#mention: life motto

[mourn-and-watch]

obsessed with warden carver's "in war, victory, champion, and whatever else may come" farewell line. he really refrained from mentioning the "in death, sacrifice" part to his sibling he was going to follow into a battle that seemed pretty much doomed to almost everyone

[skitskatdacat63]

“Constantia et fortitudine” - Emperor Sebastian I “der Sieghafte”

[xx-rememberthepast-xx]

[retrievablememories]

cherry bomb | jungkook (m)

pairing: jungkook x fem reader

summary: “get fucked or die” becomes the motto to live by when a serial killer begins targeting virgins on your campus.

genre: smut, horror/slasher, college!au

word count: 7.1k

warnings: multiple minor character deaths, blood, gore, violence (including gun and knife use), mentions of alcohol consumption. virgin-shaming and slut-shaming, oral (fem receiving), riding, virgin!reader, first-time sex, protected sex, hair-pulling, biting, fingering, dirty talk, virgin kink/corruption kink, fuckboy JK. is JK a sub or a masochist here? answer: i don’t fucking know!

a/n: inspired by the movie cherry falls (2000). heed the warnings. remember that this is fiction, not meant to be entirely realistic, and characters' views/actions don't represent my own. if this kind of content is not up your alley just block me or make use of the wonderful filtering option in your account settings

sources for the fic dividers: one | two

link to part 2

CHERRY BOMB

don't wanna die? come out and hook up with a sexy girl or guy.

virgins get in free!

THIS FRIDAY

NOV 3, 20XX

[address here]

"very corny." you shake your head, looking at the party flyer in your hands. you'd just torn it down from the bulletin board in your dorm lobby; unauthorized advertisements aren’t allowed, and your job as RA involves these menial-ass tasks. "this is literally life or death...why are they turning it into a joke?"

"it is a joke," your friend camille says, snatching the flyer out of your hands to look it over. "think about it. 10 students get killed since we came back in august, and the semester isn't even over yet. the school administration and local police haven't done nearly enough to address it or stop any more deaths. and the common denominator is that all these people were suspected or confirmed virgins?” you haven’t seen the evidence yourself, but the daughter of one of the local policemen claimed every victim also had virgin carved into some part of their dead body. “yeah, i'd say it's a joke to pretty much everyone at this point. this is what happens when you let the students come up with a solution."

camille hands the flyer back to you, and you hold it limply. "but...it's not like you can look at someone and tell if they're a virgin. the killer must've known them all personally. it just doesn't make sense."

"some of those people had no mutual friends. nothing connecting them whatsoever. not even shared extracurriculars. it's gotta be a perverted stalker with a fetish, maybe. a scorned hacker who somehow got into their private conversations 'n' shit? or maybe he consulted the cards to know who’d fucked before and who hadn’t.”

“oh please.” you scoff. “now you’re being completely ridiculous. tarot cards aren’t gonna tell you if someone’s a virgin or not.”

“then you come up with a better explanation. either way, these folks—" camille points to the flyer "—aren't taking their chances."

"hm..." you keep staring at the flyer, looking at the shiny-red cherries, condoms, sex toys, and other sex-related objects decorating the paper. whoever designed this really wasn't playing.

"so, are you gonna go?" camille asks with a sidelong glance. "free admittance, after all."

your neck burns under the collar of your shirt. "are you?" neither of you have had sex yet, for differing reasons. camille's reason was almost complete indifference to the whole act.

she gives you a look that says i could give a shit. "...you know the answer to that one, dear. so you're not even thinking about it? as much as you have cried to me and lorelai about not being able to find a man you like enough to give it up for, our killer here probably already knows. you practically have a ‘come kill me’ bullseye on your back.”

"i don't know," you say, because you genuinely are thinking about it. “and stop trying to fucking scare me.” despite your logical brain trying to reason with you, you still feel a sense of underlying terror about being the next victim. "the virgin killer," as they'd nicknamed the freak, clearly prefers a specific type of victim, and all kills have been random and unpredictable other than that—and the fact that every victim attended your university. he also seems partial to using a knife on his victims, but even that isn’t guaranteed—3 of the 10 had been killed in ways other than stabbing. "i don’t know why you’re so nonchalant about this, though."

camille shrugs. "if he comes for me, i'll just spray him with my illegal mace and kick his nuts into his throat. then tie him up and wait for my dad to come blow his head off. there are some advantages to having a gun nut for a dad."

you chuckle at the absurdity of it. "you've got it all planned out, then."

--

FRIDAY, NOV 3

taking a rideshare to the party was a smart idea on lorelai's part, because the two little shots you took to pre-game already have you feeling woozy. or maybe it's just your nerves.

the cherry bomb is located at a mansion that isn’t really a mansion, but a large once-abandoned house one of the fraternities fixed up years ago for throwing off-campus parties.

the party is stacked wall to wall with people when you enter, though from what you can see, no one has actually started fucking yet—maybe they're saving that for the supposed orgy later in the night. you just hope you can get someone in one of the backrooms before that happens, because you're not really keen on having everyone in your class knowing what your tits look like.

you have one simple mission here tonight—lose your long-held virginity and get off the virgin killer's radar. once that's done, you'll make your exit.

"actually, i'm surprised anyone else showed up. other than you, who wants to willingly admit that they're still a virgin in college?" lorelai shudders. you roll your eyes and try not to feel offended, sucking your teeth.

"you were more than welcome to stay back at the dorm."

"no! i'm here for moral support, plus i don't want to be alone tonight. i don't care who this killer targets, it's getting too crazy out here to just be letting your guard down anymore."

well, you won't argue that.

you and lorelai dance to the song booming over the multiple speakers, scanning the room for potential hookups all the while. you become more alert when you recognize a familiar length of black hair coming through the front door, plus the tattoos and piercings to match.

you're not surprised jungkook came. he has his pick of untouched and easily corruptible virgins here, which has always been his thing; you've heard him brag about it to his seatmates more than once in your shared elective. not to mention the stories you've heard from the women who actually fucked him. as far as you could figure, it was the usual male ego posturing bullshit about being able to say he was someone’s first—and likely best. for that reason, alarm rises when he makes eye contact and starts making a beeline for where you and lorelai are.

"oh, here comes the campus bicycle," lorelai says, voice deadpan.

you continue watching him from the corner of your eye, trying to see if he's just approaching someone in your general vicinity, but no. once he shoves his way through the crowd of dancers, some unashamedly groping at his body as he does, he stops right in front of you two.

"so, are you here for the same reason i am?" he asks you, grinning like the devil himself. "or are you looking to get that sweet little cherry popped?"

the backs of your knees sweat. "um—latter, i guess." you hadn't meant to answer that honestly, but to say you are caught off-guard is understating it. you can count on one hand the number of times you and jungkook have talked to each other in class, and never about anything of this nature.

"you're not gonna ask me?" lorelai says.

jungkook gives a hearty laugh; you didn't think it was that funny. "everyone knows you're not a virgin, why waste my time?"

"wow, okay. fuck you. you're no saint yourself." she huffs.

"anyway…" jungkook returns his attention to you. "have you really never done anything before? not even sucked a dick? there's no way someone hasn't tried to hit that. not even some 'backdoor action only' like those weird religious girls?"

"is that any of your business? i didn't know we had to give a rundown of our lack of sexual experience before getting laid around here." you snap.

jungkook's eyelids lower a fraction. "i'm tryna decide how easy i should go on you, babe. i mean, if you wanna take this in one of the rooms. otherwise, i'll let someone else have a go if you're not interested."

unfortunately, you are interested, despite his overly blunt manner and objectifying language. even though you know you’ll just become another entry on his long list of flings—someone he’ll tell his boys about later—maybe the fear of death is making you impulsive.

but maybe his looks are playing a part in it, too.

he's imposing with his physique and his all-black attire, his shirt so tight that you can clearly see his pectoral muscles and his nipples, his unbuttoned leather jacket doing nothing to hide those details. you can easily imagine yourself running your hands across those pecs, squeezing them, rubbing your fingers against his nipples and making him moan underneath you, feeling and seeing his abs contract through this stupid-ass shirt that must've been painted on. this brief fantasy immediately dampens your panties.

"…i'm interested," you affirm, dragging your gaze back up to his eyes, and he smirks from knowing you were obviously checking him out.

knowing the direction this is going in, lorelai taps you on the back and whispers in your ear. “have fun but don’t do anything stupid, yeah? i’m not playing auntie to any offspring you and this dude pop out, sis. use protection.” then she makes her exit to go find herself a partner for the night.

“so, come on.” jungkook nods his head in the direction of the stairs, and you follow him through the crowd as he leads you up the winding staircase. you squeeze past two girls kissing on the staircase railing, their motions a bit unsure as if they’ve never done it before but clearly still enjoying themselves.

jungkook pushes a few doors in until he finds an empty room, and you try not to ogle at the random couples you see along the way. not even an hour in and the two shots must be wearing off, because your body is beginning to buzz with nervousness again.

jungkook closes the door behind him when you both step into the room, which is lit by one lamp on a nightstand and the open window beside the bed. he reaches for you, and you shiver when his hand grasps the side of your face, the other snaking around your waist.

“scared?” he asks, his voice low. you shake your head, and he grins. “relax.” he leans in as if to kiss you and you part your lips, but he doesn’t do that just yet. he traces your top lip and then your bottom lip with his tongue, dipping it into your mouth as he switches. the teasing nature of his actions makes your body heat up as you watch a string of saliva spread and then break between the both of you.

he presses back in for a real kiss this time, his nose bumping yours. despite all your fears about tonight, you’re able to unwind somewhat and just focus on the full sensory experience that is this kiss—the warmth of his hands and his mouth, the sappy sound your lips make when they separate and come back together, the scent of his cologne, the taste of his spearmint-flavored tongue.

you find yourselves inching toward the bed, him walking you backwards while keeping you steady. just as the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed, there's the sound of a woman's bloodcurdling scream from behind you, and you nearly shove jungkook to the ground in your haste to run to the door. your fingers are scrabbling at the doorknob when you hear a burst of laughter. a guy you don't recognize crawls out from under the bed holding his phone up, displaying a youtube video of the shower scene in the movie psycho, which is where the noise is coming from.

"that was funny as fuck." the guy laughs obnoxiously loud, holding his stomach. “don’t get too carefree or you just might die, girlie.”

jungkook grabs the guy by his jacket collar like he's a kid and throws him out the door; the guy doesn't object because he knows this is preferable to getting his ass beaten by the bigger man. "fuck outta here, you jackass." jungkook snaps.

jungkook stomps over to the closet to yank it open. "any more idiots in here wanna show themselves?" he checks a couple more areas before deciding the room is clear and closing the door again, locking it for good measure.

“okay.” he sighs, stripping off his jacket and shoes. he takes your hand and pulls you toward him as he sits on the bed. “relax, baby. forget about that fucking clown. come ‘ere. why don’t you sit on my lap?”

with a heavy exhale, you try to steady your still-shaking hands as you shuck your boots off and pull your dress up slightly to comfortably sit in his lap, your legs loosely wrapped around his waist.

he squeezes your waist. “so, where were we? i don’t really remember…”

you huff out a half-amused laugh. “really? i’m pretty sure it was this…” you lean forward with your hands on his shoulders and press your lips back onto his. jungkook follows in kind, his hands running up from your thighs to your waist and back again. the rhythm of his hands is hypnotic, distracting you as you try to keep most of your focus on the kiss, and you fear you may be getting overstimulated before anything has truly began.

as you continue kissing, jungkook’s hands creep your dress further up your thighs until your panties are revealed. still feeling up your legs, his hands press further toward your inner thighs, and you gasp into the kiss when his thumb pushes against the seat of your underwear. they have been damp for a while now and you know he knows this, so you aren’t surprised when he breaks the kiss to smirk, though it makes you roll your eyes.

jungkook whispers against your lips, “let’s try something. will you sit on my face?” you stare at him without a word, not expecting this to be the first thing he proposes. at your response, or lack of, he adds, “i want to make you feel good. do you want me to taste you?” his voice is so soft, so unassuming and cloying, that it makes you feel like a lamb clutched gently in the mouth of a wolf.

your brain is already surrendering to it. “yes.”

you get another kiss and a smile. jungkook moves you out of his lap, shuffles further up the bed, and lies down so that he’s flat on his back, his head surrounded by the pillows. he gestures for you to follow.

taking your time, you slide your panties off and crawl up the bed until you’re near his face and he’s lying below you looking like he’s struck gold. he grabs your hips to bring you closer until you’re right over his mouth. you’re embarrassed to have someone looking at you from this angle for the first time, and you’re about to get too into your head about it when he french kisses your inner thigh, blanking out your mind.

the only thing you know from then on is that his mouth is burning hot. his tongue is everywhere. he licks at you delicately to test the waters, and then more firmly when your thighs tremble around his head, in an effort to elicit the same response.

the way he fits his mouth over your entire pussy and sucks it with just the right amount of pressure so that it won’t hurt makes you feel faint. the way he slides the flat of his tongue over your clit only to suck it gently at the end of the stroke makes you cry out louder than you intended. you’re glad he moved further up the bed for this, because you’re holding onto the headboard for dear life.

the only things you’re aware of are your own out-of-control moans and the wet sounds of jungkook’s mouth working you over. all of it has you so overwrought that you’re already reaching your peak, your grip on the headboard weakening.

jungkook seems to know this without you telling him anything. he pauses and looks up at you with a fucked-out smirk and a wet mouth. you don’t know whether to thank him or curse him for giving you a break. “before you come, fuck my face.”

“wh-what?”

“rub that wet fucking cunt on my face.” heat flares through your body at his frank words. “grab my hair and just ride my face.” he reaches up to take your hands off the headboard and places them in his hair. “you can do it, baby. fucking use me.”

it takes you a minute to get over the fresh wave of embarrassment and find a pace that works, because the connection between your brain and body feels like it’s frying and your coordination is off. jungkook helps guide your hips, especially with how you’re trembling from pleasure and close to falling apart. soon enough, you’re letting go of yourself and moving your hips enthusiastically, if a little clumsily, and chasing your climax. you savor the feel of your clit sliding across his wet tongue and his soft hair in between your fingers, and you push his head as close as it can get.

you come while screaming, dizzyingly immersed in the pleasure. you forget that you’re holding his hair as you yank roughly on it. the only thing that matters to you is that jungkook’s mouth is still sucking your clit through the best physical sensation you’ve ever experienced.

when he finally lets go and gives you reprieve, you collapse beside him on the pillows.

“i’m sorry,” you mumble, disoriented. “about your hair, i mean?”

jungkook laughs. it’s funny how shiny-wet his face is—and that you caused it, which is kind of hard to believe in the aftermath of it. “the pain is what gets my dick hard. don’t worry.”

you chuckle breathlessly at that, and for a few seconds you both have that funny little moment to yourselves in all the ridiculousness of the overarching situation.

then jungkook’s hand is reaching for you again. “i’m not done with that pussy yet, though.” he brushes a finger over your hole, and your body twitches from the sensitivity. he slides that finger through the wetness and then uses the lubrication to push only the tip of his finger in. he dips it in and out, teasing the nerves at your entrance, until you’re shifting your hips closer to him to implore him for more. he grants your request by sliding his finger all the way inside.

having a finger inside you feels okay at first, though not as good as his actions a few seconds ago. jungkook decides to amplify your pleasure by placing his lips on your neck, leaving gentle and wet kisses behind, and you become all too aware of the feeling of your hardened nipples against the material of your dress. the pleasure begins to heighten when his finger finds a place inside of you that makes you throb, your walls clenching around him.

“ah…” you gasp and shift eagerly against his body as he keeps stimulating that spot, not thrusting his finger into you but simply stroking it across that area in a come here motion.

jungkook pulls away from your neck to smile at his handiwork. “that’s better, right?” he whispers, watching your reactions. your lips form around the word yes, though it’s difficult to try to speak, and you worry how unsteady your voice might sound. he waits until you’re clutching at his arm, leaving red lines on his skin from your fingernails, to carefully push another finger in beside the first. you try to breathe evenly, though his refusal to let up on that spot has your lungs stuttering for air all over again. his nose nudges your ear as he leans even closer and whispers, “there are so many different spots to find, so many different ways to make you come; i wanna go looking for them all.”

jungkook angles his hand so that his palm is also stimulating your clit, his fingers thrusting slowly now. you turn your head away from him as your body becomes ablaze, unsure what to do with yourself as your climax nears quickly.

“would you let me do that? learn your body like no one else has done?” he kisses the shell of your ear, and even that small action is enough to tip you closer to the edge with how your body is already so fired up. “who else could make you feel as good?”

this orgasm makes your eyes fill with involuntary tears, and little clear droplets bleed down the sides of your face and towards your ears as your body convulses. jungkook kisses the wet trails they make on your face, still fingering you steadily and forcing another urgent cry out of you. you feel untethered from yourself, like you’re not in control of your reactions, and you don’t know whether to be afraid of that or not.

jungkook pulls his fingers out when you have mostly calmed down, watching strands of your wetness drip between them before sliding them into his mouth.

after you come the second time, you begin to tire. the deeds have been done, and if you want, you can confidently go back out to the party now and say you’re no longer a virgin; you’re off the unofficial kill list and can live the rest of your days without having to look over your shoulder with every breath.

…but jungkook is hard against your hip, and in all honesty, you don’t want to leave without knowing what his dick looks and feels like.

“you tired?” he asks, and the casual air of it makes your stomach flip, for some reason. he says it as if this is something you two do all the time and he’s used to asking you this after wearing you out during a good session.

but now’s not the time to get delusional.

“no. i want more.”

jungkook smiles broadly, teasing his lip ring with his teeth. he sits up to peel that skin-tight shirt off, and you don’t bother to stop yourself from staring at all that skin in front of you. your eyes drop further down when he removes his belt and undoes his jeans, pushing his pants and underwear down enough for you to see his v-line but not taking them off. is that an invitation for you to do it? "you hold the reins here," he says, lying back on the bed again. "do whatever you want to me."

“whatever i want?” you repeat, already sitting up. he nods, hands behind his head, and you take the initiative to straddle him again, knowing you’re getting his jeans wet.

you reach for his pecs first, just like you’d imagined downstairs. the firm muscle of them is mesmerizing; but when you slowly circle your thumb against his nipple and his eyes flutter, a small and breathy moan escaping his lips, you’re sure you enjoy this much more.

you play with his nipples and even work up the boldness to purse your lips around one, sucking it softly, and every noise that arises from him makes your clit tingle.

you eventually move your hands to his abs, enjoying how they flex at your touch. you didn't think his navel would be pierced, not hearing that detail in any of the sex tales you've eavesdropped on about jungkook, and you wonder what else you might find out about him tonight.

“you should do your nipples to match.” you suggest it without much thought as you’re teasing his navel piercing, though you don’t regret saying it.

“would you be into that?” jungkook sounds like he’s actually considering it, watching you from below his lashes.

you grin. you don’t know if you’ll actually end up having sex with him again to see them, but you answer, “i’d love it…it’d be sexy on you.”

sliding your hands further down still, you come to the waistband of his underwear, which is peeking over the top of his lowered jeans. for a second the nervousness returns; jungkook notices how your hands twitch with hesitation. “it’s fine, i’m not gonna bite you…unless you ask me to, though. here.”

he slips a hand into his underwear and grips his dick, though he doesn’t take it out right away; he strokes the shaft a few times, observing your reaction with expectant and hazy eyes. the scene before you makes your mouth dry. jungkook quickens his pace, twisting his hand at the tip and using his own precum as lube, until you are overcome with the desire to see it and you pull his underwear out of the way.

his cock is thick and flushed and glossy with precum. you don’t have much to compare it to, but it’s a good size, and all the previous women have said that he clearly knows what to do with it. he releases it and it slaps against his abs, leaving a streak of precum behind. when you look at him in anticipation of what he’ll do next, he grasps it again and starts stroking himself quickly, like he’s trying to get off. the wet slap of his motions and his quiet groans make your walls clench.

“i could keep fucking myself and you could watch, since you seem to prefer it…” he murmurs.

“no, i—let’s go all the way.”

jungkook smirks and answers your decision by pulling a condom out of his jean pocket. you watch as he unwraps it and slips it down his cock. though you’re already straddling him, he grasps your wrist and encourages you to draw nearer to him. “come here, pretty thing.”

when you’re hovering directly over him, jungkook grips the base and teases his tip against your entrance. “ready?” he asks.

“yeah,” you say breathlessly.

it’s a little slow-going, but you eventually end up with him seated inside you. it’s uncomfortable to be taking something bigger than a couple fingers, but it isn’t terribly painful.

“now, try moving your hips like this…” with his hands on your hips, jungkook helps you grind against him so that your clit slides across his pubic bone with every move. the discomfort begins to ebb out of your mind after a little while of doing this, and you laugh quietly.

“i thought…i thought this doesn’t feel good for men,” you sigh, your eyes closing from the bliss of his firm abdomen stimulating your clit. “this grinding thing, you know. or so a friend told me…”

jungkook laughs too, but he doesn’t confirm it like you expect him to. his only answer is, “a sexy woman on my dick will always feel good.”

he seems to be more about showing than telling, anyway. his hands reach for your breasts, groping them over the fabric of your dress before sliding underneath for better access. sporadic moans escape you as he plays with your nipples, making your clit throb harder and sending more warmth pooling in your abdomen.

your breath wheezes out of you when jungkook starts pushing up into you, his hands still squeezing your breasts. “you’re okay, baby…” he tries a few different angles until he pulls a visceral reaction out of you, your walls fluttering around him and your body shivering intensely. “mmm, there it is.”

your motions start tapering off as jungkook continues thrusting up against that same spot that had you in tears earlier. noticing this, he slips one hand back down to your hip and encourages you to maintain your pace, keeping your clit stimulated while meeting his thrusts. “you’re doing good…” he murmurs. “go ahead, keep fucking me just like that.”

you’re glad lorelai makes you go to the campus gym with her every week, because otherwise you’d be about to collapse riding him for this long. it takes more of your strength and stamina than you’d expected. no wonder jungkook stays in the gym.

“oh, fuck…” the way all his muscles flex as he repeatedly pushes up into you makes you wetter; you no longer have the wherewithal to be embarrassed about the gushy noises your pussy is creating. your whole world has whittled down to this one room, and all you can think about is your next orgasm.

“pull my hair again,” he requests, his eyes dark and lost in lust when he looks up at you.

"jungkook..." you grip his sweaty hair in your hand and pull it to bare his throat, and he gives a desperate moan, his member jerking inside you. you've never felt so in control of a situation before in your life. it gives you a straight adrenaline-slash-dopamine rush.

his neck is just there and exposed, flushed from exertion, and his physical responses make you feel so primal, like you could do absolutely anything to him right now and he’d enjoy it. because of this, you decide to bite his neck, if only to give your mouth something to do. his dick twitches again when you do, another pretty moan leaving his mouth.

his voice is strained when he says, “bite me harder.” when you let go, your mouth travels the expanse of his neck to leave marks in a few other places, digging in harder just as he asked of you.

“fuck, y/n—” the pain of your teeth is pushing him close to the edge too soon, so he slips his other hand out from under your dress and brings it lower to circle his fingers over your clit. jungkook adding his experienced fingers to his constant stimulation of your g-spot is enough to cause your release. your body slumps onto his as you squeeze around him, your head falling into the juncture of his neck and shoulder and your eyes shutting so tightly that you see wobbling shapes in the darkness.

jungkook gives you a few more thrusts rougher than the rest, causing you to cry out. your climax and the aftershocks have your mind so dizzy that you only just realize that he’s reaching his own peak, his muscles tensing and relaxing as he fills the condom with his cum. you hear him groan next to your ear, the sound of it filthy and uninhibited.

jungkook lifts your head from his shoulder, his thumbs on your cheeks, and his lips meet yours in a final slow kiss, his teeth leaving their mark on your bottom lip as a parting reminder.

you're still trying to get your bearings and slide him out of you when jungkook suddenly says, "what is that noise?"

"huh?" you remain immobile for a moment so you can listen more clearly, and you recognize the sounds of screaming and feet pounding on the floors in a bid to run away—both upstairs and downstairs. these don't sound like the same screams of pleasure from earlier. "what the hell?"

you and jungkook scramble to collect your clothes and get dressed, thankful that neither of you stripped down completely, and he throws the used condom into a random corner of the room. you're still making last minute adjustments when jungkook stands up and unlocks the door.

"the fuck is—?" his voice cuts off as if he can't finish his thought.

"what? what is it?" you stand up to get a better view around his body in the doorway, and you scream when you see a lone blonde girl lying a few feet away from the door, slumped against the opposite wall with a slashed throat. her pink party dress bleeds red, and her face that catches the illumination of the string lights glints with tear tracks. you look away from her unseeing eyes before you can cry out again.

jungkook seems confused, peering down the other end of the hallway like there'll be someone there to explain. "it...didn't work?" he asks to no one in particular, as you have no answer. you walk farther back into the room as if putting more distance between you and the body will provide some protection. bumping against the window sill, you turn around to look out the window and see several cars peeling out of the makeshift grass parking lot, nearly running over other people or hitting other cars on the way. you release a stifled scream from behind your hands when someone is too disoriented to get out of the way of the speeding cars and is sent flying through the air before landing painfully, their body now unmoving. the offending car never stops to check on them.

the screaming downstairs worsens, countless voices rising to a fever pitch of shouting and wailing, and you imagine this must be what the pits of hell sound like. jungkook whips around to look at you. “we gotta get the fuck out of here.”

you two inch out of the room with him in the lead, peering into jarred-open doorways to see if anybody could be waiting in the shadows. there are a couple of other bodies in two other rooms, and you wonder—even with the loud music constantly reverberating through the house, did you really not hear the struggles that led to these deaths in your throes of passion? the thought unnerves you. the idea that maybe you were only saved by jungkook deciding to lock the door…

the stair railing you’d walked by an hour ago is now broken in the middle, splinters of wood lying scattered on the stairs, along with more bodies lying on the steps just as haphazardly. the scene looks like the remnants of a stampede; you hope most of these people are just unconscious and not dead.

the dancefloor is a swarm of people in various states of undress pushing and pulling each other as they rush for the exit. there’s not as many people heading for the back door, everyone attempting to squeeze through the main entrance in their unthinking panic, so jungkook grabs your arm and the two of you pick your way through the bodies to get down the stairs as best you can. when you enter the mass of people, you’re exceptionally glad for his strength because it’s easier to get through the opposing crowd.

to reach the back door, you must first get through the kitchen. beside the kitchen entrance in a dark corner, you see someone doubled over and grasping the person in front of them for stability.

you realize belatedly that they have a knife in their stomach; the other person standing over them is the virgin killer himself, calmly watching them suffer.

the killer’s face is hidden by the mask he always wears, which you are seeing for the first time now, up-close—a hairy werewolf head with lemon-yellow eyes and a candy-red tongue. it’s so unexpected that you would’ve found it comedic if not for the context.

a guy in a blue sweater grasps the killer from behind in an attempted surprise attack, causing him to jerk the knife out of the other person’s stomach. the sudden movement causes a spray of blood to come flying off the knife, and you have to hold back vomit when drops of the warm, stinking crimson hit your face. though it feels like time has slowed to a mere creep, all of this happens within seconds.

you don’t see much more before jungkook is forcing you to move again.

you, jungkook, and multiple others barrel out of the back patio door, nearly ripping the flimsy screen door off its hinges in your haste, while the classmate in the blue sweater fruitlessly struggles with the killer in the kitchen. your leg muscles flex harder when you hear the person's agonized shout and the mushy rip of flesh being torn seconds later. almost everyone else has taken the same idea to run for their lives rather than stay and try to fight or disarm the killer; the streets are dotted in every direction with students running for any possible safety, many not having arrived to the party in cars to escape in.

thankfully, jungkook is not one of them.

he grasps your wrist painfully hard in his panic and yanks you in the direction of his car, which is so pitch black that you almost didn't see it sitting in the shadows.

when you get inside, you've never been so grateful to be within the safe metal enclosure of a car in your whole life. hands shaking, jungkook jams the key into the ignition and presses the gas pedal so hard your head jerks against the headrest. however, in your temporary relief, you think of lorelai. your vision doubles as you scramble to open your phone and call her, your head spinning with a new spike of fear. it rings for a while with no answer, and you try two more times only to get the same result.

