, secrets and revelations, explicit sexual content: kissing, fingering, teasing, drunk shenanigans, sooo much lust, big dick jk, dom jk, oc is odd, oral (f. receiving), spit stuff, handjob, manhandling, orgasm delay, lip ring…, light choking, bit of hair pulling, a spank or two, coming on oc, some cum tasting mmmh, ass stuff, protected sex, rough sex, various positions, masturbation; as always THE ENDING!! lmk if i forgot something!! ➳ wc: 32.4k ➳ a/n: MHMMM, it's finally time!! i experimented with the trope a little; def not a professional when it comes to this genre, but i tried my best. both oc and jk are odd in this one, and you might be on either's side and hate either of them, i can't say :'D very curious tho, so come and drop a message to lmk what you think. let it aaaall out :P <3

➳ listen to the Entertainer playlist! 🖤   

TAGLIST | MASTERLIST | WIPs 

Jungkook has always wanted an audience to perceive him.

Not just to perceive him, in fact. To worship him.

Jungkook doesn’t consider himself a bad person. Spoiled, a little selfish, but not necessarily bad. He enjoys attention, no matter how temporary or who the giver of it. Feasts on it like an incubus.

What’s wrong with that? Nothing.

Or. 

Maybe there is. Maybe he’s coming on too strong.

Because you’re not part of his audience, sitting over there, middle row, middle spot, with your eyes lowered to the notebook. And when you do look up, there’s nothing but indifference in your eyes.

It irks him. Maybe he is a little narcissistic, and maybe he can’t quite deny it after all — but as part of his future team, you should at least fake a smile, right? Display a certain amount of enthusiasm, the joy of working with aspiring artists.

But no.

You’re occupied, scribbling into your notebook. Jungkook, cognisant of the fact that he hasn’t issued much of significance today, understands that you cannot be taking notes of his words. And he also understands that… if that is true…

You’re not granting him as much fascination as he’s used to.

General admiration thrown into the same bucket as his unwavering talent — that he’s well aware of — might just be the reason he climbed up so high in no time. Sometimes, gentle livestreams and vlogs do the trick — locals have found reasons to adore him already.

At times, a good song and strong vocals aren’t necessary to woo people.

Jungkook, however, is insatiable — that’s what keeps him pondering at times. That it’s just the locals, and on an international scale, there’s still much to achieve.

But he’s not a quitter, he’s a conqueror.

And he’ll reach that mind-boggling status of a well-known, global icon, name flowing as naturally through the seam of people’s lips as a still-lying, tranquil lake.

Jungkook knows it’s cocky of him to praise himself to the skies and to rely on his resolute hopes so much. He knows life backfires sometimes, and that endeavours don’t always pay off. He only started as an insignificant city boy, too.

Survived the cruelty of elementary and middle school; shared a room with his brother, relying on him until he grew and learned to finally rule over high school; every single soul at his beck and call. Then, trudged through college before any of where he’s standing even existed.

But he’s here now. And people acknowledge it.

Except you.

And it throws him off his balance. Which is probably why he shortens the end of his speech, close to slurring distracted syllables before he realises he’s forgotten a prepared sentence or two.

No matter; the relevant and main message should have been delivered by now.

So he leans back in a chair in the back, flashing a captivating smile and waits for the applause. Somewhat proud when the praise needs a moment to cease for his manager to reclaim the mic, freeing the metaphorical stage, much in the form of a simple pult, for the CEO of the company.

Taehyung is savvy of how to regain control over a stage; Jungkook doesn’t know whether he fucked up his final remarks, but Taehyung summarises his ideas well. But the clapping does say a lot.

And between those raising their hands to appreciate Jungkook’s speech, you were, too. He knows because he looked directly at you; still is. And when your eyes drift to his, the two of you hold each other’s gazes for at least a couple seconds longer than the others.

And your smile, while present, is somewhat tight-lipped, a bit awkward but confident, too. Odd, as well; hard to explain, but as though you know what you want. As though you have your priorities set straight and cannot be swayed by anything the world might throw at you.

He doesn’t have a word for it. Poised? Self-reliant? Fearless? Can a single look even say this much or is he being delusional?

But this can’t be true, honestly. Nobody is this unperturbed or passive. He’ll find out.

Your stare aligns with his a couple more times over the next minutes, staying there before continuing the journey over the crowd. Jungkook’s eyebrows twitch just a little whenever your eyes pierce into his, so tantalising and deep, big sweet ires, but so conniving at the same time.

He doesn’t know your name, but he’s sure that it defines intrigue. And maybe, just perhaps, it might serve as the synonym for drop fucking dead gorgeous, too.

When Taehyung leads you to Jungkook’s stuffy studio, the latter hears your voice through the open door several seconds before you come in. Or actually, it’s not quite his studio.

More like a collective office that a couple of the newcomers use. Jungkook has been part of this crew a little longer, but he needs the additional success, more prosperity; he’s been told to yield more results to earn his very own four walls. Carrying his signature flavour.

But it’s okay. For now, this suffices…

The stench of coffee and the sound of the AC. The pot and plants that always rest in some corner of the room, courtesy of Taehyung who insists on some colour in the grey-white, small room. Jungkook has gotten used to it all.

Which is why it’s strange, seeing your splendour enter the small space, delighted by whatever Taehyung might be explaining. Your grin is the widest Jungkook has seen since yesterday.

He didn’t get to meet you properly yet, so he can’t say where your humour lies. Nobody introduced you, despite your new position as his very own, personal work partner. A second manager, here to guide and aid him when Taehyung can’t; and apparently, you’ve found some charm in Taehyung that you didn’t see in Jungkook during the stupid meeting.

Not that Jungkook would ever dare to doubt his friend’s appeal, but you’ve stormed into his life like a present, and so silently, too; and he wanted to be the one to open it. To reveal it.

Not Taehyung. Even if it’s his job.

Okay. Calm down. Jungkook sighs. That again.

A motherly blanket of praises and fatherly pats of pride. That’s what’s gotten his head so riled up. He was coddled too much as a child. Made felt special. That’s over now, Jeon, you’re in an industry filled to the brim with competition.

Chill chill chill.

But now?

With that alluring smile staring up at Taehyung, only hints of it left when your eyes move to Jungkook. Fuck.

But Jungkook’s stance remains steadfast and self-assured when he greets, “Hi there. Welcome at last, huh?”

Jungkook notices when your mind snaps out of the conversation with Taehyung and into the one he started; a gentle hand frees your face off your hair to enable a proper view to it. The other is still dug deep in the pocket of your leather jacket, covering parts of the white top underneath.

Semi-long, silver earrings rest right below your ear, against your neck when you tilt your head a little; your expression so respectful and inviting when you smile. Jungkook inhales you in that one split moment, details stinging into the eye without much effort.

And perhaps he’d observe more, appreciate your stunning, obvious beauty and elegance further; but time passes as it does before you finally utter your very first sentence to him, “Hi. Didn’t think I’d ever be saying this, but… thank you for having me.”

That’s sweet.

Your words are reminiscent of the adoration his fans grant him, but your expression is as cool as a refreshing autumn wind. The perfect balance, possibly.

Jungkook gestures to a small couch in the back, right next to the door, but you raise a rejecting hand, claiming, “Been sitting all day observing Taehyung. Need to walk a bit.”

And you do. Deliver a last farewell nod to Taehyung who waves a little, gripping the handle and locking you in the room with the younger man nearly drooling over you.

The hand hidden in the jacket before has emerged, arms loosely folded as you take in the interior of the studio, allowing no more insight into your thoughts than, “Nice.”

Jungkook hums in distracted agreement, standing at the wall, watching you roam around the humble space in small steps. It’s odd, being in here with you; the atmosphere fizzles, a little less like electricity, just a bit more than carbonic acid.

But the moment was to arrive anyway; you’ll be a close link to Jungkook from now on. Of course you need to familiarise yourself with his space, too. So far, you seem to have an opinion on it already.

“Easy to trigger claustrophobia, but,” you walk through the open door to the darker recording room, tapping the mic for a moment, “cosy, too. Very cool equipment.”

“Yeah. I agree.” Pause, eyes dropping to your fingers grazing the stand of the mic. Then, “I would’ve come to you today… or yesterday for that matter, but things were so chaotic and—”

“Oh, don’t worry,” you assure, waving his concerns off, “I could see people rushing around and preparing the moment I got here. I’m probably not the main concern right now among everybody.”

“Nah, that’s not it. We have a great team here.” You step out again, hands folding behind your back until you’re leaning against the wall opposite of him, mirroring his stance. “I’m sorry you arrived at such a stressful time, though.”

“Not your fault. I decided so myself fully knowing you were in the middle of something.”

Ah. So you’ve seen his interviews, read the news. You came here with sufficient knowledge about him, alright.

“Really though,” you continue, blinking slowly, “I’m just glad to be here at all.”

Ah. Yes — about that.

“What brought you to our company anyway?” Jungkook asks, coating his voice in sugar to decrease the risk of unintentional and prying rudeness. “I mean — it’s been a while since somebody joined the main team, is all.”

“Oh. What brought me here…” You slide down the wall just a few inches, staring at your feet before you meet his eyes again. Something flashes in them for a miniscule second, albeit too brief to be caught and analysed. Then, you say, “Sentiments?”

Jungkook gathers words of confusion the moment you utter yours, a question already on his tongue. Has he been here long enough to evoke sentiments in his followers? Or do you veil a whole different connection to this company than he might understand?

Who knows. It doesn’t feel too deep, at least, when you speak again, elaborating when his eyes reveal his bedazzlement before he can, “I mean, I like your work.”

Okay. So much he interpreted; and he must admit — the feeling of pride is a thoroughly unique one.

“I think you’ve been deserving of your growth, and I just,” you speak, shrugging your shoulders, digging one heel into the solid ground, “I could never stop thinking of what I’d say or do if I was here or how I’d try to help, even though I’m not a true musical genius like you.”

This is so excitingly new.

How poised you remain as you talk about your fascination for him; how carefully you choose your words. He’s met fans before, but he doesn’t think any of them has ever practised such control over themselves.

And harbouring such emotions for a tiny little celebrity like him while simultaneously treating him like a human being is an art you’ve well mastered. Despite Jungkook’s urge to feel loved and worshipped to a dependent degree, you’re an incredibly attractive change in pace.

Ugh.

Dependent degree.

Although, he does wonder what you’d be like if you fawned over him.

Jungkook contains the fantasy; suppresses his sigh.

“So,” he starts, “you’re here because you’re a fan.”

“Mmmh. Kind of. My friends started it and then pulled me into this. Honestly, at first I couldn’t imagine ever getting into your stuff.”

Your gaze moved down to your trainers a mere moment ago; whether to hide your expression or give into a habit, Jungkook can’t say. But the honesty surprises him; even stings a little as he voices, “Oh?”

Your head shoots up, lips forming a circle before you imitate, “Oh. Wait. That was… pretty rude.” You seek confirmation or denial in Jungkook’s eyes, and when his slightly wrinkled forehead, tight-lipped smile reveals the answer, you immediately opt for an apology, “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”

“How did you mean it then?”

“Just that.” You fiddle in your position, bringing your digits to waist level. Then, you laugh; a rhythmic sound. “Okay, don’t hate me, but. I was one to judge a book by its cover, and you had this young adult too-confident-too-sly something about you. But your music’s surprisingly sentimental.”

Jungkook halts for a moment, moving his head to side-eye you; producing a hoarse Uhhh before he admits, “I’m not sure whether you’re complimenting me or fully destroying me.”

Another lovely laugh. “I am complimenting you. To be fully transparent, I was probably, uh, biased? Because my friend. They have a knack for usually pulling very questionable men, so I probably just didn’t entirely trust their intuition.”

“Fair enough. I guess?” Jungkook matches the softness of your giggle, nodding towards you, “And now you do?”

“Mmmh, well, we’ll see.”

Jungkook must be stupid. Of course you won’t be able to deduce much from the first meeting yet; perhaps the flirting needs to slow down for just now. You seem the patient kind; much like now, letting the quick silence prevail without much struggle.

No sign of awkwardness surrounds your aura; only a hint of… suspicion? Flashing into your eyes when you let them move through the room again, freezing right next to Jungkook’s head. You’re not looking at him, but at something past him; but you don’t question nor voice anything.

Merely return to his stare with a smile, and he uses the moment to pour some courteous manners into the mix, asking, “Do you want something to drink? Coffee, water? A Red Bull?”

But you immediately raise a hand, shaking your head, “Oh, it’s okay. I’ve already got caffeine flowing there instead of blood,” you slide a finger along your arm, indicating a vein under your layers, “I just mainly came to say hi and to introduce myself. And to ask if I can help anyhow.”

“Ah… well, uh,” Jungkook halts mid-sentence, throwing a look around as though he’s searching for something to appear before he concludes, “don’t think so. I was in the middle of some production work, but don’t think I need much.”

“I see. Okay! Then I’ll leave yo—”

“But,” Jungkook intervenes immediately, adamant on keeping you around. Maybe he can wrap up work earlier today? Bring you home? Probably not — not on Taehyung’s watch. “Maybe you can tell me what you think once I’m done?

“Of course. It’d be my pleasure.”

“Would have an excuse for your company, too, then.”

The laugh that follows is so subtle that Jungkook barely hears it. It doesn’t leave your throat, stuck in there, just a tiny sound reminiscent of amused bafflement. 

Jungkook knows his way around words — understands what his utterances and implications usually apply. But somehow, not too many people have been the calmer ones in the room; aside from his superiors at work, not having the upper hand is new to him. 

So you set a fuse loose in him; destroy a nerve in his brain, changing up his communication habits. Because he certainly did not mean to say this out loud. And not in such a sense either.

He adds quickly, “I mean, it gets lonely here.”

“Right…” you concur, albeit weakly and with somewhat… entertained mystery in your eyes? He can’t say. It’s as though you’re wearing your face as a mask, undecipherable. “I get it. Even though your studio is cosy enough to enjoy your own company at times, right?”

“Not mine. But we’ll work on that.”

He cards his fingers through his hair, aware that he is probably more than an open book right now; his usual perfect poker face does not work with you.

Why? 

Weird.

“Got a couple things here that are mine, though. Yoongi and the others allowed me,” he adds.

“Ah… Like…”

Surprisingly enough, you take another look through the tiny room, possibly trying to detect something you didn’t see before. Regarding details. Then, you settle next to his head once again… and once Jungkook moves his eyes off you for the first time since you came in, he sees what you see.

Which is to say, nothing much out of the ordinary. In fact, the most trivial thing in the room.

“Like that?” you voice, pushing yourself off the wall to near his relaxed body. The scent of your perfume wafts through the room before you’re close enough; tenderly grazing his senses. “What’s that?”

Focus.

Your finger points to the object next to him, hanging at a nail at the wall; dark blue with white letters on it. Pretty mundane, pretty basic design.

“Just… a cap I bought back in college.”

You read out the name, pronouncing it perfectly, yet slowing down as if you’re learning a new foreign term. The sudden inquiry is strange, too: you don’t seem as truly curious about it as your question did; perhaps you’re playing for some time with him, too?

He wouldn’t hate it if you did.

“Do you know that one?” he questions.

You nod; a main hint as to why you wanted to know, yet indicating that the knowledge wasn’t of much significance. You say, “Isn’t it a popular one? I had a few friends who went there.”

“Hm… yeah, I mean. I guess it’s a known one. I got a degree there in broadcasting and entertainment like… four years ago.”

You exhale a barely audible puff of air before you whisper-murmur the most infinitesimal, petite, “Damn,” underscored with one indecipherable tilt of your head. He can’t see your eyes too well, so the reaction remains as transparent as you have been thus far.

Until he raises a thick eyebrow, confusion hidden in a somewhat relaxed yet awkward smile as he wonders, “What?”

“Hm? Oh, nothing, just. It’s impressive how much you’ve achieved in just four years, right?”

“…Well. If you say it like that, it does sound pretty neat.”

The bubble of pride expands alongside his ego; right beneath his chest. Somehow, the feeling changes his posture, makes him feel bigger. 

Perhaps you notice what your praise elicits; perhaps you’ve already fathomed his persona that he usually doesn’t dare to reveal this fast. But whatever he conceals with his fans, lies in front of you with an open access.

You make it easy to feel comfortable; he doesn’t need to know you too long to acknowledge this much.

“I graduated not too long ago, too. Three years?”

“Oh… then look at you,” Jungkook compliments, using the moment as an excuse to examine you further; head to toe and back. Your legs are crossed, upper body and face confident, but the position somehow delicate. Hm. “You’re quite awesome, too, don’t you think?”

“I mean— took a while to get here.”

“Right. So what have you been doing during this time since graduation?”

Whatever distraction you have found in the cap seems to break as you silently forage your brain for a response; possibly attempting not to divulge too much. And your answer is accordingly hesitant, though never dubious.

“Saving up? Preparing for life, I guess. And waiting for a good opportunity.”

For what? Do you usually keep your statements in fragments?

He prods, “To do what?”

“Well, to do,” you gesture to the wall in front of you, albeit clearly hinting to the situation, “this. Hoping to change everyone’s lives around here.”

You smile wide, the joke obvious as can be, but Jungkook can’t help but think that you might not be too far off. Unique minds alter brain chemistries; there’s something unforgettable and magnetising about them, and Jungkook steadfastly believes his intuition that you might just be one of them.

For the first time ever, he murmurs your name, delighted by how easily it melts on his tongue. It falls out breathier than he intended to, but when you tilt your head, the intrigue in your pupils inexplicably matches his tone.

He adds to your name, eyelids drooping just a bit, “So… you’ll turn out a long awaited surprise, huh?”

And you, against all expectations, lean in for just a minimal, not too inconsequential moment, hands back in your jacket. It’s a playful, harmless motion as you move back on your heels, then steady yourself again, bodies and faces still far away. You could’ve just as well given him a pat on his shoulder.

But there’s something in the way you look at him, tempted and ominous at the same time. He can’t say what you’re thinking because every feature in your face implies something different.

Even more so confusing what methods for success you came into this company with when you finally say, no pretext or further clarifications, “I really do hope so.”

“Do you come here a lot?”

Everywhere he goes, the lights are bright.

The white walls in the rooms of the company building reflect the sun in the summer and maintain a sense of optimism in the winter. They’re what Jungkook imagines waiting halls before Heaven to look like.

Then the fluorescent vibrancy in his apartment. And the sunlit sky, albeit cold in this winter, giving way to the planetary system’s star through the floating, parting clouds.

Even this modern art museum with its complex design, winding staircases, glass walls and high ceiling. It lets through an abundance of light, unaware of the balance Jungkook usually craves.

Dark and light — a healthy mix.

It’s why he cherishes the comfort of the recording studio so much. Its dim walls and the silence, so unlike the hallways outside of it. Or why he prefers his apartment unlit, often merely allowing the few lava lamps to illuminate his rooms.

But again… it’s only a balance he usually craves.

Today, he doesn’t mind the brilliance.

Because you’re part of it.

Clad in a beige long-sleeved cotton top, slight turtleneck included. It doesn’t fully cover your neck, still revealing a mole similar to his. It’s tucked into your light brown skirt; your legs are covered in sheer tights, crossed. A gentle hand holds the strap of your bag. Light academia at its finest; somewhat soothing, and somewhat radiant.

You look at him with an initially neutral expression, surprised that someone spoke to you, but more relaxed when you realise it’s him.

“Oh,” you voice; the faintest autumn-tinted smile tugs at your lips. “Hey! I, uh…” Your gaze flits to the painting in front of you, then back to him. “Not at all actually. Which… surprising.”

You gesture towards him before you grant him more of your silky voice, asking, “Do you? Come here much?”

Your eyes are indecipherable to him, cheeks dusted in natural make up. All the damn time, you sport this relaxed, unbreakable mask, and he can’t quite guess what you might be thinking about.

It’s so easy with anyone else. You’re like a scene from BBC’s Sherlock, embodying Irene Adler’s mystery.

But maybe your guard can be broken, too.

“Not really,” he admits, “only when pretty people are around.”

A weak attempt, but it makes your eyebrow cock in amusement. He knows you are, because the hint of mischief that scurries over your face resembles his own.

“Ah, and you happen to know when pretty people are around. Or did you follow me here?” you, however, ask.

It’s an obvious inquiry, but weirdly enough, he didn’t expect it. You exhibit the first sign of a proper, humane emotion. Delivering three quick blinks, voice quiet, suspicion swims in your eyes, slightly irritated.

Or even… scared?

You can’t truly be.

So he backtracks, slightly angling his head. He sighs — hiding how much his lungs crave a breath of air. He doesn’t want to scare you off just yet.

“No,” he defends, “of course not. I was just joking.”

“So… I’m not pretty?”

Oh. Oh?

Perhaps he misinterpreted your expression. Perhaps you’re merely a good actress; messing with him as he is with you. The smirk suggests this much, at least.

Perplexed, he holds his breath before letting out a choked laugh; the head tilt and click of his tongue carry a sliver of scolding before he admits, “That’s pretty frustrating, I won’t lie.”

“I’m just kidding, too. It’s a big exhibition. I expected a familiar face here.”

Why is there something so devilish about you?

He can’t say; maybe he doesn’t need to. Maybe it’s enough to join the game, to be just as cocky and see how you react. 

Perhaps he’s being selfish and too certain of himself, and in the worst case, he might just be imagining the tension buzzing between you like sparks off an electric fence. But does he have anything to lose, really?

Barely ever.

“Then,” he begins, “is it a good face?”

“All the art around us and you want me to admire you, huh?”

“…The art won’t be mad if you do.”

Jungkook is bold, he’ll admit. He hasn’t always been — he remembers a time spent in the back of classes, preferring to eat lunch alone. Did college tug him out of his shell? Was it senior year?

Then again — did that one kill the timidness in his heart or rather the last shred of humanity?

Maybe his cold matches yours, too. Is that why he feels so drawn to you?

Because you’re as bold as him; you don’t sugarcoat words and thoughts. And Jungkook appreciates the honesty, the ingredient to actual success — even if it’s achingly direct.

Like now.

You uncross your legs; your hips move in an elegant curve, and Jungkook attempts his best to keep his eyes off the arcs of your body. Focuses as you say, “You shouldn’t be flirting with a coworker, Mister Jeon.”

“Wait. I thought we were warming up to each other. Don’t demote me from Jungkook to Mister Jeon now.” You chuckle; that’s something, right? “Besides, I was just conversing. We need to spend all our time together now, so better get along, right?”

Right. Right; of course he’s right.

But… what is that?

It lingers for the faintest of moments, just a glimpse of an unspoken feeling, gone with the next blink. In this crowd of unsuspecting visitors you’re the closest to him physically, but your thoughts are miles and centuries away.

“Maybe you’re right,” you still say, as if whooshing away all unwelcome sentiments, “then I should not… dodge your conversation, right?”

“Sure.”

“Behave, though.”

He’s so confused — but not deep in this enough to question it. So he merely shrugs his shoulder before he responds, “I have been. I can converse, alright.”

“Right.”

“Like… first of all,” he steps closer, raising a hand, gesturing for you to walk on as new admirers of the modern piece approach, “tell me, have we met before? Feels like I’ve seen you somewhere.”

You halt in your steps, but immediately resume to the stroll when a stranger nearly bumps into you. “You’re doing it again.”

He’s honestly not. The aura surrounding you like an ominous fog is omnipresent and eerie, yet… you carry a sense of familiarity. But you’re a presence too distinct to ever forget.

Which doesn’t help his case.

“Yeah,” he still agrees before potentially embarrassing himself, kissing his teeth, “sorry. I’ll stop.”

“Why are you the textbook definition of a fuckboy, honestly.”

“Fuckbo—”

“Nevermind.”

If he wasn’t well acquainted with this little game, he would’ve missed your subtle, nearly veiled intent to tease. But he’s done this a million times before — hence, catches the faint twitch of your gorgeous lips immediately.

You’re enjoying this. So he should join… right?

Yet.

You’re not being entirely insincere. In fact, he hates how he picks up on the note of truth in your velvety voice.

Trimmed nails scratch the back of his head, and he barely notices when the two of you halt in front of another piece. Distracted, he doesn’t bear the art any mind, instead asking, “You really think of me that way?”

You shrug a shoulder. Nonchalance a constant feature, but so natural, even somewhat gentle, that he can’t help but feel drawn to you. “A little.”

“Well, shit.”

“Don’t overthink it. Enjoy the art.”

“Sure.”

Reluctantly, he glances to the canvas. It’s a mess of hues; a random arrangement of spontaneous emotions. Resembles the masterpieces he used to create in Microsoft Paint, back when his legs would still dangle off the chair.

“Then,” he starts, nodding towards the painting, “what do you see in this?”

You hesitate. Or maybe it’s not hesitation — more like… a thinking pause. Sometimes, when Jungkook notices a whirring mind, he sees a steaming brain through a skull. Working at full blast.

But somehow, he only sees a calm ocean as he observes you gather your thoughts. Everything about you is gentle, but wrapped in dark mystery. How much mental training does it require to become this inscrutable?

When you finally speak, you’re saying similarly strange things.

“I see… colours.” Right. Stating the obvious. Jungkook chuckles, delivering a head tilt. “And am wondering how the painter got to create this at all. I mean, this looks so meaningless at first, doesn’t it?”

“And it’s not, yeah?”

“We’re fast to think that. Most of the time, there must have been a trigger, or a thought about something, no matter how small. Something might have been bothering him. This is—” A soft hand gestures towards the painting. “Such a chaotic mind.”

Interesting…

“Is this what you usually think about all day?” Jungkook wonders.

You scoff. “I’m just a person, too. I think about a lot of random things.”

“Ohhh. Like what?”

“Like… seeing all the green in this exhibit made me realise how this colour makes me cry.”

Jungkook takes a haphazard look around. Now that you say it — there’s no hint of a nature theme, but the abundance of green is striking now. It’s as calm as you. No wonder you’d immerse yourself in a showcase such as this.

You continue, as if tracing and reading his mind like an open novel, “It’s soothing, right? And unique. These earthly things sometimes make me feel like not all of us are deserving of seeing such beauty. Like it should be reserved for those who earn it.”

Earn it? How? 

Jungkook can’t see your thoughts as clearly as you’re apparently capable of doing, but he has an inkling of what you might mean. Truly dazzling souls merit the stunning bloom of the world, right?

And then…

If that’s what it is.

He wonders — do you think he deserves to see the colour green? Or is it already over if he has to ask? Perhaps, should he be perceiving it as grey right now? He doesn’t know.

He doesn’t know how you think of him — doesn’t know anything about you at all. You’re a tough nut to crack. 

“Hmm… that’s a way to think about it,” he says.

“Only because it’s the same for people. And I’ve had this thought about humans a lot… I…” You hesitate, blink, and then grant him your stare. “I knew someone who was the colour green. Not everyone deserved them, either.”

Poetic minds carry a certain pain in their eyes.

He’s been seeing it in yours. He just doesn’t know how to handle it. So he doesn’t.

Instead, he asks, “What else are you thinking about?”

“Uhmmm,” you voice, straightening your back a little, as if waking up from a dream — nightmare? “I’ve been thinking about trying that, too. Painting, I mean. It doesn’t have to mean anything or be good. Just a great way to capture something that resonates with what I feel.”

Every word you’ve uttered today was otherworldly. You didn’t talk like that when you were in his office, or at the meeting. Your soul is somewhat free-floating here, and he doesn’t understand why.

And it’s a behaviour he usually strays away from. The vulnerable ones can be dangerous.

But somehow… you’re too strong of a magnet.

One who shrugs all the mystery away — and he sighs in despair. Maybe it’s not time to find out what you feel just yet. What resonates with you — even though he’s dying to hear it.

He inquires, “Are you always this open?”

“No. Not at all.” Of course not. Rhetoric question — he knows this much. “But I like thinking out loud sometimes.”

“I’m glad to be a sounding board then.”

“Yeah. I was also thinking how I appreciate that I met you here.” Pause. Oh? What a surprise. Out of the blue, too. Strokes his ego, though. And then, unexpectedly again, “You wanna go to the museum restaurant?”

Jungkook has barely seen half of the exhibition yet. But just for today, he couldn’t care less.

Perhaps it’s enough for now, sitting in this overpriced restaurant, watching you from afar as you inspect your nails calmly. You’re not busy on your phone like the rest of the crowd — entertained by the same media that he’s part of.

Maybe he can be a bigger part of their lives one day — be the one flitting over their screens, the one they adore. The one they worship.

But you don’t seem to indulge in those mind-numbing devices for now. You might be an addition to his team, but privately, you float in your own world. Distracted by the thoughts you won’t disclose.

Your hands retreat, arms crossing on the table and lips curling into a smile once he strolls back to you. Satisfied, he informs you, “One cake with the coffee. As the lady suggested.”

“Oh,” you make, “don’t you want one?”

“I do.”

“So…” You stall, and he waits until it clicks, your head tilting in understanding. “Are we sharing?”

Jungkook lifts a thumb, pointing over his shoulder, back to the register, “Those chocolate cakes are sweet as heck. I’ve got a sweet tooth, but believe that it’ll be enough for the two of us.”

You laugh — a sweet, disarming chuckle before you breathe an, “Alright.”

Jungkook doesn’t know you well enough to feel any skip in his heart; yet, you stir something else in his mind. It’s always people like you who intrigue him the most — those who veil themselves in a coat of secrets.

He sighs.

“That was fast,” you note, eyes at a point behind him.

And he understands when the waitress arrives a couple moments later, two perfectly prepared lattes and a mouth-watering chocolate fudge slice. You thank her with a gentle smile, tuck a hair behind your ear, fingertips grazing the dangling earring.

And he watches.

Watches as you nod towards him, urging him, “Start then.”

Observes your smile as he signals you to start instead. And he gazes at you as your delicate digits reach for the fork, tearing off a piece, wrapping your lips around the utensil.

And then… God.

He feels his guts twist; hears all background noise fade; blood rushing away from his head, through his body as you slowly relish the sweetness and then drag your tongue over the fork. Licking away the leftover chocolate.

Jungkook swears it happens in slow motion. And witnessing your elegance at snail's pace… makes him sick.

When your eyelashes flutter, gape lifting to meet his, the sounds around him come alive again — as does he. He averts his stare from your mouth, covered in the same colour as the coffee, but you notice.

You see him looking. And it makes you… smile? Shit.

But you don’t boast your effect; only digress as you say, “Well… tastes as fancy as it looks. Try it.”

You’re as relaxed with him as you can be. But you always are; with everyone. He craves that bit that’s only reserved for him — then again, maybe he’s too zealous too fast. He hasn’t known you for long.

But making you smile must be an achievement. If only… you didn’t think of him like…

He nods, and then leans over the table ever-so-slightly. His knees brush against yours, a soft but deliberate move. He places an elbow on the table, grasping the fork, close to you. If he lifted his hand, he could touch your cheek.

He wishes he could.

His eyes meet yours through his bangs, the cake’s taste irrelevant to your presence. And when his ego doesn’t let him relax, he finally asks, almost as if insulted, “Do you actually perceive me as a fuckboy?”

The question catches you off guard. You hesitate, furrowing your eyebrows, and then giggle before questioning back, “Jungkook… it’s bothering you this much? Mmmh. How would you like to be perceived?”

“Just. As a decent guy who wants to get to know you. And I know you know.” You blink, but he doesn’t buy it. So he elaborates, “I’ve been trying to make clear that I find you lovely. And somewhat attractive.”

People usually display a flicker of glimmer in their eyes upon hearing such praise. But you don’t quite budge; in fact, your eyes remain the same, if not a little darker. Why?

Yet, you cock an eyebrow, sporting a teasing, playful tone, “Somewhat, hm?”

He shakes his head, clicks his tongue. “You’re pretty and I think you know,” he blurts, “and I don’t want to screw up right away.”

Is it the habit of never failing? The urge to solve an enigma? The chance to dive into you until you’re bared to him? Why are you so interesting to him?

You’re just a person.

Maybe it’s just the unsettling need to discover what you’re hiding — it won’t let him rest in peace. There’s something about you that screams to him to unravel. Makes him want you more.

He doesn’t know what it is. Doesn’t know if you’re even from the same world as him — even though you seem to have crossed his realm before. No matter what it is; Jungkook merely understands for now that he wants to take off your layers.

Wants to be the colour green for you. 

“Ah—” you voice.

“In fact, I’m not supposed to hang out here with you.”

“…How come?”

“I should be with Tae,” he admits. Maybe he’s revealing more to you than he should — maybe he should adjust to your level of secrecy and wait. But this is frustrating him. “He dragged me here, so I could get inspiration from all sides.”

You listen; perhaps not quite loving the idea of seeing him in such a way?

Fuck. Maybe it really was a mistake. No turning back now, though.

“He said artists find motivation in art, too, and I do like to paint, so…” He looks at his cup, still left to be tried from, and then stares up from the cream leaf that the barista formed in his coffee. “I didn’t wanna come here, though. I already have an idea of what I want to do.”

“And…” you start, still not addressing the issue on hand; choosing to talk about something else for now, “he doesn’t like what you’ve come up with?”

“I don’t know. He doesn’t know about it yet.”

You take a sip of your coffee, softly smacking your lips once to relish the taste. You’re living proof that subtle gestures can make a mind race. Then you say, “Maybe you should introduce it to him then.”

“I will. Just… mmh, need a better grasp on it.” He throws a nod towards you. “I can’t wait to show you either.”

Another sip of the seething liquid.

If the gentle hint of him being bent on your presence flatters you anyhow — stirs anything in you at all — you don’t let it show. Are you, by chance, used to being swarmed from all sides?

Are his advances kindergarten to you?

You don’t budge as he waits for you to respond, setting the cup back on your saucer before you inquire, “Where is Taehyung, anyway then?”

“Uh, I’m sure he’s going around admiring the art?” Jungkook guesses, head reflexively moving to the side, as if his friend and co-worker could materialise out of thin air. “He enjoys it even more than I do.”

“And you separated from him because…”

Because Jungkook ascended a spiral staircase. Because he turned right and halted in front of the second instead of the first room. Because he recognised the familiar curves and edges, as intriguing as ever, from this far distance.

And told Taehyung to continue without him; that Jungkook was going to explore a different corner of the museum.

He tilts his head; his left eyebrow raises just a twitch, fingertips tapping the hot surface of the coffee cup. And then, charisma gathered in the middle of his pupils, he tells you—

“Because I found you.”

There it is.

The slightest of reactions.

Your eyes widen barely an inch, but he sees it. How your lips part a bit, even though you should’ve expected his answer after the conversations hitherto shared. Hm…

“So you did follow me,” you say.

He can’t say if you’re joking or not. But all of a sudden, he wonders if he’s creeped you out. He opted for flirting so clearly, but… maybe you interpreted it vastly differently.

But he keeps himself relaxed; not faltering now when you aren’t either. Answers, “If you want to call it that. I call it finding you and then sticking with you. You’re interesting, Miss Manager.”

You smile.

Genuinely, thoroughly, wholeheartedly.

The beam reveals more than any word could’ve today — that humanity slumbers somewhere in the crevices of your heart. Your eyes suggest it as much as your stance on art did.

Whatever might have scarred you in life, behind all that ache, you hide a delicate soul.

Green, green, green.

And your cryptic worry, uttered a moment later, doesn’t bring him down from his sense of victory. No. Not now.

“Yeah?” You cross your legs, letting out a breathy sigh. “Then I sincerely hope that doesn’t change.”

[6:43PM] Jeon Jungkook: i’ve been thinking about something. and of you

For a bedroom as sparsely decorated and light-coloured as Jungkook’s, he should be surrounded by a brilliant glow. And usually, he is.

The windows occupy half of the wall, the bedsheets a perfect white; had he texted you a couple hours prior, he would’ve found himself in the gleam of a pale blue late winter sky. But if he’d tapped your name on his device earlier, he would’ve indulged in a whole different mood, too.

Wouldn’t have given into fatigued, delirious fantasies. Daydreaming about the curves of your lips and about the single strands of hair kissing your cheeks. Or the way you love exposing your neck, as if to taunt him.

It’s right there, but you can’t touch it, Jeon.

And…

And the mounds of your chest, slivers of it visible whenever you put on those heaven sent dresses. Their cuts are almost as deep as the ones damaging Jungkook’s brain. And not much for the sake of his sanity, the thirst isn’t quenched just yet.

Crossed legs badly hidden under your see-through tights. The movement of your hips when you walk into his studio, placing yet another gruesome schedule onto his desk. Your scent when you lean into him, pointing to another meeting he barely recalls.

You… you…

If Jungkook hadn’t already cleaned up the sloppy mess previously covering his knuckles, trickling down his thighs, he’d possibly give into the urge to sneak his fingers back to where he craves them to linger.

No, you made that mess.

Of his sheets, of him. And you never needed to be here in the first place.

Jungkook is no fool — unlike many of his friends, he doesn’t deny the way his body winds. He knows what he wants; and right now, he hungers for you. Wants you to eliminate the drought on his tongue; wants you to replace it with some taste instead.

“Fuuuuck.”

The word drags into the emptiness of the room, filling the silence that someone else should be lifting. But you’re not here, and you’re not answering. Not yet, at least. Has it been seconds or minutes?

Too long, is all he knows.

His digits are cleaned thoroughly, but he can’t shake the persisting feeling of sheer, dirty lust as they reach his phone again. Lighting up the screen, then curling inwards in frustration.

He repeats the desperate attempt of manifestation a couple times until he throws the device aside, nearly missing the mid-air vibrations, indicating the long-awaited message. Jungkook’s heart falls out of his ribcage and squeezes his guts; your name elicits far more than it should.

And he feels just a little guilty.

Because he doesn’t deny himself any pleasure — so he knows this isn’t love. This isn’t starving for emotionality. Not for sentiments. What you pull out might be his ugliest, beastliest side; his mind is filled with images of you that he shouldn’t be having.

You’re so respected. So tender and kind. Intriguing, a riddle, but inhabiting secrets probably far darker than his thoughts. So he feels odd about the wanton desire; feels guilty.

But just for a bit. Just a little.

The message you sent back is too humble, too innocent. Sometimes he reckons you’re aware of your power, and sometimes he assumes you think of yourself as… ordinary.

But you’re not. And he wants to show you.

Just one touch, please.

“Fuck, shut up, you creep,” Jungkook whispers to himself, scolding his treacherous mind before he reads again.

[6:52PM] You: Oh? Why would you be thinking about me? Of all people?

Should he wait? You did, too.

Or should he make as crystal clear as he can muster that he’s been waiting for you?

Screw it.

[6:53PM] Jeon Jungkook: what else should I be thinking of?

Your next response is immediate — you’re online. Waiting for him to answer.

Good.

[6:53PM] You: Your music?

[6:53PM] Jeon Jungkook: my music doesn’t talk to me as much as you do these days

He smirks. Keeps the beam plastered to his face until the waiting becomes a little too long. Message on read, you leave the chat room empty of you and full of a nervy Jungkook. He opts out of it the same second, keen on patience before it fades again, bit by bit.

Because then, the thoughts flood in.

Are you rolling your eyes? Throwing the phone into a corner of your couch? Has he fucked up before anything could start?

But it’s been going so well. You talk to him every single day. Ever since the museum, the two of you have been orbiting each other; partly due to work, partly because he’s caught you smiling, too.

Your words are too sickeningly often accompanied by a soft touch of yours against his shoulders; against his arms. Sometimes, you brush his back, his eyes wide awake, the smile timid yet crushingly losing against your confident gaze.

All this must mean something.

“Nah. Fuck it,” he mutters again, sighing over his own constant use of curses. “Come back.”

[6:55PM] Jeon Jungkook: actually… I did come up with one tune. It’s just a skeleton of a song tbh, but I need a sounding board.

It takes another one minute for you to come back, and Jungkook angles his legs, relying on the movements of his body to ease the impatience. But then—

[6:56PM] You: Oh, and? [6:56PM] You: Sorry, I had to step away for a sec

Sigh of relief. Even though embarrassment annoyingly adds itself to the mix, an uninvited guest.

[6:57PM] Jeon Jungkook: …do you wanna come to the studio?

[6:57PM] You: Right now? It’s like… [6:57PM] You: 7pm

Unconsciously, Jungkook shrugs his shoulders, unbothered to the bone, just craving, craving, craving…

[6:57PM] Jeon Jungkook: a true artist never rests. [6:57PM] Jeon Jungkook: and I’d rather die than stop hustling for my passion

As the next message appears at the bottom of the screen, Jungkook can’t help but bite into his lower lip with a certain pride. He nods as if he caught his prey, trapping it between his fangs.

[6:58PM] You: 😂LOL. now that, I admire, mister Jeon :) [6:58PM] You: I’ll finish my wine and be on my way

Oh.

Are you tipsy? Maybe he’s reading too much into it, but the emoji seems so unlike you; yet, you somehow manage to capture the core of what and who you are in the rest of the message. Six coherent words. That’s all it takes.

Goddamn.

You’re so thoroughly you.

[6:59PM] Jeon Jungkook: wait. really?

And that’s it. You disappear.

Perhaps you’re joking; perhaps you’re messing with him. The sun has already set; and he doesn’t think he’s ever stayed with you much longer than dusk before.

If he met you in the evening, or on other nights, would you make more sense than you usually do? Are you the type to unravel when the world quiets down? Or the one to blend with the darkness more, drawing back further?

If there’s pure truth in what you just said, devoid of all mockery you could revert to… he might find out. And it seems you’re in the right mood today, earnest with your intentions when he feels his phone vibrate against his thick thigh again, making him flinch.

[7:11PM] You: Yes? I’m already dressed. Get your ass up

Oh shit.

Despite your order, his limbs still shut down. His muscles and bones melt into the bed, a fleeting image of your sly smirk crossing his mind and an assured voice surrounding his eardrums.

And if he didn’t overthink each of your movements; didn’t fantasise about the possible rise and fall of your voice, he would’ve discarded his phone and gotten dressed a lot earlier.

How embarrassing.

The fact that his mind doesn’t want to categorise this as a crush, no matter how much he asks. That his body responds to you like that, superficial and intrigued.

Embarrassing. He should focus on more important things.

Yet, he can’t be bothered with the intruding sentiment, shame shoved aside and trampled under his feet as his car turns into a parking lot, perfectly in front of the building’s entrance. Your form is crystal clear in the dark; not even the shadows and lack of light can hide your silhouette.

The radar sensor beeps when he creeps too close to the hood of the car behind him, and he mumbles a curse, averting his eyes from your unmoving self to focus on proper parking. Letting the roaring engine die.

Your shoulders are slightly raised when he approaches you at the door. One hand is stuffed in the pocket of your thin, baby pink coat, the other curled into a fist, possibly resisting the urge to enter the building and combat the cold.

You could’ve waited inside, too. Unless…

Maybe you’re excited to see him, too.

You smile, lips reaching far up; he tries his hardest to believe he’s right. Takes the gesture as a good omen, and the hair pulled up in a loose bun as a sign of hurry. You look domestic, comfortable in your skin, no matter who’s around.

But somewhere between the comfort and the softness, there’s that everlingering intrigue, too. And… some timidness. Showing in the crossed legs his eyes drift over, up to the short skirt barely visible underneath the coat.

And your face… so natural. More than usual. Mascara only? He doesn’t know.

All he knows is that he needs to say something.

“Hey.”

“Hi,” you throw back, tilting your head in tease, “where were you? Took you long enough to get here.”

He steps closer; fiddling with his jacket’s pocket, fishing for the keys. And his proximity changes something about you so subtly, a miniscule movement. Hand digging deeper into your coat.

You’re on guard for some reason. And he can’t help but admit he’s on guard with you, too, albeit in a less physical and more mental way. The unfathomable, dichotomous sensation of wanting you near, wanting you far is killing him.

What are you hiding?

If he could, he’d speak it out loud.

“I had to freshen up,” he finally responds, “I honestly didn’t expect you to say yes.”

Your body might be in protection mode, but your voice is as composed, even somewhat amused, as always, “Well.” You shrug your shoulders. “I don’t see why. But I’m here now, and honestly… a little cold?” Nodding towards the door, “Should we go inside?”

“Yeah. Sorry.”

He sniffles, fishing for the chip to unlock the door. For an ephemeral second right before walking inside, your breath lingers incredibly close to his own, grazing his lip ring. “Don’t forget to dress warm this season.”

Near enough for his fingers to succumb to the impulse and sidle to you, skimming your thigh so featherlightly. He thinks he hears the sharp inhale you suck in. His skin tickles, the shiver icy on his body. He watches you smirk, lowering your head; his fingertips insist on the vicinity just for the tiniest seconds before he says,

“Okay. Let's go inside before you catch a cold, silly.”

But the bitter frost permeates the hallways of the company in the same ruthless manner. Perhaps somebody’s still lingering around in the daunting dark. Revising steps in the mirrored practice rooms or hovering above lyrics and tunes, neck bent and back tired.

But the building isn’t heated; and it shows in your rather quick steps, an arm wrapped around your chest to rub the layers above your arm. The guarded demeanour doesn’t match your usual confidence; aside from the hollow hallways, it seems that you’re scared of more than just the cold.

He doesn’t point it out. And he doesn’t stare for too long.

If he did, you might realise.

Instead, he saunters to the elevator with you in tow, delighted about the light that never changes in the small rectangular space. You let your hand drop to your purse, lazily toying with its zip, and turn your head to observe the closing doors.

And Jungkook observes you. 

The glow of your cheeks in the bright beam, half of your face devoid of the hair tucked behind your ear. As you breathe in, your lips split a fraction, and their gentle, soft curves mesmerise him for a moment too long.

It’s difficult and cruel, being around you. Haunting, agonising, aggravating.

And when your eyes align with his again, sparkling a little in line with your tender smile, Jungkook realises that he’s been holding his breath. Because it escapes between the seam of his mouth in a sudden push, his knees nearly buckling.

He resists the urge to bite into his fist, instead disguising his thoughts when he covers his mouth, teeth digging into his plump, lower lips.

“So,” he quickly adds, leaving no space for you to question his eccentricity, but you initiate another convo in the same tiny second, “It’s…”

You pause, withholding your statement in order to listen to his. But he shakes his head, lifting a hand to sign for you to continue. So you say, “It’s a little scary here at night.”

Okay. Not that tough of a topic.

“Right?” he confirms. “I always imagine getting here and hearing a hum that’s not really there.”

“Uh…” You blink in disbelief, lifting your eyebrows, but when he shrugs your confusion away, your hesitation marker turns into a chuckle. “Why the hell would you say that?”

“It’s just something I imagine. It’s terrifying, but my mind goes places, and I never ask it to.”

“Well, it’s a mean thing of your mind to do.” The ding of the elevator distracts you, and when you step out, your thoughts remain at an afar spot. Kept inside your pretty little head until you whisper, “And? Have you ever heard it, then?”

“Hm? The hum?” You nod, and he suppresses the snicker your curious, cocked eyebrow nearly elicits. “No. Only myself. Humming helps me control my breathing, so I do it to practise.”

“Weird. It’s so different from how I’d imagine you.”

Huh. Seems he’s not the only one sketching your entire being to keep himself awake at night.

“How would you?” he asks.

“As a rockstar?”

“Oh?” That’s new. “As a future RnB slash pop sensation I find this officially peculiar. Why a rockstar?”

You cock an eyebrow; either digesting the confident prophecy or pondering his question. The crooked smile matches his own signature smirk a little, and you puff out a breath before your sombre yet sparkling eyes wander an inch further down, right to his mouth.

Your eyelashes are endless, on their way to brush those delicate apples of your cheeks — in reality, it’s an impossible fantasy written in novels and poems, but it’s exactly how it looks. Exactly how much your curious gaze drops.

Only, the tingling sensation in his chest soon subsides, freeing a path to the realisation that he’s yet again misunderstanding. Because you’re not drawn by his lips, but rather considering a response.

He sighs in subtle disappointment when you point to the shiny metal encircling his lower lip, telling him, “Gotta be the piercing.”

“Ah. Ahhh. Well. First off, this is a very stereotypical assumption.” You shrug your shoulders in amusement, watching him cram for his chip until he halts in front of his studio, keeping you in his vision. “And secondly.”

The lock of the door clicks as he swipes the chip across the reader, defined knuckles paling a bit when he pushes the handle down. He raises his chin by a fraction, pulling out the most-assured smile, and asks, “Do you like it?”

And you, composed as ever, respond, “It suits you. I always wonder how comfortable these are, though.”