"maybe she got to safety somewhere else?” jungkook tries to reason with you, his eyes bouncing between your face and the road ahead so he doesn't hit any other cars or any random students still running across the streets. "i didn't see her anywhere in the house before we ran out."

"that just means she could be hiding somewhere in there!" you shriek, unable to control your terror at your friend possibly being trapped in the house with the killer.

"well—maybe just let her stick it out, he won't find her if she just—"

"oh god, but i called her like three fucking times; what if he heard the phone ringing? i'm gonna kill myself."

“y/n, you’re overreacting like shit, there’s no way he’d hear a phone ringing in all that noise—"

unlistening, you drop your phone and bang your fists on your head in frustration and anguish.

sighing deeply, jungkook forgoes any attempt to do a 3-point turn, which requires more coordination than he has at the moment, and drives straight up into someone's yard to make a U-turn back toward the house.

you hadn’t gotten too far from the party house, so in another minute or two and with a couple messy turns that cause the wheels to ride up onto the curb, you’re back on the street leading up to the house. before you can reach it, though, jungkook slams on the breaks, and you have to throw your hands out onto the dashboard to avoid flying into it due to not fastening your seatbelt. you’re not very successful; the move hurts your wrists, and you’re pretty sure some of your ribs just got bruised anyway.

“what the fuck?” jungkook shouts.

the virgin killer with his lycanthrope mask is standing in the middle of the street; he turns to face the car. he has a chokehold grip on a guy you recognize as a popular frat member, who is almost bare except for his blue-plaid boxers. you remember seeing the frat guy dancing with his girlfriend when you and lorelai initially entered the party; he was in the group of guys who put this whole party together as a way to “save” the campus’s virgins.

the virgin killer is holding a gun to the guy’s head, and you have no clue where he might’ve gotten it from. the guy’s demeanor is weak, and he’s barely able to stand, which is obviously from the profuse blood loss he’s suffering; the killer has carved sharp letters into his stomach to form two words—“FAIR GAME.”

“fair game?” you mumble, a sickly realization forming in your mind.

“fuck no—" jungkook is already throwing the car into reverse when you hear and see the first bullet go off, exploding the frat member’s head into an unrecognizable mess and making you scream at the top of your lungs. you hear more shots after you close your eyes and tuck your body down, along with the sounds of bullets splitting metal and hitting glass, and you think you might be actively dying—or maybe you’re already dead. even that would be preferable to experiencing this nightmare.

you can’t think as you feel the whole world spinning, your body tossed violently around. in reality, the only thing moving is jungkook’s car as he whips the vehicle around and speeds down the same street you just traveled up.

for a few long minutes, you only hear your own heartbeat, his murmured and frantic curses, and the strained breaths coming from both of you. you keep your body curled up with your knees tucked to your chest and arms over your face. the car’s engine roars as it races down the highway.

you’re afraid to open your eyes and find out, but you have to at some point. plus, the uncomfortable position is making your body hurt. carefully, you unfurl yourself and turn to look at him. “did you get hurt?”

“uhh—no? i don’t think…?” he takes one hand off the wheel to feel up his body as if he’s just realizing that might be a possibility. “but i’m wired off pure adrenaline right now, so give me a few more minutes to be sure…” he looks to you. “are you?”

“no.” your blood still runs cold at the thought of lorelai being stuck in the house or navigating the dark neighborhood streets at this time of night. maybe she doesn’t even have her phone; maybe it was lost in the commotion. the number of possible scenarios makes you ill.

there’s silence for a while; you assume he must not be hurt after all. you start seeing familiar roads that lead back to the campus, and the gears in your mind begin turning, powered by fear.

“do you think it’s safe to go back to the college?” you ask, your voice small.

after a pause jungkook asks, “why not?” though his face begins to look like he’s second-guessing things.

“the killer could go back to the campus…i don’t know. there was so much violence tonight. it’s like he really has a grudge against the students from our school or something. what if he wants more victims? the campus police are already incompetent, but with most of them off the grounds and on their way to the party house…” you don’t finish your thought. you’ll need to warn camille of the potential danger.

“right, yeah…” jungkook’s hands flex around the steering wheel a few times. “we should…probably go somewhere else, then.”

nowhere feels safe. still, you ask, “where?”

changing his route, jungkook glances over at you. “to a friend’s house.”

[alphabetboyluvr]

NIGHT CRAWLERS - JJK

title credit: night crawlers - kids in glass houses

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

synopsis:

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

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

wordcount: 26K

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

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

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

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

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

That, and 'rather be dead than cool.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least they barely crossed. Past tense. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again, the rogue look isn't a front.

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

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

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

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

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

"Mhmm?"

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

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

Partners?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A control freak, you note. Nice.

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

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

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

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

"I'm very much capable of editing-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When they were still talking to you, that was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn't reply.

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

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

Well, no. 

That's not quite right. 

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

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

Given your rejection, he was pleased with his choice.

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

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

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

"Like?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he's also determined. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's the big dream at least.

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

It's his fault, and he knows it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The lack of a camera proves otherwise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hold on."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus, you think. Who pissed in his cornflakes?

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

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

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

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

"You could have fucking killed me!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Never said I wasn't."

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

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

"Where are we?"

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

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

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

That's a lie.

He doesn't think they're stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Look I-"

"So-"

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

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

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

"At two in the morning?"

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tomorrow?"

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

"Oh right. Yeah. See you tomorrow."

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

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

"Thanks, again."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps that should be your project piece.

Secrets of Seoul: The Seedy Underbelly of The City.

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

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

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

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

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

Who the fuck are you?

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

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

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

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

"Once in a blue moon. Gotcha."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook wants what he wants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook wants what he wants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Curious.

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

"No can do, sugar."

"Oh my god, stop calling me that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he's right. It is worth it.

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

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

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

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

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

"It's good," he promises.

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

"Are you broken?"

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

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

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

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

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

And neither of you really care.

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

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

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

He knows you read them.

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

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

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

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

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

You have been thinking about him.

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

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

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

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

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

You don't ask him to expand.

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

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

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

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

And so you return, every week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Per hour?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You've gotten good at playing pretend. 

Jungkook only jokes about you being a sugar baby.

He doesn't fathom that you actually are one.

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

The way you hold onto his waist is different tonight.

Physically, it's the same.

But it feels different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod appreciatively. "You sure?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Kook?"

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

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

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

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

"Like what?"

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

"I don't."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if he fears the consequences of his claim.

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

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

But you don't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

x

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

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

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

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

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

Unlike Jimin, apparently.

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

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

"You're being dramatic."

"You're being boring."

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

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

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

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

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

A few months ago, he was a fucking idiot.

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

And you ignore it.

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

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

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

It's all a bit nauseating.

Maybe a party would actually be a good distraction.

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

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

And you were nowhere to be seen on Tuesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No good ever comes from being nice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you are annoyed.

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

You barely know him. Not really.

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

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

It seems like you found your answer.

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

And he's right.

He's not the city.

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

He's not the goddamn city.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really, Kook?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey."

"Uh, hey."

"You good?"

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

Ah. You cringe.

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

"Hmm?"

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

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

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

"Good night?"

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

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

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

You don't know what to say either.

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

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

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

"Oh?"

"Yeah..."

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

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

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

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

Oh.

Not a coward. Just cautious.

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

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

"Can you come over?"

THE WAY YOU keep Jungkook hanging on tenterhooks is deliberate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except you do. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I see?"

"Not yet."

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

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

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

You both feel it.

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

"Some girls like it," he flirts back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You look warm," he husks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do I?"

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

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

Yes.

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

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

Yes.

"Ddaeng."

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

Maybe you do. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hobi, can I-" 

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

"Hobi will you let me fucking talk!"

Attaboy.

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

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

You try to decipher the conversation, but fail. 

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

You blush. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don't hang around for much longer.

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

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

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

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

Just a little peek. He'll never know.

Oh, how you loathe your brain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook thinks he knows who, now.

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

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

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

That had been the plan, at least.

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

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

A punch to the face means very little to Jungkook.

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

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

The dial tone bleeds out, just like his nose.

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

"Wassup, kid?"

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

"I got jumped Yoongs."

Fuck.

"You alright? Sound pretty bad? Where?"

"Daerim-"

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

"Hobi wanted me to drop off my stash."

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

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

"Gone."

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

"No."

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

"Yoong-"

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

"Ple-"

"Kook. Seriously. Trust me with this."

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

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

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

The girl who's now returning his call.

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

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

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

"Can I come over?"

Fuck. Anything except that.

"Please."

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

But he does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This place is just temporary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook knows he should stop.

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

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

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

Should repulse you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All that matters is what is happening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wants it all.

Wants you naked.

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

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

Wants it. Wants you. Just wants.

And what Jungkook wants, Jungkook gets.

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

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

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

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

He's utterly obsessed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He likes this. Likes how you react to him.

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

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

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

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

He's bored of waiting. Wants you now.

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

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

"What?" he toys.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Shit," he whispers. "Shit."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he gets it.

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

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

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

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

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

You've considered how Jungkook would orgasm on more than one occasion - and you're pleasantly surprised to find that your imagination was wrong. There's no grand declaration, nor large grunt. He's not aggressive, either, like you'd half-hoped he would be.

Instead, Jungkook kisses you as his hips begin to stall. His brows are creased, moans muffled against your lips. His torso shudders, abdomen as tight as his balls. "Baby," he drowsily mewls, and then it's happening. His cock pumps into you, unloading thick creamy spurts with every stroke of your pussy. The first one is so desperate that you're almost positive you can feel it paint your insides. You moan along with him, utterly obsessed with this, him, whatever the fuck just happened.

He doesn't withdraw immediately. Just lays there and kisses your skin, absolutely spent.

You don't move a muscle. You don't want it to be over. Don't wanna lose this. Lose him.

When you tilt your head to look at him, he's smiling. Eyes closed, cheeks appled. Serene. In a state of fucked-out bliss.

You tell him that he's pretty, and he lets out an airy laugh, covering his face with one of his hands. You move his hand and watch him fondly, enthralled with the grin that he's struggling to fight.

He turns to look at you, and the smile he's been boasting amplifies. "God, you're gorgeous."

It's not a new observation; just one he's never voiced before. One that he was able to resist saying. But you're naked now, chest pillowed against his, eyes glowing and nose blushed.

You hum, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "I'm glad you chose to come here."

Just like that, there's a knot in Jungkook's stomach that seems to anchor that feeling he keeps having.

"Yeah," he nods. "Me too."

IT'S THREE IN the afternoon by the time you wake from your post-fuck snooze. Jungkook's never had one of those before. Hated being sticky after sex with anyone else. Always had to shower - but with you, he wants to stick to you like glue.

"Should have filmed that," he hums, the tips of his fingers stroking up your arms. You aren't sure if he's joking or not. "Would have given us a unique take on the project. Probably wouldn't have gotten us very high grades, mind you, but art is subjective."

"Some would argue that the critique of art is objective," you muse back, still blissfully cum-drunk from the events prior to your nap. Jungkook's nose has stopped bleeding, and the pair of you have almost forgotten the reason he showed up in the first place. "Documentary maker by night, porn star by day," you flirt. "Although it's cute that you think you fuck like a porn star."

"I felt you shaking," he says, knowing there's no possible way that you didn't enjoy it. His nose feels a little cold after all the trauma of the morning, so he buries it into your hair. "Can't fake that."

"That's what I'm saying," you simper, pressing a kiss against his bare torso, just below the meeting of his collarbones. And then another, simply for good measure. "Porn stars never actually look like they're making the woman feel any good." You trail down his chest, tongue licking gently at the darker skin around his nipple. "You... yeah you don't fuck like a porn star." And then you suck a little. He hisses, in the best possible way. 

"Don't," he says. "Not ready to go again."

You laugh. 

Jungkook thinks he's reached Nirvana. Almost certain, in fact. Never had a girl do that to him before. He loves to give it, but hasn't ever thought to receive it. Wonders what other things you'll do to him that he's never had done before. He can feel his cock fucking twitching again, achy and sore, definitely not recovered yet from how hard he went earlier - but god, he wants it. Wants to bury himself inside you again. Belong to you.

His hands paw at you, one gripping on your chest, the other on your ass, pulling you closer. Your leg hooks over him, and he can feel how wet you still are on the side of his thigh. His balls fucking tighten. He can feel it happening, blood rushing to his crotch. 

Yet despite it all, he just kisses you. Softly. Tenderly. Merely his lips languid between yours. Withdraws slowly. Keeps his eyes closed. Bliss.

"The fuck have you done to me, sugar?" he whispers, dark eyes opening to look into yours. His speech is husky, like he trying to steal the answers of a pop-quiz from you. You can't help him. You don't have a clue what the answer is. You're just as stuck as he is. "Got me feeling all fuzzy 'n' shit."

"Just a sugar rush," you smile. "It'll pass."

You're both acutely aware that it won't, but that will be a problem for another day.

"Tell you what," Jungkook muses, though his thoughts are shallow. He's not digging deep. Just talking for the sake of it. "I might not fuck like a porn star, but you don't fuck like a hooker." 

He pulls your arm up so that he can study the crease of your elbow. You let him move your body like you're a barbie doll. You'll be his toy, you think, if he wants. No bother. 

His fingers press at the thin skin that covers your veins, inspecting. 

"Not a scratch," he assesses. "So you're not an addict either."

You laugh, slightly amused. "No? Maybe I just don't inject."

Jungkook gives you a stern look. Hopes you're joking. Tells you that you better fucking be joking. The sweetness of your laughter tells him that you are.

"So?" you press. "I'm not a prostitute and I'm not an addict. It's your lucky day. What of it?"

Jungkook tilts his head down so that his nose is nestled into the crown of your head again. Comforting, he thinks. Smells like laundry. You must have washed your sheets recently. 

His next statement takes you off guard. 

"Only ever see three kinds of women down in Daerim." 

And you know.

You know he knows. 

You can feel it in the way he protectively presses his lips into your skull, as if he's Prince Charming trying to rid his Sleeping Beauty of the nightmare she's been living. Wake up.

But Prince Charming rides a white horse, not a petrol-spitting, air-cooled, steel-framed shadow that rips through the city at night. 

There are no nightmares, either. You're already wide awake. There's no saving you. 

He sighs against your head. Pauses. Resists, and then confronts. 

"I know what you do in the dark, sugar."

You don't say anything for a moment, and then you're pulling away from him, reaching for your shirt. He doesn't like this. Misses your warmth, but doesn't stop you. Instead, he follows, sitting on the edge of your bed, the corner of your comforter lazily protecting his modesty. His muscles are relaxed now, a little crease in his stomach from the way that he's slouching, hands in his lap. Those Bambi eyes of his are peaking through his hair, cheeks red and grazed from the morning encounter he'd had in Daerim.

He watches as you pull your shirt over your head, hair just as messy as his, and a graze on your cheek to match. He was pretty certain before that it had been carpet burn, but now that he's seen it up close, softly rubbed his thumb against it during pretty kisses, he's sure of it.

You avert his gaze. Feel shameful. Hate that he knows. You never cared before. It was just a fun little secret, the fact that he didn't know you were no angel. 

But you want him to think that you're one, now. 

For a moment, you were sure that he had. 

Instead, now, it feels like you're falling from grace.

He reaches for your hand, but you pull it back. "Please don't."

And so he doesn't. Just sits for a little while instead. "Do you want me to get dressed?"

You really don't. 

But your tongue is lodged in your mouth and it won't budge. You turn away, internally furious with yourself. It's been a while since you've gotten like this; so dreadfully panicked that you can't talk. It's a once in a blue moon kind of thing, the early onset of a panic attack, but you're hoping it won't reach the stage of no return. Praying.

"Babe?"

He sounds worried now, and it's making it worse. Feels like you've just reached the top of Bukhan Mountain without taking a second to catch your breath. 

Has your chest always been this tight? Or has someone just been wrapping rubber bands around your torso without you noticing? 

It isn't possible, and you know this, but it feels like it and - oh God - you can hear him shuffling, the buckle of his belt clanging. He's leaving, he's leaving, he's leaving, your ribs cackle as they close down on your lungs. 

There's a light hum behind you, like a wasp is coming to send you into a state of anaphylactic shock and then it stops. His jeans are tossed to the floor once more.

"Yoongi?" Jungkook speaks quietly behind you into the receiver of his phone. "Wassu- Yeah, yeah, I'm safe. I'm good."

I'm safe. 

I'm good.

"Where are- Yoongi stop. Stop it. I'm being deadly fucking serious-"

You don't realise it, but your chest begins to mellow as you listen in to his conversation. 

"It's my mess!" He shouts now. "I'll fucking fix it. I don't give a fuck what Hobi says. Where you at? The Zoo? I'll be there- Yes, I will. Don't do anything fucking stupid."

And then he hangs up, chucking his phone into your bed with more aggression than he'd ever wanted to show in your presence. You don't see it, back still turned, but you hear it, the way his phone rebounds against the springs of your mattress.

"Shit," he hisses, and when you turn to face him, you find that his head is in his hands, elbows on his knees.

Crouching by him, your chest expands. You don't give a shit about yourself anymore. Your palms rest just behind his elbows, eyes anchored below his, looking up. 

"He's got his fucking final in an hour," is all Jungkook says. "He's gonna miss his fucking final."

He lifts his head, tender lips pouted, eyes bloodshot from the pressure he's been placing on his palms. Looks right at you. Decides he'll never trust another pair of eyes more.

"I know what you do in the dark, sugar," he relays. "But I do worse. So much fucking worse. And I've just gone and fucked it all up."

And while he blames it all on himself, you know it's your fault. 

He didn't stay away from the girl. He tempted fate, tugged on the red string, and accidentally snapped it.

Forlorn, he slumps, tongue wetting his bottom lip as he bites down on it. It's only to stop it from trembling. Clouds lurk in his eyes, trying to block his vulnerabilities from you, but it doesn't take a genius to work out that he's scared. 

"Take it," you say, lips in a flat line, eyes stern. You nod towards the pile of cash on your desk, and his eyes follow. "Take it. Pay your debts. I can earn it again. I don't have a deadline. You do."

He shakes his head.

"I'm not taking the money you've earned."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm not," he protests and you've got it in your right mind to slap his pretty face silly. "Gonna be totally honest," he adds, "Don't really want your sugar baby money. Kinda resent it a little. Resent the fucker who gave it to you."

Jungkook hates him. 

Doesn't know him.

Loathes him.

"So then give him the middle finger and take it," you plead. "He got you fucked up into this mess, he got you jumped, he got your stash stolen. Take his money and get yourself and Yoongi out of it. You don't have time to be fucking arguing with me."

He wants to fight back. You stop him.

"We can argue later," you promise.

And that ever-present effervescent feeling is back in his chest. 

"Sugar," he speaks quietly. "Don't do this."

"Kook," you respond, voice much firmer than his. "You gotta do this. Yoongi shouldn't be fixing your mistakes and you know it. We can work it out on an I.O.U. basis. It's okay."

"I.O.U. suggests I'm gonna keep seeing you for a while," Jungkook mumbles. He isn't feeling as confident in himself as he had done earlier. 

You stand, offering your hand to him so that you can pull him up with you. Neither of you acknowledge the fact that he's stark bollock naked. It's really not the time. Nothing you haven't seen before, after all.

"Well, yeah," you shrug with a straight face, but there's a glint in your eye. "I'd hope so. Pretty sure you said you were fuck my tits later? Gotta hold up your end of the bargain, sugar."

And despite it all, he laughs, toying with your hands before slipping his finger between yours. "Don't call me that."

"Why not?" You squeeze his hands. "You're technically my sugar baby now."

"That's not how it works."

God, he knows he shouldn't be fucking about, wasting time flirting, but he just can't help himself.

"No?" You question, equally distracted.

"No," he says. "If you're paying me, and I'm fucking you, then that makes me a hooker."

He's not wrong. 

"Oh, that's kinda hot," you smile, pulling gently on his hands to encourage him to lean down. He does as he's told, and kisses you like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You're so fucked up," he whispers against you, knowing that it's exactly why he enjoys you so much.

You don't let the moment linger, though, tossing him his clothes and going to grab the money while he dresses himself. You stack it together, all nice and neat, using the desk to straighten the edges. The wedge is thick in your hands. Yellow 50's are laughing at you. Stupid girl thought we'd fix her problems, they chatter silently to one another.

"Three and half million won," you hold it out to Jungkook. He hesitates, so you force his grip around it and let go. It's his problem, now. Not yours. You smile so warmly that Jungkook can't help but let that feeling in his chest simmer. Your hair is still messy, mascara still smudged. He wants to kiss your cheeks. 

Jungkook hasn't disclosed what exactly was in his bag.

But in the same way he knows there are only three types of women in Daerim, you know there are equally only three types of men.

There's only one demographic that he belongs to. Yoongi, too. 

You don't say it explicitly, not like he does. 

"Holangi are nasty fuckers," you acknowledge. "I know they raise the stakes just for the fun of it. Whatever got stolen, the street value doesn't matter. Take it all. You'll need it."

Take what I owe you.

When he kisses you goodbye, it's just like the first time; all breathy and needy, lips parted and pouting. Again and again, he presses down into your lips. His brows furrow, hands on your cheeks, chest pressed against yours.

The crimson paint that had stained you from his very first kiss returns. You're painted in red for the second time that morning, but this time only you can see it. Only you can feel it.

That's her. That's the girl who let Jeon Jungkook kiss her like he actually meant it. 

But it's funny now, because you know that he does mean it.

When he finally leaves, his nose is blushed, his cupids bow too. Eyes glassy. Smile forlorn.  

Disappointingly, as you close the door of your apartment when he's no longer in your line of sight, you remember exactly how Jungkook had kissed you for the first time:

Like it was going to be the last.

And it consumes you, because the kiss you just shared felt exactly the same.

Your chest is uncomfortable again, but it's not rubber bands this time. 

It's that stupid red string that Jungkook had tugged too tightly on.

The one that he'd snapped right in half. 

WATTPAD // AO3 // KO-FI // CARRD

[ofjunemoment]

getting even | lee haechan (P1)

synopsis —  Haechan is notorious for his pranks. Who can forget about the one time the campus fountain was bleeding red? You were weary of never getting on his wrong side, but when you get to know him better, it seems like behind all that front he's a sweet and caring guy. That is until you get a bucket of water dunked on you straight after he promised he wouldn't pull something on you. You're not only pissed that he had fooled you like this, but that he chose such a simple prank.

pairing - haechan x fem!reader

genre - university!au, (one-sided) enemies, strangers to friends to lovers, slow burn, very slice of life, eventual smut (MDNI)

Wc - 11.6k

content - clubbing scene, reader is drunk at one point, random idols mentioned, university settings

warnings: mentions of throwing up (nothing too detailed)

a/n - hi lovelies <3 heres the first part to getting even!!! while i was writing the story i noticed it was getting very long (and i still have like... five more scenes to write lol) so i thought of getting this out first ^^ not a lot happens here but stay tuned for the next part because.. a lot.. happens there hehe. i hope you enjoy readingggg!!

Walking into your lecture, your eyes scan around to find an empty spot to occupy, but you were pleasantly surprised to see your friend Naeun sitting in one corner, leaning back as she scrolls through her phone. She beams when she sees you, patting the seat next to hers.

“Fancy seeing you here,” You plop down your bag next to your chair, teasing her from the get-go. She whines shyly at your callout.

“I was struck with academic motivation never felt before. It felt like I was destined to come in today and be as studious as possible,” She points towards the lecture, which is barely filled with students. It’s a nine a.m. lecture, but you decided to come in early today to snag a good seat that lets your focus on the lecture with your upcoming assignment that's due; Naeun on the other hand barely comes in after the first two weeks of the semester, regardless of what time the lecture is. If it’s not mandatory, why go?

Her motto is what makes you raise your eyebrow at her now, scanning her figure as if to fish out the real reason why she’s here.

“Don’t look at me like that! I actually came in to study today,” you raise your hands in self-defence, looking away from her with a giggle, opting to stop teasing her.

But not even a minute later, she cracks; “Okay, fine. If you keep insisting me to tell you I guess I have no choice,”

“But I didn’t even—”

“I heard from Haneul who heard from Heejin’s girlfriend who was at that book club meeting with Renjun, which for some reason thought Norwegian Wood the book didn’t match the song, which is such a hot take that only he would take. Anyways,” She crosses her leg over her knee, leaning in as if to tell you a secret, manicured hands cupping the side of her face.

“Haechan might pull something today, at this lecture.” You barely caught her words, but after a few seconds of taking in what she said, you lean back and look at her with wide eyes.

“Haechan? I thought he was finished?” Naeun nods her head at lightning speed, her expression matching yours too.

“See, that’s what I thought too, but apparently he only had some sort of weird writer's block but for his pranks. I think he missed all the attention he used to get, not that he’s any less popular now, but you know what I mean,” You, in fact, have no idea what she means. But with the new information that you’re now fed, you’re hyperaware of your surroundings, looking around for any abnormalities within your vicinity.

Ever since the orientation of the first year of your course, when you met Naeun and had to fight against falling asleep with all the alcohol the seniors were feeding you as a sort of welcoming ritual, Haechan had already made a solid impression on everyone. With the seniors pushing all the first-year students to drink, Haechan had gotten into a bit of trouble for refusing to drink something they’ve poured out for him, as the older guys go around with mindless gossiping, stating how much of a prune he is and that he’s just ruining the fun, all while they stick around girls who are out of their league.