“Why?”

“I don’t know, like. Do they have a metal taste? Do you ever get hyper aware of them and then get annoyed and want them off? Are they… cold?”

He laughs. There’s something endearing about how your voice quietens further the more your curiosity grows. You’re not quite looking at him, pupils focused on a random spot, hands expressive as you vocalise your thoughts.

“Let’s see,” he mutters, jacket thrown over a chair, “sometimes and, again, sometimes. It feels a bit cold right now because it’s cold outside. I mean…”

He rubs the chill off his tattooed arm, fingers diving under the short sleeves of his white, oversized t-shirt. Attempts never faltering, he leans into you in intrigue, parting his lips before running his tongue over the jewellery.

“Do you just. Wanna touch it and find out for yourself?”

You blink, frozen in place.

The room isn’t too spacious; Jungkook will get his very own studio, name tag and all once he reaches a clear peak. For once, he’s glad about the crowded room, girded by a guitar on the wall, chairs standing side by side, a little couch leaning against the back of the wall.

As ever, he can’t decipher your mood; as ever, you’re still quick to answer, “I… no. It’s okay.”

Why don’t you want him?

Goddamn it.

“Okay,” he simply utters, shrugging his vexation away. “Let’s get started then.”

The excitement in his tone dips, seemingly aloof, but as he walks into the dark square of silence, reaching for the headphones he placed right here mere hours ago, wordless curses dangle off the tip of his tongue.

He makes sure you don’t see the clench of his jaw or the fast and steady fall of his ego, but you’re shoving back the chair and adjusting anyway. Crossing tight-clad legs as you place your coat on your lap, throwing your mane to one side to free that damned neck.

It must be on purpose.

He waits for you to settle, the headphones on the table in front of you enveloping your head. They look way too big on you, and Jungkook can’t decide whether to tut at his anguish or swoon at your stellar being.

Jungkook uses his headphones to communicate through the glass, raising a thumb to ask, “Ready?” You nod, matching his gestures with your own. “Be honest, how professional do I look?”

Carding the fine hair back, he pushes a hand into the pocket of his pants, taking a stand in front of the boom microphone. He mimes a typical grimace of an immersed artist, letting out an immediate, sweet chuckle that you chime in joyfully.

You lean in, long earrings brushing your jaw, pressing down the button for the talkback mic to assure through the intercom, “You look like a born star.”

He rolls his eyes, playfully clicking his tongue, “Ahhh, that’s a nice yet basic thing to say, but. I’ll take it.”

“Why did you go in there anyway? Weren’t you just going to show me a song?”

“Adlibs, baby. I’m still missing those.” He adjusts the headphones again, clearing his throat, almost in position. “But I didn’t warm up my voice, so I’ll need to re-record them anyway.”

“And still you’re straining your voice because…?”

“We’re here to impress you, so let me.”

Your finger lifts off the button, but the movement of your lips suggests to him undoubtedly what your teasing self might be mumbling.

Oh damn. Sorry then, boss.

You raise your hands in defeat until you detect his beguiled smile, raising your eyebrows in a clear question that he answers with two words; a simple title of a song, not as glorious as the tune itself but hopefully as memorable.

Eyes scurrying across the now opened laptop screen, you search for the instrumental until you stumble upon it. 3:54 minutes of what Jungkook prays to be blasted everywhere in a couple week’s time before the big concert, chiming in his ears.

The initial guitar riff drowns the room in a mixture of intriguing anticipation and uncurbed sentiments immediately. Jungkook’s eyes dart to your face, attempting to decode a reaction. And when you notice, hands on the headphones, you nod approvingly.

Most of his vocals are already recorded to perfection; a silky voice laments about a lost time with purity. Jungkook largely listens in, searching for wonky bits or moments to be re-tackled. Of course, he will need to discuss the details with Taehyung tomorrow, but whenever the passion burns the hottest, he can’t help but add an adlib here and there.

As he sings, his eyes reflexively close, and for a couple dozen seconds, the melodic current pulls him towards a bigger ocean; the sense of freedom and possibility is astonishing. There’s a certain ardour he feels towards music that nothing will ever be able to elicit.

Do you feel the same?

As somebody spending day in, day out surrounded by musicians, does that phenomenon make your heart surge, too?

Maybe.

When he looks at you again, it’s at least something fervent he detects in your gaze. A bit like the longing he feels. Intense fondness, or perhaps, even zoning out — until you’re barely blinking anymore.

Your features relax a little more as the song proceeds, bit by bit, the calmest when the ending notes arrive. Jungkook observes you; freezes at his spot. The change from the built-up chorus to the suddenly calm ending, instruments dying, are as forgotten as the last touches… because you, behind the glass, are much more interesting.

Just staring. Looking at the screen, its brightness reflecting in your pupils. When you blink again, most of the preceding smile is gone, something indecipherable in your eyes.

He doesn’t know whether you actually enjoyed the entire thing or became consumed by memories he doesn’t know of. Some the song might have drawn out but shouldn’t have. There’s… a past in your stare.

He knows because much like the vast existing humanity, he’s been tending to faraway memories for years, too.

And he wants to know about yours.

Gently, Jungkook grasps the headphones covering his ears, the mane victim to the impact before his fingers fix it again. He frees his eyes off his strands, never directing them away from you, and when he opens the door to the small room you drifted off in, you look up.

Your emerging smile is unsuspecting and polite as always, and you deliver a tilt of your head. Jungkook could sign the previous oddness off as just this, or a sinking into arts just as he does sometimes.

But what’s enough is enough; brushing questions off his mind has become tedious.

So he rolls back the second chair next to you to take a seat, placing his arm on the one of the furniture before folding his fingers; leaning in, asking, “You okay?”

You react with a soft nod, a tender hum, “Yeah! I was listening.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course.”

“You zoned out.”

“Which is a good thing, I promise.”

Jungkook looks for a moment. Waits for you to break or admit that the truth you display might not be as pure as you think; waits for his instinct to wind up correct.

But when you do nothing of that sort, eyes a resolute and solid statement, he sighs. Tongues at the lip ring for a moment before he clears his throat and questions, “Good thing, yeah? What else do you think?”

“It… goes deep,” you confess, an impressed declaration in your expressions, “what are you talking about in that one? I mean, I know, but… it sounds so personal.”

“More or less? I’ve spent most of the last few years dedicating myself to this job. The training, the late night sessions, the failure and lost time. I wanted to depict those hardships.” He nods, emphasising his points. “I want this song to help me look back one day…”

He shrugs his shoulders, thumbs slowly circling around each other, “And comfort my older self that despite the hectic life, things are okay.”

“I see.”

Your tone is neutral, but your chest rises and falls a little too slowly. Your sorrow is quiet. He closes the distance further, nudging your arm, “Hey. Did you not like it?”

“I did,” you defend, honesty and reassurance in your voice, “I do. You have an amazing voice, come on, what’s not to like. And the sound is incredible. Should you manage to release it, it will be celebrated a lot.”

“I will manage to release it,” he says with furrowed eyebrows, resisting the urge to touch your elbow again, but settling on simply calling your name instead, “you’re part of my team. Let’s be optimistic.”

“I am. Teamwork makes the dream work. Etcetera.”

“Right,” Jungkook breathes, word close to a yawn. He throws his body back in the cushioned chair, manspreading as much as the space allows; stretches his arms until his muscles crack. “Ahhh… I really want this to be good.”

His gaze falls to the darkening laptop, soon giving way to pitch darkness, potentially to some screensaver. The title of the song remains still in the opened audio file, and he smacks his lips, blinking only when you voice an approving, “Mhmmm.”

His head darts to you the moment you deliver a subtle nod towards the computer, deducting, “You really strive to be big.”

Well, yeah. That’s been the plan. Always, always.

“Shouldn’t I?” he argues. “It’s a dream.”

“It’s good to have dreams.”

“That’s right. Mine is to… Stand on a bigger stage. I think I’ve reached a solid group, but I think if I keep working hard and with the right team, I can make it?”

“This determined, yeah?”

“Yeah,” he responds with a hint of obvious self-evidence, slight confusion shadowing his mind — have you never wanted something so badly? “The audience’s eyes glued to me. Don’t you have a dream?”

Another deep inhale of air, chest working hard, as if you’re breathing out fatigue. He prepares for another vague answer that might leave him guessing; and albeit clearly seeing the usual curtain veiling your true thoughts, what you say next makes his ears perk up.

“Honestly. I’ll allow dreams again once I’ve moved on. That’s all I want.”

What?

Did you actually want to say that? Was it on purpose? A slip of the tongue?

Because it seems so unlike you. Reveals too much. He doesn’t think you’ve exposed your innermost thoughts like this before, even if still not quite transparent.

“…From what?” The previously relinquished distance dies when he inches closer again, digits sneaking close to your knee. A fingertip floats over your tights. “Hey. Is something bothering you?”

“Ugh,” you say; the sliver of sadness seamlessly transitions into an expression of nonchalance when you wave your concerns off so quickly. “Young adult stuff.”

Nevertheless, you speak on. The biggest development in this friendship between the two of you yet. “I once had a friend that moved away. We were pretty close, and now she’s far away. Which sucks.”

“I’m sorry.”

That’s it.

Jungkook offers to listen, but he doesn’t necessarily deem himself the most expressive guy when it comes to emotions like these; even if he so deeply wishes to read your thoughts. Music is different; speaking to an audience is, too. Articulating gratitude isn’t as difficult as extinguishing someone else’s grief.

And while not quite confronted with anguish, he houses demons that still haunt his nights; he can barely obliterate them.

Maybe he doesn’t need to.

Maybe he can comfort you in the only way he’s ever known. The stupid, selfish way; offering relief and distraction in the most sinful manner.

“Listen…” Jungkook starts, but in all honesty — there isn’t much to say.

Only to crave. To look.

At the curve of your lips. The distance between them. The bare wrist needing to be held, tired eyes wanting to replace the sorrow with something else.

Is he an asshole for wanting to annihilate your heavy breaths of dejection and replace them with sighs of his name instead?

He doesn’t know. He barely hears his thoughts. Only the blood rushing to his ears, and then away from his head, down his body.

Fuck.

The levitating finger drops an inch; you gasp almost inaudibly when the tip touches your knee, skin separated by the tights only. Jungkook loves fashion choices like these, but hates the hurdle right now.

His warm palm opens, placing right above your knee, approaching the meat of your thigh. He knows you’re not breathing because he can’t hear the exhales; and when his eyes, hooded and possibly insane, flit up to you, he recognises the change in your pupils.

You gulp; and then finally push out some air again. Your hand moves to his inked wrist, touching lightly, unsure what to do. But when you don’t resist, his other arm lifts, touch moving to your face, holding it.

The world spins, moving like an earthquake as his mouth draws nearer. You let out a miniscule sound that punches him in the guts; sweet and pure.

He wants to shatter and wreck you so bad; wants you to feel the same poison you’ve fed him. Irresistible, deadly.

But just as the metal of his jewellery grazes your lips, the softness and warmth radiating towards him, your breath shakes. Your face budges enough for his upper lip to feel a brush against yours, but that’s all he gets.

Because you retreat without giving in. And he doesn’t know why.

He clenches his jaw. God fucking hell. What’s your problem?

The sense of failure overwhelms him. Failure. Failure.

That’s not the term his mind should conjure. He knows the moral compass hides somewhere in his dark heart; he knows. Yet, he can never give into it. Is he a bad person? He doesn’t know.

Control was never his domain, after all.

But he keeps those intrusive thoughts inside, intending to not scare you off more than he already might have. So he accepts the dodging of the kiss, moving back, immediately leaving you safe from his touch.

And then, he says, “Uhm— I’m sorry.”

You don’t answer, still catching your breath, back to the heavy sighs that he was going to help shove back. Once again, he tries, “Honestly, I apologise, I just…”

“No, no. Please, don’t be sorry,” you reassure, slightly touching his shoulder. A wave of relief washes over him. “I’m just. Not in the right mindset for it yet. But I’m flattered, really.”

“Okay.” He nods. His eyes drop to his fingers; he still feels your heat on his skin, basks in it for a moment. But when the awkward silence lingers, he suggests, “Then. Let’s call it a night and I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Yeah. Yeah, sounds good. I’m definitely getting tired.”

“Me too.”

Jungkook rises from his seat, still unable to wrap his head around what happens — or almost happened. Maybe another time. Grabbing your coat from behind you, he helps you into it, avoiding your eyes, trying not to showcase his frustration.

Uncertain what to say, he reverts back to small talk, stating, “Thanks for still coming so late. You really do like the song, yeah?”

“Jungkook… it’s honestly very good.”

You smile; there’s something about your honesty. About the way you say his name. And how hopeful you truly seem for him. How much you seem to mean it when you say—

“If there’s anyone who can manage to wrap the world around their finger, it’ll be you, Jungkook.”

“Alright. I think I have an answer to your question now.”

You down the sip of red wine with a delicate smack of your lips, blinking at the change in topic. The evening has followed a pleasant pace so far, conversations well balanced; even though you still carry a sense of caution that Jungkook sees no reason behind.

Perhaps it’s the fact that after weeks of subtle, flirty undertones and advancing attempts you’ve taken the seat on his couch as he’s imagined for so long now. Maybe he still exudes something that screams for caution; maybe that’s just who you are.

Jungkook, for one, is just glad to receive any kind of recognition from you. But he’d be a fool to not insert all his effort into tonight, from the food to the type of drinks and conversations. He knows where he needs to be and he wants you to want it, too.

“What question?” you ask.

It’s just.

Despite the lightness with which you carry your talks, some of your movements feel off, detached from your body. Not quite matching the grace your face portrays; just that one hint. The one hiding in your fingers, tapping the dark screen of the phone resting on your thigh.

As if you’re waiting for a call or something to happen that Jungkook isn’t aware of. Who knows. Nothing has happened in the last hour, so this might be an unconscious gesture reasoned in nothing but an absent or distracted mind.

Yeah.

You’re probably not even aware of it and he’s just overthinking it.

He takes a breath, inhaling the aroma of the almost finished wine, “What I’d do if I could spend a day in a virtual reality.”

“Wait, does the Wembley Stadium doesn’t count anymore?”

Jungkook smirks, dismissing his own prior answer with a click of his tongue. “C’mon. Does it really? You can ask literally any artist ever and that’s what they’ll say.”

You ponder his response, pursing your lips in thought, and then shrug one shoulder. Nodding along, you acknowledge, “Right. So what is it then?”

“I’d just.” He sucks air through his teeth sharply, leaning back with a signature smack of his lips. “Get into a reality in which this damn song is already finished and mixed and ready to be released.”

This song referring to the concoction of sounds he showed you earlier, yet to be concretised and burnished to what he truly envisions. It’s the only song left that shackles him to the studio; at the upcoming concert, he’ll just sing the demo version as a sneak peak if needed. What a source of stress.

But you don’t see it as much of a struggle; you’ve told him a dozen times that hard work justifies a slip-up. That the progress on his album balances out the artist’s block.

Possibly why you laugh his worry off without mocking it, merely throwing back, “I’m disappointed.”

Oh?

“Why?”

“Just because — the Wembley answer was better.”

Unexpected and sudden — much like the snicker you elicit, throwing his head back just a little. Concurring, he sighs, “Okay, okay. What about you then?” He cocks an eyebrow. “You didn’t tell me what you’d do.”

“You didn’t ask,” you remind him, already slurring your speech a bit, though still remaining a stable and solid stance, “dunno. You want the sappy or the basic answer?”

“Is the sappy one a tear-jerker? Sounds like it.”

“For sure.”

“Then the basic one. Don’t dig being sad.”

“Thought so,” you answer, and Jungkook holds back from prodding again this time, despite wondering what image he gets across, “alright. I’d do things I’m unsure of in real life. Like bungee jumping.”

“Oh? Kinda did not expect this.”

“No?”

“Just having a hard time imagining somebody as calm as you jumping off a building. Or yelling.”

You roll your eyes. “Anyway. I’d love to go, but I’m too scared of the risks. Like, rope stuff. Don’t want to be jumping for the last time.”

“Okay, yeah, but,” Jungkook starts, hesitating, “I mean, you could say that about anything. You leave your apartment and get hit by a car and then you’d be going out for the last time.”

You begin shaking your head mid-sentence, already drawing a breath, ready to disagree. Then, “That’s a bad comparison. These things are a once in a lifetime experience.”

“I’m just saying! Why hold back from things that excite you.”

“…Maybe you’re right.”

Jungkook’s proud nod and hum are reciprocated with a soft smile, fleeting when you roll your eyes back to your phone briefly. Absent-mindedly, you drag a fingertip across the device’s side as Jungkook follows your movements.

Yet, unsure what you might be harbouring in this pretty head of yours, he doesn’t ponder but asks, “What was the sappy thing?”

It’s as if you live multiple lives, hiding them in your innermost parts; because once he finishes his question, your sparkle returns, and you smirk a little, suddenly leaning forward.

Wordlessly, you fish a tissue out of the square, wooden box, puzzling him for a second until he understands right before you clarify, “For the upcoming tears.”

His titter is immediate, a reflex. You might be relaxed as a calm river, but your humour does shine through among your other million traits. He shakes his head in rejection, smile still plastered to his lips, and watches you lean back again, clearing your throat.

“Mhh, I’d say,” you muse, “I’d try to get into a simulation of Heaven. Try to meet those I miss.”

“Oh… damn.”

“Yeah.”

“…I don’t know what to say.”

But despite the dumbstruck silence, his mind does conjure prompt associations. Like when the two of you sat in his studio just two weeks ago, you engrossed in his music yet somehow dissociated from reality.

You spoke about lost and faraway people back then, too. And he didn’t ask then, either.

In the depths of his mind, he wants to believe that you’re trying to lead him somewhere, fishing for his hand but never quite reaching it. Drawing back right before pleading for help; or perhaps wanting to make him understand a thought he can’t fathom in the way you form it.

The pattern is repetitive, loud — but he knows you’ll retract the moment he does lean into you, offering his ear to your worries and thoughts.

He can’t win.

“That’s okay,” you say, making up for his lack of proper empathy, and that’s where you leave it. Not hesitating, not indicating another hint to lead to your mind.

Yet, he clears his throat quietly, licking drying lips, and asks in attempt to grip the truth, your whatever-truth, “And, who’d be there? Do you want to talk about that?”

“Mmmmh,” you hum, pondering, before you treat him with the same disappointment he’s suffered throughout the last weeks, “no. I think I’m good.”

Unbelievable, and truthfully, frustrating.

Are you playing this side of yours? Is it an act? Are two sides of you fighting within you?

“Okay,” he simply responds, clearly agitated but unsure whether you notice. You’re looking at your phone again. He sighs. “And… Do you believe in that stuff? Heaven, Hell, stuff like that.”

You shrug a bare shoulder. “Dunno. I like to think there’s something, but then again I don’t.”

“How so?”

“The way I see it, it’s kinda simple,” you explain matter-of-factly, “some people are good enough to deserve a place in Heaven once they’re gone. And some people are terrible enough to burn for eternity.”

Coming from your sweet mouth, uttered in an equally soft tone, the sentence feels jarring. Jungkook has had these thoughts before; he’d be a hypocrite to judge you for yours, recalling moments when he wondered where he’s destined to land once he’s left this realm.

And somehow, it was never the prettier option.

Still, he utters, disguising his own past pondering, “Wow. That’s dark.”

“It’s true. There’s some serious crime in the world.”

Agreed. Perhaps, compared to the extreme sins, he can be forgiven. Right? Maybe…

“Yeah,” Jungkook accords, “then, why did you say that sometimes you don’t like believing in it?”

“I mean, if there’s actually something like Hell, and I happen to fuck up throughout life… I don’t wanna end up there.”

It’s like you’re mirroring his thoughts.

Even if he never quite thought about it to such an extent. Even though his idea of the afterlife built on what he’s already done, and not what he’s still going to do.

But your words give a subtle hope that redemption is possible. Who knows. Who really knows.

Perhaps it’s easiest to stray away from these thoughts and focus on you at this very moment. Even if it’s you triggering innermost fears; he doesn’t quite have a clue how you do it.

No matter. He’ll focus on you. Altruism might be the first step to vindication. Karma points. Karma points.

“Valid,” he says kindly, “can’t imagine you fucking up, though.”

“How would you know?”

“The company grapevine whispered a lil something about you.”

“Ahhh—”

“Good things! Other than that, I just think. Don’t know.” A small gap, well-hidden so far, grows in the back of his mind, tiptoeing to the very front of his mind. Before he’s thought it through, he blurts, “I’ll be honest with you.”

Your ears perk up, eyes suddenly wide.

What was that?

Okay. Whatever. Can’t stop his speech now, “Uhm, I’ll be honest and say that I’m not the best person I know. Like, I’m aware of that. It’s why sometimes, I don’t really understand how people can be as genuine as you.”

…Has he said too much? Or not enough? Because he could swear your face deflates, expression dimming, as if you expected something else.

And all you say is, “I understand.”

A flicker of slight panic creeps into his overthinking head, not usually a trademark of his personality. But you look dispirited, even if just for a second. He tries further.

“And from what I’ve seen, you go through life gently. The way you do anything is how you do everything, right?”

“Hmmm,” you voice again, pupils hidden until you look up. And when you do, he breathes a sigh of relief; deep and obvious, and he doesn’t care if you notice. Smiling sweetly, you tell him, “You said that really well.”

The way you say it is riddled with woe, but within a second, your eyebrows relax, mouth forming an authentic grin. Displaying real emotions suits you better than the mask of the frigid ice queen you keep plastered to your face; you look different right now.

Vulnerable.

And it makes him want you more.

Does it have something to do with the warm light he chose for this room? No. It doesn’t shine brightly enough to really illuminate your face that much. With the intensity lowered beforehand, some of your features hide in the dark when you lower your head a little.

And it’s not the decent amount of alcohol the two of you slurped.

It’s the usual, mysterious shimmer in your eyes, begging to take off more of your mental layers. The fragility behind the pretence of invincible strength. No doubt, you’re still a textbook definition of a femme fatale.

Still, there’s some sweet urge to surrender, visible in your stance. A fragrance luring him in. Warm skin close to his; calling for his fingers.

And he’s at your beck and call, ready and motivated; giving into your wanting eyes — or is that his own desire he’s confusing? — and leaning in. A little more with each tiny moment, advancing until the tips of your noses meet.

Your warmth consumes him; your breathing quickens, resulting in fitful exhales that he takes in with vigour, much drowning in his own head until you gasp and he realises—

“Sorry,” he mumbles, not yet retracting. His hand touches your knee, carefully but with intention. Waiting, he asks, “Is that okay for you?”

“…I’m not sure.”

Your answer takes a seat on his ego and weighs it down. Harsh, sudden, perhaps not unexpected but definitely breaking a string of patience within him. But consent is consent; he understands. He’s grown now.

Yet…

“Fuck,” he whispers under a faint sigh, dejected and confused.

And you hear it. Bambi-eyed, you ask, “What?”

“Nothing. Nothing at all.”

He’d lie if he suppressed the disappointment. Working towards you for weeks was supposed to end in realising his fantasies into a palpable, actual feeling, with a side achievement of a deeper connection.

You don’t seem to want to provide it; he understands, but the agitation courses through him like a fire burning up a forest. The trees are his nerves; alight with different emotions. You’re fumbling with the soft cotton of your winter dress, and he averts his eyes.

Shutting them for a moment, he ponders his options; does he continue the awkward conversation? Or perhaps, ask you for your opinion straightforwardly? Maybe, after all this while, it wouldn’t be so stupid to swap a penny for your thoughts.

And his mouth opens, but it seems you’re faster. Crushing his questions and uncertainties when he hears you gulp, witness to another change of mind as your knee shifts forward. His eyes open rapidly, and when he looks at you again, you’ve moved closer.

Your leg touches his thigh; your eyelids half fallen, lips an inch apart and fingers hesitating, yet advancing towards him. Hope sparks and sparkles in him anew, and he suppresses the cheeky, triumphant smile.

He feels like an asshole. Oh, he feels so selfish — but he can’t be the only one. He cannot possibly be the first or last to give into deepest desires out of self-interest.

Carefully, he matches your pace, moving into your direction much like you are drawing into his. His hand lifts to your arm, and you suck in a breath as he touches your skin, your chest rising and falling deeply.

And his eyes observe. The motion drives him crazy. He wants to pilot his touch to this spot, wrap his palm around your mounds, desperate to feel your nipples perk up under his skin, your mouth fall wider.

Should he? Maybe, maybe—

Not yet.

Instead, he draws an invisible line with his fingertips, up your arm and to your shoulders until he reaches your neck. The sound you let out is so tiny he barely hears it, and you tilt your head to the other side, giving him free reign over your skin.

A spark lights up under his finger, as if he’s touched a defective bulb. He wonders if you feel the same flame when he charges for your jawline, tracing it for a moment before he moves to your seething hot cheek.

You’re burning up.

So he asks in a quiet, gravelly voice, somehow much lower than usual, “Are you okay?”

Your eyebrows are furrowed, and he starts to worry again; but maybe that’s just the same tension unleashing that he’s felt, too. The temptation runs deep; he could scream it out of his lungs and it wouldn’t be enough.

Relieved as you nod, he mimics the movement, whispering an, “Okay,” before he then dips forward, exhaling close to your neck hotly and… leaves a small kiss right there. He doesn’t know about you, but if you did that to him, he’d possibly faint.

One more kiss, and suddenly, your hand is on his knee. His head spins. Must be the alcohol. Must be you.

And you’re probably in no better state, judging the hot cheeks and the slight sway of your body. Must be the wine. Must be him.

And when his lips graze your jaw, your fingers curl in, clawing onto his knee, and his inner voice celebrates, “Jackpot.”

But not really. He’s going with the flow, exploring your preferences, but this needs to be the night of your life. His mind and ego want you to perceive it that way. So what should he do? What do you like?

Are you one to push him into the bed, holding his shoulders down? Straddling him keenly, pouncing on him, eyes rolled back?

Or do you give away all the power you usually emanate; hands bound with a tie, legs struggling between a rope, screams muffled under a gag? Do you wind and go crazy when somebody has their way with you, edging and then overstimulating, refusing a touch and then slapping your ass wound…

Should he let your siren eyes tempt him into submission or will you be the one drilled into his mattress with a hand around your neck and a trail of black mixed with tears under your eyes?

He doesn’t know. Because you’ve disguised all of you; hidden your mind behind a mask of absolute neutrality, hard to decipher. He can usually read women so easily. They lick their lower lips when they want him under them, and quiver when vice versa.

He’d oblige to either for you. So what does it matter in the end, anyway?

No, it doesn’t.

His tongue that lashes out, however, does matter. Tasting your skin as it drags over your chin and then to your mouth. Insane when he reaches your lower lip and you sigh, then back to your neck, blowing, teasing, still not kissing you… touching your thigh, moving inwards…

“What do you want me to do?” he asks.

And this time, while still a little quiet, you finally say, “More. You can do more.”

“Yeah?”

You nod as if starved, relieved when his hands leave your leg and venture further in. It’s hidden under your dress, but somehow, not seeing your full glory just yet, but observing your reactions to his movements, stirs his thoughts. If any were left, that is.

The touch to your panties is light, tender as he reaches the hem, driving a finger underneath it in exploration. You don’t say much, but he sees the zeal in your eyes, murmuring a little, “Mhm…”

And when he finally presses against the fabric slowly dampening, lightly as he rolls his digits right where your skin so incredibly softens… you moan. You moan.

It doesn’t sound the way he imagined. But it kind of does. He doesn’t remember what he imagined — doesn’t know much at all. Just that he wanted this sound to echo within his walls. For him to be the one to drag it out. Not for anybody else, but him.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Okay. What if he does… this…

Thought so.

Sometimes, human beings have a fantasy unmatched, don’t they? Able to form and reform expressions on people they know that they have never seen. For example, he can imagine what you look like when you cry. Or when you’re mad. Or…

He knew you’d press your lips together, along with your eyebrows, muffling your sound once he sought out your clit and pressed against it. And not because he’s seen other women contort their faces like this; no… it’s an entirely new sensation with you.

You don’t compare to anyone. Nobody compares to you. Nobody, ever.

Sick of watching the invisible movement under your dress, he lets his eyes wander to yours, and you notice, do as he does. Eyes hooded, staring at him as if drunk — possibly, probably drunk.

Just once, he gapes down again, trying to adjust without crushing your knees with his. Comes closer. Then looks back at you. Absolutely astonished by the coloured lips drying up. Seeing your tongue peak behind your upper teeth, pushing against them.

Then you’re blinking, several times, not rapidly, but enough to indicate that you’re losing yourself, too. And then there’s some melancholy behind your gaze; he can’t say where it derives from… you seem to be coming out of a room that you kept dark for long enough.

He can’t say whether he’s further dimming the light in that room or lightening it up — and as he advances, gauging your reactions, he inwardly hopes it’s the latter.

So inwardly. So desperately.

Patience only persists for a moment; Jungkook barely believes in it. People always break. And he does when you lean forward as he drags his finger between your pussy lips, still over the clothing. You balance your weight with your arms, holding yourself up.

And then…

You so tantalisingly, softly, quietly, whisper his name.

Okay.

The snap was expected. The sigh he lets out was expected. And the way his lips finally crash against yours, making you almost fall back onto the sofa was expected, too.

But your taste… Why did he know you’d be as sweet as a cliché, like a perfume made edible? Matches your mystery and your elegance.

And the mellow, yet wanting sounds fit every move he makes. Like the moan-sigh combination when his bold hand wraps around the bun you’ve arranged your hair into. How you breathe into the kiss when he tilts your head a little, and then proceeds to loosen up said bun.

Releases it. Lets your hair fall. Pulls you in, pausing the make-out in the process, and then diving back in with a greed he’s never been met with before.

And as he kisses you, his index finger still dips into the uncharted territory below, ruining your panties some more as he soaks them; fucking loving how you whimper as a result.

No… this is ruining him just as much.

So he draws back from your body, attempting and probably failing not to look at you like an animal glaring down at his prey, ready to devour. He’s never seen this expression himself, but one or two girls have uttered quiet, “Oh-oh,” in such moments before — do you see the danger, too?

Or is he being cocky? But it’s not his fault. You make him cocky because he can never fucking say what you think! Of course he’d need the mental praise to himself — your opinion on him is too difficult to decipher.

He’ll keep the energy up. Make you shrink in his hold.

Hands under your ass, he lifts your lower body a little, amused by your wide eyes and how you wonder, “What are you d—”

Silencing the moment he uses his palms’ position to grab the hem of your panties and pull them down your legs. Over them and then on the other side of the table. The two of you won’t need those tonight.

“What does it look like that I’m doing?” he teases, smirk effective and permanent.

He likes that about himself. Maybe you’ll do, too. If not, then you at least do like how his fingers, impatient, find their way back home again, not before lifting your dress to your hips until you’re bared to him the way he’s craved.

And he pauses.

Oh, this treasure…

“You…” he starts, moving two ring-clad fingers between your folds. Testing the waters. “I’m not letting you go anywhere tonight. You’re staying right here…” He leans forwards, body on body, whispering against your lips. “Trapped under me.”

You want to answer, he thinks. Your eyebrows relax for a second, an inebriated smile playing around your mouth. If he knows you well enough, he’d guess you’re urging to dive back into your witty remarks.

But none of it is possible just yet. Because when he caresses your pussy again, increasing the pace without being too unreasonably fast, you bite your lip. He urges you to release it with his tongue. And when you do, his finger plunges in; as deeply as it can. So easily, too.

He kisses your clavicles the moment your nails get ahold of his arms, wiggling underneath him, but still caged in. And he sees the built-up frustration; how you kept yourself at bay, but can barely do it now. How you yearn for just one or two more right touches here and there before…

But before he can, he stops. Immediately, unexpectedly for you. Once again, mean, but…

“You’ll thank me later,” he utters — and with those four measly words, something awakens in you that was hidden for just the last ten minutes.

“Oh? You… you’re confident like this.”

“Of course I am.”

“Jungkook…” you say in such frustration that he thinks you’ll beg some more. But you don’t. Instead, you shake your head and say. “Men rarely manage to…”

“This isn’t rare. I’m not giving you rare, ‘kay?”

“I…”

“How…” he readjusts your body, pulling you down the couch, shifting until his knee keeps your legs apart. “How fucking insulting.”

Do you hear any of this anymore? Because your eyes are closed again. Hands still holding on; and… and body winding in order for your cunt to shift closer to him, suddenly rubbing against his knee.

It’s all you can get at the moment since his hands are so far out of reach. And the satisfaction of knowing that you’ll strive for anything at all is cosmic.

“You’re ruining my jeans,” he mocks, clicking his tongue as if to reprimand.

“Then…” You hook a finger into one of his jeans’ loops, pulling and then releasing again. “Take them off, coward.”

You don’t have to tell him twice. They say that if you have waited for so long, what’s ten more minutes? But no more. Not another second.

So he obliges immediately as he mutters, “‘Kay,” offering a helping hand when you work on his shirt. Off and to the ground. Pants off and to the back of the couch. He already knows he’ll be finding them all scattered the next morning.

But that’s the problem of just that next-morning-self.

Boxers still on, he returns to give you another initial taste of what’s to explode. The dress moves up from your hip as he slides it over your skin, stopping right under the mounds he’s still so curious about.

He needs to keep this balanced. Rush as much as might be appropriate, but not too much to make things embarrassing. This… the way he leans down again, opening your legs, erection grinding against your pussy and offering the bare minimum… this is good enough for now…

Or maybe not. Because merely a couple seconds later, you halt mid-moan, letting out breathy words that he struggles to understand until you repeat, “Is that… all you’ll be doing tonight?”

“Hmmm, you want more?”

“I— I don’t know.” Pause, a gulp when he presses his clothed length between your cunt. “Are you going to tell me your secrets if I say yes?”

His secrets?

You must be kidding. He has been an open book to you, chasing you around; if anything, he needs to unravel your mind.

But for that, he needs to play along. So he feigns the same mystery you emanate, teasing, “What do you wanna know?”

And you don’t hesitate. “Everything.”

…Hmm…

You’ve never seemed as interested as you are now. Never dove into his thoughts and the dim heart like now. If he agreed now, would you blurt out something specific? Questions that you formed when he wasn’t paying attention?

No idea. Maybe that’s something to worry about later. Pillowtalk. The morning after talk. Just anything… just not now.

He removes the obstacles currently standing between the two of you. The cushion standing against the back of the couch, constantly falling into your face. He throws it on the ground, so you don’t have to keep swatting it away.

Then, the dress covering your body. He gives a sign of wanting to proceed, and you play along, lifting yourself, chasing his lips as your outfit follows the cushion. And then, the phone right underneath the small of your back, having snuck there, undetected until you yelp, “Oh!”

“What?”

“Cold. Don’t know how it got there.”

He fishes out the device, watching it light up, a notification at the top that he can’t decode and that he doesn’t pay any mind to. Puts it on the coffee table. Then… last but not least… the uncertain atmosphere.

He says, “You want to know everything? Then make a list. I’ll tell you if I feel like it… deal?”

“You’re so…”

“You gotta make me. No other way out, baby.”

An answer lies on your tongue, ready to disrupt the moment. He knows because you look distracted all of a sudden, possibly still thinking about the same thing you did before, dissociating as he sat next to you, wine in hand.

It’s probably about work. Or about Taehyung — God, nobody at work but Jungkook would know, but you mention that guy all the time.

But tonight is not the night to think of others. So he shakes your upcoming inquiries away, giving you no time to think about it further as he, thirsty and impatient, picks you up and off the couch.

Right into his lap. Right onto his cock.

Still a layer between the two of you, watching you grind immediately. For a moment, you put him under your spell, urging him to stay right there and not move away until he’s shot buckets of cum into his boxers.

But…

But he’d rather do it in you, with you, because of truly you.

So he wastes no second as he executes his former plan, large hands sprawling over your ass before he stands with willpower and strength. He throws you a couple inches into the air, making you adjust, and then moves.

Away from the couch, stepping onto the clothes on the floor, careful not to stumble and hurt the two of you. The way to the bedroom seems endless, and you so naked… so… so his for the night. Like what, he still needs to wait those couple square metres?

Fuck, how…

No. It must be a primal instinct that hankers him to give up already, having made it halfway through the room and almost to his bedroom when he suddenly stops. Pinning you against a random free spot at the wall, right under a silent clock.

“What are you…?”

Your voice is trembling, for some reason so incredibly small. For the first time since you lay beneath him on the couch, he sees your eyes properly, and they flit back to the couch as if you’re looking where you just departed from — and then back to him.

“What are you looking for?” he whispers. Tantalisingly, he brings his fingers to your chin, pinching it lightly as he raises your head. “Hm? I’m here. Do you want to go back? Missing the couch? Wall might not be as comfortable, huh…”

“No… that’s not a problem. I’m just… surprised by the change.”

You do look surprised. A little cheekier again as your tone rises, your head falling to the side, lips smiling as if to distract him from something bigger. As if there’s anything bigger in existence right now than you.

“It was just sudden,” you conclude.

“Is that bad?”

“Not at all. I’m just curious.”

He doesn’t need to ask what about. He sees it in this expecting gaze of yours that you want to read and decrypt his next steps. And you can have them.

Because he lets you go, making you fall silently on your feet, kissing you once before he falls to his knees. You groan when he grabs your leg, placing it on his shoulder, restless when his lips charge for your open folds.

He offers you, “Curious, huh? No need,” before kissing your clit, adding another, “Just indulge in it… no need to use your pretty brain today,” and then attaching his mouth and tongue to your dripping pussy.

Digging his large nose into you, tickling your nub, he swirls his tongue around, slurping you up like his favourite drink. Holy fuck, you taste good. He could eat you up, down you in one like a shot. Stay right here all night.

You get ahold of a patch of his hair, but don’t pull — somehow, he wishes you would. Instead, you seem to focus on your body, trying not to fall, keeping it upright. You’re winding, your leg moving, and he soon wraps an arm around your thigh to keep you from stirring too much.

And with the other, he targets your cunt, mouth moving up to make space for the digits to easily, effortlessly slide into you. You gasp, just a bit louder when the metal touches your hot sex, calling his name — and for possibly the first time, he hears you curse, “Fuck. Fuck, I’m— I’m going to pass out.”

Oh my God.

If he could lick you to unconsciousness, he’d feel shocked and proud at once. He wants to see you become weightless, wants to catch you in his arms, and then bring you to his bedroom, still delirious, and fuck your brain out of you.

He wants you so bad. He wants to fuck you so fucking badly. His cock aches, godfuckingdamn.

As he rolls his tongue, lips kissing yours, moving his head left and right as he makes out with your pussy, he almost pulls all the way through. Nearly gives into your body language, nose moving over your clit, fingers pumping in and out, breathing into your pussy hotly.

But he has other plans. He wants to see your damn tears; wants you to unleash all your desperation. So, just when your sounds change, less pauses between them, high-pitched, heavy breathing, he stops.

Draws back, watching you press your ass into the wall, head suddenly hanging low. You whisper, “No…” as he looks up in satisfaction, waiting for you to say more.

You’re out of breath, exhaling through half gritted teeth, a palm on his chest as he rises again. You declare, “I’m going to blueball you, too.”

But the adrenaline has poured buckets of confidence over Jungkook already, and he’s drenched in it as much as in your scent, cocking an eyebrow as he challenges, “You can try.”

“I’m gonna suck your dick so fucking slow.”

“Do it,” he keeps the mask up, wondering how much of the effect you saw upon gracing him with such a provocative image, “let’s see if you make it this far. Might just fuck you into space before that, you know?”

He lets out an unsteady breath, a strand of your hair swaying upon impact. His hand taps at your thigh, testing whether you’ve closed your legs again; and as he realises that you haven’t, much to his pleasure, he palms your pussy, heel of his hand pressing against your clit.

“You’re trying to set me off, because you know you can, right?” he questions, for a split moment distracted by the teeth gnawing at your lower lip. “Smart of you. You are truly smart, babe… but you’re also mine tonight. So don’t play games.”

A slap lands on your vulnerable pussy, and he understands your frustration as you open your mouth, the lower lip previously captive rolling back into place. Soft and gorgeous.

No matter the fading distance, there’s still something inexplicable in the air, as if he can’t really separate a dream from reality. As if he needs evidence that this isn’t yet another figment of his imagination; the ones he’s awoken from several times, underwear threatening to burst.

The hand just torturing your cunt wanders up your body and settles around your neck, like a chain or a necklace or a motherfucking leash. He feels home here, just like this. With your fingers on his wrist, gulping under his touch.

Pinned firmly against the wall, he looks down to where you’re dripping and he’s standing tall, gripping the ever-twitching length that is begging for more. Begging for relief. He’s doing this to himself — because his body is burning up, as if scorched by sun flares.

He’s doing this to the both of you.

The kiss underneath your ear as he leans in. And the still harmless yet sinful touch between his tip and your folds. How he holds the shaft firmly, leading the head between your pussy lips, teasing until just an inch intrudes your awaiting hole.

He moans the moment you do, moving, fucking just the first of the tip into you; scrambling his own thoughts as he says, “God, I could just slide in… you’re so, so wet.”

“What… why say this if you won’t do it?”

Guess you’ve figured him out well enough. Guess that’s the cockiness you implied when you called him a fuckboy in that stupid museum. Or how you kept a safe distance — because thinking about it, maybe Jungkook could be someone to break somebody’s heart.

No. He knows he is. But…

He shakes the thought off his brain, returning to this very moment where you’re waiting for his answer, a heart made of steel. You won’t let him hurt you; you know better than that. You could dodge him easily.

Mentally, at least. Physically, you’re under his mercy.

So he uses this weakness, muttering under his breath, “I will, I will… but not here. We can do better than here.”

Wasn’t this just a pit stop after all? What he’s seeking is still waiting in his bedroom, soft sheets spread over the cold mattress, waiting for a body to warm it up. Or two.

Already hot and bothered, Jungkook lets you go entirely; and the next minute happens in a blur, as though he’s struggling with recognising his own apartment. Suddenly self-conscious about everything and nothing at once.

With you in his grip, he walks along the dark, small corridor; then past the paintings, through the door, into a well-managed, tidy bedroom until he’s sat your ass down. It happens within the tiniest moment — he could narrate how you got here but he can barely recall it.

Dick at the same height as your mouth, he wraps his hand around it. You don’t initiate anything of what you promised, looking into his eyes with a question; he knows you want to avenge yourself and provide the same vanity, but you’d rather skip to the best part.

He wants to, too.

So he doesn’t ram his cock into your mouth, hitting the farthest spot until you gag. Instead, he relishes the image mentally and quietly, fantasising about the warmth of your spit, about the tongue swirling around.

And then… then he goes a step further and imagines the even extended pleasure if he dug into your pussy now, maximising whatever your mouth could make him feel.

Are his thoughts too straight-forward? If he spelled them out like this, one by one, would you find him weird? Too eager? Obsessed?

Maybe he should slow down. Just a bit.

Which is why he holds his shaft closer to you, still surprised when you don’t open up, hints of the past confusion alternating with your confident, mysterious, teasing self. It’s weird to witness. But your eyes are still hazy at least. You don’t seem to want to stop.

God. He can’t figure it out. Not figuring out is agitating even in this moment.

But… good energies. Good energies. All the pent-up frustration needs to be morphed into sheer craze. He can do that.

“Spit on it,” he orders.

You only hum. Something in your gaze changes again, eyelids fluttering, as if awoken from trance. But you’re willing. Immediately mimicking him as you bring a thumb to a mole on the protruding veins. Tracing them, all the way back to his balls until you touch them just lightly, but enough for him to nearly lose his shit.

“Fuck, I said,” he reprimands, though delighted by the sudden rapture, “spit on it.”

You nod as if carrying out a task given by your manager; perhaps used to the last days and weeks when he’d command you around. Ask for another meeting, or for your opinion on a song, or just to keep him company to keep him productive.

Or, to keep you close to him. Lost in thoughts. Many thoughts. And even though none of them became a reality in that room, none of the equipment shoved aside to sit you on the desk, this… this right here is more than enough.

You suck in your cheeks, collecting spit, and when you lean forward… you make such a mess. Spitting onto the tip, a string still connecting your lips and his dick, leftover saliva dripping down your chin and then on your tits.

The view is… worth diamonds.

Do you even know?

“Okay,” he utters, no real direction in his mind, no real sentence to utter. “Okay.”

But you’re equipped with ideas, immediately getting onto the trail you left, spreading the spit over his cock, down to the base. The tip and the slit glisten, traces of precum mixing with your drool, but it’s not enough to cover his length all over.

So he mutters a mental, “More,” to himself, tapping your lips until you open, sticking two of his fingers in and pressing against your tongue. Lubricating his digits, he rolls them over your tongue, far enough to nearly make you gag until he draws back.

Watching you work on him rolls a wave of satisfaction over him. He’s proud, enduring like this. Because judging from the creature you are, as if jumped out of dark mythology, he truly expected to give up way earlier.

But he remains steadfast; eager to not explode until he’s filled you up first. Drawn out your own highs.

“Sweetheart, aren’t you a good one?” Jungkook praises, helping you out with whatever his fingers gathered in your mouth. Then, grabs your wrist, pushing you away, hovering above you with a, “Turn around.”

You gulp again. Then shift back on his bed, sighing as you feel the soft silk underneath your skin, kissing and hugging your body. The sight is gorgeous, with you fleeing to the back of the mattress, obliging so easily. Prey.

And…

“Holy fuck.”

Holy fuck, how you look when you finally get into position. Ass up, upper body down. And the arms over your head? What in the world.

Okay… okay…

Wait. You’re saying something.

His knees dig into the mattress, hand unconsciously pumping his cock — he doesn’t even know when he started — as he moves closer, over your body. Kisses your shoulder, bringing his ear close to hear before, “Huh? What’d you say?”

“I’m already so spent.”

“Ah… do you want to stop?”

“No… you made me feel spent. But you’re not done, are you?”

Pause. Bright smirk. Then, “Of course not. Does it feel like it?” Another kiss to your shoulder, wet this time. “Condom or not?”

“Oh.” Seems you hadn’t even thought about this yet. Kind of nice. “I’m… I use an IUD. Have you… slept with many people lately?”

No answer yet. He thinks. Thinks back to the several weeks since he met you. Should he say it? Would you back away if he did? Years ago, there’d be no debate about it — he wouldn’t have told you. Kept it to himself.

Perhaps there’s still a part of him that’d dodge your question, but he somehow feels like you’d see through him. Hear the insincerity. 

Fuck, is that selfish? Maybe. Doesn’t he already know that he is? But he’s not bad; and people are selfish.

So a second later, he truthfully admits, “Once. Two or so weeks ago. Nothing special though, just dumb, drunk shit. Some girl from a club. And I tested after.”

As soon as the sentence finishes, he wonders if you deem yourself just another one of those. But… in all honesty. She was a one night stand whose sounds, name, dirty talk did nothing to him.

All he could imagine was you. Perhaps not out of loyalty, but surely out of curiosity.

He can’t fathom his thoughts into feelings yet; he still wouldn’t describe his attitude towards you as falling in love or anything. That’d be too far stretched. But he thought about it — that maybe he liked you too much.

Yet, his heart remained empty; but his body never did. He feels bad; and still, he won’t deny whatever his skin and mind whisper to him.

Other than that, he could probably declare with quite a firm certainty that you don’t feel any different about him. You can’t be.

So maybe this is good enough for now.

“But know what?” he says, voice lower, repeating his thoughts. “Could only imagine what it’d be like if it was you. This pussy,” strokes his cock along your cunt, “and this body,” touches the small of your back, “these thoughts got me going. And you’re so much better in reality.”

“Mmmh,” is all you utter, nearly hiding your face in the pillow before you say, “maybe… maybe we can still use a condom then.”

Shit. Expected it.

But okay. Okay.

Where are the condoms again… bedside table? No. He used the last one ages ago, before he knew you. He gets up; walks to the closet; somewhere near his socks, there must be a new pack. A moment to think.

For a second, he looks back at you. You’re still the same, only with the ass having dropped again, losing balance and energy. And maybe, you’re still drunk, too — probably, because even he still feels the world spin, careful not to close his eyes for too long.

Okay. One… no, two foils out. As he turns back to you, nearing you, his head is just a little calmer than a minute again, and he wonders… were all the thoughts his own? The past half an hour or however much passed, didn’t he spiral more and more?

Did you notice? He shakes his head. Who cares?