Later that day, Haechan had made a few drinks for the few who he had angered as a form of apology. With his head bowed in tow, he honestly looked like he was asking for their forgiveness.

“It was careless of me to disrespect my seniors so blatantly like this, could you accept these as an apology? I’ll even pour out the soju for you.” With the bottle in his hand, his other hand cradled his elbow, showing respect as he barely met their eyes. The seniors were ready to make him work for it more, but with the way he was bowed in front of everyone in the hall, it looked like they were picking on the poor boy.

“Ah, Haechan, you don’t have to do that.” One of them chuckles. “We were just joking aroun—”

“Please! Just accept this, I don’t know how I can last the rest of my uni years knowing that I had disrespected you on my very first day.” He shouts in his high-pitched voice, making the already quiet hall of murmuring people all go silent. The seniors were now all flustered, before being ushered to take the cups Haechan had provided, waiting for him to pour them drinks.

From the corner of the table, you were slumped against, you remember two things very vividly that night; one, Naeun was an only child, which we can definitely work with. And two, when Haechan looked up at the second and third years of his major accepting his drinks, his grateful smile was laced with some sort of sinister glint.

As the seniors grumble in embarrassment while Haechan finishes pouring each one of them a drink, they swish their cups around as if it’s wine, delaying drinking from them while Haechan insists on signifying their bond with a toast.

“To my seniors, I hope to perform up to your expectations,” And with the tip of their cups in an imaginary circle, everyone cheered ‘one-shot’ as the seniors down their drinks. Haechan merely sipped his, and you had noticed his lips tilting to one corner, and even in your drunk state, you knew something was off.

Your suspicions were confirmed when the seniors all started coughing wildly, some clutching the corner of a table or one anothers’ shoulders, seeming like they were coughing their lungs out.

Turns out that Haechan had slipped hot sauce into the drinks, creating a fusion of different burning sensations to travel down their throats as they drink the alcohol in one shot. Instead of being chastised, he was cheered on by the other first years who were either tipsy or barely hanging on. Ever since then, he was known to pull pranks every now and then, most harmless, some embarrassing, but nothing serious and nothing to spite anyone. Like tampering with clocks in the lecture halls, making them chime a tune every ten minutes, or when he had swapped his blonde friend Jeno’s shampoo with a firetruck red dye, leaving his neck and the better part of his forehead red from the dye for days on end. The only prank done with motivation was the first one as if it was some sort of initiation in itself.

“Wait, at this lecture? But there’s barely anyone here. Doesn’t Haechan carry out his pranks with a full-blown audience at tow?” Naeun shushes at your words, trying to get you to quiet down with your words, but it was too late. The deed was done as the guy from behind you perks up at your conversation, leaning into your conversation bubble.

You recognise him as Sunwoo, as he quickly shifts his gaze between the two of you. “Haechan’s doing something today? Like, at this lecture?”

“Oh.. well, I wouldn’t say so,”

“Naeun,” He turns to your friend, and you look at her with doom written on both of your faces. Naeun can’t lie to save her life, most people know that by now, but never really have the balls to test the theory. Until now, of course.

“Naeun, is Haechan gonna pull a prank today?”

“Naeun, remember what we talked about restraint.” You tried to keep her attention on you, knowing that if her gaze wandered to the boy, she would break.

“Come on Naeun,” Sunwoo whines now, stomping his feet, making you look at him with disgust written on your face at his sudden burst of cuteness. “Just say yes or no. Ywes or nwo.”

“Dude, gross,” You shove at his shoulder in an attempt to finally relent. Naeun squeezes her eyes shut.

“Pwetty pwease?”

“Fine! Fuck, oh my god. Yes, he is, Haechan is maybe doing something today.” She leans back into her chair, chest heaving as if she’d run a marathon. “I hated that, please don’t ever do that again.” Sunwoo winks at you two as he suddenly stands straight in his seat.

With hands cupped around his mouth, he shouts out. “Hey everyone! Haechan is pulling a prank today! Tell all your friends to be careful, and to keep their cameras rolling! Remember to post it on the campus’ blog!” And with that, phones chime as people text and call the imminent news. You and Naeun look at each other, defeated.

“At least they don’t know that we spread it?” You try, shoulders now hunched in as Naeun rubs at her temples.

“Oh! Also, it was these two who told me, so you should thank them!” Sunwoo yells one last time as he points at the two of you, with some hoots and cheers now being sent your way. You two shrink into yourselves even more.

“Haneul is never gonna invite me out for bubble tea ever again,”

As the lecture hall fills up to its max capacity, everyone is on the edge of their seat, waiting for something to happen. The star of the show himself is nowhere to be seen, but his friends are huddled in their usual corner, trying their best to smile kindly and repeat on about how they ‘don’t know what Haechan is up to. Can I send him a text to see where he is? Why are you telling me what to do—’. Thankfully Jeno was able to stop Renjun from pouncing anyone, even though they both knew nothing would’ve happened.

The lecturer seems over the moon to have the hall filled as much as it is, excitedly explaining statistics and their significance in the current world. She doesn’t seem to notice that the majority are here for some sort of public performance and not the different ways you can find the probability of whatever it is she’s droning on about. You try your best to nod when she looks towards your general direction.

As the lecture ends, people grow restless with the lack of action in the last two hours. But no one had dared to step out of the hall, much less out of their seats in fear of something happening. But when the lecturer thanks everyone for joining her this week and talks about gratitude, people slump into their chairs, grumbling and huffing about their time being wasted. Everyone starts packing straight away, slowly maneuvering to the exit as they cook up theories about why Haechan had gone so long without a prank, and how the word got spread in the first place. You and Naeun sit static in your chairs, not wanting to attract any attention, alongside Haechan’s friends, who merely go on their phones and twirl their pens.

“Do you think this will come back to bite us in our ass?” You’re careful to whisper this time, shoving your laptop into your bag and Naeun clicks her pens closed. She merely shrugs, “I don’t think they even know our names, so I think we should be fine.” You look at the lecturer, who seems to be skipping her way to the exit now, undoubtedly feeling ecstatic at doing her job. As she opens the door and steps to the hall, you last see her beaming smile before a screech echoes out, making everyone stop in their tracks.

The people who were the closest to her are now looking at the ground where she lies, bags and items now askew across the floor outside of the hall. A few step up and help her get up by grasping her wrists, pulling when she seems to have found their bearings. But their effort ends fruitless, as not only does she stay on the floor, but the two people who had helped her also collapse again on the floor.

“What the fuck…” As people go to help their friends and the lecturer from the floor, the three figures on the floor attempt to skid back into the lecture room instead of out. A guy you recognise as Beomgyu looks out onto the hallway outside the lecture hall, before pressing the tip of his shoe against the floor as if to test something. When he pressed his sole against the floor, he tries shifting left and right before pressing his other foot on the floor, rebalancing himself when he’s tilted a bit to the left. You see him squat down and take a big whiff, face confused as he stands back up, but not for long.

Smiling like a radiating child, his laugh echoes throughout the hall as he pulls on his friend Jeongin’s hand to join him. “The floor is covered with butter!”

At that, the once quiet hall grows loud, as people slowly step onto the floor, while some treat it like a skating rink, gliding and spinning right outside the lecture hall.

“The whole floor with butter? When did he have the time to do that?” You question as you now stand with your bag slung over your shoulder. Jeno, who was walking past you with Renjun, turns back to you. “He did it while the lecture was going on. If you can’t handle skidding on the floor, you might wanna use the other door,” And with a blinding smile, he turns back around and heads out the alternative door.

Naeun clutched at your bicep. “Did he talk to us right now? Like, look at us in the eye and speak words?”

You nod your head. “I think you can put your delusional days to an end. He totally likes you,” She smacks your hand as you tease her, but huddles closer nevertheless.

“I am, for once, thankful that you just speak words without thinking,”

You’re tugging at the waist of your skirt as Naeun pulls you by your locked elbows, shoes clicking towards the direction of the club. The Beehive club is known to harbour students of all majors from your university, as it is the closest club to the dorms situated just a five-minute walk away from campus, making socialising as easy as it can get. Naeun had urged for you two to go this week, even when you’d rather rest after giving in the assignment that you were slaving over for the past few days. She insisted that it would be worth this time.

“Haechan finally put a cease in his hiatus. That means he will be at the party, which means Jeno will be at the party, which means I need to make my presence known and somehow rizz him by sending him brainwaves.” She had explained while getting ready, as she blows on her false lashes before putting them on. You sulk from your position in bed, slowly trying to hype yourself up to get ready.

“You’re not even gonna talk to him? What’s the point then?” Naeun groans at that.

“You know that if I open my mouth around him I’ll pee myself. Come on, and you deserve to have some fun after all that hard work,” And so half a bottle of soju and an hour later, you find yourself covering one of your ears as you descend the stairs to the Beehive club. You feel the bass of the song travel up your legs as you enter the club, and are offered free drink coupons. It’s when you’re squeezing a lemon slice into your mouth at the bar that you feel a hand tap against your shoulder. You turn to see Haneul, a grin gleaming even in the dark of the club as she squeals and pulls both you and Naeun into a hug.

“My favourite girls, how have you been?” She shouts against the booming music against your ears, to which you give her a thumbs up while Naeun further squeezes herself against Haneul's figure in excitement, the alcohol already making her feel giddier. She pulls you towards the dance floor, muttering about how she has a VIP booth that someone had offered her, and leads the way. Plopping down, Haneul gestures for staff before saying something into his ear, before giving a wink and pointing at the VIP booth you’re settled at.

As you three start conversing, the staff comes back with more drinks, and Haneul encourages you to drink, assuring you that it’s attached to the tab of the booth. “Some guy called Jay has this booth under his name, and he said to put any drinks I wanted on the tab,” You toast your free drinks against one another, the clink of the glasses barely audible as you each take a sip. Haneul shares the anecdotes and stories that have while she was away on vacation, while you and Naeun nod and react accordingly, slipping in your commentaries at the climax of her stories.

“What about you two? Any news recently?” She takes a sip from her straw as she says this, glancing between the two of you excitedly. You and Naeun share a sheepish glance, knowing neither of you has anything as exciting to share.

“Oh come on, what have you been doing these days?”

“Just work,” Naeun frowns as she says this.

“And school,” You follow up.

“You’re right, and school. And then work again,”

“And scho—”

“You guys are miserable,” Haneul scoffs jokingly. She reaches for the bottle of champagne that's sitting in the ice bucket, grabbing two clean glasses. “Here, have more drinks so you can have something exciting to tell me later on,” Although mixing your drinks is never good, the loud music and the flashing lights encourage you to drink more, and your body craves to let loose.

Two glasses and a twenty-minute dance break later, you’re at a corner of the club huddling near each other. Naeun had caught a glimpse of Jeno at the bar, and the alcohol in her system removed all brain-to-mouth filters she had.

“He’s so—” She cups her face as she hiccups. “So fine. So so fine. You know, when we were at our lecture… the other day with Haechan’s …comeback or, fuck, butter floor, he spoke to us,” Her warm eyes fluttered as she thought back to that moment. “Jeno said real words, in real life and my ear heard them. I think he looked at me too, what the fuck?” She grabs her forehead as if taking the information in for the first time before she presses her head against your shoulder.

“She’s not being delusional, he did speak to us,” You nod your head at Haneul as she shoots you a questioning look, with Naeun clinging onto you harder. “He even helped us go out through the back door so we don’t end up all oily with the butter rink.” Naeun snorts, which catches all of you off guard and even herself, her eyes opening and locking onto something in the middle of the dance floor. Her gaze suddenly shifts, and before you know it she’s shoving her way through the crowd and heading towards her target.

“What is she—? Oh no, fuck,” You gasp while Haneul’s mouth hangs open when you both see Naeun heading toward Jeno, who’s dancing with someone at the moment, at full speed.

Haneul looks at you with contemplation. “I mean… it could turn out for the better?” She tries.

“Or she would wake up embarrassed as fuck for the next week or so,” You contemplate with her. Naeun is never the type to be aggressive, even when she's drunk. The most she’s done once was point a finger at you while she was angry and then look away to calm herself down.

But before you could relax back into your corner, you see her reach up for her earrings.

“Okay, fuck. Take this, I’ll be back,” Shoving your drink in Haneul’s hand, you make your way through the crowd and towards Naeun, rushing before she reaches her imminent doom. Jeno and his dancing partner are oblivious to the devil baby that Naeun takes the form of at the moment, which gives you hope that embarrassment can be evaded.

But then she full-body slams into Haechan.

“Woah,” He places his free hand on her shoulder, stopping her from tipping all the way to the right and losing her balance. The cup in his other hand now seems to be empty as its contents drip from both of their bodies, but Naeun is too drunk to notice and Haechan seems to have barely processed anything, seemingly working on autopilot at this point. You catch Naeun by the waist, your other hand going to her arm and slinging it around your shoulder to ground her, inspecting the mess she made. Your expression is apologetic when you make eye contact with Haechan, but he merely purses his lips and gestures putting Naeun’s other arm around himself for more support.

You mouth a ‘thank you’ and heave her body outside of the dance floor and towards the booth Haneul had brought you to earlier. Placing her on the couch, she slumps down and immediately whines when her hand makes contact with her torso on the descent.

“I’m all sticky now…” Her eyes are barely open as she says this, as the bass of the music dwindles in the semi-confines of the booth.

“That makes the two of us,” As Haechan says this, your eyes glance over his figure to see his once white button-up is now tinted blue and sticking to his body, outlining the faintest of lines in the dark of the club. You advert your eyes, not wanting to be caught gawking at him like a man in the Victorian era.

“I’m so sorry, thank you for helping,” You bite your lip momentarily, feeling mortified for ruining his shirt. He merely waves you off, “Don’t worry. I’m not too fussed about it,” His hand is placed at his hip as he says this, but his free hand gestures at your intoxicated friend. “But she seems to be the most bothered out of all of us,”

As if on cue, Naeun whines from her slumped position on the couches, shifting left and right in an attempt to gain some leverage into standing up, only to slip back down. She calls for your name and then squints at Haechan as if trying to remember his.

“Naeun, let’s call it a night, yeah?” You try telling her and you look around to find her bag that she’s left. She protests like a child in a grocery store, huffing as she droops further onto the couch, her cheek now pressed against the cushions.

“No, not until I bag the class clown's hot friend.” Your eyes widen as you feel your cheeks grow hot, trying your best to not glance over at Haechan and somewhat blow Naeun’s cover. You reach over and pat her cheeks lightly in a warning.

“Naeun, you’re blabbering nonsense now. Come on, let’s get going.”

“I’m not! I’m talking about Jeno, not nonsense. Haechan’s super hot friend Jeno,” Your whole body does a reset as she says this, shoulders going stiff while Naeun is oblivious to everything. She opens her eyes and locks them on something behind you, now pointing her finger and smiling giddily.

“Oh! Look, Haechan is here! Hey, do you think if I ask reallyyy nicely he’ll—” Her next words are muffled by your hand and a forced laugh. You cast a look at Haechan to see him trying and failing to contain a smile, as his hand pushes at the corner of his mouth. Upon making eye contact with you he quickly looks away and tries to retain himself from laughing. You sigh as you think about the number of things you’d have to run down to sober Naeun tomorrow about drunk Naeun’s antics right now. Gathering both of your things and shrugging your jacket on your friend, you quickly grab a tissue paper from the table and the eyeliner pen from Naeun’s bag, scribbling down your phone number.

Once Haechan has regained his composure, he’s met with your hand extended towards him holding a napkin. He picks it up from your hand as you wave it a bit impatiently before you quickly go to shoulder your friend up.

“This is my number, send me your details and I’ll cover for your shirt and the drink,” You grunt as you adjust Naeun’s deadweight before she gets the memo and tries standing on her two feet. “Thank you again for helping, uh, please ignore everything she just said. I know it’ll be a good payback prank but—”

“Hey, don’t worry,” Haechan’s chuckle resounds deep even in the loud bass of the club. “I wouldn’t pull anything on her for this.” He comes to Naeun’s opposite side, grabbing her arm and throwing it over his shoulder, heading towards the exit of the club without casting a glance back at you. You fumble with your belongings before quickly catching up, heels clicking as you ascend the stairs, your hands hovering around Naeun’s general direction, in fear that she’ll decide to fling herself off Haechan’s grip in an attempt of brushing her drunkenness off.

Outside of the club, cars whizz by the busy streets as people go for second and third rounds of drinks at this time of the night. Haechan lets Naeun sink into the ground as the latter pulls her weight, and you scramble towards her on the floor.

“Are you gonna hurl?” You ask. She hiccups.

“No,” And that’s all you needed to hear. Standing up, you fish out your phone and decide to call a cab back to your dorms, not wanting to carry your friend in the ten-minute walk back.

“Hey,” Haechan calls and you had momentarily forgotten that he was still here. You look up to see him scratching at his neck, mulling over his next words. “Uh, if you’d like, I didn’t drink anything and— I mean I was going to but then your friend just… What I’m saying is that I can drop you off?” The alcohol swimming in your brain may be playing with you, but you think you see a dust of pink settle into the boy’s cheek and neck.

“I mean, you’re Haneul’s friends, right? I remember you were her roommate at the dorms last year, so if you still live there I can drop you off,” He straightened his shoulder as he said this, now looking more confident about his offer.

You shift your weight, as you now actually get to take a good look at him. Under the club's dark and strobing lights, you could barely see his features far past his white button-up shirt and the light reflecting in his eyes. The street light illuminates the figure in front of you fully, allowing you to see the blue stain in his shirt, but also the tight fit of his jeans and the veins adorning his arms as he pushes up his sleeves at his elbows.

“Oh, thanks. But we should be okay. I’m sorry for the trouble.” You’re a bit flustered as you say this, your eyes flickering from his forearms to his face, not wanting to come off rude but also not being able to contain your monkey-sex brain from forming thoughts. You’re salivating over forearms.

“Okay…wait. Here,” He fishes out his phone from his pocket, typing in the phone number that you handed to him earlier in the night, calling you briefly. “Give me a text when you arrive home or if you need any help with warding off any weirdos.” You feel your stomach warm at his gesture, punching your name into his phone when he gives it to you. When you give it back to him, he mouths your name, before smiling at you.

“Will you be alright going alone?” He says as he helps you bring Naeun to a stand, the latter squeezing her eyes open and trying to regain balance and focus.

“Yup,” You pop, fixing your friend's bag on her shoulder. “She said she wasn’t gonna throw up, which means I have around twenty minutes until she changes her mind. She’s always the most self-aware pre-vom, so the walk back should be okay,” You don’t know why you’re reassuring him from getting kidnapped on your way back, but it feels nice to have someone care for your safety like this. Naeun starts marching away once you face her in the direction of your unit, and with a last wave goodbye, you turn your back to Haechan and the club.

[FRIDAY; 1:26 AM]

you: hii im home now

haechan: thats good

haechan: did she thrw up yet??

you: nah not yet

you: but we’re getting there you: t-minus three secs

haechan: remember to drink water b4 u sleep

you: okayy thank u for today :)

Telling Naeun how she almost embarrassed herself wasn’t as dreadful when she was fighting a hangover. She seemed to be more concerned about her water intake than almost causing a scene with Jeno at the club, complaining about the dryness of her skin.

“I can’t believe you let me go to sleep without telling me to wash my make-up off,” She says this as she adds her expensive serum to her face, grabbing a guasha tool and pressing the cool instrument against her temples, completely disregarding its original use. You continue brushing your teeth next to her against the sink, unable to reply with the foam in your mouth.

“You passed out on the toilet after throwing up, I almost threw up myself trying to bring you to your bed,” You say as you spit out your toothpaste.

“Wait, then how did I not cause a scene?”

“Haechan stopped you,” You reply seamlessly, drying your hands on the hand towel, oblivious to the bewildered stare Naeun throws your way.

“Haechan? Like, Jeno’s friend Haechan? The guy who put red food dye in the campus’ water which made everyone's mouth red?” You remember the initial shock of walking by the water fountain the day he did this, the blood red of the water being a stark contrast to the gloomy winter weather last year.

“Yeah, you even spilled his drink on him and everything.” You giggle at the groan that she lets out, covering her face with her hands.

“Oh my god, he’s gonna now plant a hidden alarm in my room like he did to this other guy in the dorm, or put plastic cockroaches in everything I own. I can’t believe I did that, was his shirt white?”

“Not after you spilt his neon blue drink,” You egg on even more. “But don’t worry, he said he won’t pull anything on you.” At that, her shoulders slump down in relief, as she leans against the doorframe of the bathroom.

“I’m safe,” She cheers, heading to the kitchen like nothing had happened. But being the drama queen that she is, she quickly turns to look back at you with a sharp gasp. “But you aren’t!”

You roll your eyes at her dramatics. “What do you mean? Why would I not be safe?” You disregard her sceptics as you pass by her and into the kitchen, opening the fridge to look for something to eat.

“He said that he wouldn’t do anything to me, but he didn’t say anything about you.” For someone whos nursing a hangover, it’s alarming to see her raise her voice and move as swiftly as she does around you, trying to get you as panicked as she is about her made-up scenario. “He can glitter bomb your bag, or hack your laptop so that whenever you have an assignment it doesn’t go through until a few seconds after it's due, or—” You cut your friend off by stuffing cereal in her mouth, stopping her mid-rant.

“Why would he do that to me? You have to know he only did those to relevant or well-known people, like Somi or Sunghoon. He wouldn’t do some grand prank on someone like me.” You turn to pour your chosen cereal into a bowl. “And if you say anything else, just know I’m ignoring you.”

“But—”

“I’m ignoring you,”

“You can’t do this to m—”

“Ignoring youuuu,”

You don’t hear of or see Haechan until Wednesday, when you’re walking to your second class of the day from the library.

Adjusting your items in your bag, you wouldn’t have noticed his presence at all until he had cleared his throat and brushed his shoulder lightly against yours.

“Oh,” Your eyes widen by reflex, taken aback by his sudden approach before they soften again at the smile adorning his face. “Hi,”

“Hey, you heading to class?” He small talks, and maybe you should spend less time with your roommate, because what should be a simple interaction between you and one of your peers is putting you on edge. Even when you had ignored Naeun’s dramatics about you being dunked on by the boy before you, you can’t deny the jittery feeling coursing through your body, as if your body is gearing in to go into fight-or-flight mode.

Not wanting to come off rude, you hum an agreement and attempt to cast a friendly glance at him, which doesn’t last long as you see him looking back at you.

“Did you, uh, have fun?” You attempt at making small talk, but Haechan looks at you quizically at your lack of context. “At the club, that night. Sorry for interrupting your night and ruining your shirt.” You can’t help but circle back, feeling apologetic when you recall the massive blue stain you had left him in.

“Hey, don’t sweat it. I hated that shirt anyway,” You gape at him as he says this, but quickly close your mouth shut and roll your eyes when you see the teasing glint flashing in his eyes. “And don’t worry about the prank thing too, I wouldn’t think about pranking a pretty girl like you,” You flush momentarily, but remember that you’re talking to ‘the biggest flirt on campus’. Haenul’s words, not yours.

“Good to know,” You egg him on, feeling your shoulders slump down as you grow more relaxed in his company. His jovial manner eases your thoughts of him coming after you, as his presence in front of you proves that he’s merely another student on your campus, trying to have fun and get by with crippling student debt.

Small talking a bit more as you head towards your tutorial, you revel in the drama he tells you that has occurred after you had left the club, remembering to list down the details to recall back to Naeun when you see her later. It’s when you’re at the door of your classroom when Haechan’s phone buzzes in his pocket.

“I have a call to take, but I’ll see you around?” He looks at you with a friendly smile, and it takes everything in you not to melt right there. You can see why some of the girls in your year are fond of him.

Waving him goodbye, you wait until he turns a corner before you go towards your class. You’re just a few minutes late, which explains why you’re met with the nearly closed door of the classroom. Readily, you grip the handle and creak open the door, eyes ready to scan around the room for a vacant spot for you to sit at. But before you could comprehend much, you’re suddenly soaked cold.

Turns out, there was a bucket of water placed on the top of the door, which explains why there was a slight gap instead of the door being closed like it usually is when your tutorial begins. No one in the class had a clue of why the bucket was there or thought to dismantle the bucket, not wanting to mess with the inevitable of something occurring. The door you had entered from wasn’t a main door to the room either, but instead, a back door that barely anyone used, so they were all equally shocked when you had chosen to walk through the obscure entry. Oblivious to the minute signs, you walked right into the classroom and were immediately met with water and a few cubes of ice.

You convey all of this to Naeun when she sees you damper than normal at the campus cafe, where you two usually meet during your free periods; you’re usually dryer than this, so it wasn’t hard for her to realise. She laughs, because is she truly Naeun if she doesn’t laugh at your demise, but then she falls silent, brows now furrowed.

You look at her in question. “Why do you look like you’re a shiver away? I’m the one who’s soaked.”

“Oh my god, Haechan did this to you,” She completely ignores your words, making her point with theatre-level dramatics.

You wave your hand at her, disregarding her theory. “He couldn’t have. He was walking with me when I was headed to class.”

“Exactly!” She exclaims, the hot coffee sloshing around in her cup as she almost jumps out of her seat. You flinch at the handling of the hot drink. “He walked with you to distract you from the fact that he’s gonna pull something. He must’ve set it up before and came around to slow you down. I mean come on,” She slams her cup down on the saucer. “A phone call right when you reach your class? Isn’t that too obvious?” And you hate to admit it, but Naeun does have a point. The main topic of your conversation was about him not pulling anything on you, only for you to walk into his trap just a few minutes later.

“Oh my god,” You slouch against the booth seat of the cafe, the information slowly settling in. “But—”

“Why you?”

“Why that prank?”

Now it’s Naeun’s turn to look at you quizically. “What?”

You feel incredulous now, heat building up inside you. “A fucking bucket of water? That’s it? Is that all he could think of; he’s the same person who filled a whole lecture room with ping-pong balls and tied his roommate's bed to the door with rope. Why was my prank so low-effort?” Naeun now realises the anger budding within you, as she looks around the cafe when your voice raises slightly. She splays her hands out in front of you in a lieu to calm you down, but you’re too warped in your fury to acknowledge her attempts.

“Water? Water? With like, four cubes of ice, and that’s it. Is that all I’m worth? He couldn’t put a glitter bomb in every second purse of mine, or change my ex’s contact name to yours, or anything.” You down your drink quickly, feeling too worked up to be cooped in the booth of the cafe. Naeun follows after, quickly gathering her things and putting her laptop and pens in her bag. You would feel bad for cutting your study session short, but she was barely studying, so the guilt dwindles just a bit. The anger overpowers it by a margin.

“Hey, what are you— don’t go and do something stupid.” Naeun tries as she loops her arm with yours.

You sigh when she squeezes your bicep, feeling the heat inside you cool down just a bit. “I’m not gonna do anything. If anything, if I act like it affected me and lash out at him, it would be exactly what he wants.”