Not him, not right now. He keeps telling himself that with a goddess waiting in front of him on all fours, he probably doesn’t need to worry about anything unless there’s a reason to. You’ve been cooperative and the night has been successful, minus the strange gazes you keep throwing at him periodically.

“Alright, baby. Up you come,” he mumbles, bringing your ass back to his crotch. His hands are already trained and incredibly skilled; doing work on the condom doesn’t take him more than a couple seconds. “I should tell you now.”

You pause. Suck in some breath, as if expecting something in particular. You agree with an unmatched thirst for knowledge, “…Tell me.”

“I don’t tend to go easy. If you need me to be, you’ll have to tell me. ‘Kay?”

“I… I can take a lot more than you think.”

Fuck. He’ll wreck your shit. “Perfect. You’re honestly a good one, huh? Such a good girl for real, no— no, you’re the best.”

Is he just saying whatever now? Perhaps he should stop boring you and get to it. Right? Please, the goddamn, blood-filled tower down there is desperately imploring him to.

He collects spit like you did before, targeting your glinting pussy, one blob right onto it. Then, he brings his fingers back to where they love to be, distributing the filth between your folds. And then, two fingers into the tightening hole.

Right before moving north, between your ass cheeks, thumb rolling over your other clenching hole. 

And you tense immediately, without saying a word, taking it quietly. Then… then he finally starts.

Brings the annoying rubber to your soaked pussy, poking for a second before he gets serious and eventually dips in. The free hand raises your ass some more, and he shifts forwards, your butt backwards, helping him get in further.

He hears the reaction. Hears the almost-screech in a second, nails biting into the pillow over your head. You hold onto it for dear life as he slowly bottoms out, your sporadic breathing and high-pitched moans mingling with his own bursts of lust.

Deep creases appear between his eyebrows, lips bitten sore, and once his waist has finally connected with your ass, he takes a deep, long inhale. Watches your face disappear deeper into the pillow, sounds muffled.

Enjoys it for a moment before he starts moving slowly. Out, in. Concentrating before he might spill too early. Beads of sweat shimmer on his forehead, dampening the hanging strands of hair. You feel good. Too fucking good—

He wants to go off right away. But… focus.

“How’s that?” he asks.

“Stop… stop talking.”

Oh. Bold. But a good sign, isn’t it? If you wanted him to stop, you’d say it. So he keeps going… dares just a little more, courageous, encouraged by your cooperation. Explores your ass and what lies between the cheeks more, groaning before he says, “You stop that.”

His hand reaches for your wrists, keeping you from tearing his pillow and leading your fingers to where his touched your ass before. You keep your touch there, unmoving until he says, “Keep them apart.”

And you seem to understand. His thumb returns to your unoccupied hole as his cock impales your pussy whole, still going at a tormenting pace. Thick and soaked, he’s splitting you in two; maybe that’s why the slow plunges are such a plague. Because both of you know there could be more.

Pulling your ass cheeks apart, you remain with your face in the sheets, arms trembling as he circles your hole again. He doesn’t know if you’re into this; doesn’t know if you’ll protest. So far, he’s been pretty obvious with his intentions, and he’s sure you must understand this one, too.

And you’re not fearful; if something bothered you, you wouldn’t hesitate to voice your displeasure. So he spits one more time, right onto his thumb, using the lubrication to carefully, curiously dip the tip of his thumb into your ass.

You yelp immediately; as your hole tightens around the little bit of his thumb, your pussy narrows around his cock, too, and he nearly loses it. Nearly drools onto your back as his mouth drops open, blinking rapidly for a second.

God, your body reacts with such intensity. Still, he makes sure, “Too much?”

And you, candidly, reply, “I don’t know. I… think so.”

“Okay. Then I’ll sto—”

“No. No, wait… I want to— I want to know what it’s like.”

Thought so. He knew that underneath all the chic charade, you crave just as much as he does. And if it’s him that you long for, then what even stands between him and the rocket shooting his ego to the sky?

This feels good. Really good… not just physically. You lift his spirits.

Ready with an exhale, he dares his thumb deeper, letting more of it disappear in you. Out of all the women he’s ever been with, not more than a handful has been willing to venture into this part of sexual desire. Most of them can’t stand the discomfort, and some of them don’t feel any particular way about it.

But you lay open to him in every way possible. An open book for once; easy to read, as if calculating how you wind, planning how to sound, guiding him fearlessly.

Soon, he’s adjusting his thrusts to your moans, and you’re adjusting your moans to his thrusts. Synchronised, the two of you groan and cry out together, and he makes sure to keep you filled to the brim, reducing the pauses between the shoves bit by bit.

Until…

“Hey,” he whispers, waiting for you to react, but as he pumps into you, slowly yet balls-deep, you don’t do anything much but scream into the pillow. So he just continues, “How much do you think you can take, baby?”

“I… I’m—”

You’re attempting your best, but you’re tongue-tied. With each push, he catapults your body forwards, but your mind is long lost in the stratosphere. With gritted teeth and a rising, heavily breathing, golden chest, he leans in close to you, hand snaking under you and around your neck as he retries, “So?”

“I don’t know,” you blurt, and as you raise your head and look back at him, he sees a sight to behold — mascara underneath your eyes, lipstick smeared, a quivering chin. He’s fucking you so good; he must be, because you soon add, “Just do an—and I’ll let you know.”

“Good idea. Very good idea.”

He’s fucking you good. But it’s not all he’s got; not all he’s wanted for days and weeks.

No. If he unleashed all he’s been fabricating in his mind, he’d drench your cheeks in tears. And now that you permitted him to, he might just go ahead, right?

Right.

Which is why the next steps come easy to him, naturally, as if you pressed a button he’s been waiting to smash. A big, red one, like the ones in games urging you to not touch or you’d lose. But by God, right now, he’s not losing.

If he looked into his reflection in the dark window, he’d see a winner through and through.

A fiery rage courses through his burning veins. A face contorting when he lets you go, only to move his fingers back, wrapping them around the back of your neck. Shoving you into the mattress, ramming his cock into you, once more keeping the familiar pace and then—

And then he closes his eyes. Matches an expression to your yelps. Drives into your deepest core and picks up speed until, all of a sudden, it turns jarring.

Jungkook doesn’t get enough. He doesn’t know if he ever will; damn the approaching end of this. There shouldn’t be one; he should be capable of ruining you forever. Maybe he will be.

For now, he directs his thoughts fully on how you feel and how you sound, uncaring about the jagged breathing that burns up his chest. Leaning forward, he attempts twice until he catches your ears, nibbling at your earlobe.

At first, he doesn’t know if you register the touch, given that he’s occupying you with far crazier sensations. But then you reach out a hand, panting into the pillow, grabbing a patch of his hair. 

And he, fired up and insane, leans back, gripping your wrist, removing it from his mane and pinning it to your back instead. Your face moves to the side, not muffled by the pillow anymore, and you gasp for air before you beg, “Please, I’m about to—”

That’s all you get, because he soon interrupts with a cheeky, “You can hold on for a bit longer,” pausing on purpose. He wants to see you when you come. Wants to wipe more of your make up across your face. Wants to kiss the colour of your lipstick onto his own lips.

Letting your orgasm fade, he waits, just a couple seconds, allowing you to catch your breath until your eyebrows furrow. You blink repeatedly, then looking up into his eyes, and it’s all he needs to feel his patience dissipate again.

Jungkook gets into a new position, leaving one knee deep in the mattress while angling the other leg, planting its foot on the sheets. He keeps his cock from falling out, leading the tip and the shaft back in before he resumes to fuck you wound.

Your arm is still hostage to his grip, the nails of your other hand gripping the sheet for dear life. It’s gorgeous, the view from where Jungkook looks down at his meal. Crazy how you purr and whine when he leans in, touching your swollen clit, electrifying you. And he keeps looking at you.

At the upper body waving a white flag, too weak to keep yourself upright anymore. And then, the ass in the air staying firmly at its place, his dick aiding you, the flesh of your cheeks wobbling with each thrust, like an ocean wave. Whenever it collides with his hips, the slaps resound temptingly, and Jungkook soon mimics it by letting his hand fall hard on your ass.

You mewl, calling out his name twice, the second cry half uttered, half of the Jungkook omitted. And when you catch the tiniest of your breaths, still working with drying lungs, you say, “L-let me come, please—”

“Wait,” he says again, still sadistic, still masochistic, absolutely out of his mind before an idea lights up his mind. “This isn’t it yet.”

The finger working on your nub was an evil tactic, he’s got to admit. Perhaps he led you to believe something he’s not ready to give you yet, and once you seem to realise, you let out a sob.

And he’s positively delighted once he stops. Lowers his head to look at you. Sees the dark, smeared mascara on his pillow when he digs his fingers in your hair, pulling your head back as he says, “I know. You thought we were done, right? We’re not done, though.”

“Wha—”

He lets his body fall onto the mattress, right next to you, and pulls you in, back against his chest. Hand under your tits, pressing against them, moving them up and down before pinching your nipple once.

“I said,” he repeats, probably unnecessarily, because he doesn’t think you actually demand an answer, “I’m not done. Understand?”

And as expected, you don’t nod or answer. You only push your body further into his, and he reckons that’s a mighty sufficient implication already.

As you lay sideways with a breath as heavy as his, his exhales hot against your ear, you let out sounds reminiscent of marathon runners. You’re exhausted, sweaty, and so is he — but neither of you are finished, and he’d be damned if he permitted the night to end like this.

Diligently, he throws your quivering leg over his; your impish remarks have lessened since he took over, and in turn, his own insolent emotions are reigning supremely. He leads his submerged, rock-hard, twitching cock to your battered cunt, pushing in so easily he thinks he’s dreaming.

It’s like putting a key into its lock.

“Ahh, fuck.” It’s hard to fully bottom out in this position, but he can touch you so much better now. He lets his hands explore your bare body, fondling with your tits, kissing your ear and jaw. “Hold tight. You’re doing so good for me, sweetheart.”

It’s cruel, he knows; the gentle praises as he wreaks havoc down there. He crosses your wrists against your tummy, holding them tight, and you close to him. Fucks you dumb and stupid as you wail in his arms. Moves to your clit and gives it pleasant, gentle rubs, so opposite from the rest of his ministrations.

And the pressure builds. His balls, hard as steel, prepare to shoot their load into you, his cock impossibly stiff, but… but…

You haven’t come yet. And this position won’t do. Can’t do, won’t do, he needs to see you.

So he echoes, “Won’t do,” as he gets up again, keeping the previous position short lived. Doesn’t stay away for too long before he’s on his knees, pulling your legs apart, after the briefest interruptions deep inside again before he leans into you.

And then, everything happens crazy fast.

How he keeps you from wrapping your arms around him; instead, capturing your wrists once again, raising them next to your head. How he moves to kiss you for the first time after quite a while, intertwining your tongues, moaning hard as he feels his high approach.

The fast pace changes a little as he loses his mind and focus, one of the strokes stopping as he almost pulls out, and then plunges in again. Your fingers curl in, nails sharp enough to dig into the digits that hold you, and he cries out in delight, letting a breathy chuckle fall.

He says, “Alright, yeah. Next time… we’re tying you up. Love how you whine.” He lets one hand go, gripping your face again and you move your touch to his shoulder immediately, gasping. “You always p-play the mysterious girl, huh? But you’re so pathetic right now.”

The inhibitions are out the window. The overthinking, too. Whatever he thought might make you run away from him has long exited his mind, because he’s got you right here, under his control, nearing the end.

There’s no going back. No return to his yearning, because you’ve satisfied it so thoroughly.

Time to give it all back to you. One last time before he submerges himself in all his glorious egotism.

“There we go,” he says as he watches your expressions change. You open your mouth but don’t say anything. He doesn’t know what your orgasm feels like, but he knows you’re going through it. “Let it all out. Cream my cock, I fucking dare you.”

He’s saying whatever now, he knows. But he doesn’t have the capacity to think much as creases appear on your forehead and between your eyebrows, tongue mingling with his for a short moment when he goes in for another kiss, barely succeeding.

You’re trembling, lifting your hips as much as the weight above you allows, wanting more friction, more of a touch inside your pussy, on your clit, everywhere. And then, when you do come… when he brings the stars from the sky into your eyes…

Yours roll back into your head. Throwing it back, giving him access to your neck. Lips still apart, and he uses it to push a finger into your mouth, on top of your tongue. And fuck… how your pussy constricts. How it tightens so fucking much.

He’d be lying if he said it didn’t affect him.

So much so that his head spins; and as he feels himself getting dizzy, he buries his face in the pillow next to your head before moving it to kiss your shoulder. Barely looks at you anymore; doesn’t care, it’s his high now, he wants to fucking come, and that’s it.

Finally, finally he’s gotten to this point.

Will he hate himself for these thoughts later? Is this too over the top? He doesn’t know and he doesn’t care, doesn’t care.

His thoughts are occupied, alright, don’t need another string of questions to intervene. His attention remains resolutely on his movements, vigorous, rhythmic, your sounds perfectly matching each of his strokes.

And your hands, the poor little palms, unsure where to settle. This isn’t new; across this broad back of his, every girl’s touch wanders like this. Your nails scratch the small of his back, then up his spine, across the muscles of his shoulder blades.

The fact that you’re a goner as much as him, giving yourself to him is probably the last of reassurances he needs — as if any more were required. Because still panting into your skin, eyes shut tight, he works towards the peak of his sanity, exhausted but eager as he relishes the wet tightness of your pussy; surrounding him just right, still clenching, unclenching from your orgasm.

And then—

“Ohhh, fuck,” he whispers.

His voice is shaking uncontrollably; he barely recognises it. Which… must mean this is new, right? Experience be damned, apparently you spark off phenomena nobody has ever acquainted him with before.

And oh, how you make it worse once he finally emerges again, as if catching his breath after holding it underwater for too long. Your eyes are hooded as he gets on his knees over your body, caging your hips in between his legs. Gripping one of your tits, you nibble your lower lip for a second before letting out laboured breathing, nose flaring.

It’s all he needs. All that’s left when he rips off the condom and envelops his filthy cock with his veiny hand, stroking immediately and hard. Close to the end as he rushes to ask, “Where do you want it?”

You understand what he’s asking, and nod, back to yourself when you utter mysteriously, “Anywhere but inside…” Okay. No time to ask why not — but he wouldn’t have anyway. He obliges, giving his all, one more second left before you tell him just in time, “Here.”

Your palm rubs across your skin, moving over your tits and your stomach. So he’s quick to opt away from your face and redirect his aim to where you pointed, moaning out a couple last, broken vocals before he finally spills.

Milky white, multiple blotches scattered over your skin, like a modern art painting. He’d rather draw these all day than be stuck with you in a museum restaurant, staring from afar, wishing he could reach out under the goddamn public table.

Going until he’s empty, he senses a relief unknown to him thus far, mind suddenly vacant. Once again, the ocean; he feels like the ocean. Like the water as it stills and calms after a thunderous storm. You lifted the waves of his sea high above and have now turned him into a lazy, peaceful lake.

God, he should fuck you more often; you make him a poet.

Okay. Okay, where was he?

When did he unfocus? Dizzy all of a sudden. He puffs out a breath. Then takes another look at you. Watches as you spread the sticky substance over your mounds, touching your nipple, so indecently messy.

The smirk is unintentional but inevitable, reaching far as he shakes his head at you. You smile back wordlessly, and he lets his fingertip run over his cum, too, bringing it to your lips as he asks, “Taste?”

You don’t answer. Thinking for the barest second before you scoff, stretching out your tongue before he puts the finger on it; closing your eyes, sucking it clean. He groans at the feeling; luckily, he’ll be immobile for the foreseeable future, or he’d bend you over again.

“Okay. That should be enough for now,” he breathes, letting himself fall next to you. “I promise I’m a lot more energised on other days. But…” He turns towards you, pinching your chin, bringing your face close. “God, did you take me out there. I’m beat.”

He doesn’t kiss you; only drops back, still filling his lungs with new oxygen. Pity — he still wants you, but his muscles are aching. Eyes shutting.

Then opening again when he hears you laugh, right before you say, “You don’t need to prove your endurance to me. I’ve got a pretty good idea of it now. Besides— let’s be honest. I didn’t do much.”

“Oh, you did more than enough, sweetheart,” Jungkook retorts with a snicker, giving his eyes some relief. He sighs, and then adds, “Your existence did it for me already. Wouldn’t have wanted it any other way.”

He shoves his arm under his head, the other untidily covering the two of you with the blanket; whatever. He’ll wash it tomorrow. For now, the two of you should probably get some rest. Although—

Did you say you wanted to stay? He didn’t catch it if you did. Perhaps he’s also just inattentive; suddenly remembers that he still has a long way to go socially, remembering that permission is courtesy. Selfish, selfish, selfish.

“Uhm,” he starts; this is awkward. He doesn’t do this often — not many stay overnight anyway. Strangely, he didn’t question it with you; maybe because he wants you to. “Do you want me to bring you home?”

“In all honesty, I… I don’t think you can drive tonight. We’re both not sober yet, so I’ll just leave in the morning. Need to be in the office by noon.”

“Ah? Why?”

“Meeting with Tae. I forgot that he wanted to go through a few organisational things for the upcoming concert.”

Concert preparations. Organisational things. The company.

Jungkook forgot about it all. Responsibilities still exist. Of course, he needs to be in the office tomorrow afternoon, too. This is his dream, his goal, everybody’s eyes on him, the biggest source of entertainment in the country.

Feels so stupid, forgetting you’ll leave at some point. That he can’t flip you over again all day tomorrow, that you’ll be occupied somewhere else, with someone else. Jungkook grits his teeth.

“You wanna come over again tomorrow night?” he asks.

And all of a sudden, despite the last hour, you seem lost in thoughts again. Probably tired, but he can’t help but overthink. You don’t answer immediately, keeping him on the edge, and as he thinks you’ve fallen asleep, he looks over, seeing your eyes open when you say, “Don’t know. Might have a couple things to tend to.”

Ah… okay. Sure.

Where’s your mind right now, he wonders?

Maybe circling around work. Maybe your urge to go is as little as his? All these things, they don’t sound too delightful right now, do they?

Concert preparations. Organisational things. The company. Tae.

When did you start using his nickname like this? Weird. Didn’t know the two of you were so close. Then again, does it matter? No. He shakes his head.

Shakes it slowly, making sure you don’t notice, sighing again before he breaks into a smile. It’s okay. You’re next to him. Not next to Taehyung. His friend. You’re covered in him. So he doesn’t let another’s name fog his brain, instead seeking peace and succeeding until—

“Don’t worry, another time,” you say, following up with a goosebump-inducing, “I’ll stick around until my feet tingle.”

Somewhere… at some point in his life… under probably not the best circumstances— 

Wait.

THE FIC ISN'T OVER YET!! PLS READ 👇🏼

as always, tumblr hates content creators and has a 1k block limit. which is why you can read the rest of the story in this reblog hehe we're almost at the end <3

[kyri45]

✨ShadowPeach Bio Parents Bio AU Q&A! 08/10✨

Welcome to the Q&A! A space where I can answer related or similar question about the Shadowpeach Bio Parents AU! If you submitted your ask anonimously, then you’ll have to check the whole post if it’s answered here, if it’s not, worry not! Your asks might have been used for a future comic or just in the queue~

Anonimo ha chiesto: I feel like in cannon baby MK was the kind of kid to eat glue, mainly because he hatched from a rock and doesn't know what anything is.

isn’t it like how all babies are? I think I also used to eat glue

@purpleprinceblood ha chiesto: In the spicynoodles bit where you explain how Red Son was charmed by Mk's beautiful personality and kind nature (/silly), you said Mk is Demi sexual Do you have other sexuality headcanons for the cast, or is it just "they're gay for each other"?

Pan for Mei, Bi for Redson, both Wukong and Macaque are in a way pan, in the sense that they don’t really care about gender, but are only gay for each other.

@kehideni ha chiesto: Whatever happened with never drawing a background ever again? :D On a more serious note: may we know the exact relation of DBK and Chiyou(did i spell that right?)? I'm just the nosy type :3

Chiyou has 72 brothers, one of them is an ancestor of DBK

@marcusalexander ha chiesto: I have a question is spider queen in your comic, and if so, is she like a part of the team or enemy or anuite? I'm just curious since she isn't that evil. By the way, I love your comic shadowpeach parents

The AU is set after S5, so I guess she’s enemy

Anonimo ha chiesto: Macaque HAS to be doing a little happy dance in the bio parents AU that murder isn’t considered distinct from self-defense Imagine being like… a legitimate threat to the world around you, and getting put down to defend it, and then being hailed as “the less bad one” because you were killed But this also means that MK probably views himself as a murdered for killing the LBD/Azure Lion too cause again “killing in self defense/defense of others= murder

most likely MK feels super duper guilty for what he did, and will continue to be until he get some extra comfort.

@goldenthecat ha chiesto: I'm wondering, since you watch lmk do you watch other Lego shows too? Like Ninjago or friends

does having saw the ninjago movie and a 4 hours video essay recap about the first 14 season count?

@haruwashere29 ha chiesto: Did wukong put his head over macaque’s chest to hear his heartbeat? 😭😭😭

OH OK NOW WE ARE ON WITH THE ANGST. YES 100%

Anonimo ha chiesto: You said Wukong is warm , change my mind that macaque has absolutely put his cold feet straight on wukongs back while he was sleeping not just cause he was cold but because he thought it was funny

hehe he has cold feet poor boy.

@og-glitch-punk ha chiesto: I'm haunting you at thisnpoint im so sorry but your lmk comic gives ideas and thoughts bro lmao /gen SO HERES ANITHER THOUGHT... If you technically think about it, MK is basically an clone (not but words are EHHH) of Sun wukong because they came from the sane rock. But what about our spooky Macaque? We have no knowledge of how he came to be but we all may assume it's the same way with MK and Wukong. but.. BUT. If Macaque had his own stone somewhere in the shadows then what if there's an basically MK but Macaque verison? Even if not, that would be wild to think about lol

like a slightly more emo version of MK? Something like the OK KO situation?

Anonimo ha chiesto: Hello I just wanted to say I'M IN LOVE WITH YOUR COMIC it's sooooo good I'm obsessed and the recent part... I have no word only emotion Even though I use Tumblr for a while I still getting use to it so.. do you know any other Shadowpeach comics? I couldn't find any 😅

mmmm @kristea9ay is doing a shadowpeach parent story that’s really cute!

Anonimo ha chiesto: I NEED to see wukong and macaque having a cute moment and accidentally touch each others tails yk? 🥺🥺🥺 (and mk quitting is a stab to the chest, i dont think there is anything worse in store... Right?... RIGHT?!)

at this point they ain’t touching the tails “accidentally” anymore these bitches are too gay I can’t anymore-

@amyrosewithoutshadow ha chiesto: I think the next one that will need Sandy is Wukong, lol I always thought about one thing, how Wukong deal with traumas and crises? We only saw him dealing with it during his sleep, but what about a daylight crises? Love your art 💞

he has a “I can do it with a broken heart”-by-taylor-Swift-masking situation.

@alizardonfire ha chiesto: I understand why MK doesn't want to be their successor mostly because I think he needs time to think about all of it. There's a lot to unpack! I love how wukongs more shocked about it. And I think macaque kinda saw it coming?

i think Mac forseen that MK would have changed his view on Wukong for sure. But he didn’t know in which way.

@siennabanana ha chiesto: HDBDJDBDHSHDV NEW HEADCANON UNLOCKED: sometimes he misses his human form but he doesn’t tell wukong and macaque bc he feels like that would be an insult to them and plus he still thinks his monkey form is cool but eughhh dysphoriaa

awwww he might be sometimes! Good thing they are starting to hang out outside FFM as well!

@blazerratbluefire-blog ha chiesto: If Wukong ever manages to be able to control his kaiju form, I could easily see Macaque's kaiju form using him as a bed, and along comes MK wanting in on the action. Then, he proceeds to lay on top of Macaque, squishing him with his kaiju and making a wholesome monkey family bonding session. With Wukonh laughing that Macaque is being squished. Just a funny thought I had.

oh my I think he would be waaayyy to big for the other two ahah

Anonimo ha chiesto: For your LMK shadowpeach AU will Ironfan be making up for all of MK's birthdays she missed? (Dropping off a mountain of presents at FFM?) (My partner joked she would give Redson in a box, not in a bow or anything just in an open box like a cat.)

she would probably make a courtnapping room for her son to gift him, and Red Son would die from embarrassment right there.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Dose macaque sometimes cook for MK and wukong since wukong tends to eat his fur/hair and macaque fonts approve of it

I think yes, he would cook probably really basics but nutrient-full meals, the few times they don’t eat noodle from pigsy shop

Anonimo ha chiesto: TCan we get Red Son and MK Angst because Red Son technology tried to kill MK a lot of times?

just bc of the AU main plot I don’t think so, also bc at this point traffic light trio are all friends with each other.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Speaking of birthdays, I assume Pigsy and Tang celebrate when MK showed up in their life or a random day when MK first asked about his birthday. Would Wukong and Macaque ask Nuwa the day he was put in the rock/broken out of it (I assume he came out and was immediately brought to Pigsy the same day but idk) or is that sort of a sore subject still, with the whole harbinger thing?

I think the best thing would be to celebrate it the day they found it!

@yuk1yun ha chiesto: Giuro che è un mese che provo a rendere il mio cosplay di mk simile alla tua au (perché anche se è semplice è stupendo), ma non so come fare le orecchie... Sono di nuovo qui per dirti quanto adoro la rua au btw :)

ADUYDJYTDY SE HAI BISOGNO DI RIFERIMENTI FAMMI SAPERE! E MANDAMI IL RISULTATO QUANDO HAI FINITO!!!!

Anonimo ha chiesto: I'm just waiting until Mk realizes the other things Wukong and Macaque did, yk like what Sun did to Redson, what Mac did to some of the monkeys all that

I think with time MK will slowly learn everything, but for example I guess now Red Son and Wukong are at truce

Anonimo ha chiesto: I'm just obsessed with your shadowpeach comics!!✨✨ But heey~ how about bai he!? l think it will be super amazing if add her in the future to this little cute monkeys family

awww baby!! I hope she went back to her family honestly! But I also hope sometimes she visits MK!

@yainmy ha chiesto: Oh gods I when I found this bio parents au I got HOOKED. I love it so much and the shenanigans and the angst are just *chef's kiss*. I have some curious questions if you don't mind me asking, but if a similar situation happens in the future like when mk got baby-fied, but instead his forms get split up (human and monkey demon) would he have that child crisis of fear "if im not this certain way they wont want me as theirs anymore", considering he is still learning about the whole monkey business? Also in a shenanigans sort of question, I don't remember how stone monkeys are made in their world but it would be hilarious if mk asked wukong and macaque that since they both are male and they technically "had" him then does that mean they can give him a sibling if they wanted? Sorry if it's to long of an ask 😅

i think MK would mostly feel a sense of loss for the fact that in a way, things should have been like this, like when he “hatched” Wukong probably would have found him if it wasn’t for the fact someone or something brought it to Pigsy shop. He would have grown up with someone who could tell him how to be a stone Monkey and teach him his power. Surely, I think Wukong wouldn’t have been as good as a parent as Pigsy, and MK doesn’t regret a bit how things actually ended up happening, but it’s a bit of a case of “sometimes I imagine how my life would have been if it went this way”

Anonimo ha chiesto: I know it's a bit out of the scope of your comic, but I'm wondering if Mei's design is just stylistic additions as if they were always there due to her dragon heritage, or if you have any ideas of scenes that took place as she grew more dragon features?

she started to grow more and more into them after she was accepted by her family sword and started to use her dragon form more and more.

Anonimo ha chiesto: Do you ever think Macaque and Wukong argue over who the little monkeys on the mountain like more? Like Im 100% sure Macaque wouldn't really care but the idea of not being the favorite bothers Wukong

the monkeys go crazy for soft fur Mamacaque. Wukong will always be pissed at this.

@snsp6 ha chiesto: do u like the hc that Mac has naturally snow-white fur? cs when u showed him wo glamours I realized that u don’t rlly color anything so I wanted to ask if it was still black or some type of mix between the two

akjdkajsbkaj I love for that shit YES. Yeah I don’t really colour my comics but yeah he cover it with glamour

Anonimo ha chiesto: I don't think MK ever really acknowledged that Wukong is a person, still a glorified deity. As mentioned MK hasn't really read the actual book and really didn't know his flawed side. MK has seen the worst parts of Macaque and still accepted him.

and now he knows about Wukong worst oarts and still accept him :D

@alistairliddell ha chiesto: What is FFM?

Flower Fruit Mountain

[nyanbin]

ღ infrunami — p.wb

03. awesome cool bros of apt 7a

꒰ EPISODE LENGTH ꒱ 2.2k words (oops...me when dat exposition pill hit)

꒰ AUTHOR’S NOTE ꒱ texts at the end of the chapter! also i took it upon myself to change the blog names on my taglist based on who i saw replied/asked!! so if you changed your blog name lmk if you want a diff blog to be tagged or if you would like me to remove the one i put :D

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𖦹 APR. 28 (YEAR 1, SPRING) — 6:42 PM

FROM YOUR SPOT BY THE WINDOW, you eye your potential roommates at their table across the café, observing the three of them as they chat and bicker. One of them, a taller boy who looked to be the youngest of the three, was in the middle of swatting another boy’s hand away as he tries to steal a piece from the pastry on his plate.

Was this really going to be your future?

Begrudgingly, you have to admit to yourself: Eunseok was right, after all. This was an almost ideal situation. A nice building you were already familiar with, relatively low rent, and your friends living right down the hall. It’s just… three male roommates? You must be crazy to be even considering it. 

But you’re not really in a position to pick and choose at the moment, because every other place you’ve looked at until now has been… subpar, to say the least. And you didn’t know how much longer you could withstand your current living situation: third-wheeling your roommate and her boyfriend for almost two-thirds of your day, every day, was not exactly a fun time. 

This was the best you were gonna get. How bad could it be, really?

Steeling yourself, you downed the rest of your drink and got up from your chair to make your way over to them, your hands clutching the strap of your bookbag.

A single thought rings through your mind the whole way there: God, I can’t believe I’m doing this.

None of them seem to notice when you approach their table, so you lightly clear your throat to get their attention. The first one you make eye contact with is the one you assume to be Wonbin, the doe-eyed boy who you had singled out to Eunseok earlier as “the one with the cute face.” With him in front of you now, you grimace inwardly. You would’ve never in your life confessed this thought to Eunseok if you had known you would meet him, let alone possibly end up living with him. When Wonbin notices you, he raises his eyebrows, blinking up at you. It’s a subtle gesture, but it has you nervously flitting your eyes to the other two boys’ faces, who are now also looking at you with similarly slightly surprised expressions.

You try a smile and a small wave, eyes scrunching in what you hoped looked like friendliness. “Hi… so—”

“Hey! You’re Eunseok’s friend, right?” One of the other boys speaks up before you can get another word out. “He must’ve told you we were here, too. I’m Sungchan, by the way; nice to meet you!” He has a toothy smile plastered on his face.

Flustered by his eagerness, the script that you had written in your head in preparation for this interaction dissipates into thin air. You blink at Sungchan for a few moments before coming up with a response. “Oh, um, I’m y/n. It’s nice to meet you, too.”

The other two boys introduce themselves to you as well. The one to the left was the one you had correctly assumed to be Wonbin. His introduction is curt, just his name spoken with a single corner of his mouth upturned. In the middle of the three was Anton, who seemed slightly more bashful, but still personable with the way he smiled up at you. Remembering his name from your conversation with Eunseok redirects your mind to the matter at hand, and now you’re trying to find a way to break the news to the three boys.

“I don’t know why Eunseok never introduced us!” Sungchan continues as you deliberate your options. ”I’m glad you did it yourself, I was worried he might never do it. And I don’t know what he’d do if we had approached you ourselves.” He ends his thought with a short, nervous laugh.

Wonbin, who you have been avoiding eye contact with the whole time, seems to realize you’re still standing over them, nervously fiddling with the strap of your bag. “You can sit, you know,” he murmurs, gesturing to the only empty chair left at the table.

You hesitate, but then nod sheepishly before taking a seat. Wonbin looks at you as you do so, as he sips on the straw of his drink, but you can’t tell what he’s thinking. On the other hand, Sungchan and Anton seem eager to get to know you, seemingly having forgotten their current commitment. 

Looking at their enthusiastic expressions, you figure you should tell them now or you might never get to, so you speak up before they can say anything. “Hold on, just—give me a sec,” you take out your phone and show it to them, the screen opened up to your text messages with the unknown number you now know to be Anton. “You guys are here for the apartment, right?”

They all lean in, peering at your phone screen. You watch their eyes flicker down as they read the messages, biting your lip as you await their reaction.

“Huh? So you… you’re the one who texted?” Anton asks first. “Oh my god, I forgot we were even here for that. I figured they just weren’t gonna show up after waiting for so long.” 

“We told you, Anton! You should’ve at least figured out their name first!” Sungchan says, chastising Anton with a light slap to his shoulder. “Now, look what’s happened. Hey, at least this got us to finally meet, huh?” he continues, turning to you, laughter lacing his words. Wonbin seems to find it amusing, too; he has a slight grin on his face as he shakes his head in disbelief.

“Yeah…” You inhale through your nose, exhaling as you say your next few words with uncertainty. “Well, I’m still interested, actually.”

The three of them stare at you, dumbfounded. “You still… want to move in? With us?” Sungchan asks slowly. His mouth is slightly agape, but the corners of his mouth are upturned in bemusement.

“I know, I know. I almost just gave up and left without talking to you guys when Eunseok said it was you three,” you say, hurriedly trying to explain yourself. “But, listen, I’ve been looking for a new place for ages and this is literally the best one I’ve found, and I don’t know when—or if—I’m gonna be able to find one as good as it. And I hate to have to plead my case, but I promise I’m a really good roommate, like the best! If it helps, Eunseok would be living, like, 50 feet away from us and I’m friends with the other guys, too! I just really, really, need this…” 

The three of them blink at you as you add a final, desperate, “Please?” They then turn to each other, and you sense they might have wordlessly agreed to something. Sungchan holds a hand up apologetically as they all stand, saying, “Sorry, give us a minute. Bro huddle.”

“That’s not a thing. We don’t do that,” Anton says, shaking his head, a frown on his face. He’s still waving his hands in denial as he’s pulled into the huddle. “Don’t listen to him.”

With their backs turned to you, Sungchan decides in a hushed voice. “So… she seems cool. I vote yes.”

“Dude, we’ve barely just met her,” Wonbin retorts.

“Well, yeah, says the one hardly even talking to her.” Wonbin opens his mouth in protest, but Sungchan continues without letting him defend himself. “Besides, if she’s friends with the other guys, I’m sure she actually is cool.”

“I don’t know, man. It’s just—she’s a girl, you know?” Wonbin says. When the other two boys squint their eyes at him, he waves his hands, hurriedly saying, “I didn’t mean it like that! I just feel like living with a girl would be completely different. I mean, have any of you guys lived with a girl?”

They all pause to ponder his point, since, after all, he was right: none of the three boys had sisters. Then, Sungchan’s eyes light up and he snaps, remembering something. “Hey, didn’t you live with your ex before, Wonbin?”

“What?” Wonbin raises his eyebrows at him. “Do you mean the trip I went on with her family? All we did was sleep in the same house for like… three days.”

“That’s basically living with a girl!” But Wonbin, obviously, is still not convinced.

“Well, I think she seems nice, too,” Anton interjects. “And I feel like she’d be a better roommate than the both of you combined.” He shrugs as the two older boys shoot him a glare. “I’m just saying; I don’t see how this could be a bad thing. If anything, she’s the one who practically poured out her heart and soul to us. We have no reason to turn her down!”

“Dramatic much?” Wonbin teases, and Anton scrunches his nose at him with a pout.

“In any case, that’s a 2-to-1 vote, Wonbin,” Sungchan declares. “You lose.”

Wonbin sighs, defeated. In truth, he wasn’t exactly sure why he was against you living with them. Like Anton and Sungchan, he found your demeanor to be actually quite charming, and he could easily see himself being friends with you. Yet, there was something about you that made him feel… nervous? Skeptical? Whatever it was, it was evident in the fact that he had spoken very little since you had approached them. But he chalked it up to him just being unfamiliar with you, a friend of a friend who had just offered to be their new roommate, and that whatever he was feeling would fade away soon.

Still seated at the table, you watch them murmuring to each other, nervously drumming your fingers against the tabletop. They break off the “bro huddle”, returning to their seats with serious expressions as if they just came from a very important executive business meeting.

There’s a beat of silence as you await their decision, and then Anton says, “Alright, you’re in.”

“Really?!” you exclaim, thrilled despite your apprehensiveness just a few minutes ago.

“Yeah, just to make sure, though,” he says, eyebrows raised and lips pursed, “you’re certain about this, right?” 

It dawns on you they’re probably looking out for you, since, even though this apartment checks a lot of things off your list, a girl living with three guys was still not the most ideal living situation. But this considerate gesture makes you even more appreciative of your future roommates, so you eagerly assured him, “Yeah! I’m one hundred percent sure!” (Definitely an overestimate, in retrospect.)

“Okay, cool, let’s talk details then!” Anton exclaims, clasping his hands together and setting them on the table. He goes into a spiel about what to expect once you move in, talking about things like the rent, the fussy old landlord, and how the garbage disposal has been broken for weeks now but they’re all too lazy to call a plumber so they resort to shoving a broom handle down there whenever it gets backed up. (A little concerning to you, but, hey, if it works!)

“Oh, and one last thing: you’ll have a room to yourself, obviously, but you’re gonna have to share a bathroom with Wonbin. Is that fine with you?”

You glance at Wonbin, who gives you the faintest of smiles. Ironically, he was the one you felt the least at ease with at this point, given his lack of engagement compared to the other two, but you had zero inclination to complain about such a small thing now. Besides, you were sure that this arrangement would somehow force the two of you to bond, in one way or another. “Yeah, I’m cool with that. My apartment right now only has one bathroom so I’m pretty much used to it.”

“We can show you around the apartment some time this week, if you want! When do you think you can move in?”

“Well, I’m busy with classes at the moment so I don’t think I’ll have enough time until, maybe, around the end of the week?”

“Sounds like a plan!” Anton proclaims, smiling with his eyes. Sungchan excitedly offers you an outstretched hand, ready to seal the deal, and you take it with a smile. You glance at Wonbin expectantly, but he still doesn’t say much, just offering a soft, quiet “congrats”, before leaning back into his chair. He seems content with being mostly an observer as you, Anton, and Sungchan get further acquainted with each other, only chiming in every now and then to make an offhand comment or give a brief response to one of your questions.

Sungchan, at one point, half-jokingly asks, “Okay, real talk though, who do you think’s the most attractive out of the three of us?”, causing Anton to jokingly grab the front of his t-shirt as if to fight him in your defense. To your surprise, Wonbin joins in, playfully wrapping an arm around Sungchan's shoulders in a half-headlock and ruffling his hair with a fist. Sungchan cries out in complaint, eliciting a fit of giggles out of you, your shoulders shaking as you watch the three boys grapple at each other.

It’s not something you would’ve expected from yourself half an hour prior, laughing and getting along with three boys who you had not only just met, but who were also going to be your new roommates within the week. But, hey, you figured that things change, right?

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꒰ AUTHOR’S NOTE ꒱ this took forever me to write for no reason sawryyy 😭 it also turned out WAYY longer than i was expecting but what can i say i am a yapper at heart (p.s. spot the new girl reference? :3)

꒰ TAGLIST ꒱ open! leave an ask or comment to be added :) (strikethrough = can’t be tagged)

@parkwonbinie @icyona @yoursyuno @onlyhyunjin @naviiy @eepiestgirl @jvngw0nlvr @i03jae @started-with-f-ends-with-uck @annswwa @secretiny @pxnklover @yipyipmorals @mumeimei @planethyuka @soheendo @film-sea @suzayaaa @molensworld @revehosh @winuvs @wonychu @shoberi @nujeskz @swagpersonthings @byeonwooseokabs @5telephones @gyehyeonist @snowyseungs @pinklemonade34 @bunni @fae-renjun @enhacolor

[love-fictional-ppl]

Helloooooo

She's not on your masterlist but I was wondering if you could write for Pieck Finger ? 👉👈

Have a nice day/night. :D

Ofcc!! Tyyy for the request babes!!! Idk if you had anything specific in mind so I’m just going to write headcanons. If you wanted something else pls lmk and I will write it🙏🏻🙏🏻

Being in a relationship w/ Pieck Finger

Summary: the title😭

Pairings: Pieck Finger x gn!reader

Warnings: anything Marley needs a warning, mention of marriage and children, inequality (it’s Marley what do you expect)

She love taking naps on your chest, it doesn’t matter where you are if she’s tired and your chest is available.

Forgets she’s not in titan form a lot, so you have to remind her to walk on two feet

If you’re a Eldian civilian than she doesn’t like to tell you about her day as a warrior (she also would want you to marry her so you can be a honorary Marleyan)

If you are also a warrior than she probably breaks down to you more than if you were a civilian

Was super nervous to have you and her dad meet, not because she thought you wouldn’t get along but because you’re both the most important people in her life

Whenever she comes back from a mission you’re the first person she wants to see

If you’re a warrior than she will get super worried about you on missions and probably get distracted a bit

Honestly she would love cooking together I feel like, she would get a little smile on her face and laugh when she sees the mess you both made

The kids all want to be invited to your wedding

All the fellow warriors are super supportive of your relationship. Even commander Magath is supportive

He probably called you both eldian slurs

Porco will fight for the place of godfather over your possible future children

When she was in Paradis she wondered if you both could live a normal life like the people within the walls (as normal as it gets)

Loves when you both just lay together and talk about your future with eachother even if it’s a unrealistic one

When in town if she sees something she knows you like she will grab it for you, forget she grabbed it, and then give it to you

You both don’t argue often but when you do she wins the argument.

Overall Pieck is a 10/10 girlfriend and will beat somebody up for you

[merakiui]

Dr. Riddle! He’s so scummy and gross and ooooh I need him.

Imagine being his captive wifey who he’s obsessed with. Every decision he makes for you is based on how good it’ll be for your fertility <3 Food that stimulates your hormones, stretches and exercises that prepare the body for labor and birth.

And don’t forget the nights when Dr. Riddle ties you down has you lie down and open your legs. He pushes two fingers into your wet cavern, spreading you out and inspecting your insides to make sure they’re healthy. Poking and prodding all the sensitive spots and gauging your reactions!! Nursing on your clit even when you cry that it’s too much and try to squirm away. If you try, he’ll just tie you down tighter so he can enjoy his meal <3 orgasms just make you more pliant for him.

Riddle makes you take a pregnancy test every day. You’re dreading the day it comes out positive but he’s so excited and happy. He could be a normal loving husband if not for the lovesick look in his eyes.

(Hello Mera! I have another idea about Silver and Malleus but I’m not sure if the topic of death by childbirth triggers you? It’s a little dark so lmk if it’s not something you’d want to see!)

He's so lovesick, even more so when that test finally comes back positive. You're not sure how it's possible for him to love you even more than he already does, but that love somehow multiplies when he learns you're finally, after so many tries, carrying his baby!!! He can't wait to start a family with you. He's always wanted to give his child the childhood he never had, so he's determined to be a loving, patient father. It may be frustrating when you pull away from his touch, glare at him and call him mean things, or insist you'll never love him, but he contents himself with the factual statistic that you will eventually warm up to him. It just takes time for you to learn to love him, your captor and only source of human connection, so one day he'll wake up to you returning his affections.

Riddle's so fond of you, especially your belly! He can't believe he's going to be a father. It's so surreal to think he's getting the life he's always wanted and everything is all his choice. He doesn't have to worry about whether his mother will approve of you because she'll never know you or the baby exist. Riddle gets to build such a perfect future with you, and as the months tick away and your due date draws near he's so excitedly nervous. He worries because it's in his nature to do so, but then he's certain his worries won't mean anything once you and him welcome the baby into the world. And because he's a licensed doctor, he knows just how to handle it!

That's why, though he seems harsh, he follows such a strict schedule with you. It's for the sake of your health and the baby's well-being. Just cooperate with him and everything will be fine. Besides, compliance will get you much further than disobedience will. Keep that in mind when he's massaging you, helping you get dressed, and even helping you bathe when your bump has gotten too big. He cares so much for you; you just fail to see that when you're so busy opposing him. :( one day you'll love him. He's certain of this.

(Hi hi, anon!! Please do share your idea about Silver and Malleus!!! I'd love to read it!! :D)

[mattsfavbigtitties]

SFW Alphabet/ Nick S.

Warnings: Just platonic besties here!!

MASTERLIST TAGLIST

A/n: I tried to make it as platonic as possible with you as his bestie, but if you want a diff version i'm open to do a nick/male reader :). I just wanted to include nick in the alphabet i did with the other 2 as a non-nsfw vers. lmk on my asks!!

★★★★★★★★★★★★★★★

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

 I feel like Nick wouldn’t show a lot of affection, but he’ll let it show when he feels like it or needs to. When he does he’ll cuddle you when you guys are laying in his bed hanging out or on the couch watching a movie. Some different ways he shows affection is with hand holding or just simply resting a leg or hand on you to show he’s there.

B = Best Friend (What would they be like as a best friend? How would the friendship be?)

Definitely the BEST friendship of all time!! You guys make the funniest jokes when you’re together. Lots of ‘arguments’ about stupid shit. Definitely hyping each other up and pretty much attached at the hip. Unless one of you needs time away.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

He doesn’t really cuddle a lot with you, but when the moments are right or you guys are in the comfort of his home he’ll drape an arm or rest his head on you.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Probably not ready to settle down with someone right now. With all the youtube business and space camp he doesn’t really have the time to. I say he’s pretty good about cleaning the house, but not very good at cooking. He rarely cooks, ever.

E = Ending (If they had to break up with their partner, how would they do it?)

He’d make it fast and confrontational, but at the same time in a very comforting way. (??)

F = Fiance(e)(How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Not right now in his life does he need a man or to get married. In the future though, I’d say he’d take his time with his partner. Maybe a couple years (longer.)

G = Gentle (How gentle are they, both physically and emotionally?)

Even though he jokes a lot with you he knows when the time’s right to be serious. He’d be very gentle in ways of handling you or touching you when he knows something has happened. Although if it’s just a regular day for you two(or should I say four) he’ll play around quite a bit with slapping.

H = Hugs (Do they like hugs? How often do they do it? What are their hugs like?)

LOVES his personal space bubble. I don’t think he’d hug you often enough(like everyday), but when he’s feeling up for it he’ll surely let you know.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

I think he wouldn’t say ‘I love you’ until about a year into the friendship. But before then he’d say it in a no-meaningful way. He’d say it multiple times as a “omg, thank you bestie, I love you so much!” kinda way. 

J = Jealousy (How jealous do they get? What do they do when they’re jealous?)

I don’t think he’d get very jealous unless you really distants yourself and hung out with someone else for just a while too long. Nick would literally come straight to your face and explain what’s up with that and ask questions spot on. 

K = Kisses (What are their kisses like? Where do they like to kiss you? Where do they like to be kissed?)

If he ever did kiss you on the lips I think it’d have to be from a silly truth or dare game. In the meantime he’d only ever kiss your cheek or forehead as a little affection from him to you.

L = Little Ones (How are they around children?)

I’d say he loves children. But only the ones who aren’t stuck up brats. And if you had any younger siblings he'd get along with them so well!

M = Morning (How are mornings spent with them?)

When you two sleep in his room it’s HECTIC. Waking up with the sheets practically half off and you guys star-fished across it. It’s completely crazy to Matt or Chris when one comes to wake you up.

N = Night (How are nights with them?)

Anytime you stay the night Nick always makes sure to set up a little movie dates(as friends obvi.)

O = Open (When would they start revealing things about themselves? Do they say everything all at once or wait a while to reveal things slowly?)

Nick would open you to things on a more personal level around about maybe the 5th month of being friends.

P = Patience (How easily angered are they?)

With you, I’d say he has a bit more patience than with Chris or Matt. If you do keep annoying him, like on purpose or something, he would get agitated pretty quickly once he realized you’re doing it on purpose.

Q = Quizzes (How much would they remember about you? Do they remember every little detail you mention in passing, or do they kind of forget everything?)

I think he’d really stick to the important things you’ve told him in all your years, but forget some of the little details. 