“So you’re gonna act like nothing happened?” You nod your head with hesitation.

“Well, something along the lines,”

It is no surprise that Haechan thrives on attention. That’s the sole reason why he continues with these pranks, and it doesn’t take a psychology major to figure this one out. You did think about pulling something back on him, maybe like pantsing him in the middle of campus or putting some hair removal cream in his shampoo so he thinks he’s slowly balding, but even with how embarrassing and risky they are —you don’t want to leave a huge impact on him, just ruffling his feathers a bit, you know he’ll revel in the attention regardless. So you go for the next best thing.

Ignoring him.

It was a good idea when you and Naeun were walking and passed by his group of friends, who exchanged some pleasantries with you, your friend barely holding it together at Jeno’s eye smile. You held eye contact and waved at Renjun and Jeno, but barely spared a glance towards Haechan’s direction, and when you finally did, you just gave him a blank stare.

You think it worked when you saw the corner of his lip slip down from the smile he was sporting, and you almost felt bad for acting so cold to someone who didn’t do anything. Then you remind yourself that he did, in fact, do something. You thought it would be enough to do this just a few more times when you see him in the next few months of the semester, and you barely see him so it shouldn’t be too hard. But it’s like fate has a personal vendetta against you, because ever since that fateful night, you see him everywhere.

You barely remember him coming into the campus library, let alone the quiet corner that you huddle yourself in to get your grind on. So it’s safe to say that you were shocked when you feel a tap on your shoulder only to look up and see Haechan looming over you, a shy smile sporting his face at the prospect of reaching out to you.

“Hey,” He greets, his hand tugging at his earlobe as if shy. He looks at the seat opposite yours, as if wanting to sit there. You feel shame burn inside you when you don’t go to offer the seat, but you attempt to dwindle it when you remind yourself that you had to sit soaked throughout the entire class because participation is mandatory for your grades.

“How was your class the other day,” Your grip on your pen tightens as he says this, and you’re sure that the tilt in the corner of his mouth is to keep himself from laughing at you straight to your face. But you don’t give in, and instead nod your head with your eyebrows slightly raised, as if exasperated.

“It was okay,” You can only keep your replies short instead of ignoring him by keeping silent. His lingering form by your table and your avoidant gaze is already fueling the awkward air surrounding you, but you’re not giving in until he does.

And it seems like he’s not backing out anytime soon. “ Oh, I heard from Haneul that you’re planning on picking up cross-cultural management next session? I took that course last year so if you wanted some notes I can send them to you,” Fuck. How is he so good at this? His words make you think about your initial assumptions, and looking at his face, he does seem genuine about his offer, the tips of his ears now growing pink.

You soften a bit, ready to apologise to him for being overstrung, but then his gaze goes to something behind you, and now he covers his mouth with his palm as if stopping himself from bursting with laughter.

Confused, you turn around to see what was so hilarious for him to shift his demeanour so suddenly, only to be met with his friends, Jeno and Renjun, who go cartoonishly still at your attention. Of course, all of this is a running joke for him; sweetening up to you after the incident just so he can prove that no one can resist him.

Scoffing, you shut your laptop and gather your things, ignoring Haechan’s noise of surprise with your sudden movement, shoving everything in your bag and shouldering it. “I have to head out now, forgot that Naeun wanted to meet me before her class.” You make up an excuse as you look at your phone for the time. Naeun is taking a diligent afternoon nap at this very moment back in your dorm, completely oblivious to the trials you’re facing; but he doesn’t need to know your every move.

You almost slip out a ‘sorry’ as a reflex, but one glance back at the shocked faces of both Haechan and his subordinates brings you back, as you merely give him a tight smile before brushing past him.

“Oka— I’ll see you around!” Your shoulder bunches up at his volume as you hastily make your way out of his presence and the building.

Stepping into the radio broadcasting club room, you greet everyone present, apologising for being late.

“I got caught up on the way,” You take a seat at the table, putting your bag on the ground. Naeun, whos seated next to you, taps repeatedly at your bicep as a greeting, squealing away from you when you attempt to deliver a pinch to her skin.

“Did you get another bucket of water dunked on you?” Your senior Yubin comments, making everyone in the room laugh. You deliver a strained chuckle as Naeun casts a worried glance at you, but you wave her concern away

“Yubin’s just kidding, you’re not late either, we just sent Minseok to pick up the pizza boxes. Then after we’re done eating we can start brainstorming for the university mini carnival event.” Sohee softly informs, looking up from her clipboard to give you a kind smile.

“If anything, Jihoon’s the person we have to chastise. He texted saying he’ll be here in five minutes fifteen minutes ago.” Juyeon huffs at his phone screen.

As if on cue, the door opens and in comes Jihoon, but he isn’t alone.

“Sorry for coming in late, but look what I found along the way. Isn’t he so cute?” He coos at Haechan who stands beside him, looking at his friend incredulously, mockingly raising his hand. Ignoring Haechan’s disdain for his words, he pinches at his cheeks as he looks towards Yubin and Sohee. “Can we keep him? I always wanted a pet bear,”  

Naeun leans in towards you. “He’s more of a cocaine bear than a pet.” You smack at her as she whispers this to you, reminding her of restraint. “You’re not the best at whispering, babe” You tease. “Keep your tone down if you also don’t wanna get dunked on.”

You feel your heart melt when you see look towards Haechan’s direction and see his cheeks turning pink. It seems like you’re not the only one when you hear a chorus of dreamy mutterings echo throughout the room. He swats at Jihoon’s hand before tilting his head lightly at the two leaders of the club. “I wanted to make sure this devil spawn doesn’t make a mess every step he takes. I’ll head out now,” He starts to wave at everyone in the room but sounds of disapproval travel around, and before he knows it Haechan is being dragged by Jihoon and Juyeon to take a seat at the table. In the midst of all the commotion, he looks up and catches your gaze, making you still in your seat, before he’s handled once more to sit down.

“You’re more than welcome to join us,” Yubin beams, and not for long Minseok comes in with a mountain of pizza boxes in his grip.

You see the tip of his ears turn red (something you now notice that you see a lot) as he thanks your seniors. “I’ll be out after I steal your food,” He grins, and it takes much more than your initial willpower to look away.

So far, you were willing to categorise seeing Haechan manifesting everywhere as chance; maybe some sick and twisted form of coincidence. Because before all of this, if you were to get a dollar for every time you had encountered him throughout your whole degree, you would have six, maybe seven dollars if you count that one Zoom call. You had your doubts in the beginning when you saw him at the library and then at your club meeting, that he was doing all of this on purpose; but every other time you would see him in the hallways and lecture halls, you can’t chalk it up to anything but pure coincidence. Haechan is a uni student doing uni-student activities.

It takes you some time to get that idea jammed into your head, and you’ve nearly convinced yourself until today. A relaxing wind-down with one glass of wine turned into you finishing a whole bottle, which amplified your cravings for something sweet. Meeting in the breakfast aisle in your local grocer shouldn’t be something shocking, but you can’t wrap your head around the fact that he, too, decided to purchase cereal at 4 a.m. on a Tuesday.

“Nope,” You immediately put the two boxes of cereal you were choosing back on the shelf clumsily, looking around for the nearest exit in the opposite direction.

“Hey, wait—”

“No, nope. Not at all,” You’re now putting back all the drunk midnight cravings you’ve picked up, shoving them back in their designated areas on the shelf haphazardly as you make your way back out of the place. Your drunk and sleep-deprived brain can’t handle the fact that you’re supposed to interact with Haechan here, out of all the socially acceptable exchanges. You hear a shuffle behind you, but you can’t bring yourself to look back around, focusing entirely on exiting the store without tripping over anything.

Outside, the cold of the night engulfs you as you try to find your bearings, but you’re stopped from lumbering your way back to your dorm by a hand grabbing your arm.

“Y/n, slow down—”

“Stop manifesting yourself into my life,” You groan as you weakly prod away his hand, but his soberness gives him an upper hand, as he merely grabs your hand and holds you by your wrists instead.

“Manifesting? I’m not— actually, that’s not even important. Is there anyone with you tonight?” You groan lightly, still trying to free yourself from his grip. “Naeun?” He prods.

You sigh when you realise he’s not giving up anytime soon. “Naeun is at home, waiting for the Oreo cereals I was gonna impulse buy. Or maybe she’s dreaming about them? I don’t know,” You mumble, hands now lax in his grip, head tilted down. When you don’t hear a reply, you look up and are met with Haechan fishing his phone out of his pocket before pressing the dial button.

“Hi Jen, I’ll meet you at the dorms, it’s…” He glances at your slumped figure, and you’re not sure if the heat in your cheeks is due to the drinks or his attention on you. “A long story. I won’t be long.” Pocketing his phone after ending the call, he lets go of your wrists in favour of clasping his hand into yours, fingers interlocking as he starts heading in the direction of your dorms.

“What are you…” The dark of the night doesn’t help you navigate your way back, so you’re slightly grateful that Haechan is guiding you the way he is.

“Our dorm buildings aren’t far from one another. I can’t let you go home alone in this state,” He answers your question before you could even voice it, looking at you with a soft gaze. He chuckles when you go to look away from him every time he looks at you, squeezing the grip he has on your hand.

The walk is silent for the most part, but Haechan’s brows are furrowed as he thinks about something. Just as you start seeing the entrance of your dorm building, Haechan starts. “Why are you ignoring me?”

The heat in your cheeks disperses momentarily as a cold wave washes over you. The heat comes back when your wide eyes meet his questioning gaze, and you can’t help but squirm in place from being put on the spot.

“That’s cheating,” You slur with a frown. “Ask me when I’m sober. Or when you’re also a bottle of wine in.”

“A whole bottle? Jesus,” He laughs lightly as you groan, tightening his hold on your hand when you try to run away. The pull of his grip catches you off guard, as you stumble forward and closer to his figure. “I hope you can keep a promise, pretty girl.” He teases. Before you can retaliate, he plops you at the entry of your dorm building, swiping the access card to the building poking out of your front pocket and on the reader, before removing his hand from yours and dropping the card back in your possession. You already miss the warmth of his touch, but by the time you look back up, you’re only met with his retreating back.

“Hey, you’re just in time. Did you know that if I did a handstand for almost two minutes straight I can get myself to feel— Why are you empty-handed?” Naeun’s slurs have toned down since you last saw her, but it’s still there. You sigh as you plop yourself face down onto the couch.

“Naeun?” Your voice comes out muffled from the couch cushions, but Naeun hears you regardless, grunting a reply as she shuffles from her position on the floor, probably to find a not-empty bottle of alcohol.

“You know that saying about seducing the things that scare you?” You move your head out from the cushion halfway through your question, wanting to breathe more than to wallow for once.

“Ohhh, I know what you’re talking about,” She hiccups only once. “The fearing what you attract.”

“Attracting your fears.”

“Tomato-tomato. What are you trying to say?”

“I don’t think they were lying about it,” You had only possessed the fear of saying Haechan in the past few weeks, and now you only see him. If only you were that much fearful of money.

“Are you serious?” Naeun straightens her posture quickly. “I’m so scared of puppy play. Like, truly terrified. If someone handsome were to come up to me with a collar around their neck and a leash in their hand I would scream in fear,”

“Okay, I got it the first time.”

“I don’t think you understand, if they were all whiny about how they wanna be my pet and have me stroke the—”

“I get it!”

Although you had came to the epiphany that you’re attracting what you fear (you don’t know if the exaggerated gasp you let out when you walk by a bank or ATM helps, but it’s worth a try) you still can’t get yourself to not think of Haechan when you walk around campus.

But you don’t see him for the entire week after your last drunk interaction with him, and you’re not sure if you should be relieved or scared. So you choose to be both simultaneously, When you step into your corner of the library, your heart beats like you’ve run a marathon, only to be met with the usual vacantness it always was. You then go through your usual tasks until you have to a secondary location, and before you know it you’re nervous for simply wanting to walk to the bathroom.

“Am I going to constantly piss my pants every step I take on campus?” You complained over dinner with Naeun, as she constantly flips the meat on the grill to avoid burning it.

“If you keep thinking about him, then I think the answer is obvious.” She puts one slice on your plate before continuing. “But also maybe take this as a sign? He’s not popping up randomly anymore, which means that your life is like it was before.” Your reflex is to fight back for no other reason than to counteract your friend, but you cut yourself short when you realise she has a point. Ever since that fateful night, your life is now like it was before you had briefly acquainted with the man.

And so you’re not scared anymore. You even forget to double-check your surroundings to see if he’s anywhere in sight. Your life is as peaceful as a student's life can be. Of course, until it isn’t.

The university’s yearly fundraising festival had come around again, and the broadcasting club had decided to run a barbeque booth to raise their supply funds. You were assigned to take orders, while Juyeon and Yubin tended to the skewers. The heat of the booth mingles with the cool wind of the summer night, as you fan yourself with your hand, handling the money given to you as someone makes a new order.

“One order of chicken skewer please,” You raise your voice enough for Juyeon and Yubin to hear over the sizzling noise of the grill, as you find the exact change to give back to the girl ordering. As the next customer shuffles up, you’re too busy writing down the order on a slip of paper to spare them a glance (which, if this was a running business, would not be counted as good customer service).

“Welcome! Would you like to order our rice cake skewer? We have a special combo of two for the price of one,”

“How much is it for a few minutes of your company?” You feel your blood run cold upon hearing his voice. Looking up, you’re met with Haechan’s gaze your eyes locking in an unexpected encounter. Adorning a smile on his face, he looks past you and greets your club members before you can think of what to say.

“Hi Channie, how are you?” Yubin asks as she put a chicken skewer in a cup. Juyeon comes up next to you as he reaches out to pinch Haechan’s cheeks. “Hey there cutie, do you wanna do us a favour and buy everything from our booth?” He flutters his eyelashes just for good measure.

Haechan chuckles as he smacks his friend's hand away. “I’m the wrong person, only Chenle has enough money to do that. But can you do me a favour and let me steal your beloved club member?” You don’t realise that he’s talking about you, until you see his hand gesturing towards your figure as he looks at you. You’re about to protest, your brain already conjuring something up about how you have the heavy duty of being the booth’s designated accountant for the night, but Yubin is always a step ahead.

“Go ahead! Her turn was gonna end soon anyway, Sohee is gonna arrive in a few minutes with more of our supply,” She beams at you as she waves you two off. Before you can say anymore, Juyeon is shoving you out of the way, and you have no other choice but to trudge after him.

You walk side by side in silence, as the noise of the multiple booths being run by different clubs and societies encapsulate you two. You try your best to look at everything but him, even when you feel him stealing glances at your figure.

The silence doesn’t last long, though, as Haechan speaks up after looking around at the booths set up. “It’s quite stuffy with all these booths and people,” Not knowing what to say, you merely glance at him as you nod along. He purses his lips, before trying again.

“You must be feeling pretty warm, running the grill and managing everything at the booth. Jihoon used to complain all the time about how hot it got when he was in charge of these things." It's true you've been avoiding the grill area, so you’re not necessarily overheating, but does he deserve to know?

You hear him lightly huff when you just give a shrug and an ambiguous sound, but he doesn’t back down. “Do you want me to get you something to help you cool? Maybe ice cream or a can of coke.”  You're on the verge of giving your umpteenth non-verbal response of the evening, but when you look at the boy walking next to you, you’re met with a glare and a quick snarl of his lips. Faced with his insistence, you decide to speak up.

“I’m okay,” You thought this would appease him, but it seems like anything you could’ve done would eventually send him over the edge.  You feel his hand clasp onto your wrist before you’re being dragged away from the congested corridor of booths and into a secluded corner of the campus grounds. Even in the shade of the tree, the little light that slips through the lampost nearby highlights the frustration on Haechan’s face, both arrogance and apprehension flood your senses as you realize that his frustration might be a result of something you've done.

His voice is calm when he speaks, “Okay, did I do something to offend you?” He briefly closes his eyes and mentally counts a few numbers before opening them and looking back at you again, this time with a calmer yet stern expression. But rather than soothing your irritation, this seems to send you over the edge.

“I don’t know, did you?” You know you’re being childish, but that’s the point. You’re not planning on giving in until he apologises. By the look of confusion he’s sporting on his face, it doesn’t seem like it's gonna happen anytime soon.

Admittedly, he does look cute when confused, as his front teeth poke ever so slightly from his slightly gaped mouth, as if he’s about to say something but blanked at the last second. “I did do something?” At your scoff, he gathers himself. “Look, if I did do anything, I didn’t have any bad intentions. I wasn’t trying to hurt you or anything.” But this explanation only sends you over the edge.

Your hands drop from where you had crossed them in front of your chest, as you give Haechan an incredulous look. “No bad intentions? You didn’t want to hurt me? Are you serious? The fact that you even did it is terrible, but such a useless, no-brainer prank?” You’re too angry to notice Haechan’s shift of expression, as his scared grimace falls into another confused furrow of his brows.

“Like, a fucking bucket of water? Even a toddler can pull that. Couldn’t you have done something harder, more creative? Something with more effort, like, I don’t know, expired slime or a skateboard at the door. And I feel even more stupid because I believed you when you said you wouldn’t prank me, I even defended you when Naeun was going off about how I’d be your next target, and I turned out to be a fool, fuck. And for what? A lame bucket of water? Am I only worth that much?” You pause to catch a breather, hand splayed at your waist as you point the other accusingly at Haechan. He widens his eyes slightly, but then a smile falls on his face, and you’re sent spiralling.

“Are you smiling right now?” And at that, he starts laughing. Oh my god, you think, he’s a sociopath.

But Haechan starts laughing even harder, his body falling forward as he leans towards you, clutching your extended finger with his thumb and forefinger, shaking it around before folding over with laughter once more. You’re so, so confused, and now a bit scared that Haechan’s gonna keel over and fall from how hard he’s laughing.

But you don’t need to do such a thing, as he sobers up pretty quickly, straightening himself up and walking closer to you, while his hand now lightly holds your palm in his. You feel heat course through you, from the comfort of his hands holding yours and the sweet laughter that now rings in your head. You feel embarrassed that you bursted like that when you were so determined to make him fall to his knees and ask for your forgiveness. Instead, you’re left blushing like a schoolgirl who confessed with a heartfelt letter.

“Okay, okay. Wait, don’t go sullen now.” You look away, your cheeks growing hotter at being so easily read. Haechan grips onto your hand that was lightly resting on his palm, grabbing your attention.

“I swear on Renjun that I didn’t pull that prank on you. I didn’t even know that happened to you.” Your first instinct is to not believe him, but he’s looking earnestly into your eyes, and the gentle squeeze of his hand in yours makes you melt.

“I don’t know how I can prove it you that it wasn’t me, But I told you I wouldn’t do it and I always stick by my promises. I can maybe help you find who did it?” He offers this while smoothly clasping your hands together, fingers now lacing in yours. The intimate gesture sends a wave of flustered warmth through you, and his chuckle in response only confirms that your emotions are evident.

“Wah,” He sighs bumping his shoulder into yours, “What a relief, I thought you were rejecting me before I could even muster the courage to ask you out.”

“Wait, you—” You’re interrupted as Haechan starts striding forward and back into the busy atmosphere of the campus. “Haechan, slow down.” Your voice gets lost in the throng of the crowd, the bustle of people and echoes of activities happening making it hard for your plea to reach his ears. That, or he's simply ignoring you.

In a blink, you're situated back at your booth, the savoury scent of skewed chicken and rice cake wafting through your nose. Haechan releases your hand, and you both face Sohee, who's manning the cashier with a somewhat indifferent expression. “Hi, I just wanna return her,” Haechan says casually, his gaze shifting between you and Sohee.

Sohee regards the two of you with a blank stare, her expression unreadable. Haechan pats your shoulders twice before he waves the two of you goodbye. Sohee goes back to organising the money gained from tonight’s business, not sparing you another glance. “We have a no return and refund policy, especially with damaged goods.”

“Hey!”

You’re not surprised when you see Naeun in the lecture hall, but you are slightly taken aback when you see her situated just a few seats behind Renjun and Jeno. When you rock up next to her, you let your eyes do the talking as you glance back and forth between her and Jeno’s back, with the latter all the more oblivious to what’s happening.

She smacks at your leg before grabbing you and pulling to sit you down. “Shut up,”

“I didn’t even say anything?”

“Your empty brain echoes really badly when you conjure even a single thought,” You’re too shocked to retort back (how did she think of that so quickly?), so you simply go to unpack your bag. When you sit back from organising your items, your eyes fall on the door of the lecture room, and you’re surprised to see Haechan stride in. Even in the middle of summer, he has a leather jacket swinging from his fingers at his shoulder, sporting a white graphic t-shirt tucked into his black jeans. You’re about to say something to Naeun, maybe have her indulge in your admiration for a bit, only to be met with the same look you’re sporting but just aimed at the back of Jeno’s head.

When Jeno turns his head to greet his friend, Naeun quickly whips her head away, clearing her throat. You poked at her sides teasingly, as she squirms and smacks your hand away.

“I thought you were gonna ‘act chill’ around him?” Naeun huffs at your words.

“I am acting chill, I’m basically freezing.” You raise your brows at her. “There’s nothing chill about staring at the back of hi—”

Naeun smacks at your mouth when Renjun turns his face sideways, but the loud smack of skin garners more attention, as all three of them look back at you. As the other two merely glance briefly before going back, Haechan’s eyes stray longer while the corner of his mouth quirks up. You offer a simple wave and he flashes a smile before turning back around.

Naeun sighs as she releases her hand from your face, but quickly corners you with a glare. “What was that? Why was he smiling at you like that?” You’re grateful that she’s been practising her inner voice, as you know that Naeun from two weeks ago would have had the whole lecture hall aware of her words with how loud she whispers.

“Long story short, he didn’t do it, and I think …” You’re not sure if you should tell Naeun about the possible confession that occurred. Not because you don’t trust your friend but because you’re not even sure if that could be counted as a confession.

“How are you so sure? Maybe he said it to get on your good side,” Naeun stares daggers at the back of Haechan’s head, but her gaze quickly softens when Jeno plays with his hair.

“I don’t know,” You confess, “He said he didn’t do it, and I trust him.” Naeun surveys your expression for a bit with a glare, before nodding her head in acceptance.

“Alright, I trust your trust in him. But if he ever pulls anything…” You pinch your friend's cheek in gratitude. “I know, you’ll have my back.”

“Speaking of back, did you see Jeno’s when he stretched? It’s okay if you haven’t he’ll do it again when we're a third through the lecture.” You slowly pat her shoulders, speechless once more as you sigh and try to tune her out for the rest of the lecture.

read part two here !!

[devildomwriter]

Mammon Birthday Special 100 Fun Facts

1. Mammon states that he sleeps in the nude

2. Mammon despises witches and was nearly chopped into pieces by them once but Lucifer rescued him (although Lucifer was also the one to recommend they cut him into pieces)

3. When Levi tried attacking Mammon in his sleep, before he could even bring his foot down on Mammon, Mammon had him in a headlock

4. Mammon has a habit of stripping while drunk

5. Mammon does not like it when bath’s smell like flowers

6. Mammon’s dream for the future is having a carefree and playful life

7. Mammon starts his baths by washing his head

8. Mammon’s fear of ghosts and monsters originates a little after a year of living in the Devildom when he is possessed by a ghost

9. Mammon hates a Devildom song called “Corpse Rock”

10. Karasu refers to Mammon as noodle-boy

11. In earlier chats and Devilgrams Mammon is said to be a cat person, in later stories he is said to be a dog person, but his birthday information card again states he is more of a cat person

12. Mammon’s motto is “Money will makes the Devil turn millstones.”

13. Mammon’s daily activity is procrastinating in MC’s room

14. Mammon is obsessed with his shades and when he accidentally breaks them he’s devastated

15. According to Beelzebub, Mammon is bad at cooking and doesn’t make good peanut butter sandwiches

16. When Belphie and Beel helped Mammon pick out his human world outfit, he was so touched he bought them their human world clothes

17. Mammon states if the Devildom disappeared tomorrow he’d borrow as much money as he wanted to spend and not have to pay any of it back

18. Mammon’s favorite food in hell is Soy Sauce flavored cup ramen

19. In a love survey in B’s log, Mammin is said to be the active one pursuing love

20. Mammon is said to attract the “sassy and outgoing” types

21. The first thing Mammon does in the morning is check his stocks

22. In the love survey in B’s log when asked if he’d want to be bound by or bind his lover his response was “what do you want me to do? What did you say? Idiot!”

23. Mammon’s car is a Demonio 666 Lexura. The specific type was very rare and (unbeknownst to him originally) only with Lucifer and Diavolo’s help was he able to get it

24. Mammon easily forgets anniversaries and special dates of remembrance

25. Mammon is unable to express himself frankly

26. Mammon likes R&B music

27. Mammon is not a morning demon

28. One of the first things in the game said about Mammon by his brothers is that he’s a masochist

29. The results of a demon brain scanning app showed that Mammon’s thoughts are 90% money

30. Mammon’s worst RAD subject is Hexes and Curses

31. Mammon became Lucifer’s attendant in the Celestial Realm before Leviathan had even been born

32. Mammon was once almost roasted alive by hellfire

33. Mammon is a very bad liar and often admits exactly what he did when explaining that’s not what he did

34. Mammon was almost the one to tame Cerberus but Lucifer rushed in as he was about to confront the dog

35. Mammon is extremely protective of his little brothers

36. When forced to be honest, Mammon admits how much he admires and respects Lucifer

37. When Lucifer has a bad day, Mammon will bring him a drink and sandwich without being asked

38. Mammon was almost kicked out of the celestial realm thousands of years before the fall until Lucifer got through to him

39. Besides the people who were told what Simeon was going through in season 4, Mammon was the first one to notice something was wrong with him

40. Once Mammon was punished by Lucifer by being tickled until he laughed so hard he was humiliated

41. Mammon was given a serum with unknown results that caused him to tell MC he wanted to do many explicit things with them

42. Even Michael was unable to handle Mammon as an angel

43. Mammon is so fast that not even Diavolo and Lucifer can catch up to him

44. It’s been mentioned multiple times that Mammon uses crows as familiars

45. When Lucifer cannot trust Diavolo, he turns to Mammon

46. Mammon once called up Simeon to ask about significant lines in the TSL series so he could successfully hack into Leviathan’s akuzon account

47. Levi and Mammon sometimes perform standup comedy

48. When Mammon tried making a cake for Lucifer on his birthday in the Celestial Realm, he accidentally destroyed the kitchen, infuriating Michael

49. Mammon works as a model occasionally

50. In lesson 11 of the game Mammon claims he is well over 5,000 years old

51. In the celestial realm Mammon would often watch over the younger angels

52. Mammon once tried selling bird feathers to the lesser angels, claiming they were seraph feathers

53. In the celestial realm, Mammon once used the lesser angels to play a game of life-size chess

54. Mammon is said to have been the one who rallied and encouraged the angels in the Celestial war

55. Unlike his brothers, Mammon doesn’t often lose control of his powers

56. Whenever Mammon comes up with solutions to a crisis, they usually make things worse

57. Mammon struggles with math unless he thinks about it as calculating money

58. Mammon loves pandas because they’re profitable

59. Mammon always lets his brothers know about sales and deals going on

60. Mammon is the one who told Lucifer to always have pride and not regret his decision about the war

61. Mammon was cursed to speak like a cat during season 4 and Satan was unable to leave his side even getting Mammon to play with cat toys.

62. The first time Mammon lost control of his powers and transformed into a demon in the game is when he misunderstood a conversation between Levi and MC and assumed they had “relations”

63. Mammon is one of the only people who will indulge Asmodeus and watch his one-man fashion shows

64. When Mammon put too many meals on Satan’s tab, Satan called up Solomon and told him Mammon wanted to try his new recipe

65. Mammon has kidnapped MC multiple times

66. Mammon sometimes goes clubbing with Asmo after part time jobs

67. After Mammon sold all of their silverware he was fired from Ristorante Six

68. Mammon is sometimes referred to as MC’s pet

69. Mammon continues to insist he’s MC’s master not the other way around

70. Mammon sees Luke as his little brother

71. Student council members used to oversee detention until Mammon kept getting detention himself

72. Mammon once accidentally cast a spell on himself that made him burst into song

73. Mammon once accidentally turned himself into a dog

74. Mammon accidentally cursed himself and became extremely small. He was scared of how Beel was looking at him

75. When Mammon made the Miss’em dolls he became extremely wealthy but later blew it all on gambling

76. Mammon is too scared to watch horror movies alone and asks Lucifer to watch them with him

77. Mammon once attacked Lucifer with a three-prong pitch fork when he embarrassed him

78. Mammon has cried from fear of Simeon multiple times

79. Mammon was unable to even pretend to break up with MC

80. Mammon is one of the reasons you need a permit to get to the human world rather than do so freely

81. Mammon got a Mohawk once but his brothers teased him so much he immediately got rid of it

82. Mammon loves the Devildom version of Harry Potter

83. Mammon often threatens lesser/younger demons to hand over all their money

84. Mammon once stopped a bank robbery and demanded the money as compensation

85. Mammon accidentally cut down a Christmas tree gifted to Lucifer from Diavolo

86. Mammon was tricked by Lucifer to gamble against everyone he’d ever screwed over all at once

87. Mammon calls going to the horse races “seeing the horsies” to try and convince MC to tag along

88. When he was Lucifer’s attendant, Mammon sought for a rare Crystal Lily flower to gift him but got lost and Lucifer had to come find him

89. Mammon used Serenity Manor as collateral in gambling as soon as he got to the human world, almost forcing everyone to go right back to the Devildom

90. When coming up with proposal’s Mammon forced Simeon, Solomon, and Luke to participate in a flash mob

91. Mammon has a blood oath with MC and Leviathan

92. Mammon accidentally won Henry 1.0 while trying his first Devildom ice cream. He was nearly eaten.

93. Mammon owns an AK-47 after winning it over in a game against Leviathan

94. Mammon fees guilty that he didn’t have a grand reason to follow Lucifer to hell rather than just feeling like it

95. Mammon once lost a bet to a bunch of rabbits

96. Mammon prefers spicy foods to sweets

97. Mammon extorted Satan for 50,000 Grimm in exchange for throwing him a baseball

98. Mammon’s highest known rank in the celestial realm within the game is a Throne

99. When Mammon was turned into a Test Name box he got used to it immediately, disappointing Beelzebub

100. Mammon died in season 4 for a few minutes but was brought back by Barbatos

[eth3real-ess3nce]

My Astro Observations (Part 8)

🚫If your Mercury, Mars, Rising placements are water or earth influenced, you probably prefer that your phone is on silent or DND 🗣️If your Mercury, Mars, Rising placements are air or fire influenced, you probably don't mind your phone being loud af 😂

⚖️Natives with their Mars in Libra grew up taking the role of the "mediator" in their family or other environments. It is observed that when people around them seem to disagree or experience conflict, they ask this native to pick a side rather forcibly at times. This might lead them to develop people-pleasing tendencies. It's also the "lawyer at heart" placement.

😏Aquarius men usually look awkward in photos so they just decide to throw their signature smirk in there from time to time (ex. Ashton Kutcher, Joseph Gordon-Levitt)

🥵Mars in Aries natives' physical bodies react so dramatically to stimuli it's hilarious! I know someone with that placement that, whenever he eats food that is just SLIGHTLY spicy, his head starts sweating like he jogged for 2 hours! Another friend of mine, has this thing where every time she laughs for a bit longer than needed her eyes will fill with tears. But I'm talking BUCKETS of tears😂

💪Your 9th house sign represents your philosophy in life. But your 10th house sign represents your life motto.

For example: My 9th house is in Pisces, I do have a humanitarian outlook at the end of the day and I'm deeply spiritual My 10th house is in Aries, my life motto is "Fortune Favours The Bold". Self-explanatory. My philosophy: ✨🔮 My motto: 👹⚔️

👨‍🍳I've noticed that men with Virgo placements, one way or another, like to practice their culinary skills. They won't let you lift a finger in the kitchen and this is a way for them to show their love for you. Also, they're usually specialists when it comes to food or wines/alcohol in general

🏎️I have never met a Leo sun, moon, rising that owns a vehicle and has NOT received a speeding ticket before! Also why do you have 0 patience? And you end up driving clumsily! Leave that one to Aries please 😂

👹If one of your dominant planets is Mars or Pluto, you probably literally get high off horror content. Either films , books...horror subreddits👀. You just love being thrilled, especially Mars, you like to chase the andrenaline. And you don't even care if you won't be able to sleep at night. It was worth it😂 Honourable mentions: Mercury-Pluto , 8H Mercury , Scorpio Mercury

🖤If your natal Black Moon Lilith makes hard aspects (conjunction, square, opposite) to your personal planets (especially luminaries, sun and moon) you were born to be the Black Sheep. It's easy for you to stand out in the crowd, usually because you are not afraid to embody your "dark" wisdom. You might be minding your business yet your authenticity can deeply trigger people. This placement attracts envy and obsession, be it acquaintances or lovers. Beware of stalkers. One pro though, is that, you can be immaculate when it comes to manifesting.

The rest of my observations appear on my profile x

[ghostlyangels1204]

The moment Simon Riley came home.

Cont: Fluff, vague and quick mentions of blood, death (he's a soldier, I mean), Simon being more Simon than Ghost. <3 He's a precious, deadly soldier :(

The moment Simon walked through the door, he felt the tension lift off his shoulders. All the weight of the world had rested upon them since he left months ago; blood, death and bullets surrounded him. Finding him in the dark, hunting him down.

But now, he could leave that all behind him. He could leave his worries, stress; all of it, tucked away in his rucksack that stank of the battlefield. He drops it to the floor, the thud emanating down the halls. With a roll of his tense shoulders, he walks through the house- on the hunt. Searching.

You usually waited for him, perched on the sofa with a cup of tea; one of your favorite trashy shows playing in the background, like you were watching it with him. But, this time, he can’t hear anything. He can’t hear the loud laughs from the TV, can’t hear your sickly sweet giggles. He feels as if he’s gone deaf. It is late, he reasons with himself. Maybe you fell asleep?

And with no lights on in the house, his mind goes into mission-mode. You’re the prized package, and he needs to find you. He turns what feels like corner after corner, round and round, waiting to see just a glimpse of the life he left here. But nothing.

With long strides, he turns into the living room, face to face with the mountain of pillows left in a basket in the corner of the room. The pillows he all but begged you not to get, “Love, we already have enough pillows, we don’t need two more. The sofas gonna’ be like a bloody bouncy castle,”. If 141 could see how you’d wrapped him around your finger- they’d ask Laswell if the Cartel had cloned him, opting to swap one of their own for the monster on the battlefield that is, Lieutenant Ghost. Anything to keep you happy, that was his motto. And those pillows, as gaudy and expensive as they were, did just that.

As he flicks the lamp adjacent to the sofa on, his vision tunnels.

There.

There you are. You had waited for him. You kept your promise, and he kept his.

He tightens the laces of his boots, the cotton nearly snapping from how tightly he winds them out of his own frustration. You’re standing right there, right in front of him, watching as he prepares once again. Like his own obedient little soldier. “You promise you’ll come back to me?”, “As long as you’re there waiting, my love.” And that was it, with a firm, but delicate- you all over, he quips- kiss from your lips to his, a mark of his strength, he walks out the door. Leaving his little soldier behind.

But now, he’s here. And so are you, curled up with a blanket, deep in the throes of sleep. Whispered breaths leaving your lips as you dream. He can’t help but feel like he’s in his own dream.

Slowly, and as quiet can be- Simon walks over to your sleeping figure, and drops down beside you. His face resting on your stomach, inhaling your sweet scent, anything to ground him. For him to recognize where he is.

That’s the moment, Simon Riley came home.

Word Count: 542

[hoshigray]

Sit down for this one, alright? How bout a gigolo! Toji, who stumbles upon you? The reader's friends pay for his services to help ease your stress from work, and you begrudgingly have to accept the offer. And when you finally meet him, it's a night that you were not prepared for you, mentally and physically.

A/n: camgirl! reader this, prostitute! reader that; motherfuckers, if you don't slap your favs onto the field right tf now!!?? Gege himself said that Toji is a manwhore for money and women, so you know I'm running with this idea :/ Lol but fr tho, this was a prompt that has been itching me, plus I love making these scenario thingies!! I outta write them for the other JJK men when I have the time (or maybe y'all can send asks *shrugs*). All ik is that this hot dilf bastard would make a fine gigolo, I'd happily be broke ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Cw: gigolo! Toji x fem! reader - explicit content; minors DNI - age difference (reader is at least in their mid/late-20s) - implied that reader isn't a virgin, but does try new things w/ Toji - Daddy kink - fingering (f! receiving) - breast fondling - prone bone + cowgirl/riding positions - scratching (m! receiving) - cervix fucking - pet names (baby, cutie, good girl, mama, princess, sweetheart, sweet thing) - praise - overstimulation - impact play; spanking (1x) - Toji lowkey simping for the cute, shy reader.

Wc: 2.2k

Gioglo! Toji...

...whose been in the field not as long as his hitman occupation, yet it's a side hustle he's good at. Like, extremely good at. His age and rough appearance wouldn't have you guess that he does this sort of thing; however, men and women sigh in heavenly familiarity just from the sheer mention of his name. When you venture deep into the streets, it's no surprise to the average goer that he is [if not one of] the best gigolo in the game. The younger male escorts find it hard to compete with him, but it's pointless going up against a man of his caliber.

...who enjoys the gigs even when going with it for all these years. Money was the only reason he turned to this hustle in the first place, so, surprisingly, he's continued with this for as long as he can. Especially now that he has two kids and is well past his younger prime, he still uses his body on clients who can't get enough of him. And the number of his customers has stayed steadily high (if not increasing by the day) throughout the years.

But who is he to call this lifestyle off? Easy cash all from some good sex? Toji has no complaints about this side hustle.

...who states he has no favorites among his clients. There are the faces he'll remember — his returning loyal customers — and then the faces only there for a quick fuck and never to be seen again. Not that Toji cares about such things at all. As far as he's concerned, he's only in it for the money. So, as long as the cash looks appealing, he doesn't care what he has to do or has to do it with. Besides, you should never mix your personal life with your profession, especially with a heavily explicit and raunchy one such as this. He lived by that motto all those years and will resume doing so. No matter how hard they plea with doe eyes for him to stay longer, he'll just give them what they want; his deep verdant eyes contrasting his raven hair, his titillating smirk on his scarred lips whispering dirty words to their ears, and his muscular body that put them under his spell in the sheets.

Toji swears he has no favorites. So he thought...

...who is a name you weren't familiar with until your friends came to you, and you expressed nothing but sheer horror after they explained. Apparently, as the most stressed and workaholic person in the group, they thought it'd be a good idea to pitch in and schedule you a night with the infamous Toji Fushiguro. You've practically begged them to reconsider, pull back from the deal, bargained, anything! Even so much as calling one of them ("Please, please, please just call this thing off!" "Sorry, Y/n. He already accepted the offer, so we can't get the money back. Plus, you're gonna be in good hands, I promise! I was with him once, and my body was never the same. I saw him the second time and, literally, my puss—" "OKAY, I GET IT, I'M HANGING UP, BYE!!").

Your objections were directed to deaf ears, so to say you were nervous the night of Toji's arrival was far from comprehension. Coming home from work was hard enough throughout the entire week, becoming difficult to stomach day by day when the fateful day came. Because you never had experience with an escort or playboy before — let alone one who's supposedly well-known to your friends and the streets! Blood running cold as you constantly look at the time, your foot thumping on the ground, and your fingers fidgeting as you wait for the stranger listed to take your virginity away. And with the sudden knock on your door, your heart almost lept out from your mouth. Oh, fucking Christ...

...who surveys your entire appearance after you open the door for him. And he takes his time drinking in your pretty figure, your smooth skin, the alluring scent of your floral lotion, and the cami romper that exhibits your shoulders and thighs to his liking. He notes you avert your gaze when his eyes find their way to yours, and he snickers. Already, he knows he'll have fun with this. "Hey, cutie," Toji says, his gruff tone rare to your ears. "Y'r name's Y/n, right? Heard about you from y'r friends, said they wanted me to treat you."

You gulp before replying. "Yes, that's me...Oh! Please come in, Mr. Fushigu—"

"Toji's enough, sweetheart." He corrects you before entering inside, taking his shoes off at the front and entering the living room. "Nice place ya got. Did'ja wanna do this here? Because I was told to take you out somewhere."

You open your mouth to answer, but you meekly retract yourself. Toji notices your quiet display, chewing on your bottom lip while playing with the tied straps of your romper on your shoulder. Damn, so fuckin' cute. He walks up to you and brings a hand to lightly seize your chin with his thumb and forefinger, and you almost want to scream at the older man examining you like some treasure. "Ya nervous?" You give a shy nod. "Aww, y're a cute lil' thing, huh?"

With hot cheeks, you avert your gaze away from him again. Your modesty amused the older man, "Relax, baby. I'm gonna take good care of you, ya hear? If y're feelin' any pain or somethin', be sure to tell me." He has you turn to him again, caressing your cheek with his warm forefinger. Your lips quiver with anxiousness when you give another nod to him. And with that silent confirmation, you've accepted what happens next.

...who enjoys breaking you down as the night goes on. He has you on your bed with your back against his chest, and he does what he can to warm your body up to him. His big hands grope your breasts and tweeze your erect nipples until one slithers down to your drenched panties and forces a finger between your slick-coated folds. Your whimpers seep past your pretty lips, gasps of air exiting your system when the man kisses your neck and sucks on your skin.

"Mmmm, so tight 'round my fingers, mama," his hoarse voice vibrates his chest. You melt while he nibbles on your ear. "Spread them legs wide fr' me." With quivering limbs, you try to do what you're told, and more wails exit your mouth as he pushes his digits to and fro from your leaky chasm.

And the moment he finally has his dick inside you? Oh, Toji relishes the sensation of you around him. Fucking so deep in the prone bone position, he hammers his pelvis to your ass, and his balls smack onto your vulva coated in slick and come. Your moans fuel him to go harder and faster; the sight of you griping the sheets beneath and your ass jolting with every thrust turns him on too much.

"Haaah—Ahhhh!! Toji, oh God," it was your first time ever in this position, and it's so intense and electrifying with how harsh the older man propels himself to you. His cock scraping your most sensitive walls, you had given up concealing your screams long ago. "It's too much for—Mmmph!! 'S too muuuch..."

"Feelin' good there, princess?"

"Nmmph!! Y-Yess," drool starts to pool on the pillow you're resting on, but you're too occupied to feel ashamed of this lewd image you're exhibiting. "Feels so good, so goo—Ohhoooo!!" Your brows trench with eyes sewn shut, and your climax begins to climb quickly. With a choked cry, you come on Toji's dick for the second time that night, tears wetting the pillowcase while your cunt flutters on him as you release.

Regardless, Toji still ruts into you even when you're under a blissful haze, not until he's done with you. "Good girl, cummin' on my dick like that — Nmmph!!" He pulls out of you, spilling his load onto you, covering your asscheeks and lower back.

...who was surprised to see you again after a week, scheduling him with you on another weekend. Not like he had any objections to it, absolutely not. Because when he sees you give him a bashful smile and wave, he can't help but smirk and walk in your direction. "Well, hey, sweet thing." He'd greet and kiss your cheek before wrapping an arm around your shoulders. "Liked how I took care of you last time?"

You'd pull your stare to the ground yet give him a curt nod, the older man only finding your interaction adorable. "Uh-huh..." And Toji wastes no time wrapping an arm around your waist and walking with you to the nearest hotel.

And he's even more perplexed to see you two weekends after that...and the other two after that...Gradually, you've become a frequent client of his. That fact alone is enough to have him drop what he's about to do to have availability for you.

...who'd start to find himself slowly attracted to you the more you see him. It wasn't about the money when it came to you. In fact, no one knows you pay him significantly lower than the others. Can you blame him, though? When a doll like you always offers him to stay the night at your play after sex or treat him to meals sometimes, it's hard for the man to not feel some type of way about you. The two of you are aware that this relationship is founded on sex for the sake of your stress relief. Yet as the days go on, it's difficult for Toji to not fall in love and be enamored with your charming and sweet self.

Nevertheless, he'd be lying if he said the sex wasn't good between you two. Because it's quite the opposite, especially as Toji observes how sexually free you become with his visits. Whether it be you scratching on his back while he drills his dick into you, marking his tanned skin of your nails ("Oh, my God! I'm so sorry about that!" You'd apologize profusely, but he'd counter with a chuckle. "It's fine, cutie. It's not the first time I got scratched up by a kitten."). Or whether you'd allow him to convince you to try other positions — like his favorite, the full nelson.

Or, in times like this, when you'd have more confidence than before and ask if you'd ride him. And with a grin, Toji lies back and watches you bounce on his cock. An erotic image that he'd love to keep in his memory for as long as he can.

"Ohhh...Hmmm—Ahhnnn!!" Your cries as you straddle him in a desperate tempo, taking in his girth inch by inch, are music to his ears. The view of your beautiful, sweaty, hot body hopping on his dick is recorded with lustful forest-green eyes. "Ahhhh!! Feels so good, Toji, so—Ahhhh!!!"

"Not so fast there, sweetheart." Toji smacks your bare ass, prompting you to come down and lay your head on his shoulder. You look to see his eyes peer down to your teary ones."What's my name again?"

"Hmmm, sorry, Daddy," you correct yourself, your cunt twitching on his length when the title slips out. "Pleaseeee, forgive me—Eeeiiii!! Oh, Jesus..."

Toji grabs your butt with his hands, propelling them downward to match the jerk of his hips, and the tip of his length makes contact with your cervix. Choked sobs strain out from your throat as he kisses your temple. "Good girl, that's my fuckin' girl..."

Oh, fucking shit! It's coming. It's coming! "Daddy, please, I'm about to cum...Ohhhh, gonna cum—Mmmph!!" The older man silences you with his lips on yours, and you follow suit by wrapping your arms around his neck to deepen the passionate kiss. The motion of your hips goes erratic with his, your orgasm coming up for the both of you with the increased speed. It's there you two succumb to climaxing, the walls of your slit clasping around his cock while he pumps the last of his essence into you. Groans and whimpers are exchanged between clingy mouths.

A wave of calm soon calms the air and your sweaty frames stick together. He resumes kissing you until your sensitive body has had enough, removing your lips from his teasing teeth. "Thank you, Toji. Thank you..."

Even out of breath, his scarred lip uproots to a smirk. "Y're so fuckin' cute, ya know that, mama?"

...who understands he's breaking his own rule when it's just you. It's never good mixing business with personal life. He was in it for the money from the start, and that mentality has done him well throughout the years. Do whatever the clients ask, take the money, and move on. Can't attach yourself to them. Now, he's found himself going against his motto; enjoying his time with you more than any of the others he's been with, looking forward to seeing you again to enjoy having you to himself. Whenever you aren't around him, it's evident that you will cloud his mind until you text or call.

But as he's stated before: as long as their cash in front of him and both parties get what they want, there's no need to have favorites...However, as long it's just you, he'll always be willing to make an exception.

[fluentmoviequoter]

A Room Away

Requested Here!

Edit: Part 2 Here

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader

Summary: Tired of Tim's bad moods, Angela gets him a new roommate: you. As Tim gets to know you and learns about your past, you slowly become more than his roommate.

Warnings: mentions of past domestic abuse (reader and Tim), reader has chronic migraines from past head trauma, nightmares, reader has a panic attack, angst, fluff, Nyla and Angela. (roommates to lovers)

Word Count: 4.2k+ words

A/N: Parts of this are so self-indulgent. The migraine depictions are based on my migraines, but I think they're some of the most common symptoms. I hope you enjoy and please let me know what you think! (I'm still trying to get Tim's character down, so apologies if he's OOC.)🤍

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Picture from Pinterest

Tim sits in the back of the room for roll call, his arms crossed tightly across his chest as unimpressed sighs escape him. Angela is getting tired of his seemingly perpetual bad mood. Clearly, he’s lonely, but he will never admit it. And that loneliness makes him mopey and broody (Angela’s official motto for Tim Bradford) until he has enough and snaps at someone.

Sitting at her desk, Angela watches Tim yell at a boot. He’s always harsh with them, trying to prepare them for anything, but now he’s using them as punching bags for his forbidden feelings. 

“What’s his problem? He’s grumpier than usual,” Nyla says as she joins Angela.

“He’s lonely,” Angela answers. “Won’t admit it or do anything about it.”

“That man needs a girlfriend,” Nyla muses.

Angela sits up straighter and smiles. “You’re a genius, Harper.”

“I know.”

Angela opens a website on her computer, and Nyla pulls up a seat to watch her intervention into Tim’s personal life.

“You’re going to rent out his spare room without telling him? This’ll be fun to watch,” Nyla says, laughing.

“He has way too much room for just one guy. Getting him a roommate and a girlfriend will surely help with.. that,” she finishes, gesturing toward Tim.

“A roommate and a girlfriend, or a roommate who becomes a girlfriend?”

“Either should work.”

“That’s your number.”

Angela nods, putting her contact information on the listing. “Tim would shut it down after the first call, so I’ll interview them, run background checks, whatever, and find the perfect one.”

“Well, Mrs. Right is always found on Craigslist,” Nyla jokes.

“This isn’t Craigslist.”

“Semantics.”

Angela posts the listing, and she and Nyla hope getting Tim a roommate will help nudge him out of his bad mood. He needs someone to talk to and bond with, but he’ll never come to that conclusion on his own. Which is why Angela considers herself to be such a good friend.

✯✯✯✯✯

Los Angeles is a big city, which is part of why you chose it without another thought. Full of opportunities and a chance of fading into the background, it’s the complete opposite of your home, which overflows with memories. The patched drywall you were pushed into, the stained tile where you thought everything was going to end, and the china cabinet with the shattered glass are left behind and traded in for a minimum wage job, a used car, and a lot of panic that you won’t be able to find somewhere to live.

You’ll need a roommate until you can save enough money for your own place. However, finding a decent place with a decent roommate is nearly impossible in your price range. Browsing online listings, you see one that could be promising. The information at the bottom says there is an interview process, which catches your attention. Sending a text to Angela Lopez, you cross your fingers for good luck before walking into work.

By the end of your shift, Angela has replied and asked you to meet somewhere nearby. You want to go home, a dull headache building at the base of your skull impairing your mood. But you also really want a better place to call home than the pay-by-the-month motel you’re currently living in.

Angela gives you a firm handshake as she introduces herself as an LAPD detective. She asks questions about your life, job, hobbies, and finally, why you moved to Los Angeles.

“I just needed a change of pace; was ready to leave my old life behind, find something bigger and better,” you answer, a simplified version of the truth.

Trying not to show it, Angela immediately takes a liking to you. Each of your answers solidifies her gut instinct that you’re a good fit for Tim. You ask why her name was on this listing if it’s not her house, and she follows your lead and gives you the truth, but not all of it.

“Tim, the owner of the house, is a coworker and friend, and I’m just trying to help him out while he’s busy with work,” she explains.

As you leave the meeting, Angela gives you her personal number, as well as someone named Nyla Harper’s number, “just in case you need anything.”

She texts you a time and address, telling you to meet her at your new place the following afternoon. You thank her repeatedly before driving to the trashy motel one last time.

✯✯✯✯✯

Parking outside the house, you fall in love with the neighborhood and the cute architecture of the home. Angela meets you in the driveway, seeming more nervous than excited. You realize she may not have been totally honest with you as you follow her to the door.

An incredibly handsome man opens the door, sighing when he sees Angela. He lets both of you in, seeming to trust Angela completely.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim knows he will regret opening the door, but the woman with Angela is beautiful, and deep down, a small part of him wants to know who she is and why she’s on his doorstep.

“This is your new roommate,” Angela announces, giving Tim your name.

“You didn’t,” Tim responds. “Please tell me you didn’t rent out my spare room without asking me, Lopez.”

“I won’t tell you that, then.”

Standing quietly to the side, you anxiously watch their argument.

“Um, sorry,” you begin, interrupting them. “But I can go, and find a new place, since this is clearly not what you signed up for.”

You move toward the door before stopping when Angela demands, “Don’t go anywhere.”

She gives Tim a stern look before cocking her head to the side. He sighs like he has accepted his fate, a tragedy based on his reaction. Gesturing for you to follow him, he gives you a quick tour before showing you to your new room and bathroom.

“I’m not home a ton, but when I am, I’m usually watching a game or just hanging out, so,” he tells you before trailing off.

You nod before promising, “You won’t even know I’m here.”

Tim wants to believe you, but he also thinks you’re pretty and kind enough that he wouldn’t mind seeing you occasionally.

✯✯✯✯✯

You cross paths with Tim a few times in the first two days of living with him. He’s struck by your beauty each time but recognizes that you don’t open up willingly, so he never presses you to talk. Content to be ships passing in the night, Tim gives you a nod before continuing out the door.

It’s your third night in the house that Tim learns your reserved qualities may not be as simple as a personality trait. Waking when he hears a strange noise, Tim listens in the darkness before deciding it’s your footsteps he hears. Based on the sound, you're pacing, so Tim gets out of bed and walks to the kitchen. He walks right past you, and you give him an apologetic smile before slowing down. Tim makes you a mug of calming tea, sliding it across the kitchen island before sitting beside you as you drink it. Suspecting you had a nightmare or some similarly disturbing experience, Tim reminds you where you are and that everything is okay in his own way.

Over the next week, you wake him up a few more times, thrashing in your bed or exiting your room once you wake. He nudges each time, offering to let you talk about it, but you never do. You always apologize for waking him, thank him for keeping you company and making you tea before you disappear back into yourself and into your room.