R = Remember (What is their favorite moment in your relationship?)

First time showing you his favorite show, Rupaul’s drag race. The way you got hooked so fast on it still amazes him to this day. Your face was priceless.

S = Security (How protective are they? How would they protect you? How would they like to be protected?)

I feel like Nick would be pretty protective of you. He’d stick up for you whenever someone was causing a problem for you. Just whenever you needed any help, he was there. If there was ever a boyfriend(or girlfriend, doesn’t matter) that treated you badly he would immediately act on it.

T = Try (How much effort would they put into dates, anniversaries, gifts, everyday tasks?)

Nick would definitely have an anniversary of the day you met and make it a big deal. He’d celebrate TONS that day with you.

U = Ugly (What would be some bad habits of theirs?)

I definitely see him yelling at the randomest times about something stupid that just came to his brain.

V = Vanity (How concerned are they with their looks?)

Nick seems to always worry about his weight, but any and every time he ever said anything about himself in a bad way, you were right there to pick him back up.

W = Whole (Would they feel incomplete without you?)

Totally, he wouldn’t know what to think of his life if you weren’t in it.

X = Xtra (A random headcanon for them.)

Nick inviting you to be in a car video and you guys just constantly taking WAY off topic to the point even Chris was like wtf.

Y = Yuck (What are some things they wouldn’t like, either in general or in a partner?)

Would NEVER get with a man with a loud car. But on a serious note he wouldn’t let anyone roll with shaming anyone in ANY way. (I had a brain fart guys don't come at me)

Z = Zzz (What is a sleeping habit of theirs?)

Sleeping on his back. That’s it. That’s the habit.

[maddyguru]

The Aftermath (geto s.)

Synopsis: the night Suguru turned his back against the society is an unforgettable night. As everyone mourned the loss of one of the strongest sorcerers, Yaga came to deliver a distasteful news aside from his student's betrayal; Suguru Geto is not just a mass murderer but has also become a rapist.

WARNING! this fic contains non con, incest, dark content, murder, aged up suguru and of course the reader is 18+, ptsd topics, angst, and fluff. More to add if there is. Proceed with your own caution and MINORS DO NOT INTERACT

Taglist: @artificialsmartass @sunflwrsugar @formulaaoflove @lazypinkpig @bloobewy @thebritishtwerkteam-blog @cascading-escapist @mizukilia @sinmp @ayame236 @itzmeme @sydneyyyya @ky0mybeloved

There will be future chapters, so if you want to be tagged for the next ones, please do lmk as well! I will try to update as frequent as I can aside from having a busy life.

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It was warm. Before you know it, the burning feeling of the sun washes your skin. And what’s even more ridiculous is the sound of something moving here and there.  

You slowly opened your eyes and blinked. Once. Twice. Your eyes moved around, trying to recognize your surroundings. Deep down, you prayed that everything that happened was a lie- a nightmare. It had to be a nightmare- just a bad dream.  

Your ears registered the sound- a voice. No, it was multiple voices mixing, tangled with arguments and discussions, drowning in each other’s different opinions and how things should be handled; What are they arguing about? You wondered. Why are they arguing in front of you? 

Please, let you sleep in peace.  

You don’t wanna hear it.  

“…she’s awake…”  

Yeah, thanks to you. Thanks to you, I’m awake when I could’ve stayed sleeping.  

You could feel their hands on you. You try to fight and try to move away but your legs give out. There’s no way to run; you’re glued to the hard floor and your legs are jelly. Instead of fighting, you let them land their hands on you, around you, and carry you in their arms. Your head was pressed against someone’s chest.  

You try to control it. To be aloof as much as you can. But it didn’t work. 

When your eyes landed on the floor that you were lying on, a single tear fell from your eyes.  

. 

. 

. 

. 

. 

“I heard you. I said what?”  

Yaga palmed his face. A look of disappointment, a face of despair was painted on both him and his student.  

He didn’t understand what was going on. The whole situation is a mess. He tried to comprehend this situation and tried to remain calm, collecting his mind from the shattering pieces. But when Yaga remembered the young girl he found at that house, the more he was slapped with the reality- the fact that his favorite student caused the damage. It was the truth that he refused to face.  

But it was so, oh, true.  

“I don’t know why this is happening. I, this is all so-“  

“Sensei, I said what?”  

“Satoru, I don’t get why this is happening either… why did he…?”  

“That boy, he did something even worse than this.”  

A sarcastic laugh erupted in the corridor, and Yaga looked at the boy in front of him. Confused. Is this a laughing matter? Or is Satoru too sarcastic? He hoped the latter.  

“I don’t know how you can laugh.”  

“it’s just fucking ridiculous he wouldn’t do such a thing!”  

Now that he’s shouting, Yaga knows this is bad. Tense. His pupil couldn’t grasp the fact that his best friend could turn their backs on their community. Perhaps, Satoru couldn’t accept that Suguru had turned his back on him. Either way, his heart aches.  

This is out of his fucking expectations.  

He swallowed saliva, rubbing his temples from the headache. “I know you’re confused but please stop and listen to me.”  

“Suguru is now a criminal. He killed his parents, Satoru. And not only that,” pausing, Yaga looked into the six-eye user’s blue iris.  

There’s a deep pause. Until he spoke.  

and his words made the 18-year-old boy gasp, he took a step back from Yaga and shook his head, in denial.  

Satoru. He did what he did. And there’s no denying that.  

It’s heartbreaking for me, too as his teacher. But for now, we have to be there for the girl.  

She needs us.

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Utahime couldn’t disentangle how the girl in front of her must’ve felt.

Her eyes wandered, lingering on the young woman’s face. The corner of her bottom left lip was busted, and dried blood still surfaced on her cuts, even after Shoko had sodden the wound earlier in the day. Her eyes were closed, her chest heaving up and down as a sign that she was slowly breathing. Approximately four hours after they arrived, she was rushed to the Jujutsu School's infirmary room for treatment. Shoko has gotten better in her medical studies (well, she’s the only one who pursued Jujutsu’s medical field), so she’s the one whom Yaga seeks to tend to Geto’s younger sister. Her soft snores were a clear sign that she was resting her body after God knows what happened. Utahime could only have imagined that.  

“You’re a monster. A monster!” A strangled, angry cry ripples from her lips. It’s not fair! This is a betrayal, an abuse of a human towards another human being. A protector to a civilian, a brother to a sister. He was a brother before he became a sorcerer. Then why?

What did she do that was so terrible that it drove Suguru to torture her? Among those other people?    

The wall outside of the school hallway became her punching bag. If it were not for Nanami, she would have broken her fist, and Shoko would have someone else to cater to. The situation they are handling right now is already firm. They don’t need Y/n’s best friend to throw a rampage. The principal told her and Mei to aid the Tokyo district, not add more burden. But she couldn’t fight it- there was no way she could just take the news with a poker face.    

She strode closer toward her best friend, her bandaged fist beside her torsos. Staring at the young woman, the student swore she would fight for her rights and her dignity. She stared at her, and Utahime promised herself that she would do everything in her artistry to fight for her friend whom she’d loved for 4 years already.    

“I’m gonna kill you,” Utahime muttered, enough for only herself to hear.   

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.   

The smell was awful. The copper scent, the same, as blood filled the room. The lines she took starting from the main door and further towards the living room were calculated, her eyes darting side to side. Her body is in a tense mode as she prepares herself for the worst.   

There is something wrong with her parents’ house.   

Thank God her house’s slipper doesn’t produce any sound. She’s grateful enough for that because whatever is out there has terrorized this home. 

She understood that it was past midnight. Being middle-aged couples, her parents wouldn’t stay up late, as contrasted to working adults and millennials. So, when she walked into this house from her late-night stay back at Utahime’s house and was greeted with droplets of blood on the carpet, she became psychotic.  

She was so caught up, and she knew she should call the police, the emergency hotline, or even Sugu-nii. Whoever it was, she knows she should’ve acted quickly and smartly. She was mocking herself as she slid her hands into the ripped mom jeans she was wearing, looking for her smartphone.   

Low battery. Shutting in 3, 2, 1. 

“Fuck!” she hissed, fingers tapping the blackout screen out of frustration. Frantically looking right and left of this dark room, she let out a few curses. Should’ve charged her phone when she was in the library!  

As she wandered around unconsciously, moving from one space to another and tapping her smartphone, she was startled when she bumped into hard flesh. A body. A warm, existing body.   

It was nii-san. Suguru.   

His tall and broad frame had the young girl looking up to see his face, no smile plastered contrasted to the many times he greeted her in the past. Suguru’s cheeks were painted with crimson liquid. Her brain went haywire; she refused to acknowledge that it was that familiar copper scent from earlier since her arrival. Blood. It was blood. But whose?   

Where are her parents? And shouldn't Suguru be in his boarding school?  

“Nii-san?”   

A hand clasped around her lips in an instant, and her other hand was behind her back as Suguru held her hostage. She tried screaming, only now realizing that he was the predator.  

“I'm gonna kill you." 

The words sank into her mind and down to her stomach.  

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. 

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. 

Utahime’s attention was fully on her friend, the moment she started mumbling in her sleep. Brows furrowed, shaking her head in denial, Utahime knows this girl is having a nightmare.

“No, don’t...”   

“Y/n...” she tried waking her friend, but it was an exercise of futility. She kept on begging someone to let her go.   

“Y/n...”  

“No! Don't!”   

“Y/n! Hey, y/n, it’s me, Utahime!”  

It was a struggle to wake her up until she finally did and here Utahime is holding the crying girl. And now Shoko, Nanami, Yaga, and Mei are in the room upon Y/n’s scream.  

“Utahime... help me! Help me, Utahime, I’m scared!”   

She stared the woman into her eyes.   

With an almost hushed tone, she repeated those words.   

“I’m scared. I'm scared, Utahime. I’m scared.”  

Later, the pleas turned into a sobbing mess as she pressed her face into her friend’s chest, wetting her kimono.   

“I’m scared, Utahime, I'm scared. I don’t wanna live anymore, please...”  

“I hate him, Utahime, I hate him!”  

Her hands were soothing the girl’s back, trying to lull her to calm down as she repeated what she said again and again, Utahime was aware of the stares, and concern was written all over their face. But she’s the closest to the young girl, hence she’s the only one who can handle this outburst and is allowed to touch her.  

“I hate him... I, I hate... nii-san...”  

“It hurts, Utahime. It hurts...”   

She looked at the rest of them, their gaze speaking without verbal communication. “I know. I know, y/n. You’re safe now.”   

But is she? After what Suguru did to her?   

“I hate him...” For the last time, Utahime heard you mumbled, eyes still closing as if you were trying to forget what he did to you, erasing the ugly memory from your head. And as a woman, Utahime understood. She turned to Shoko with a stare that only both of them knew.  

The steps that Shoko took were slow, careful not to startle Suguru’s sister. The girl is still weeping against her best friend, her small arms wrapped tightly around Utahime’s limbs. She was hiccupping, sobs wrecking her frail body to convey her hurt- her pain.  

Laying a supportive hand on your shoulder, Shoko made sure that her gesture was gentle, careful not to make you scream. As far as she was studying jujutsu and medicine, she knew better how to navigate this hazard; sure, she never dealt with this crisis and this was her first time, but those cheat sheets didn’t go to waste.  

“It’s ok, y/n.”  

Moments later you were put to sleep. At desperate times like this, there’s no other choice but to put you into a temporary sleep, so Shoko can handle this situation better. It wasn’t easy, convincing you to relax but eventually you calmed down with the help of your best friend. She was the only one who could replace your guardian. Guardian... 

And now here they are, face to face with each other, with Nanami beside them.  

Lying to Utahime would be a crime, Shoko knows that. And the curious gaze from Nanami wouldn’t miraculously make the situation less stressful.  

That look in Utahime’s eyes tells Shoko everything that she needs to know. They want to know. They wanna hear it from her lips, as a doctor who examined Suguru’s little sister. It wasn’t enough, coming from Yaga. It had to be her.  

No point in beating around the bush.  

“Y/n was assaulted. Suguru raped her at the crime scene.”  

[daveythedaywalker]

So these are wips i’m working on currently cause I figured I should probably post more stuff.

I’ve decided to use a scene from the movie “The Forbidden Kingdom” for this comic.

Wukongs red eyes are driving me crazy honestly, but I’m too stubborn. I’m determined to make it work.

This would be the first time i’m drawing Macaque, so I decided to play around with his look and gave him long hair. Though I’m using lmk characters and Macaques looks are kinda based on the show (mostly for the scarf), I do want to create my own look for him. So the lineart may look one way but the color pallet probably won’t reflect lmk mac.

Next this is my Wip for Tripitaka from before he meets the group as low-key part of a series of drawings that started with my first Wukong drawing [click here for that] I don’t know how I feel about it currently though and I might scrap it for a drawing referencing his backstory cause I feel like not enough people explore that part of the story.

Also I never mentioned this but despite drawing Monkey D Luffy from One Piece all the time, and my vampire sona wearing a sailors captain hat, I HATE DRAWING HATS! And this particular head-dress is extremely intricate. A lot of cartoons simplify the head-dress, but if you look it up, it’s really detailed. I wanted to be accurate and maybe flew too close to the sun attempting it, so in the future it may stay simplified like it is here.

[ruibaozha]

so I've got a question for ya

more LMK specific but since you're well versed in knowledge about him, thought I'd ask

I'm curious on your opinion of the (LMK) Nezha "shipping"?

everyone's weird about it bc of most of his interpretations being eternally 12, and y'know, I've got a neutral opinion- I don't really care if people do because immortals have really fucking weird relationships/demonstrations of age due to being very much NOT mortal, and it's a completely different interpretation, and it also HEAVILY depends on the context, so I'm just kind of all "shrug. do what you wanna do"

but I'm simply curious about what you view from it. :D

So I’ve sat on this for a while because I didn’t know how to properly articulate what I wanted to say. I still don’t wholly know, but I will do my best.

I do not personally care if someone does or does not ship Nezha with others, it is common practice within Chinese social media circles to ship and make fanart of these deities together as it is mostly harmless fun.

Nezha is not an eternal child and has never once stated to be one within his original mythos, documentation of him in derivative works, or in the ways he is portrayed in statues. This is not to deny the existence of a child Nezha as he too has his purpose, but things like his associations with lotus motifs and a number of his weapons are specific to when Canonization of the Gods was widely circulated. This is a topic itself that I have been sitting on but want to properly debunk in the future.

I understand the misunderstandings though. A great deal of information about Nezha was never properly localized into English, and the English language media available of him largely presents him as a child. This is not an excuse for remaining ignorant and claiming to have done research you did not do, as I have seen many defensive and angry fans do.

Additionally, I don’t know where the 12 number comes from. I could not find an example predating 2015 that states this, the only example I could find being Overly Sarcastic Productions’ series covering Journey to the West which is littered with various errors and should not be heralded as 100% factual. If anyone is able to locate an example predating 2015 I will be happy to receive it. I have been trying to find the root of this specific misinformation for a while.

It would be disingenuous to pretend that Nezha/Nalakubara did not undergo some form of change in the centuries he has existed and been worshipped. However it must be acknowledged that both his child and adult self hold important functions in terms of deific worship.

At the time of this answer being written I am currently researching Nezha’s extensive military career as well as his birthday celebrations during the month of April.

To wrap this up I will attach various images of non-child Nezhas. I will not further elaborate on this until I am ready.

[dankfarrikfifi]

An End and a Beginning

Pt.5 of Some Version of You, 3.3k

WARNINGS: MDNI 18+ only, angst, reader’s dad is an asshole, discussions of divorce, discussions of an unhappy marriage, internal conflict, anxiety, lots of questioning things, mentions of losing a home, lmk if I missed anything!

You have a tough conversation with your mom, and an even worse one with your dad after, and Frankie is always there for you.

In the six months that you and Frankie have been together, you’ve come to realize how much you were missing in life before meeting him. You take turns staying at each other’s houses, spending more time together than not. You went on the best dates you’ve ever experienced, eating his delicious cooking and enjoying each other’s company. He made you happier than you thought a partner could, despite that little voice in your head that said you were getting attached a little too fast. How could you not, though? Frankie was the epitome of the person you’ve always dreamt of being with, and now that you have him in your life, you aren’t keen on letting go.

You find yourself daydreaming during your cafe shifts about your future, and in every vision you see Frankie. A life together, with the man of your dreams. A part of you was honestly startled by it, but it was usually outnumbered by the parts of you that basked in his presence. And that didn’t bother you one bit. Until your mother calls on a random Tuesday that, in your mind, holds no significance.

“You know it’s our anniversary right?” she asks you mid-conversation, and your breath catches for a minute.

“Like your and dad’s anniversary?” you question, caught off guard by the sudden change in topic from what meals you and Frankie had made earlier in the week.

“Yup,” Is your mom’s simple response.

”Wow, I didn’t even know that, I’m sorry,” you apologize sincerely. You know how your mom still aches from their divorce, and you do feel guilty knowing you had forgotten a day that had once held so much significance for her.

”It’s okay sweetie,” your mom assures you, “I didn’t expect you to remember, it’s been a long time since any of us celebrated it. Just made me think, did you know that this year we’ve been apart for as long as we were together? I just can’t reconcile with that for some reason.”

She trails off and you’re honestly not sure what to respond with. Your parents have been divorced since you were eight, and at that point their relationship had devolved to the point that you couldn’t imagine them being in love at any point. In fact, you honestly never understand what brought them together in the first place, given the animosity you had experienced. The silence is only a little awkward.

”Oh sweetie, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to bum you out,” your mom rushes out, “I just couldn’t help thinking of it, you know the way you talk about Frankie? I used to talk about your dad like that to my mom. I definitely want to meet him, it sounds like you really like him!”

The conversation picks back up, but you find yourself suddenly unable to pay attention, the words your mom had spoken are the only things you can focus on. The way you talk about Frankie reminding her of your dad? Nothing could scare you more than that. You chat for a while longer before letting your mom know it’s time to go to work. It’s not 100% a lie, your shift starts in two hours so you have to start getting ready at some point, but really you just need some time to think.

You’re midway getting dressed for work, completely lost in your own thoughts, when you notice Benny standing in the doorway of your bedroom.

”Jesus, Ben,” you yelp, “How long have you been standing there?”

”I’ve been trying to get your attention for like a minute, weirdo, what’s up with you?” he questions, stepping forward to pull you into a hug. You didn’t know how bad you needed it till now.

”I don’t know,” you murmur into his chest, finding comfort in the arms of your best friend, “I talked to mom and she said something that just made me, I don’t know, start to overthink.”

“What did she say?” He pulls away a bit to sit the two of you on the edge of your bed. You lean your head on his shoulder and start talking, suddenly unable to stop.

“She was talking about how it’s her and my dad’s anniversary today, and she said the way I talk about Frankie reminded her of them and I just, I don’t know it freaked me out,” you find yourself becoming a bit misty eyed as you speak, “I never knew my parents being happy in their marriage. They were always bickering and wouldn’t talk for days on end. I’m worried about Frankie and I, I don’t know, burning out? Ending up like them?”

Benny pulls you tighter against him, resting his own head on top of yours. He lets you rant for a while, spilling your guts out until you realize you have to leave for work in a few minutes. You wipe your eyes, pulling back to look up at Benny, who hasn’t said much. You raise your eyebrow, encouraging him to speak.

“I don’t know what to tell you,” he admits, “All I can say is you gotta do what’s best for you, and if you’re legitimately worried, why don’t you talk to Frankie?”

”What would I even say?” you ask, an edge to your voice that you just can’t help, “I can’t just go up to him and say we have to break up because my parents are divorced. Plenty of people’s parents are divorced, and they can have happy lives. Why can’t I?”

You’re winding yourself up, you can tell, so you take a few deep breaths. Benny is looking at you, a look you can’t quite decipher on his face. Before he can speak, you turn around to grab your flannel.

“I gotta get to work, I’ll see you later,” you smile at him, or at least attempt to, and shuffle down the stairs and out the door.

———————————————————————

Dinner at mine or your’s tonight?

You’ve been staring at the text from Frankie for at least 10 minutes now, completely frozen. How could you talk to him about all that’s been going through your head today without making your worries known? You aren’t ready to approach that yet, so you set your phone down and start your closing duties. By the time you finish, you feel like you can’t ignore him any longer without being an asshole.

Sorry, not feeling good tonight :( maybe we can reschedule?

You’ve barely hit send before a response comes through. It warms your heart for a moment, before the tight grip of anxiety takes over again.

I’m sorry. Is there anything you need?

You let it sit again on your drive home, and you’re just pulling in the driveway when your phone rings.

“Hey pretty girl,” Frankie’s voice is soft, and you find it bringing you comfort, “Are you okay?”

You clear your throat before answering, a nervous tick you both seem to share.

”Uh, hey, sorry I was driving home from work,” you tell him, your voice weak, “I just, I’ve had a bad day.”

”I’m sorry, hermosa, anything I can do?” his unwavering kindness almost breaks through the wall you were quickly building.

“I, I don’t know,” you say honestly, “I’ve just got a lot on my mind from my mom today.”

”Are you okay? You know I’m here for you, right? Anything you need.”

”I think I need some time to think,” you blurt out, and you can feel your heart drop through your stomach, “My mom she just, she gave me a lot to think about that I can’t get out of my head and I just, I don’t know what I want to do right now.”

Frankie takes a second to respond, just long enough for your brain to start panicking.

“When you say you need to think, do you mean about us? What did your mom say?”

”I think so,” you almost whisper, tears forming in the corners of your eyes, “She told me that we remind her of her and my dad when they were young, and I don’t know if I could handle us turning out the same way they did.”

He takes another second, letting out a deep sigh. You’re starting to truly cry, and you know he can hear it.

”I can see where you’re coming from, but also, we aren’t your parents, are we?” His voice is still soft, but you can also hear an ounce of pain in it, “I, I’m gonna let you think for a while, just know that I really care about you, like a lot, and I hope you know that.”

You sniffle, taking a deep breath.

”Ok, I know, I just, I need a bit,” you mutter, trying not to show how upset you are, “Thank you for listening, I’ll talk to you soon.”

He bids you a gentle goodbye, and before long it’s just you sitting in the silence of your car. You take a moment to compose yourself, not wanting Benny to see you so miserable. After some deep breaths, you trudge inside, not taking note of the fact that the car in your driveway is not Benny’s.

——————————————————————

You’re midway through untying your shoes when you hear someone clearing their throat. You jump, startled by the sudden voice of someone that is not your roommate. Rising to your feet and turning around, you come face to face with the last person you need to see today.

”Hello,” your dad greets with his usual formality, “Took you long enough to get back.”

You swallow harshly, completely taken aback by the fact that your father is standing in front of you, in your house, your safe space. His presence was never one of comfort, reminding you of days he had yelled at you for leaving your shoes out when you were six, nights of being lectured over and over.

“Hi, dad,” you can’t help it when your voice cracks a little, still reeling from the conversation you had with Frankie. “What, uh, what are you doing here?”

”I came here to talk to you, and hopefully Benjamin, but I don’t see him and this can’t wait.”

You start to panic, these talks with your dad always ending in a fight, or tears, or both. And yet, you nod and lead him further into the house. You offer him a glass of water, which he declines, and you soon find yourself sitting at your kitchen table with your father staring you down. It feels so odd, having him here in what, for the last three years, had been your own home.

“I have been graciously allowing you to stay in this house for quite a while,” he jumps right in, and his tone has your throat tightening, “But, my father left this house to me when he passed, not you, and it would make a very lucrative piece of property.”

”Are you saying-“ you start, but your dad holds up his hand with a severe glint in his eye. You stop immediately.

“What I’m saying,” he resumes, his tone suddenly harsh, “Is that I am no longer allowing you to live in this house”

Your mind goes blank, ears ringing as you try to process what he just said. You blink a few times, staring at him wide-eyed. He stares right back and doesn’t back down.

”Do you understand what I’m telling you?” he pushes, and you shake your head on instinct, trying to pull yourself out of whatever nightmare you’ve found yourself in. ”Then let me make it clear. This is my house, and it will now be treated as such. No more handouts, I am done furnishing your inactivity.You and Benjamin have two weeks to vacate before I take legal action.”

With that, he stands and leaves the house without another word. You’re still sitting in the dining room when Benny walks in 20 minutes later, staring at the wood grain of the table. The table that you’ve built memories on, sharing breakfast with your best friend, writing stories while Will cooks. You even think about the time Frankie had propped you on the edge of this table while devouring your mouth with his own.

You’re torn from your thoughts by Benny’s hand patting your shoulder as he passes. When you don’t respond, continuing to stare at the table and run your fingers over it, he calls your name, placing his face in your eye line. You can’t help it when you burst into tears.

“What’s wrong?” he asks, pulling you into his arms as you sob, “Seriously bud, what’s going on?”

You take some shuddering breaths before explaining the conversation you had just had. Benny goes stiff against you, pulling you closer as you talk. You can feel him breathing shallowly, and you think he’s freaking out just as much as you are. Finally, he pulls back to look you in the eyes. For just a moment, you think he’s mad at you. And then he starts talking.

“Fuck that guy,” he spits, suddenly standing up to pace, “No, seriously, fuck him. Who cares if he takes the house away? We’ll find another place, we’ll find a new home, but him? He’s always gonna be a bitter asshole!”

You let him rant for a moment, resting your head in your hands. You understand that he’s upset, and that this is how Benny usually processes his anger, but you just feel numb. You’re upset, for sure, but no expression of that upset feels appropriate. In fact, there’s only one thing you want to do. You silently excuse yourself to the backyard, plopping down onto your hammock, facing away from the house. You send a single text before throwing your phone on the ground in frustration.

You rest your head back, staring up at the sky with one foot planted on the ground, rocking yourself back and forth. You’re lost in thought, or more lack thereof, when a shadow crosses over you. You barely blink when Frankie eases himself into the spot next to you. Without saying anything, he takes over the rocking for you as you curl into a little ball against his side. He wraps his arm around you, pulling you closer as your shoulders shake a bit with your sniffles.

“It’s gonna be ok,” he murmurs, hand soothing down your back. You can’t help but feel immediately soothed by his presence, your heartbeat slowing and your breath evening out. You mumble something into his chest, but he hums and pulls you away to better hear you.

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, voice hoarse. “I thought, I don’t know why I thought we would end up like them, but I know, I know for sure now that we won’t and I know that-”

You’re rambling, and he lets you, until you’re out of words and just breathing him in. You can feel yourself growing calmer, the intense rush of emotions finally easing its grip on you. You lift your head and meet Frankie’s gaze. He’s already looking at you, his eyes soft. He waits for you to talk first.

“My dad is a bad person,” he looks a little startled by your opening line, “he’s a dick with no emotions and I don’t know how anyone could ever love him. You? You’re a good person, you’d never treat me the way he treated my mom, you’d never do what he’s doing to his kid. We’re not my parents, and I’m sorry for even suggesting that.”

”You have absolutely nothing to apologize for, hermosa,” his hand lifts to smooth across your brow, your eyes sliding shut at the comforting motion, “I want you to be happy, and comfortable, and if you needed to make sure that’s how you feel, I’m happy to let you take the time to think.”

You smile, a soft curve of your lips that sets his heart alight. He pulls you closer into him, until you’re practically on top of his warm chest. You tilt your head up to face him, brushing a strand of his hair away from his forehead.

“I did need time to think,” you whisper against his lips, “But I know now, I’m happy and comfortable when I’m with you. I want to be with you.”

He presses his mouth firmly against yours and you return the kiss with fervor. The two of you sit together, content to breathe each other in for the moment. You’re pulled away from the kiss by the voices of the boys filtering out from the back door. It’s only then that you realize how cold you are, the February air biting at your cheeks despite Frankie’s warmth.

“I want to stay here, with you, forever,” you murmur, lips gently brushing his, “But I’m freezing my ass off, and we have to start packing.”

He lifts you in his arms, a surprised laugh bursting from your lips as you wrap your legs around his waist. He carries you inside, plopping the two of you onto the love seat, joining Benny, Will, and Santi in the living room. There are already drinks on the table, and you happily help yourself to one, sipping it slowly and leaning against Frankie.

The five of you chat, sharing your favorite memories of the house. It feels like you’re ending a chapter of your life that you weren’t quite prepared for but you try to look at the positive side of things. An end of one chapter, yes, but, you hope, the beginning of a whole new story.

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

Two weeks. How is one supposed to take all their earthly possessions, say goodbye to their home, and find a new one, all in two weeks? This was a question you were quickly finding the answer to, which is that it’s next to impossible. Every box filled brings a wave of emotion, of memories. The worst of all? The search for a new house. Will had offered to let you and Benny split the guest room, but it was far from a permanent solution. And then, finally, a solution presents itself.

You’re packing your bedroom, the last hurdle to reach the end of this arduous process. Frankie is helping with your clothes, folding and putting them in a box as you pull them from your dresser. You’re working in a comfortable silence, broken only by his humming of whatever song comes on. It’s been like this for at least an hour, little to no talking as you pack and pack and pack. So you’re a bit startled when Frankie speaks.

“So, when are we talking about you moving in with me?” he asks you, still focusing on folding an old pajama shirt. He looks up at you and sees the surprised look on your face before continuing. “I mean, that is what’s happening, right? I just kind of assumed but…”

He trails off, and you’re still staring at him. He has just a moment to reconsider his question before you beam at him, the type of smile that lights up your entire face.

“Well, took you long enough to ask, jeez,” you joke, resuming the task at hand as if you hadn’t just made a huge decision with your boyfriend, “I mean, you really think I can live with not one, but two Miller boys, and remain sane?”

He laughs, a boisterous noise that warms you from the inside. He pulls you to him, pressing a chaste kiss against your lips before the two of you pick up your packing at a renewed pace. You chance a glance at him, watching as he carefully folds your clothes, preparing to move you into his home. A sense of intense content spreads through your chest, a feeling you hadn’t felt before consuming you. You start to realize that, despite the fact you’re losing the building you had lived in, you were gaining something much more important. Because with Frankie, you know you’ll always feel at home.

[chuxk-lerclerk]

D. Ricciardo: A Day In with Danny

Word count: 962

"We could stay in all day and watch Tv and eat takeout. You'd love that and I know you would so don't even try to deny it. I just want a day with you. Just us enjoying each other's company. I don't care what we're doing. I would prefer activities with less clothes, but whatever you want we'll do." He tells me. I consider his offer and turn to the bathroom. I could hear him lean back in bed.

I love Danny and would do anything for him but just to mess with him I spend the next ten minutes in the bathroom pretending to get ready. In reality I brush my teeth and wash my face. I threw my hair into a bun and walked out the bathroom. "I wouldn't mind spending the day here with you."

He smiles and lifts the covers inviting me back into his arms. I get in bed and we call room service. While ordering the food I look at Danny and he's staring again but has this look in his eyes. I draw my attention back to the call and end the call.

"You know I love you, right?"

"Of course I do, Danny. Why do you ask?" I question as I know I've never once doubted his love. I lean forward and kiss him. He gently grabs me and pulls me closer.

He slowly pulls away and whispers "Do you see a future for us? "

I look at him and reply, "Of course I do. I see us with kids and a cat even though I'm allergic. A nice house. We have two, maybe three kids because you say three is your lucky number. We also live on a ranch because you just have to." I look at him after my rant and he has a smile on his face, but it slowly fades.

"I'm sorry I can't always be there for you. I know you say it's fine, but I get so scared that you'll find someone better and leave me because I can't give you the life you deserve right now. I know I said last year would be my final year in f1 but there's been talk of me joining Redbull again. Checo's underperforming and he might be demoted. I'm telling you this because I don't want you to put your life on hold for me.

"You speak of this beautiful future for us but what If we have to wait. I don't want that for you but I don’t want to lose you. I guess what I’m trying to say is, I don't want you to wake up one day and feel like you’re missing out because of me." He finishes with tears in his eyes. Daniel is not a very emotional guy and my heart breaks for him. Knowing he's been harboring these feelings for God knows how long it hurts me.

"Daniel, look at me. Don't ever hide something like this from me. I love you so much, and knowing that you've been feeling like this breaks my heart. I'm so sorry you feel this way. I would wait the rest of my life with you, I hope you know that." I start to tear up as I say this, "I only want those things if they're with you and if it never happens then oh well. As long as I have you I’m happy."

“I don’t want you to look back on this time and think you missed out. You know our friends are getting married and having kids, and you’re at home waiting for me. WhatI’m trying to say is if you wanted an out here it is.”

I look at him in shock not knowing what to say. I open my mouth to speak but suddenly there’s no words. I shut my mouth and start to cry. He leans forward and hugs me and quietly apologizes in my ear.

“I’m so sorry. I shouldn’t have brought it up. I’m sorry love. Please forgive me. You’re my everything and I would never want to lose you.” He says. I look at him and kiss him slowly.

“We’ll be alright I promise you. I would wait a thousand lifetimes and wait more if you needed me to. I love you with everything in my body. Don’t ever doubt that. Do you hear me?” I ask him. He nods his head and I put my head on his chest and hold him. We stay like that until we decide to order food and start our day.

‼️notes‼️: Lowkey wrote this forever ago and I published this at 4:03 in the morning if it’s shit don’t tell me. Lmk if you guys have any requests. Love yous

[persephoneprice]

#im being brave bc im usually too scared to tag people

#ps if u don’t want to be tagged in the future just lmk!!!

#tag game

#a glimpse into the pippa fic i’ll probs never post lol

are we able to join in even if we’re not tagged? :D

omg yes of course!! and if you want me to tag your actually blog just lmk who you are and i’ll do it <3

[ripnevillestrevor]

heghan abc’s

pairing: prince harry x “reader/oc” x meghan markle

summary: no summary for this one, you’ll just have to read to find out ;)

warnings: smut ish, talk of sex, minors dni, only ooc if you know the royalty’s but y’all don’t so haha 😛, LOWERCASE INTENDED

word count: 1,632.

note: i’m backkkk 🤭 ok so the title is heghan abc’s but let’s be fr it’s mostly just harry’s abc’c. lmk if you guys want meghan’s abc’s. kinda proofread kinda not, please lmk if there’s mistakes that need to be corrected. comments/requests are open!

important: i do not allow my work to be copied, republished, translated, or reproduced. please do not use this story on wattpad or on other platforms. respect the author's work <33

A- AFTERCARE (what he’s like after sex)

pda was always a thing, especially in public.

he loves to show his love for his girls.

so aftercare was most definitely a part of the relationship.

he’s always so stoic in the public eye but you know him entirely differently.

harry has described to you and meg how when we have kids, he plans to parent his children differently than Charles.

he’s been raised by THE Princess Diana, so of course, he’s going to treat the both of you like the women that you are.

he’s not a big one for the LED’s but he’s still a very prepared person. he always has things to clean you up, now it’s not certain it’ll be all set up but it’s there 😅

he presses kisses up your legs as he gently cleans you.

after he was done he pulled you against his chest and talked to you for literally hours.

your future kids names, how much you both loved meghan, what drama you both thought was going on back at the palace. he always cares for you every time you guys have sex.

and he does 100.9% every time.

harry does it every single time.

B- BODY PART (his favorite body part of his & yours)

harry really does love all of you, but he spends a lot of time kissing, touching and rubbing your stomach though

so it’s safe to say that your stomach is probably his all-time favorite part of your body

your favorite part of his body is most likely his hands

not only do his hands make you feel safe when you’re holding them or when his hands are sat upon your stomach but the absolute ecstasy they can make you feel

when he fingers you it straight up makes your toes curl.

C- CUM (anything to do with cum, basically)

this one’s a sensitive topic for the three of you but

harry loves the way your cum tastes.

he could spend hours between your legs, mouth lapping up all you have to offer him

it’s his favorite place to be, honestly.

you’re kinda shy about your cum, but harry loves it.

funnily enough you love his cum as much as he loves yours.

you love when he cums in your mouth.

and harry is almost more bashful about his cum then you are about yours.

cute boy is a little shy.

D- DIRTY SECRET (a dirty secret of his)

one of harry’s dirty secrets is he absolutely loves when you dominate him and he surrenders all control to you.

maybe he’s just way too polite, maybe it’s just a kink. who knows ?

there’s always something new in his glaze when he secretly leads you to your secret hideout where no servant, no niece nor nephew can find the two of you.

he trusts you, you trust them it just works.

it makes both you and him feel loved, the way you both do things.

more specifically, the things you do- it makes him fall in love with you even more.

E- EXPERIENCE (how experienced is he? does he know what he’s doing?)

harry’s is not as experienced as you assumed he was before you and meghan started dating him.

I mean.. he’s a prince, surely he’s had- has girls flocking at their feet for him.

“how many girls were there before us?”

you couldn’t help but ask him because you knew he certainly wasn’t a virgin when you slept with him the first time

“2.”

you were definitely shocked to say the least

you expected him to say 10 or something.

harry haven’t really slept around before he started dating you and meg.

sex wasn’t really an item on his mind at the time where he had wanted to find love. someone to be happy with.

but now that he’s dating you?

he’s practically addicted to sex

because sex with you and meg is 100 times better than sex with anybody else

so… yeah the Duke of Sussex wasn’t as experienced as some other guys

but it didn’t make you and meghan love him any less.

F- FAVORITE POSITION (this goes without saying tbh)

harry likes to look at you

he’s a very affectionate person

that trait was 100% used in the bedroom

he likes to see your reactions, to see how he’s making you feel.

he loves when your eyes roll back into your head as his tip rams into your g-spot

so his go-to position is face to face so he can look at that face.

he’s always murmuring “my darling girl,” under his breath while he’s fucking you

most of his compliments during sex have to do with how beautiful he thinks you are

“fucking gorgeous sweetheart, you’re absolutely stunning”

“you look so beautiful bouncing on my cock love,”

he likes it when you ride him too

he can relax and watch you do all the work

and you always try so hard to please him

and he gets to freely run his hands down your body

but if you’re in a hurry he’ll always be up for a quick door-sex session.

G- GOOFY (is he more serious in the moment? more humorous? etc)

goofy isn’t a word you would use to describe harry especially during sex.

he’s more on the serious side but he isn’t emotionless during sex, oh no.

he takes sex seriously, it’s not some game to him.

harry takes your pleasure very seriously.

it’s important to him that you cum at least twice every time you guys have sex

that being said, it’s not as though you guys don’t have fun.

you always have fun when you’re being intimate with harry

especially when meghan walks in on the two of you asking for opinions on her baking

you both chuckle and go to cover up but she’s not phased and just tell you both to “chop chop”

H- HAIR (how well groomed is he? does the carpet match the drapes?)

harry’s also been self-conscience about his hair, and how “full and lush” it was before it went to.. well

but.. he’s never shy about his pubic hair harry really doesn’t care what his pubic hair looks like

it’s never been a concern for him

you however usually demand that he trims it when it gets too long

though, you’re never the one to bring up the hair on his head as it’s a sensitive topic on his part.

“you want a blowjob? fix your forest.”

“very well darling, your wish is my command.”

and yes harry does allow you to be bossy

mostly because he loves it

like a lot ;)

I- INTIMACY (how is he during the moment? is he romantic?)

harry is the perfect amount of intimate that people would expect.

he’s always showing a little too much pda for the royal family’s comfort but just enough for you.

most people just assume harry doesn’t truly care about anything or anyone just because he’s a prince. just because he’s raised in a family he never asked to be raised into.

but harry is so deeply in love with the two of you, so he’s way more intimate then even you ever expected a prince like him to be.

no matter what kind of mood he’s in, whether he’s jealous and angry or sad and just needs to feel you he always makes sure you know he loves you

gripping your hand while he thrusts into you

whispering “fucking love you sweetheart” into your ear

there’s always a little intimacy even when he’s pounding into you

harry always wants you to know how much he appreciates that you’re there with him despite all that he’s done to you and more specifically what his family has done to you.

J- JACK OFF (masturbation headcanon)

harry in general is not a very sexually driven guy

it really isn’t all that important to him

so of course he masturbates a decent amount, every guy does

but he doesn’t masturbate every second you’re not there to please him

if you turn down sex harry is completely fine with it, and doesn’t really feel the need to masturbate

he’ll just go ask meghan.

I’m kidding…

maybe.

but if you and meghan both turn down his temptations, he doesn’t push it.

you love that he doesn’t pressure you or meghan to make you feel like you have to have sex with him, it’s probably one of your favorite parts about him.

L- LOCATION (favorite places to do the deed)

somewhere private always

one of your secret hideouts

his office

your joint bedroom

a locked bathroom

never anywhere somebody could see you

because harry is sort of afraid of the violence he’s capable of.

so if any man ever saw you getting fucked

or saw that beautiful fucked out look on your face

harry is worried he would literally beat that guy to death

because he could

he would.

and if someone saw you stuffed full of cock, harry would want to beat them to death

so harry plays it safe and only fucks you in places that have a lockable door

also for women, well meghan can take care or those ;)

M- MOTIVATION (what turns him on?)

everything about you turns harry on

your ass

your tits

your legs

literally everything

but emotion is also a very strong motivator for him

whenever he’s upset about something (usually something having to do with his family) you and meghan also try to cheer him out ;)

harry needs to release that pent up tension somehow

and if he hadn’t met you or meghan, he would release that tension by breaking some poor guards nose.

but he would never hurt you

he breaks way less noses then he used to

─────────────────────────

yayyy im back, hoping to release more fics of all my dr’s soon specifically my avatar so dwwww it will be out soon. also if you notice some letters missing, no you didn’t.. thank you for all the support with my fics :) hope you enjoyed!

return to my royalty dr masterlist

return to the main masterlist

[ctrlhope]

Spider Jimin! Omg it's so amazingly written. I hate spiders, but somehow, you made me fall in love with one! It was just so soft and sweet (until the spider side appears, but god, that was hot, hehehe)

Are the hybrid series just one shots or are you going to expand/continue.....I have so many questions! How did she end up in the cabin? Do they stay there, do they have babies/how does that even work? 😳 does she meet all the others. How does a human survive in the reserve. Could his vemon kill her? Does it? So many questions....

WAHHH SHOULD WE MAKE OUT RN??? Thank you so much for reading and enjoying 🥹 He’s just a little slice of sunshine for everyone to enjoy <33 Or.. maybe he’s just waiting patiently as always! We’ll have to see ^^

I’ll try to answer all your questions without giving away any spoilers!! You never know what might happen in the future 🤭 Apologies in advance bc this got long 😭 So far my plans are for them to be one-shots with drabbles whenever they’re requested, but at the same time I do have plans for a sequel to Jimin’s story once I finish the others!! I might write sequels for the other stories too, I’m just not sure yet!! But hopefully <33

Now on to Jimin~ hybrids and humans (in my universes) can have kids! It’s more difficult, especially depending on species, but still possible! And trust me when I tell you— Jimin’s spider genes just scream that he wants a big family. So many cute little spiderlings to teach, have them learn all about the world and how to be a good spider just like Jimin. The human side of Jimin doesn’t care as much— he’s happy with just one kid he can love and care for. Build a nice and happy home with you. Give them all the love the reserve employees raised him with.

He’s going to get pouty either way, unfortunately 😭 it’s just in his nature okay! Especially when you have to explain to him that normally humans can only have one kid at once. It’s common for most hybrid species to have more than one, but it makes no difference. He’s still going to love your kids either way. No matter how many you have, he’s going to be the best spider dad <33

Jimin isn’t exactly sure the effect his venom would be on humans. He knows Yoongis’ (a scorpion) is toxic and could severely harm someone but… there are only rumours about what his can do. Some of his friends say it can act as almost an aphrodisiac, others say that it can act as a sedative, nothing about it being deadly though. Something about spiders not being created with the intent to harm like scorpions were. He doesn’t know! He’ll have to ask around because he really, really wants to bite you. It’s something that itches at the back of his skull, honestly. Constantly nagging him.

Mm, I think that’s all of them I can answer for right now!! Oh, except I can say that the only humans meant to live on the reserve are employees— they have cabins closer to the visitors center that they live in while working! Other humans can visit and camp like other nature reserves in designated locations. Trying to live there would be illegal! So… don’t get caught :D (by humans or hybrids ajdjdj) this will be expanded more in Jungkook’s story dw <33

Bye I’m sorry this response is so long 😭 if you can’t tell I really love world building so it’s difficult to stop me once I start rambling asdkaixjsk please lmk if you have any other questions! About jimin or any of the other hybrids and I’ll try to answer them as best I can <33

[lgcjiho]

hello friends this is long overdue but i wanted to put out a general plot call for both jiho and @lgcsomin! (but i'll put a post up on her eventually) i've been slacking severely with writing and plotting bc i was travelling, moving countries, figuring out life, etc etc etc. ANYWAYS, welcome to all the new people who i've missed welcoming <3

with that being said, please

LIKE THIS POST for general plotting bc jiho needs more friends and people to interact with and talk to that aren't his members (no shade to the other v&a members)

i'm also available on twitter or d*scord (young_story) if you would prefer that, just lmk your user. i'll be including a re-intro to jiho under the cut since he's been around since forever and i haven't made an update post in ages. i wrote one up months ago and never got around to posting it LOL and i think it might help with plotting? idk dfjsdfjhsdfkj.

lee jiho, leader of v&a and also v&a's subunit agito, main dancer, lead vocal, born october 31, 2000, 23 years old

mock kprofiles / about page

he was scouted while in line for the men’s washroom at his school’s music festival and he thought he was being scammed at first. he actually put off calling the recruiter dude back for a long time until someone joked that he had the looks to be an idol and he suddenly remembered it and called as a joke and to sate his curiosity

he had no dreams whatsoever of being an idol and was pursuing a career in business, hoping to open his own cafe one day.. it's still his dream but he's put it on the backburner for now because he's found that he really does enjoy being an idol

was convinced by a close friend to audition since he’s always been good at singing + dancing even if he was usually just fooling around with friends either at karaoke or when they booked a studio for fun

he auditioned with singing (he sang iu’s hold my hand) and doing a little freestyle dance that was requested of him and surprisingly passed the audition and became an official legacy trainee in january of 2018

his parents were kind of ??? when he told them and originally weren’t very supportive because it was so sudden and he’s not usually *that* spontaneous but as he started settling into being a trainee and enjoying it, they’ve come around and now are his biggest fans

also it probably helped that jaesun and jaehwa were in the company (they’re cousins on their moms’ side)

during his trainee days, he really stuck to himself and only worked to better himself. he never really saw anyone as a rival and only saw his past self as his rival and wanted to continuously become the better version of himself. he was always Peak Introvert so the way he made friends was that he was awkward enough that extroverted people would come and take him under their wing LOL

he was pretty popular from the very first season of future dreams and was one of the front runners for all seasons he participated in, and eventually was confirmed to debut in season 3 of future dreams, and later debuted as the leader of agito on august 27, 2021

was entirely shocked that he was given the leader role because he’s such an introvert and didn't think he did too well during all the times he was in the leader position but has since sort of stepped and grown into the role and loves it now

he’s notoriously confident in himself, and has always been though it might have been slightly Extra before, he truly thinks he deserves to act that way now LOL

i always liken him to a cat (his official emoji on bubble and translation accounts is 🐱) but specifically a cat who’s owner has told him “no, don’t you dare” as he holds eye contact and then immediately smacks the bottle off the table without a second thought

he’s currently working on writing and producing songs, wanting to write and produce a full song for agito one day (i want him to become the bang chan/hongjoong of agito) as currently has the most credits for lyric writing in all of the new gen of legacy artists

is notoriously known to spend the majority of his waking hours in his personal studio (the v&a members tend to come and drag him home at night)

aside from v&a stuff, he’s publicly known for being a model and also for putting out a lot of covers on v&a’s youtube channel

he recently put out a studio choom dance cover and he’s very proud of it and is somewhat interested in possibly acting more but he's happy with what he's doing and what he's accomplished so far

some plot ideas

he's pretty well known as a workaholic so more people to text him and force him to do things other than work on days off would be nice tbh

friends from his trainee days! or even friends from uni that knew him before he became a trainee and joined legacy and are surprised to see him around

if you're a fan of him, he's always very warm and accommodating and does his best to give advice and be a good sunbae

honestly people who dislike him could be a fun dynamic bc he would be confused (not as to why people hate him but he doesn't really know how they would know enough about him to hate him LOL)

making friends at the convenience store at night when he steps out to get 2am ramyeon bc his stash has run out

admittedly i'm rly bad at coming up with plots but i would love to brainstorm and see where that takes us

sorry this is so long dshjfbkhfjs