✯✯✯✯✯

You’ve lost count of the days and nights spent in Tim’s house, your sense of time thrown off by the continued plague of nightmares and the monotony of your days. As you wake up after a surprisingly dreamless sleep, you immediately turn your face back into the pillow. Your heartbeat pounds in your head, and everything seems brighter and louder. The migraines have been nearly as consistent as the nightmares since before you left for Los Angeles. 

Tim knocks on your door, and you groan as the sound echoes in your brain. He cracks the door, concerned that you aren’t up yet.

“Are you okay?” he asks, seeing your current state.

“Migraine,” you answer. “I called in sick.”

He closes the door to block the light from outside and lowers his voice to ask, “Do you need anything before I leave?”

“I’m okay. Thanks.”

“Well, call me if you do, or if anything changes, okay?”

“I will. Thank you, Tim. Have a good day.”

Tim nods, even though you can’t see him, before backing out of your room and exiting the house as quietly as possible. He keeps his ringer on, looking at his phone every few minutes as his concern for you remains at the forefront of his mind.

Angela and Nyla notice his usual grumpy disposition seems to have been replaced with concern for something, or someone. After he checks his phone for the fifth consecutive time, Angela decides to pry.

“How’s the beautiful roomie? Still just a roommate?” she asks.

“She’s not feeling well,” Tim answers.

Angela waits for an elaboration, but Tim doesn’t offer one. She looks at Nyla, who gives a knowing look. It’s obvious that Tim is softening toward you, but you haven’t made enough of an impact that he’s less grumpy or snappy. As the day continues, his usual personality returns, convinced that you must be okay, or you would have called.

The next day, after learning that you are, in fact, feeling better, Tim is back to his pre-roommate levels of anger and high strung-ness. To worsen his mood, you wake him up with a nightmare but refuse to let him in, not even acknowledging his kind questioning as to how you are. He’s worried about you because you welcomed his presence before, but he is also angry that you changed so quickly, and now you don’t trust him. Everything is piling on, and Tim isn’t sure how much more he can carry.

✯✯✯✯✯

“Just tell me something,” Angela presses.

“Stay out of it, Lopez!” Tim yells, his emotions reaching a boiling point. “I didn’t even want a puppy- a roommate! If you like her so much, why don’t you take her in?”

Angela waits for his shoulders to drop slightly before asking, “Timothy… is this because you don’t like her, or because you do?”

Tim’s jaw clenches, and his nostrils flare as he turns away, offering to go on patrol while Nolan and Celina go to the shooting range. Everyone seems to think they know Tim better than they do; Angela is pushing him toward you while you’re distancing yourself, and the push and pull is tiring.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim waits in his truck in the driveway for a few minutes before walking in. When he walks in, you’re standing in the kitchen. He hasn’t actually seen you since the day of your last migraine when you stopped trusting him, and your sudden willingness to be in the same area confuses him. Anger and confusion rarely mix well; with Tim, it’s a fatal combination.

You notice his tension and knitted brows, chewing your bottom lip before asking, “Are you okay?”

Stumbling to his tipping point for the second time in the day, Tim takes all his anger and confusion over his feelings out on you.

“What do you think? You can’t decide if I’m worth trusting with something as small as a nightmare, and Angela thinks that I’m practically neglecting you,” he begins.

You swallow harshly as his voice rises, stumbling backward when he starts moving his arms. 

“Especially considering I didn’t even want you here!”

Flinching, you snap your eyes closed and catch yourself on the corner of the wall. Tim freezes as he watches you. Everything begins snapping into place in his mind: your nightmares and the distance added to your reaction to him yelling and moving his hand are all signs he should have noticed sooner.

Your chest is heaving as you take short breaths, and when you finally open your eyes, you look terrified. Tim steps back, keeping his hands where you can see them. You focus on him as you slide down the wall, cradling your head in your hands as you fight off bad memories and a growing headache.

Tim watches you before sitting on the floor, keeping his distance. He waits for you to calm down, willing to let you decide whether or not you want to talk to him. You finally look back up at him, but he doesn’t move.

“I- I’m sorry,” you whisper.

“Can I come closer?” Tim asks.

You nod, and Tim slides across the floor, not wanting to stand up and look any more imposing than necessary. His knee presses gently against your thigh, and when you don’t move, he gives you a small smile – the first you’ve ever seen.

“I’ll leave in the morning,” you say, fiddling with your fingers.

“Please don’t,” Tim replies, shaking his head. “I’m really sorry. I wasn’t mad at you, just angry with a long day. But that’s no reason to yell at you or act like that. You confused me, and I didn’t know how to deal with it. That’s on me.”

“I’m sorry,” you repeat.

“Don’t. When I was younger, my dad took his anger out on me sometimes. I’m sure I deserved it once or twice, but I also know better than to treat people like an emotional outlet. If you ever want to talk, I’m here.”

You nod before saying, “My ex.”

Tim feels a protective surge at the idea of anyone hurting you, let alone doing it enough times that yelling pushes you to the point of a panic attack.

After comforting you with proximity and kind words, Tim offers to walk you to bed. Your hand brushes his as he opens your door, and you smile as you thank him for everything. It’s a minor change in your relationship but an important one.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim leaves before you wake up the following morning, determined to find out as much as he can about you and your past. He’s not necessarily being nosy, but he wants to know if there’s anything specific that could help or hurt you.

“What do you know?” he demands as he storms up to Angela’s desk.

“About what?” she replies, raising her brows.

“What do you mean ‘about what’? Her!”

Nyla leans back in her chair, glad to watch the unfolding drama.

“Tim, I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Angela explains.

“Why’d she move to LA?”

“Are you seriously trying to find something wrong with her? That’s low.”

Tim moves around her desk, dropping his voice to answer, “I’m trying to figure out who thought it was okay to put their hands on her. Because she won’t let me in.”

Angela begins connecting the dots you left untouched. You ran from the person controlling your life, not your actual life. She knew that you were omitting something during your initial meeting, but she didn’t expect it to be so big.

“Have you been open with her?” Angela asks finally. “Because that’s a two-way street. I’ll talk to her if you want me to, but she trusts you, Tim.”

“How do you know that?”

Nyla’s eyes bounce back and forth like she’s watching a tennis game. She sighs before deciding to interject. “She told her! Sent her a text one night!” she calls out, smiling and waving when Angela and Tim look at her.

Tim nods, giving Angela the closest she’ll get to an apologetic look before leaving.

✯✯✯✯✯

Returning home, Tim is surprised to find you on the couch, in your work clothes, with your face pressed into a pillow. You wave your fingers without moving to acknowledge him, and he remains silent as he walks to the kitchen.

“You don’t have to be silent, it’s your house,” you mumble. “I’ll figure out a way to get to the bedroom.”

“You’re fine here,” Tim answers, setting a glass of water beside you. “Another migraine?”

“Skull fractured from getting my head pushed through a window a few months ago,” you explain with a sigh. “The migraines have gotten worse since then.”

Tim lays a hand on your shoulder, giving you plenty of time to tell him not to touch you. You don’t, relaxing under his touch instead. Tim takes a seat beside you, hoping to comfort you once more.

“Your ex?” Tim asks. 

You hum a yes, and Tim’s jaw tightens, even as he comforts you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Walking into the police station, Tim’s wallet is tucked safely in your bag. Approaching the front desk, you say your name and are wordlessly handed a visitor’s badge before someone gives you directions. You don’t have time to argue, shrugging as you attempt to remember where to turn. Angela sees you before you see her, rushing to your side and looping her arm with yours.

“What are you doing here?” she asks happily.

“Uh, Tim forgot his wallet. I was just going to drop it off, but they sent me back here,” you answer.

Tim says your name, coming around a corner, and Angela pushes you toward him, joining Nyla as they watch your interaction.

“You know she was trying to get you a girlfriend and not just a roommate, right?”

Tim nods a thanks as he accepts his wallet, glancing over at your audience. “I’m half-tempted to make them think I kicked you out.”

You smile brightly, and Tim licks his lips to keep his smile from mirroring yours. His eyes tell you more than enough, and you’re happy to see him, too.

“Do it,” you whisper. “Just let me know when so I can play my part. Angela told me to call her if you were ever mean to me.”

“Have you?”

You don’t answer, opting to wink at him before stepping back. Waving at Angela and Nyla, you leave the station as they rush to Tim’s side. As they ask overlapping questions and talk about how cute you and Tim look standing together, Tim ignores them before walking away.

✯✯✯✯✯

Tim is pulled from his sleep by your panicked yell. He leaves his bed and barges into your room with no thought. His heart rate slows when he sees your teary face and tangled sheets.

“Sorry,” you mutter as you wipe your tears. “I just don’t know how to make them stop.”

Tim sits beside you, opening an arm toward you. It’s a bold move, especially for him, but you take his offer and curl into his side.

“Are- did you mean it when you said I could talk about it?” you ask.

Tim nods, and you tell him more, but not everything. You remind yourself that he’s your roommate and maybe, just maybe, he's your friend, but he’s not here to listen to all of your baggage.

“The last thing he said before I left was, ‘there is nowhere you can go that my love won’t lead me to find you.’”

“You know that wasn’t love,” Tim replies, waiting for your nod before continuing. “And I’ve got your back, Angela and Nyla are right here, and we won’t let anything happen to you. No matter what.”

Drifting back to sleep in his warm, safe embrace, you finally learn what it’s like not to be scared.

When you wake alone, neither you nor Tim acknowledge what happened. You’re okay with slow changes, as long as there are changes.

“Tim,” you say, interrupting him on his way out. “Thank you. For last night.”

“I’m only ever a call away,” he reminds you.

✯✯✯✯✯

Your head starts aching around noon, quickly worsening into a full-blown migraine. When you’re ready to go home, it’s bad enough that you can’t drive. Sitting in your car and resting your head against the steering wheel, you want to call Tim but can’t find the strength to move.

Tim, meanwhile, returns home and begins wondering where you are. He calls, and you don’t answer, so he lets his worry control him as he gets back in his truck and drives your usual route. Tim hopes to pass you or find you waiting as someone changes your tire. When he gets to the parking lot of your job and sees you slumped in your car, he has to fight not to panic.

Rushing to the door, he’s both grateful and concerned that it’s unlocked. He kneels beside you, saying your name before bending to see you. Your eyes are tightly closed, but tears are still leaking out. 

“I’m taking you to the hospital,” he says.

You whimper as he picks you up, clinging to him until he lays you down in the backseat of his truck, buckling you in as well as possible.

“Hospital can’t help,” you mumble.

Tim wants to argue, but remembers what you said about the skull fracture. You’ve already been to the doctor, so maybe getting you home and comfortable will be enough.

After a nap partially influenced by unbearable pain, you wake to see Tim sitting by your bed.

“Why are you so nice to me? You didn’t even want a roommate,” you mutter sleepily.

Tim smiles, making you think you’re hallucinating. “Yet I got something better.”

✯✯✯✯✯

You don’t quite make it to work the next day. Walking into the station, you’re surprised when Nyla greets you first.

“I’m assuming it’s a joke,” she says.

You furrow your brows in confusion before you see Tim leaning on a desk with his arms crossed while Angela yells at him.

“Unless he really kicked you out,” Nyla adds.

You nod, walking towards Angela and Tim.

“No, you don’t get to blame me! I got you a roommate, a friend, a beautiful woman who could have been more than a friend, and you’re mad at me?” Angela exclaims.

Tim locks eyes with you, not changing his expression as he gauges whether or not her yelling is upsetting you.

“Can I talk to you?” you ask Tim.

Angela steps back, hoping to hear Tim apologize, but he stands up and gestures for you to follow him without speaking. Worried that you’re sick again, Tim waits silently.

“I’m okay,” you promise. “I just wanted to see you.”

Not believing something so simple, Tim shakes his head. “Tell me what happened.”

“I saw a guy who looked like him while I was driving to work. He was yelling at a girl outside of a diner, and it made me nervous.” You keep your eyes on the floor, but Tim gently raises your head.

“You’re not alone, and I know that things still seem uncertain, and probably will for a long time, but you don’t have to be afraid of anything while I’m here.”

“Then why’d you kick me out?” you tease with a pout.

Tim shakes his head, telling you to go before following you out. You wipe an imaginary tear before waving at Angela.

“No, you’re not leaving,” she says, grabbing your shoulders and steering you toward her desk.

Nyla smiles at Tim, and he sighs before following.

“Tell me exactly what happened between you two,” Angela commands.

You look past her before tensing, and Tim immediately catches on. He follows your line of vision and sees Nolan and Celina booking someone. You shrink in on yourself, and Tim moves to block your view.

“Get her out of here,” he tells Angela.

Angela doesn’t wait before obeying, ushering you into the bullpen and out of sight.

“What’s the charge?” Tim asks Celina.

“Assault. Beat up a woman outside a diner,” she answers.

Tim’s jaw tightens at the knowledge that this man made you nervous this morning, reminding you of your ex. He hates abuse in every situation, but when you’re involved, his protectiveness and anger differ. Tim leaves before saying or doing something he’ll regret.

When he finds you in the bullpen, he takes one look at you before hugging you. It’s quick, but Angela and Nyla look at each other in shock.

“So, you’re good?” Nyla asks.

“We were never bad,” you reply. “Just wanted to get back at Angela for trying to set us up.”

“It worked?” Angela inquires excitedly.

“Not yet.”

“Not yet?” Tim repeats, looking over at you. He shrugs as he concedes, “Okay.”

✯✯✯✯✯

When Tim gets home, he drops his stuff by the door, raising his arms in question as he looks at you. “Not yet? What is that supposed to mean?”

“You haven’t made a move. How do I know you’re not just protective and caring under that handsome, gruff exterior?” you ask with a shrug.

Tim shakes his head, cupping the back of your head gently as he kisses you. You raise your hands over his chest to hold his jaw, pushing yourself closer as you reciprocate his every move.

“Because I don’t protect just anyone like this,” he says against your lips.

You kiss him again before asking, “Does this mean you can reduce my rent?”

Tim rolls his eyes, tucking you against his side where you’re safe from everything and everyone. 

[gothbitchshit]

Feels Like the First Time

Pairing: Eddie x plus sized female reader

Rating: Explicit — minors do not interact

Genre: fluff, explicit smut

Word count: 5.8k

Summary: Eddie is your best friend, and has always been a little bit of a perv, but that doesn’t matter to you much considering you’re in love with him. Things change though when he sees you in something a little more revealing than he’s used to.

Warnings: idiots to lovers aka best friends to lovers, lowkey perv Eddie, mentioned porn, Eddie likes his girls thick idc I make the rules, Eddie sees the reader almost naked and falls in love™️, mentioned drug use, overuse of pet names, finger sucking, mentioned throat fucking (does not occur), choking, impact play/pussy slapping, master kink, oral (f receiving), fingering, loss of virginity (both reader and Eddie whoops), protected sex, safeword discussion, dirty talk (these two are filthy), dumbification if you squint, Eddie being silly -- if I missed anything please let me know!

Request status: yes! Requested by @friendly-neighborhood-ghoul

Authors note: sorry this has taken 75000 years 🙃 but it’s here! And it’s somewhat more lighthearted than thick with desire but I hope everyone still likes it!! Also it has been beta read so I hope it’s clean but if not, please let me know 💞

⋆ ☽ ⋆ ☾ ⋆

You always noticed how Eddie stared at you.

It didn’t bother you — you had gotten used to people’s eyes on you. There was just more of you to see than most of the other girls, and Eddie was, to put it lightly, a perv. He was obsessed with the “female form” as he put it. He never shied away from the topic of sex and what he found to be turn on, most of which came down to his personal motto: the bigger the better. And his views on sex helped you come out of your shell a bit. You weren’t a prude, just… inexperienced. But Eddie just being himself made you feel comfortable with sex — I mean you had to be with the amount of porn you found under his bed and on his nightstand. Eddie was your best friend, and he outright refused to keep secrets from you, including what type of porn he liked, and expected you to do the same. It hadn’t been easy at first, but the more time you spent around Eddie, the more free you felt.

The only secret you kept from him was that you were painfully in love with him; I mean how could you not be? He was sweet, funny, caring, and had the best hair in Hawkins (sorry Steve). But you pushed those feelings down, deep down, because you couldn’t live without Eddie. You didn’t want to lose him because of a silly crush you’d been holding onto for nearly a year, he meant too much to you. He was a constant in your life that you outright refused to give up. So, you carried on like normal, pushing down the longing you felt pang in your chest every time he made a comment about your figure, called you sweetheart, let you have the last bite of his food, or let you steal all of the blankets when you spent the night.

And you spent many nights at the Munson trailer getting high with Eddie while Wayne worked, even now after you had graduated from Hawkins High while he was attempting to finish his senior year for the third time. But an extra year for him to graduate wasn’t something that put either of you off — in fact it made you closer. Instead of meeting every day in the hallways between class, Eddie would pick you up from the salon you worked at to smoke and hang out, or even just take you home so you could spend some time together at the end of the day. Or you would join in Hellfire frivolities, much to everyone’s joy — especially the freshmen Eddie had collected.

But today was a holiday weekend, and you and Eddie were blessed by a weekend completely devoid of obligations. Wayne was out of town, the salon was closed, neither of you had anywhere to be, and your only thought was getting high enough to not feel the lingering stress of the past few weeks. Eddie had gone so far as to drag his mattress into the living room and made a fort out of some old sheets that looked suspiciously like ones that had disappeared from your linen closet after you complained about needing to get rid of them.

“Alright princess, we’ve got snacks, drinks, and enough weed to keep us obliterated until tomorrow night,” he smiled proudly, standing triumphantly in front of the entrance to the fort, before bowing dramatically, “Your castle, m’lady.”

“Why thank you, good sir,” you giggled, curtseying exaggeratedly in response. But Eddie grabbed your wrist and pulled you haphazardly into the fort, a scream leaving your lips as you felt the momentary weightlessness take over. But the next thing you knew, you were pinned to the mattress by Eddie’s lean frame, a proud smile on his face as he stared down at you. “What was that for, you big meanie,” you pouted up at him.

He shrugged, refusing to release your intertwined hands from where he had them pressed against the soft surface, “Just thought I’d keep ya on your toes, sweetheart,” he boasted, letting his body collapse onto you. You sighed dramatically, knowing it was useless to try and get him off you when he was like this.

Despite being as thin as he was, Eddie was surprisingly strong. He was able to manhandle you in a way you didn’t think was possible for your size, often taking to throwing you around like a rag doll in his play fights, and easily pinning you down to tickle you until you were crying and begging for mercy. But when Eddie got like this — especially when he was high — he stuck to you like a flytrap. Moving more than a few inches at a time was relatively impossible with his limbs wrapped around you like a boa constrictor.

You knew you were in for it when he slithered down slightly, sliding his arms around your waist and letting his head rest on your chest, his legs tightening around your own. You couldn’t help but laugh, earning a pinch to your side, “Pillows don’t laugh, pretty girl,” he chastised before finally settling.

“Eddie,” you whined, trying to shake him off you, “I’m not a pillow, and I’m hungry,” you complained, feeling the effects of the joint you two had shared on the drive over. It made you feel like you were floating, and Eddie’s body weight was the only thing keeping you from flying away.

“But sweetheart,” he whined, “We have all day to eat—“

“We also have all day for me to be your pillow but Eddie I’m hungry, and I’m warm,” you argued, grabbing a fist full of his hair and tugging on it gently, getting a deep moan from him in response.

“Christ, warn a guy before you go around pulling on his hair like that. You’re gonna give me the wrong idea, princess,” he smiled proudly, before sighing deeply and rolling off you. “But I guess you can eat. But pillow time later, promise me!” he demanded, eyebrows furrowed as he stared into your eyes, pinky held out toward you.

You wrapped your pinky around him with a roll of your eyes, a bright smile spreading across Eddie’s face as it did, “Now can you please feed me?”

“Alright, alright,” he sighed, pushing himself off the bed before turning and wiggling his fingers at you. You grabbed his hands, allowing him to heave you off the floor, steadying you as you nearly face planted into his chest, “Whoa there, don’t need you falling for me yet,” he said with a wink.

“You’re the worst,” you grumbled, pushing him away from you as you went to retrieve your backpack. He just snickered to himself, letting you stomp away from him like a pouting child.

But Eddie was grateful for the moment of separation — he was on the losing end of a battle with his own hormones. It had taken every ounce of self control he had not to rut himself into you and bury his face in your chest.

He’d always played off his attraction for you as a generalized turn on — which wasn’t far off to say. He liked seeing the girls in his dirty mags that had more on their frames. More hips, more thigh, more ass, more tits. But his real turn on was you. It had been ever since the summer of ‘84 when the two of you had gone swimming in Lovers Lake after his broken air conditioner had forced you both out of the trailer.

You had stripped down to barely anything, demanding he turn away as you ran into the tepid waters. Eddie hadn’t meant to sneak a peek, only looking when he heard you yelp loudly. He had honestly thought you were hurt; he just wanted to check in on you. But what he got instead was the sight of your thin panties stretched over the roundness of your ass, the dimples and puckers in your skin on display; it took his breath away. But when you turned, and he caught a glimpse of your nipples poking against the thin matching material of your bra, one that was nearly too small to contain the fat of your tits, made him feel like a prepubescent boy about to lose his load looking down the shirt of his uncles ex girlfriend when he was 10.

But ever since that day, he’d been embarrassingly attracted to you. He thought everything you did was pure pornography and it was torture. He was getting more and more depraved and desperate as the days went on too. The simple act of you throwing your bare legs over his during movie nights and the light catching the hair of your legs got him hard, and the pout that seemed to permanently live on your mouth drove him crazy. He wanted to fill your bratty little mouth, make you choke on his fingers, or even better, his cock; make you gag and drool and cry as he abused your poor throat.

The worst part of it was that it seemed like you didn’t notice at all.

Gareth and Jeff had approached him multiple times about his borderline creepy behavior, worried about how it would affect the group if you grew tired of it. But he’d proven to them various times that you simply didn’t care — or at least pretended not to. They watched as he manhandled you into his lap during Hellfire, hands all over you. It would have been nearly obscene if you hadn’t giggled and slapped his chest playfully, rolling your eyes at him.

And your lack of reaction only made Eddie more bold. He was never one to back down from a challenge, always willing to push his limits until he either got what he wanted, or got burned.

But fuck did he want you. You were basically already living in domesticated bliss; all that needed to change was instead of fucking his fist every night to the thought of you, he’d be actually fucking you.

He barely realized he’d gotten himself so worked up just thinking about you, he’d shoved his hand in his pants and had began to stroke his painfully hard cock, praying that he’d cum before you walked back in the room so he didn’t have to walk past you with his cock throbbing painfully. He only hoped his black jeans would conceal the wet spot well enough.

But his prayers went unanswered as you threw open the door to his bedroom forcing him to yank his hand out of his pants with a hiss as his finger caught the zipper, slicing through the thin skin shallowly. “Jesus fucking Christ,” he grumbled.

“Eds are you okay?” you asked, eyebrows furrowed in concern as you straddled his legs, taking his hand in yours to assess the damage. You pouted, eyes locking with his, “Eddie, you need to be careful,” you chastised with a small whine, “What were you even doing? If you hurt your fingers too much you won’t be able to play your show this week—“

“What the actual fuck are you wearing,” Eddie cut you off firmly, his eyes glued to your chest. “No, really, I’m gonna need an explanation sweetheart because it seems like you just want me to lose my goddamn mind.”

You looked down at the shirt, not really understanding what he meant. It was a little lower cut than shirts you normally wore, the tank top showing off a modest amount of your chest. “Eddie, I don’t know what you mean, I’m just wearing a shirt—“

He cut you off, surging forward to pin you underneath him again. It was something he did often, but the look in his eyes was something you’d never seen before. His eyes were swimming with frustration and something else you couldn’t quite place. “Sweetheart, that’s not a shirt, that’s fucking temptation,” he explained.

You rolled your eyes, ignoring the pain in your chest as you tried to push him off – you knew he didn’t mean you, just the idea of you, “Come on, Eddie, I know you like this kinda shit in porn but it's me. I know you don’t like me—“

“Excuse me?” He asked, his eyebrows nearly disappearing into his hairline, “Babycakes, you’ve got me all wrong. I am so wildly in love with you I’m barely competent when you’re in the room. Why do you think I failed Mrs. O’Donnell’s class again last year? I couldn’t think about Hamlet with you sitting next to me.”

You stared at him, eyes wide and jaw dropped open in shock. “But y-you never said anything—“

“Baby I’ve made it obvious for years now. You can’t honestly tell me you didn’t realize when I’m constantly telling you how sexy you are,” Eddie rolled his eyes. His tone was verging on annoyed, which pissed you off — he was placing all the blame on you for not noticing him when he was busy not noticing you. 

“Hey! It’s not all my fault! Why do you think I always wear things you say you think are cute? I don’t do that for anyone else you know,” you defended yourself with a glare. “Plus, I asked your stupid ass to prom and you took me! How could you not realize I’m in love with you too?” It was Eddie’s turn to stare at you in shock, eyes going wide.

“I-I thought you just wanted me to feel less lonely because Gareth and Jeff had dates! I didn’t know you meant it,” Eddie stuttered, eyes going wide.

“Of course I meant it, Eddie, I’m not that mean,” you huffed, trying to throw his body off yours but he wouldn’t let you go, making you huff and turn your head away as you mumbled, “The fact that you’d think I would do all that just as a pity date is so gross and hurtful and—“

He cut you off with a kiss, lips slamming into yours with no remorse, his teeth clicking with yours from the sheer force of him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. His lips were soft — probably from the chapstick he continued to steal out of your bag — and his hand cradling your head felt right. His kiss consumed you, instantly going pliant in his grasp. 

“I don’t think you’re mean baby,” he smiled, pulling back to look over your breathless state with a smile, “I mean… you can be an asshole, but it’s just one of the things I love about you princess.”

“And what are those other things you love so much, hm?” You asked cheekily, nipping at his ear as you pulled him closer.

“Hm, well, let’s see,” he smiled, pulling himself out of your grasp to tower over you. You couldn’t help but stare up at him in awe; he always looked so pretty hovering over you. His dark brown eyes sparkling in the low light and dimples on display as he smirked at you. “If you don’t stop looking at me like that, you little vixen. I mean fuck baby, when you look at me it’s like you unplug my brain. Sometimes, you bat your eyelashes at me in Hellfire and I’m ready to hand the campaign over to you, I mean shit, s’not fair. Even when you glare at me, it makes me wanna bend you over and fuck you till you cry.”

His words sent a wave of electricity through you, your body aching to touch him, “God Eddie I feel the fuckin’ same. Why do you think I did your chem homework so often? I almost dropped to my knees when you glared at me for taking the last beer last week. Would have let you fuck my throat, no questions asked.”

Eddie smirked, leaning forward and trapping you under him, one of his big hands grabbing your cheeks and squishing them gently, forcing your lips into an exaggerated pout, “God, the mouth on you. That’s another thing I love,” he groaned, pushing two of his fingers against your lips, your mouth opening for him instantly. Satisfaction grew in your chest as his eyes rolled back in his head, a grumble from deep inside him reverberating in the thick silence. “This fuckin’ mouth, princess. God, you can’t understand how many times I’ve thought about making you choke on me while you’re being a mouthy little brat, or fuck, when you pout at me to get what you want?”

“Wan’ it, Eds,” you mumbled against his fingers, pushing yourself deeper on his fingers, gagging slightly as you did.

“Yeah baby? You wanna fuck me? You wanna let me use your throat?” He cooed, making you whine and nod around his fingers. “So needy for me, huh? Such a pretty little thing, and you’re all mine, aren't you?”

You could only nod at him, eyes rolling back as you sucked on them lewdly. “Wan’ be yours,” you slurred, making him laugh, taking his fingers out of your mouth with a pop before wrapping his hand around your throat.

“Baby, you’ve been mine,” he grinned, watching you squirm on his bed. He had dreamed about this moment for years, you were the object of every fantasy he’d ever conjured, but fuck seeing you on his bed was better. He didn’t know if he could go back, but hearing you say that — he knew he didn’t have to. “Wanna know why I cut my finger open, hm? I was so distracted thinking about you I had to get myself off. I was thinking about those tits, that cute ass of yours, and fuck sweetheart, these legs. God these legs,” he groaned, rutting his bulge into your covered core, a pitiful whine coming out of your mouth.

“Please Eddie, I need it,” you pouted at him, your nails digging into his wrist as he tightened his fingers around your throat.

“This is the point of no return, sweet thing. We do this, you let me do this and I will never go back to just being your friend who has to jerk off in the bathroom every time we’re together. We do this and that means we’re together, got it?” He demanded, and your heart fluttered in your chest.

Being with Eddie was all you ever wanted, all you dreamed about. You wanted him to hold you and call you princess and know he meant it; know that it wasn’t a fantasy. “I want you Eddie, I want us. I’ve wanted there to be an us since that stupid campaign where you made me the damsel in distress and you pretended to be The God of Eternal Darkness who corrupted me and caused me to betray the party,” you smiled at him fondly.

“Baby, I know we’re past this now, but that was me flirting with you,” he smiled, patting your cheek, it almost would have felt condescending if the look in his eyes wasn’t so tender.

“Well maybe the mighty dungeon master should learn to be more—“ you rolled your eyes, but his grip on your neck cut you off.

“Now’s not the time to be a fuckin’ brat,” he glared at you, “I’ll give you one more chance before I decide to punish you to be a good girl.”

“Yes master,” you choked out, batting your eyes innocently.

He nearly growled at you, his eyes narrowing as he sucked in a breath. Everything stood still for a moment before his hands were gripping the hem of your shirt, pulling it off your body and flinging it to the side, leaving you breathless. 

“You just have to be mouthy don’t you?” He huffed, ripping off your shorts, leaving you completely exposed to him. You only had a moment to feel shy before his open palm was coming down on your cunt with a wet crack! You hadn’t even had enough time to process what happened when a broken moan was coming out of you. “I knew it, my dirty girl,” he smirked before his hand came down on the same spot again, “I saw that look on your face when I told you about that porno I saw, and you tried to deny it! But I knew baby, I knew you were perfect for me.”

Shame and lust filled your chest, sending heat up your neck while goosebumps broke out across your skin. Everything about the situation made you feel needy — you were completely at his mercy, and you loved every second of it. 

“I’m sorry, master,” you whimpered, but this time, the name was filled with sincerity. You needed him to touch you, to fuck you, and being a brat would get you nowhere with Eddie, you knew that.

“That’s more like it,” he hummed, sitting back on his heels smugly. “Will you let your master take control now? Fuck you like you deserve?”

“Yes, master, please,” you pleaded softly, making him smile at you fondly.

“That’s my sweet girl,” he smiled, kissing the tip of your nose as he dragged a single digit through your slit, coating it in your essence before bringing it up to his mouth. His finger disappearing behind his lips made you moan, your hips rocking against nothing as you watched him.  A startled yelp turned into a moan as his freehand came down on you again, the pressure on your clit making you cry out as you felt the stinging pleasure radiate through you. “Impatient little thing though,” he tutted, removing the finger from his mouth with a shake of his head.

Your eyes rolled back as his wet finger plunged into you slowly, the intrusion not too unfamiliar thanks to the dildo you had hidden in your room, but the warmth of Eddie’s hands on you was shocking. You knew you’d never get over the feeling of his hands splaying out across your skin, or his long fingers inside you.

“Fuck, sweetheart,” he groaned, pulling his fingers out of you with a slick, wet sound. The loss of him made you cry out in desperation. His chuckle at your desperate sounds made you narrow your eyes at him, “What, you make cute little sounds, princess,” he smirked, “No need to be asham-ow!” He teased, but you cut him off with a sharp pull of his hair.

“Edward Munson, if you make fun of me while we are having sex ever again, I will make you regret it,” you seethed, and he nodded before grinning.

“So we’re gonna have sex, more than just this once… nice,” he nodded. You let the silence wash over you for a moment before you both were breaking into laughter, tears filling your eyes as he collapsed on top of you.

“You’re ridiculous,” you gasped, “You’re so lucky I’m in love with you.”

“You’re damn right I am, I’m the luckiest motherfucker alive, sweetheart,” he beamed, pushing himself forward to slot his lips over yours, his fingers burying in your hair to pull you closer.

You hummed against his lips, snaking your hands under his shirt, feeling his smooth, warm skin against you. His happy trail brushed over your tummy, making you giggle. He pulled away just enough to pull the Dio shirt over his head before falling back against you, getting his hair in your mouth as you laughed.

“Alright, we need to do something about this,” you mumbled, taking your hands through his hair tenderly, gathering it in a bun at the back of his head before sliding your hair tie off your wrist, and securing it into his curly brown mane. “There, now I can kiss you without getting a hairball,” you teased, but your breath caught in your throat when you saw how he was looking at you.

There was nothing in his eyes but pure, unfiltered love.

“I know I keep makin’ jokes ‘bout it, but if you wanna do this angel, there’s no goin’ back for me,” he sighed, “A-and I don’t mean you can’t say no, because that’s just gross and I’d never do that to anyone, let alone you, but I-I mean if we take this step—“ he rambled, but you cut him off with a soft kiss.

“I know, babe,” you breathed, “And I want to. I want you. I’m just worried it won’t be good for you, because I’m… you know… a virgin,” you shrugged sheepishly.

“Princess, you know I’m a virgin too,” he admitted, eyes softening, “I just watch a lot of porn.”

“I know you do, you dirty pervert,” you rolled your eyes, “But you still fingered that one girl last year, and ate out that other girl at the Hideout, so you have some experience,” you scoffed.

“I think it’s perfect,” he smiled, making you tilt your head in confusion, “We get to learn all of this together. You get to teach me what you like, what feels good,” he mumbled, burying his face into your chest. You felt his tongue on your skin, sending shivers down your spine as he littered kisses across your tits. “And then I’ll teach you what I like,” he whispered before sinking his teeth into your skin, earning a gasp.

“That sounds perfect, Eddie,” you sighed, letting him suck marks into your skin as his hands roamed your body.

His marks eventually trailed down your torso, his tongue mapping your stretch marks as he went, eventually ending up between your legs, a lazy smile on his face as he wedged his shoulders against your thighs. “Do you wanna find out what all the hype is about sweetheart? Gonna let me taste you? I bet you’re fuckin’ sweet,” he groaned unconsciously grinding into the mattress.

“Y-yeah, if you wanna,” you nodded sheepishly.

“Don’t be afraid to pull my hair angel,” he assured you, “And don’t even think about hiding those noises from me. I wanna hear how good you feel. And if you need me to stop, like you really need me to stop, just say hellfire,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at you. 

Whatever response you had died on your lips as his tongue swept over your slit, a choked moan tearing from your chest. “Eddie, fuck,” you sighed, throwing your head back. 

He simply moaned into you, his eyebrows furrowing as you unintentionally tried to wiggle away from him as his hands gripped you tighter, pulling you down so you were immobilized.

You couldn’t think, fuck, you could barely breathe as he ate you messily. The slurping sounds and his grunts were downright nasty but they made your flesh burn with lust. Eddie was everything you didn’t know you needed, you didn’t know you could miss. 

Eddie could think of nothing but you — the smell of you, the taste of you on his tongue, the feeling of your silky thighs around his head and your fingers in his hair, and the sound of his name and squeals of pleasure leaving your lips. He’d never get over it. He wished he could film if, maybe you’d let him in the future. But then again, why would he need a film if he could just fuck you again? He knew you’d be perfect, perfect for him. 

He was obsessed. And he ate you with the same desperation he felt when he watched you casually flirt with other boys, the same desperation that caused him to steal panties out of your bag and fuck his fist whenever you fell asleep in his sheets. This moment was a culmination of years of longing and he refused to let it go to waste.

Eddie memorized every twitch and every moan, every thrust of your hips and which things made you try to run from him. His tongue breaching your fluttering walls made you sigh his name so sinfully he had to stop himself from shoving his hand into his pants, but your desperate whines when he circled your clit were otherworldly.

Because his tongue swirling on your clit felt like heaven; the pleasure was immense, and came quickly, but you knew the sensation would become too much soon, and then you’d be too sensitive to take him properly. You’d experienced it before and you were not letting a pesky bundle of nerves from fucking the man of your dreams.

“Eds, fuck, ‘m goddamn sensitive,” you squeaked, pulling his hair, “Not so much on my clit.”

He hummed and pulled away from your dripping center, eyes glassy and feral with want as your essence covered his chin, nearly running down his neck.

“I was right, sweetheart,” he smirked, “Sweet as I thought,” he said before dropping himself onto you again, trapping you in a filthy kiss. You could taste yourself on his tongue, teeth clicking against yours as he moaned.

“Please, Eddie, I can’t wait much longer,” you pleaded, “I want you inside me, please.”

Your words had him biting your lip harder than he intended to, accidentally cutting your lip as the metallic taste flooded his mouth. The taste mixed with the remnants of your essence swirling on his tongue made him nearly choke on his need to cum.

“Fuck, gotta be in you,” he slurred, pushing himself up off the bed. His hands shook as he pulled open his belt and nearly ripped his jeans trying to get them off his legs, boxers going with them. Once he had them off he stood at the edge of the bed, panting as he looked you over, before freezing. His eyes went wide before breathing out, “Condom, be right back,” before running into his room. You would have laughed if you didn’t find it so endearing.

He reappeared seconds later, eyes as wild as the grin on his face. But he kept standing at the edge of the bed, looking at you with a distinct hunger in his beautiful brown eyes. “Come on, Eddie, don’tcha wanna fuck me?” You teased, snapping him out of his trance with a moan.

“Baby, I’m tryin’ hard not to blow my load before I’m even inside you,” he said, throwing his head back.

“God that’s hot,” you moaned, “Next time, I want to watch you get yourself off, and I wanna feel you cum on me.”

“If you don’t stop talking it’s gonna become a reality,” he ground out through clenched teeth, glaring at you. You shrugged sheepishly, and he nearly growled in warning before ripping open the condom wrapper with his teeth and rolling it on.

In an instant, he was kneeling between your open legs again, rubbing his covered cock between your folds as you choked on your gasps. “Please Eddie, please,” you whined.

He said nothing, just aligned his cock with your hole and began to push himself into you. His thickness took your breath away, making you claw at the sheets and forcing high pitched squeals of pleasure out of you. “That’s right, take it baby, you’re doing so good for me,” he praised absently.

It felt like you were being split open, and it also seemed like he would never end. You knew he was long, and thick, but feeling him stretch you out felt like it took ages. But you loved every second.

You’d heard from other girls that their first times hurt, enough for them to cry or bleed, but this was a gratifying pain. And his hands steadied you, one on your hip and the other toying with your clit lazily.

He bottomed out with a satisfied sigh — he knew you weren’t in any pain. He’d watched you, eyes flicking between your face and his hardness disappearing into you the whole time, waiting for a flash of hurt or discomfort. But he never found it. He knew it — you were made for him.

“Move, do something, fuck, please,” you keened, rocking into him shallowly.

“Your wish is my command, princess,” he smirked before thrusting shallowly, watching your face for a reaction. When your moan tumbled out and your eyebrows knitted together in pleasure, he began to go harder. Your moans quickly became louder and more desperate, urging him to let go of his restraint.

The sound of skin on skin, your whines, and his deep grunts filled his trailer, drowning out the tape he’d put on when you arrived. His fingers digging into your plush skin was the only thing keeping you coherent, your mouth hanging open as your eyes rolled back.

“That’s right angel, I’m fucking you stupid, aren’t I?” He asked. You could only nod, tears filling your eyes from the pleasure that was growing in your belly. “You’re mine baby, mine. And I’m yours. And I want you to cum for me, can you do that? I’m so close, I just wanna feel you do it for me,” he ranted.

You were sure you could have cum from his words alone, but the look in his eyes — the possessive gleam you couldn’t look away from — pushed you over the edge.

You came with a scream, your walls tightening around him like a vice, which caused him to cum with a shout, his arms giving out as he face planted into your chest with a heaving sigh. 

You laid in silence, both catching your breath as he softened inside you. Warmth filled your chest as he traced nonsensical patterns into your sweaty skin, your fingers toying with the curled ends of the hair that had escaped the haphazard bun you’d given him. 

“So, is it too early to ask you to marry me?” He joked, sending you both into a fit of giggles.

“Yes, too soon. Take me on a date first then ask me again,” you said, wrapping your arms around his waist.

“I’ll hold you to that,” he hummed happily, before he sat up with a gasp. “Babe, I know the perfect song for this,” he exclaimed.

You sighed, going boneless against the sheets. You knew Eddie wouldn’t let it go until he made his point. “Well go on then, I don’t know how—“

“I have waited a lifetime! Spent my time so foolishly, but now that I found you, baby! Together we'll make history! It feels like the first time! It feels like the very first time!” He began singing loudly, pulling your hair tie out of his hair and throwing his head back, shaking out his curls as you rolled your eyes, unable to stop the fond smile growing on your lips.

“You’re gross,” you shook your head, earning a laugh.

“Maybe, but I’m yours. And you’re mine,” he grinned, pressing his lips to yours.

-----

taglist: @joekeeray @witchoftheewilds @vampireeddiemunson @wroteclassicaly @friendly-neighborhood-ghoul @littledemondani @bibbykins @tessab154 @manicpixiedreamcurl

[itsgrimeytime]

like father, like son || Rick Grimes (TWD) x gn!Reader

AVAILABLE ON AO3

request for @zomb-1-egutzz

Inspiration: I Wanna Be Yours by Arctic Monkeys

Summary: Taking care of Carl, was like instinct. Ever since you've met him, you've just cared for him like your own. You don't know why, you just slotted into his side. And you thought that was pretty simple. But, what you had never thought about, was what it would mean for Rick.

TWs: mention of Lori's death, mention of Hershel's death, mention of Beth's death, angst, crying, essentially a panic attack, pent-up emotions, cursing, blood, gunshot wounds, injuries, unrequited love (but not really), and all things TWD.

[[A/N: hey bestie <333, hope you like it. I write as a stress reliever but this one kinda hurt a little bit. And just fyi, Carl is alive and well, (canon is not real, so it will not hurt me). Also, Rick is down bad in this. Terribly down bad. Enjoy :))) ]]

You were a long-time family friend of the Greene's, and when you had nowhere else to go, you went to Hershel's farm. Even before the apocalypse, you helped when you could on the farm, and you knew all of them really well. A little like they were family.

But when it all started... everything went to shit for you pretty quickly.

And you... you had nowhere else to go.

With your family's blood on your hands and visions of unhinged jaws (that you didn't think you'd ever wash away), you ran as fast as you could. You just let your feet guide you and ended up on the Greene farm.

You still remember how hard they hugged you when you showed up, even with the blood (their blood) all over you. They held you then and kept you breathing for a long time. You don't know what you would've done without them.

But one day (after weeks of being helpless and grieving a loss you just couldn't get over, not really), you just pushed it all down with one motto: keep breathing.

You didn't get to enjoy life anymore, how could you? The world was ending, and all you needed to do was stay alive.

You didn't have to like it.

So you asked Hershel how to shoot a gun, and taught yourself how to use a knife. You knew Hershel didn't like it, the violence, but you wouldn't hear it. Because if your family had lost their lives, you sure as hell weren't losing yours.

The Greenes were worried about you, you could tell. Every day that went by where you didn't smile or laugh, and instead, practiced shooting bottles or killing a few walkers for the thrill of it, they stared at you just a little longer. With just a mix of worry and pity.

You didn't want to worry them, but you were just doing what you had to, to survive.

If you thought about your family... you'd probably run into the walkers. Tear the life out of your body yourself. How were you supposed to enjoy life when they got that privilege ripped away? It wasn't fair.

So, you avoided everything else and kept your focus on five things: breathing, shelter, protection, water, and food. That was it. You would even offer to go get things out of your own volition, and all your trips made you good at killing walkers. You did it effortlessly early on, and you're pretty sure the Greenes couldn't decide if that was a good or bad thing.

But everything changed when a Dad showed up begging Hershel to save his kid.

That day had made your head spin, seeing a little boy have a gunshot wound. It made your eyes burn, and your head fill with what plagued your nightmares (unhinged jaws and bloody hands). You avoided the kid at all costs.

You hadn't initially known Rick, or even really wanted to (him, Lori, and Shane were definitely far too much for you to handle) but you were kind of the mediator. Hershel hated the violence that his group had, but he loved you. And Rick's group agreed with your 'violent' ways, so naturally, you sat right in the middle.

You didn't want it, perse, but you got used to it pretty quickly. You truly couldn't count on both hands how many times you had to step physically in between Hershel and Rick. So, somehow, someway, you'd earned his trust and respect.

That being said, you didn't really talk. Rick had a lot on his shoulders, with a pregnant wife, an injured son, and whatever the hell he and Shane had going on (you stayed the fuck away from that). And you weren't really a 'get to know me' kind of person at the time.

But, everything shifted when his kid got better.

You watched him kind of roam around the farm a lot. Rick and Lori had a lot going on, you understood that, and you know Rick tried but he still looked... lonely. And there was something heavy in you that knew he wasn't going to really have a childhood, that he lost something so precious.

There was nothing different that day, at all. You woke up, made sure your knife was safe in your pocket and went out. You did that often, even though Hershel and the girls hated it, just disappeared into nearby neighborhoods or whatever buildings you could get into (you were getting good at picking locks). That day you were looking for anything you could get your hands on, anything.

Endlessly walking through a culdesac, darting in between each house, trying to find anything of value. Food, water, something to help with shelter-

Instead, you found something else.

In the dead grass of one of these classy houses' front yard was one soccer ball. It was dirty, but not too bad for the apocalypse (you had seen far worse, and were probably worse yourself actually). With a thought, you picked it up in your hands, squeezing it, and it wasn't flat either.

You weren't sure why (or maybe you knew exactly why), but that's all you brought back to the farm.

Every day, when your brain would get to be too much, you'd throw it around in your hands or dribble it around the yard. At first, Maggie had looked at you oddly, but now, it seemed to relax her (and Beth and Hershel). It was healthier, or they, at the very least, thought so.

You could pretty much immediately feel his eyes on you though, a little longingly. Maybe that's why, when you'd never kicked it too far in the entire time you had it, you kicked it too far.

It rolled up and hit him in the back of the leg.

He turned to look at you, blue eyes sparkling a little, and then down at the ball.

On instinct, you spoke, "Shit."

The kid looked directly at you then.

"Don't say that, kid," you mended, quickly -maybe even a little awkwardly.

"Carl," he spoke then.

You questioned, "What?"

"My name's Carl," he explained with quite the intention in his voice, "-not kid."

You laughed a little, maybe for the first time in a while. You could nearly hear Maggie's gaze snap to you at the sound. She was always the most worried.

"Well, Carl," you hummed, playfully, "-you gonna pass me my ball back?"

He pressed his lips together in a thin line like he was thinking -the hat on his head wobbled a little. It was endearing.

"Only if you let me play too," he negotiated, a big grin on his face and something in you softened (for the first time in a long time).

You tilted your head, hand on your hip, "You drive a hard bargain, sir."

Carl laughed, and you felt your smile grow bigger. Now, you felt more eyes on you, Rick and Lori. Or at least Rick.

Apparently, you were making quite the spectacle.

"Alright, Carl," you finally replied, "-you've got a deal."

That was when it all started when Carl changed your life. Every day that you could, you'd play a game of soccer with him, eventually it developed more into a chatty sort of game. He told you a lot, and you told him about the things you used to do as a kid.

It felt like you had a hand in helping him keep his innocence. It was nice.

You remember the eyes sort of fading off of you, well. Except for one.

Rick was always watching. You couldn't understand if it was a Carl thing, or a worrying thing, or what exactly. But, you did notice it.

And eventually, Carl convinced him to join too.

"C'mon, Dad," he pleaded, "-just one game."

"Carl, I gotta-"

"Please," he turned on the puppy dog eyes, you laughed a little at how he softened immediately. His eyes shot to yours a second at the noise, you didn't think much of it.

"How are we supposed to play wit' just three of us?" He relented, just a smidge, "-Don't we need equal teams?"

Carl frowned.

Your mouth was open before you could even stop it, "Oh, please, I'm good enough to take the two of you on my own."

Rick's lips quirked into a smile, you had the thought that he was handsome before shoving it far away, "Are ya?"

"I am," you reiterated, just doing what felt natural, "-you too scared to try, Grimes?"

Carl laughed at that, almost giddy, it made something in your chest warm. Mission accomplished.

And with a breath, Rick readied himself -blue eyes solid on yours, "'S see whatcha got, Y/N."

That wouldn't be the last time the three of you would play soccer together, but it would be the first time you really got to know Rick. It remained that way, where you just played with Rick and Carl on days they could or days you could.

You'd found a connection, and it was nice.

But then, you were kind of a friend to Carl. You truly cared about him, yeah, you weren't on the level of a parent for him. Not at all. That just wasn't your dynamic, you didn't want to step on any toes.

Lori's or Rick's.

Before you could stop it, the fateful day arrived.

You were strung between a delicate mix of concern and disbelief. The overthrow of the farm was big, and maybe so was finding the prison, but this... this day was much worse.

You'd known Lori a little bit better then, she talked to you a little (because you were always around Carl). And she seemed nice, really, just in a fucked up situation that she could hardly handle herself. Nevertheless, to handle it for Carl. Plus, the whole Shane situation... He was dead now, and that really couldn't be easy on her conscience. (You kind of gathered the situation a little bit, when you were getting to know Rick. He hadn't said anything, but you understood enough.)

And when she went into labor, you hated that you weren't hopeful. Hated it.

Carl went with Maggie to help deliver, and your heart twisted in your chest (so insanely worried) but you needed to help the others.

When Maggie came out of the room, with just Carl and the baby -blood all over her hands, your heart sunk to the bottom of your chest. Lower, if it could. There was this little spark of hope that Carl was okay, but then you looked at him, really looked at him.

Rick was crying, and belligerent, and he did the very same. Just looked at his son, "No, no, no-"

God, he... he didn't-

You don't think you could ever forget the next moment.

A sob was racking up your throat, heavy and so suffocating as you watched Rick just lose it and Carl stayed steady in place, only looking at the ground. And you felt like you were going to throw up.

Stomach twisting, as your eyes got cloudy.

You hadn't even noticed it, maybe because your mind was reeling, but then you heard the slap of footsteps and then a body running into yours. Carl, Carl-

Hands shaking, your hands wrapped around him, holding him tightly -swallowing back what you could. Your body moved on its own.

You crouched down, you couldn't stop the tears then, eyes skimming over his face. He was just looking at you, blue eyes filling with tears, and before you knew it you were cupping his face and wiping all of them away.

"Oh, baby, baby-" you were whispering, just for him to hear, "-I'm so sorry."

And then, you pulled him into another hug. That time you didn't let go, you would hold him until he did. Tears wetting your shoulder you only squeezed him tighter -kissing him on the forehead when it felt like your soul was crushed into pieces.

That was where it started.

You still went on trips, but you stayed around a lot more. Because, as you were caring for Carl, you also started caring for Rick. They went hand-in-hand. That was much more important than anything else.

It started with going on trips, and getting Carl books and candy when you could. It grew from there though, you started siphoning off some of your food to give him extra. When he would get hurt, even small little cuts, you were immediately there -patching him up. Making sure he was completely fine.

And Rick... well, he was more complicated. It was dragging him away from the farm when he seemed so tired he could barely stand, it was getting him out of bed when he didn't want to even breathe, it was making sure he was eating, and it was sometimes guiding him back to reality when he saw Lori.

He started getting better eventually, and you did convince him to go see the baby. He'd been avoiding her as much as physically possible; you told him he should.

"She's a piece of Lori that you'll always have, Rick. Her and Carl."

He'd look at you a certain type of way you couldn't label then, but eventually agreed. So, you thought it was going well. As he became more conscious again though, similar to his previous self (sometimes you thought maybe even better), he started noticing.

Rick saw all that Carl had gathered, the finger pointed back to you. He was eating candy, the finger pointed back to you. Carl fell and scraped his knees, you were near immediately by his side while Rick watched (the finger pointed back to you).

And when you ate, you'd done how you always did, almost on instinct. Siphoning off some of your food and piling it onto Carl's plate.

You're not sure when Rick caught that, at all, really. But you knew he did.

Because, eventually, he started sitting beside you, and as quick as you'd siphon off to Carl, he'd siphon some of his off to you.

The first time he'd done it, you froze -staring at your plate.

"Rick, you don't-"

He didn't even flinch, blue eyes taking you in -grateful, "I do."

"Well," you reasoned, "-don't do it every day. You need to eat too."

"Don't ya give some to Carl every day?"

"Yeah, but-"

"No buts," he promptly finished, smiling at you in a new type of way, continuing his conversation with Daryl.

He'd done similar things, and eventually, your care spanned over to Judith. It wasn't as pressing as Carl, as Beth usually had her dealt with, but you'd been the one to feed her a few times (sat right beside Carl). And you won't lie you did do the baby voice a few times.

You didn't know it then, but Rick was looking at you in a new type of way.

And then, things happened in rapid succession.

The Governor did what he did, and Hershel died right in front of your eyes. You grabbed Maggie that day so tight, holding her as you both fell to the ground. It felt just like when your family... Your heart was thrown out of your chest and stomped into the dirt.

The fall of the prison didn't give you much time to grieve. You'd escaped with Carl and Rick, Judith had disappeared and you hoped with everything in your chest that she was still alive. God, you had never felt so low in your life.

Those days weren't good, and you had holed yourself up -lock and key. The only person who could through to you was Carl, despite how much Rick tried.

Breathing, shelter, protection, water, and food, but just for a bigger audience now.

The Claimers only proved you right. Seeing Carl like that, the threats of what they were going to do to him? You would've snapped if Rick hadn't.

"He's mine."

That day, you felt yourself come back again.

You held Carl tight against your chest, rubbing his hair over and over. Just before that, you scanned his whole body carefully -looking everywhere for anything at all. You would've killed them again if you could have if there was.

Holding him, you recenter yourself -calming the shake of your hands and the beating of your heart. You whispered, "You're okay, you're okay, you're okay-"

Carl had stopped you then, leveling his blue eyes on you, "I'm okay."

You smiled, maybe a little teary, reiterating, "You're okay."

And then, you saw Rick.

That was the thing about you, you were hardwired to care for them both at this point (for maybe more reasons than one, but you wouldn't admit that out loud). Making sure Carl was entirely fine, you kissed his forehead and spoke.

"Imma go help your Dad, okay?"

Hunting down a rag and a little bit of extra water, you slowly made your way over to him. He still had his eyes closed, and his hands were shaking; you simply sat right in front of him -wordlessly. You hardly even breathed, not wanting to startle him at all, but somehow still wanting to to bring him back.

You waited, patiently, for his eyes to open again, and when they did, you smiled a little.

"Hey, Grimes," you whispered, brandishing the rag, "-Thought you might need a little help, that okay?"

He looked at you in the same type of way he always did, one that you still couldn't label.

Before speaking lowly and a little slurred in his accent, "Yeah, 'at's okay."

You took a careful breath and leaned forward -gently scrubbing the blood off of his skin. Moving slowly, his eyes fluttered shut, and something in your chest tightened. He trusted you so much.

Your heart lept into your throat at the thought, and you took the moment to just look at Rick. How he differed from the first time you saw him, the time in his face. Longer hair that curled, the stubble that climbed up his cheeks, he was so different, but still somehow the same. Your heart stuttered in your chest.

That wasn't new, but it felt like it was.

With a breath, you continued wiping away what you could -pushing all around his face, smoothing over his lips, and dabbing a little on his facial hair. You moved slowly, not wanting to irritate his skin, but it made it take a little longer. As you did so, your fingertips brushed along his skin -just a little. It made your head spin.

You leaned back, satisfied, before grabbing his hands -left one first. You looked at them a moment, eyeing the callouses and the rough skin along his palm. His life was riddled on them, practically written there.

You cleared your throat, blinking back into focus.

Scrubbing away on the back and then flipping it to the front, you repeated the process.

He was looking at you now, blue eyes intently focused. You felt his steady gaze as you curled your hands around his, and for a moment it felt like you couldn't breathe.

Your heart beating heavily in your chest, you tried to stay focused.

When his skin was a sort of pink instead of blood red, you let go of his hands. Decidedly, you patted his cheek with a smile (the buzz of his skin against yours made your head spin).

"All better," you chimed, playfully.

He laughed a little then, and you felt something in you stir. Long ago dormant. Handsome, your mind spoke.

It was suddenly very hard to ignore it now, though. This close to his face, and he kind of looked like he-

With a breath, snapping your eyes from his and clearing your throat. "I'll um, go see if Carl needs me."

He just smiled at you in a certain type of way.

The two of you never talked about it again, but you did find him looking at you more.

And then Terminus.

To think about it now, made your skin crawl and bile rise up your throat. Beth died right in front of you, shot right through the head. She wasn't... There was no way-

You felt part of yourself crumble that you didn't think you could get back. God, she was so young-

You had new nightmares; they made your stomach twist and your sleep come to a relative halt. It wasn't just your family now (although it kind of was), it was Beth and Hershel. They had both been so sudden, your mind was still reeling. The gunshot bouncing through your ears, even now, as you lay on a blanket -Carl just beside you.

Your eyes snapped to him, watching the rise and fall of his chest. Alive, it thrummed along your mind, alive.

You watched it for a few moments, letting your mind settle on that fact. Carl is safe, Carl is fine. Something in your shoulders relaxed, and your breaths weren't as heavy in your lungs.

Alive, alive, alive, alive.

Your stomach twisted because you didn't know if Judith was.

Instinctively, you shot up in your spot, breaths hollowed out in your chest. You blinked a few times, bringing yourself back to the ground beneath your fingers. Chancing a look at Carl again, you found him still fast asleep.

You exhaled a long breath, you weren't going to sleep tonight. Every time you closed your eyes, you'd either see... them or Carl could be hurt, there was no good reason to sleep.

Shaking your hands, you stood up. You stood there a moment, taking in the night -the buzz of the bugs, the shine of the stars, and the (luckily) very distant groans of the walkers.

"Ya okay?"

You startled in place, shit. Rick was on watch duty, you forgot. You tried to volunteer, but he'd refused ("'Aven't seen you sleep a second."). You weren't sure how to feel about how attentively he seemed to watch you.

You bit at your lips a second, swallowing, and wiping your hands down your legs. Your eyes were fogging up, and your throat was clogged. You felt a little like you couldn't breathe-

"Y/N?"

You blinked, deliriously, and your eyes were watery now, and it felt somehow like your lungs were filled. A bit like every breath got stuck in your throat.

"Hey, hey, look at me, sweetheart."

And then, Rick was suddenly in front of you. You hadn't even heard him move, the pounding of your heart was so loud-

With the gentlest of movements, he held your jaw, bringing your eyes to his.

"Hey," he spoke gently, concern flitting through his eyes, "-hey. 'At's goin' on?"

You swallowed, something clawing up your throat (but your heart was softer in your head now), your eyes falling to his jacket, "I just-"

"C'mon, talk to me," he hummed, bringing his eyes to yours again -something heavy in his eyes, worry.

"I just," and you felt your voice catch in your throat, you felt the tears slip out of your eyes, "-I just... I just miss them, and... and every time I close my eyes, Rick, it's just-"

His thumbs rubbed away your tears, gently moving back and forth, "I know, baby, I know. I miss 'em too."

Something in your mind noted that 'baby' was new, but you weren't focused on that. Your mind was running at 100 miles an hour, and all you could see clearly was Rick.

Your body acted on instinct, as you threw yourself into him -digging your face into his shoulder and wrapping your arms around his neck. He seemed slow to react for a moment, but carefully, his hands came to wrap around your waist.

You took a deep breath in, just smelling the woodsy smell he always seemed to carry around with him. It made the tension in your body melt, and he seemed to notice it -tightening his grip slightly.

"I gotcha," he whispered, maybe like he was a little scared to break the moment, "-'s gonna be okay, I promise."

You fell asleep on his shoulder later that night, one of his arms tight along your side. And if he shushed everyone that morning afterward (wanting to keep you close as long as possible maybe), kissing your temple whenever you stirred, looking at you a little like you were the most precious thing in the world, you'd never know.

It was easier after that. Any time you felt it all coming back up, Rick would be right there, hand smoothed along your shoulder, pushing you into his side, or brushing his hand along yours while you walked. You weren't sure if you could get used to it all.

And then, a good day came.

Judith, baby Judith was back.

You felt the sob wrack up through your throat, as you smoothed your hand over her little hair. Your breaths were shaky but you were smiling, and so were both Rick and Carl. All of you were huddled together, crying, and for a split second, it felt like maybe you were a little family.

You bit back the thought but peeked up at Rick just to find him looking right back at you. Something in your chest fluttered.

Finding Alexandria was a little like a fever dream, all of you weren't trusting it, especially since Terminus. But eventually, something in you relaxed as you watched Carl know people his age and find friends. You weren't as scared anymore.

That being said, you had your own home, but it stayed empty. You were constantly in the Grimes' house. Whether for Carl, Judith, or Rick, you were always there. And Rick didn't seem to mind at all. (Sometimes you thought he preferred it.)

That day was a normal one, you'd crossed on over to the Grimes' -bouncing a little on your toes. It was your day to watch Judith, well, it always kind of ended up being a team effort at the end. But, if Rick had something to do, you'd be on baby duty.

Walking in like you always did, the house was eerily quiet.

You pursed your lips, "Rick?"

He called out, from the kitchen you'd guessed (you could hear the sizzle of a pan), "In 'ere!"

You moved with a practiced grace, smoothing around the piles of toys like you lived here (and in essence, you kind of did). Just as you entered the doorway, you started again.

"Hey, where are our kids?"

And then you stepped into the room and got a look at Rick. Clean-shaven Rick. Sharp jawline, blue eyes, Rick.

Your mind went completely blank.

He turned to you then, sort of smiling, "Our?"

Blinking, you cleared your throat, "Sorry, what?"

"You said," he was stepping closer, something shining in his eyes, "-our kids."

It was hard to focus, but you'd gathered what he said.

"Shit, sorry," you started, scrambling a little, "-I didn't mean to-"

"No, no," he dismissed, eyes intently focused on yours (somehow you think his facial hair distracted from his eyes, were they always that blue?), "-you're right, darlin'. 'Ey are as much yours as 'ey are mine."

You took a deep breath in, deflecting a little and motioning to his face, "When did you...?"

"This mornin'," he answered, turning back to the pan (breakfast, you guessed), "-why? It look 'at bad?"

Your head was spinning, but you answered anyway.

"What, no," you answered, instinctively, "-it looks good. Great, actually."

He smiled at you in a sort of way you couldn't read, wearing his pajamas and hair slightly tussled -your mouth went dry.

"Yeah?"

You willed everything in yourself to say something witty, playful, like normal. But he was still looking at you, focused, and all your brain could think was blue-

"Yeah," you answered quietly.

He hummed a moment, hand coming up to rub at his jaw. Calloused fingers against the most certainly smooth skin, you briefly thought about touching it yourself.

You cleared your throat, "Sorry, so where are th- our kids?"

Rick's eyes smoothed over your face a second before he smiled, shaking his head, and dropped his eyes back to the pan, "Judith's still sleepin', and Carl is at a friend's."

"Which friend?" you asked, instinctively.

"He's fine, baby," he laughed a little like he was testing the word, "-ere's no need to be worried."

Baby rattled around your head for a few seconds, especially coming from that face. The last time he called you that, you were on the verge of a mental breakdown. And come to think of it, with how you were reacting to a shaved face, maybe he was onto something.

"Grimes," you leveled, but there wasn't any bite.

"I'm serious," he added, looking at you (blue, blue) -trying to convey it to you.

You pursed your lips, deadpanning, "You forgot, didn't you?"

"Maybe," he smiled at you, almost fondly, and your knees nearly buckled.

God, you needed to get a hold of yourself.

"I'll figure it out later," you remarked -passively, "-What are you making?"

He seemed to pause, eyes skimming along you like he was suddenly taking you in, before stepping to the side, "Come n' see for yourself."

You had the spare thought that he was doing it on purpose, before swatting it away and gathering by his side. Mindlessly, your brain noted his elbow bumping into you and the swarm of body heat that radiated off of him. You blinked it away.

He had a few things going, typical breakfast stuff, but you did decisively notice what looked to be a single portion of your favorite.

"Is that-"

"For ya? Yeah," he answered, unflinchingly, "-'Figured I could be sweet today."

You quipped back, looking up at him, "What a change of pace, Grimes."

He laughed at that, your eyes smoothed over his smile before dropping back to the food. Your breaths felt a little hollow in your chest for an entirely different reason.

You stood there and helped portion of the food, focused on placing plates out for him to then fill. You could feel his eyes steady on you as you did so, just until he started portioning. You promptly grabbed one of the other foods and portioned it yourself.

As soon as you finished, Rick spoke up.

"Did ya mean it?"

You looked at him, curiously, "What?"

"Our kids," he answered, something flickering behind his eyes, "-Do ya really think of 'em as your own?"

"As long as I'm not... overstepping," you clarified, dropping the pan into the sink, "-yeah, of course, I do."

He smiled a little, the flicker stronger now, "Really?"

"Well, yeah," you laughed, a little uncertain now, "-Should I not?"

"No," he echoed out, something heavy in his tone, "-you should. 'Ey're yours."

"Then, why-"

""S just nice to 'ear," he explained, pulling another one of the pans into the sink -sliding in just beside you.

"Why?" you questioned.

Rick looked at you, eyes flickering along your face, seeming to decide on something, "Can I show ya somethin'?"

You quirked a brow, playfully, "What is this something?"

"A gift," he answered, naturally.

You blinked, a little deliriously, "For me?"

"Yeah," he hummed, taking your wrist in his hand (your brain turned to mush) and guiding you through the house, "-'Course it is."

"Where did you get a gift?"

"On a run," he answered, easily, pulling you into his bedroom before letting go. He wandered over to his closet.

"Why-" you laughed a little, "-Why were you thinking of me on a run?"

Rick didn't hesitate a second, hands skimming over some shelves, "I'm always thinkin' of ya."

Your lips snapped shut, as your eyes just followed him around the room.

Since he was so preoccupied, you let your eyes roam over his jaw, the angular lines of his nose, the curve of his Adam's apple, the slight push of his lips, and the curl that seemed to trail down his forehead. You almost adjusted it yourself, but you fought back the urge.

"'Ere it is," he sighed, relieved, before seeming to gather something up in his arms.

You tried to peek over his shoulder, but he decidedly kept them too raised.

"Ya ready?" He chimed, excitingly.

You quipped, smiling, "I was born ready, Grimes."

Rick laughed at that, and you bit back the grin that threatened to slip across your face. There was something so domestic about all of this, it made your breath rattle in your chest, and your heart skip a beat.

And then, he turned around.

Your breath caught in your throat.

He held in his hands, a brand-new soccer ball, still in the package. Your brain buzzed for a moment, it was so sentimental. It made your head spin, making you a little breathless. A grin grew wide along your face, lips curling up.

"No way," you muttered, leaning forward and skimming your fingers across it, "-that is so sappy, Grimes."

He laughed a little, and your eyes flicked to him where a pink dusted up to the top of his ears. Your smile shone even brighter.

"Figured you could let me and Carl try to gain a little on your record," he smiled.

"What was it again?" you grinned, taking the ball into your hands, "-Four to zero?"

"Six," he corrected, instinctively (like he remembered), "-Six to zero."

Wordlessly, you gently took the box into your hands, his eyes steady on you.

"How long did it take to find this?"

"I was lookin' for the past few runs," he answered -vaguely.

"Looking?" You questioned, "-You plan this out, Rick?"

He hummed, smiling, "Maybe."

You quirked a brow, not quite looking at him, "What's the occasion, Grimes?"

He fell quiet then, and you promptly dropped your smile and looked at him. Eyes skimming along his face, he didn't seem upset. He seemed entirely the opposite, actually.

Blue eyes looking at you like they always did.

"Rick?" You asked, concern smoothing through you, "-Everything alright?"

He smiled a little, shaking his head a little, "God, you're... you're... you're unbelievable."

"Um," you flustered a little, holding the ball tighter to you, "-is that a good or a bad thing?"

"Good," he answered, with probably the biggest grin, "-great, it's a great thin'."

"Yeah? Well," you muttered out, a little frazzled, "-um, thank you."

He laughed a little bit, then but it slowly dissipated into the air. Leaving you and him, and his crazy blue eyes (seriously, how have you never noticed that?).

Rick spoke breathlessly then, rushed as if it was just waiting to come out (like it was building, building, building, until it burst), "I love you."

You dropped the ball (and box) right onto your feet. It stung a little.

"Shit," you hissed, before scrambling, "-Wait, that wasn't to you. I... I just I hit my toes with the box, and it hurt-"

He smiled at you even brighter then, eyes dropping to your feet, "Ya alright?"

"Yeah, what," you cleared your throat, "-I'm fine. I'm just... a little in shock, I guess."

"Yeah?" He asked, something lilting in his tone and you almost felt like he got closer to you.

"Yeah," you breathed out, "-I just... I never could've imagined a man like you, um, loving me."

He was definitely getting closer, blue eyes flickering between the two of yours, "A man like me?"

"It's a good thing," you explained, "-You're just caring, and I love your kids, and-"

His face was breath away from yours. Your lips moved before you could think about it.

"-handsome," you finished a little breathlessly.

He grinned then, crinkling at his eyes, and something there, deep in the blue. You couldn't tell if it was mischievous or loving or maybe even teasing-

"Am I?"

Something in you snapped.

You practically jumped forward, arms wrapping around his neck, and lips pressing to his. Rick laughed into it (which made you laugh a little too), but his hands sank to your waist entirely on instinct.

It was a little desperate, as Rick tilted his head just the right way and seemed to pour everything into his lips. Which were very much already good on their own. It made you dizzy, and you nearly stumbled in your steps, but he held you a little tighter and kept you in place.

Before, pulling you forward even more.

It sent a shock through your spine and made the breath slink out of your lungs.

Speaking of breath-

You pulled back, taking a deep breath in -mind a little hazy, "Jesus Christ."

Rick laughed, but still pressed forward, leaving little kisses on your lips -surface level. Again, and again, and again, and again-

Laughing, you moved your hands to his face, pulling him back, "Rick, you need to breathe, yeah?"

"Not as bad as I need ya," he retorted, before pressing kisses along your jaw.

It made your head spin, and maybe you were a little dizzy but you didn't think it was from the lack of oxygen.

"Rick," you urged, laughing.

He mindlessly moved down to your neck, a little like he couldn't get enough. It zapped through your spine again.

"Rick," you repeated, maybe with a little less laughter, "-c'mon, I have to tell you something."

He groaned, before pulling back to face you, blue eyes focused. Rick looked at your smile, and bit down his own.

You took a breath in, and cradled his face again (his skin was soft), "I love you too."

He grinned big and wide then, something shining in his eyes, "Ya don't know how long I 'ave waited to 'ear 'at."

"How long?"

He answered, with ease, "Since I saw ya givin' Carl your food."

"Rick," you almost soothed, "-that was forever ago. Why didn't you say something?"

"Was never the right time," he hummed, kissing you at the hinge of your jaw, "-I was goin' through somethin' and then ya were."

You hummed a moment, finally pushing back the loose curl.

"And I just-" he exhaled a breath, "-I wanted to make sure ya felt the same. Didn't want the kids to lose ya."

"Even if I didn't love you, Grimes," you soothed, trailing your hands along his jaw, "-They would've never lost me."

He just looked at you then, a little like he couldn't believe you were in front of him. Couldn't believe you were real.

"They're our kids," you offered with a teasing smile, "-are they not?"

"Yeah, 'ey are."

And without another breath, he kissed you so hard that it felt like your breath was knocked out of your lungs. But there was no way in hell that you were stopping.

You'd waited long enough for this.

He grinned against your lips, mindlessly kicking the soccer ball out of the way to get closer to you. Whispers of 'Ours' between every press of lips like he couldn't believe it. Or maybe like it was all he'd ever wanted.

And apparently, he had waited just as long.

[pistatsia]

Shidou Ryusei: as free as a bird

Shidou is uncomfortable, imperfect. He's vulgar, he's gross, he's blatantly cruel, and he's incapable of compromise. He's hyper-excitable, constantly ready to fight and even looking forward to that brawl. He switches between moods like a kaleidoscope, and what falls out in that kaleidoscope is unpredictable.

Shidou has absolutely no understanding of morality.

This is especially evident in his encounter with Kunigami.

He has absolutely no understanding of the concept of protecting someone simply for no gain. Trying to protect someone heroically, purely because of an understanding that it's wrong, is ridiculous to Shidou. Shidou has only "his" and "others", and that "his" so far includes only Sae, as shown in the episode where he tries to turn Sendou's face into mush.

Nor does he understand the moralization that it is wrong to hit people. He just doesn't get it, and it's probably ridiculous for him to even think about it, because at the deepest level he has an attitude to respond to any hint of a threat with a fight.

Most likely Shidou grew up in an environment where brute force decided everything. That's why he's so hyperexcitable.

Shidou is in a constant state of tension, waiting for even the slightest hint of a threat, which he is happy to crush immediately. He's constantly ready to strike because he's used to constantly feeling a threat - one that he had to respond to with violence because he wouldn't have survived otherwise. His "fight" response, out of a combination of ancient instincts called "fight-flight-freeze," is always switched to the max.

We all know that the attack is the best form of defense, and Shidou follows this motto with his entire being. "Beat your own so that others will fear you" is about him.

Shidou doesn't mention his family at all in his Blue Lock profile like other players do. Remember how he talks about Santa in the same form - "I can buy something on my own" sounds very childish and unhappy. When you're trying to prove to yourself that you don't need it at all - because if you need it, you won't get it anyway.

Beyond that, even leaving aside his family and theoretical home environment, we know for a fact that Shidou didn't play for any football team before Blue Lock.

He was a loner, and therefore the only space where he could practice was the street.

And street football is insanely, inhumanly violent.

And it makes sense that this similar environment, both at home and in the game, formed the core of Shidou's personality that we see in the manga. The core of personality, which is based on the desire to survive, and not just survive, but to show everyone around him that despite everything he has gnawed out a life for himself with his teeth. A life in which cruelty is the law.

A life where he exists.

Shidou is probably one of the most evident Blue Lock players, for whom football is not only inextricably linked to life - it is life. And Shidou is absolutely explicit about this both in the interview and in the manga.

For Shidou, football and life are one and the same.

The same thing that Aiku says: Shidou is incapable of separating the field and life. They're inseparable in his world in general; they're one and the same.

It is only logical that Shidou transfers the laws of his life to football as well; and ends up playing football the same way he plays life - a football of the "survival" kind. Where it is his biological need (I'm sorry), his only aspiration, the violence that breaks everything in its path. Where the way to "survive the game", just as in life, is to leave your mark, to somehow prove your existence in people's lives, to be remembered by them and imprinted in their memories.

And pay attention to the way Shidou lives: not according to the rules, uncomfortable and bright, believing that it is better to burn to the death than to lie in a corner as a gray shadow, but alive.

There are no rules in Shidou's football; therefore, there are no rules in Shidou's life.

And that's why Shidou despises heroes and "good guys"; because only naive idiots who don't understand real life, the one where your survival is all that matters. That's why he mocks Kunigami's principles so much: because to him, a child for whom his whole life has been one big attempt to gnaw his teeth out to survive, such principles are irrelevant.

Because there are no heroes in Shidou's world, and even if there were, they've long since broken.

And there are no restrictions in Shidou's life either. He lives a violent life, and it makes sense that he lives by the same principles in Blue Lock, not hesitating to threaten Rin with the end of his career or Igaguri with murder.

He's not violent because he takes some special pleasure in bullying Igaguri: he's violent because that's just who he is. He doesn't have a "harming others is not okay" attitude. It's instinct - as seen especially in his episodes of fighting with Rin. He doesn't care at all about causing him long-term harm or ruining his career - on the contrary, he enjoys it in the moment.

And this is especially evident in his relationship with Isagi; while Shidou had nearly smashed his head in the day before, on the field he already openly admires him and is quite friendly. Shidou doesn't give violence any particular importance - you don't give any importance to brushing your teeth or throwing out the rubbish in the morning, do you?

For Shidou, it's just insignificant, because violence is the organic basis of his life, its law and right.

Today he's trying to kill Isagi, and tomorrow it's Isagi-chan.

Because Shidou has no social competence - he had no parents to bring him into society and set some morals.

And his desires are pretty simple and even primitive. When he learns of his potential salary, his first thought is how much he can eat on it. All he basically wants, almost to the point of obsession, is to induce vivid emotions, explosion, adrenaline - something Shidou is addicted to, living in constant danger and something that allows him to feel alive and existent.

You know who that sounds like? Denji. A main character from Shidou's most favourite manga.

They both had no guides to society. They're both unfortunate kids who were deprived of absolutely everything when they were young. Who are so vulgar and repulsive not because there's anything wrong with them and they act so deliberately and meanly - but because they just don't know any other life. They just don't understand what it's like to live differently. They both live on base instincts.

And they both try to greedily claim as much as they can from the life around them - the food, the people, the sensations.

Because they had nothing before.

Back to Shidou and his football.

The most amazing thing about Shidou is the way he treats his opponents (omitting attempts to injure them). Shidou, even when losing, finds time to admire them - to admire those who took the ball away from him or stole a goal. He's really just having a good time - while for Rin, football is something to be taken completely seriously, for Karasu it's a need to pre-analyse opponents, and for Snuffy it's work, Shidou is just having fun.

And at the same time, what, along with "watch as world reaches its end" and "at the end of the day, when I became nothing, tears came out" demonstrates the duality of his nature is his attitude to losing.

He and Kaiser actually have too many parallels, but this is one of the most obvious - even though they treat the issue differently, they act in the same way.

They're both prepared to admit when they're losing - and they're both willing to break themselves for the sake of the goal. They both know how and when to tame jealousy and the losing parts of their being.

Because they don't believe in winning (explosion) any other way.

Shidou knows when to back down. Because he learnt this too from his childhood - that if the opponent is stronger than you and you keep carelessly breaking forward, sooner or later it will destroy you. The only way to win is to recognise his superiority and fracture yourself, forming a new self - one that can defeat him (as seen in Shidou's willingness to stop fighting so that Ego would let him out, and Kaiser's with his story with Noa).

The ability to appreciate and recognise the strength of your opponent is a basic principle of survival.

But at the same time (just like Kaiser), Shidou doesn't believe that there are invincible opponents. You just have to know the way to break them.

Or rather, not know: feel. Which is what happens at the U-20 game when Shidou enters the flow.

Logically, with all of the above, Shidou is a complete individualist, and is unable to comply with Rin even for the sake of a goal - because Shidou knows he can beat him. The point at which his PXG game has evolved - with two formations, one centered on Shidou and the other on Rin - is the clearest evidence of this.

Shidou knows when to back off - but Shidou isn't going to back off until circumstances force him to.

And in the end, this approach of Shidou ended up being too egoistic for Blue Lock, which is insanely ironic. What's also funny is that along with it, it's his attitude towards football that epitomises Ego's ideal - a player who puts everything he has into it because it's his way of surviving.

And so we come to that one scene of punishment. And it's this, along with Shidou's monologue from the U-20 game, that reveals him the most.

Because in the first few frames Shidou looks frankly miserable. Of course, anyone would look that way in his position. But suddenly Shidou starts talking calmly, offering a compromise - and then in the same second he snaps.

He explodes, cursing Ego - though as his words show he understands the reason for the punishment - he's even willing to compromise. It's illogical to curse the one on whom his salvation depends, isn't it?

Shidou acts this way because he's afraid.

Because in this moment - bound, locked up, and alone - he is defenseless.

He's like a caged animal that can't think logically - he's terrified, he's scared, he can only throw himself helplessly around the cage, grinning his teeth wantonly. This is the first time we see him so seriously angry (he still did get some fun, adrenaline rush during the fight with Rin).

The worst thing for Shidou, free as a bird or a tiger and most of all wanting that very freedom (more about that later) is vulnerability and limitation. Powerlessness. For the sake of overcoming this, he is ready to give up violence and his principles of life, as long as he is released and pulled out of this hell of helplessness.

And this fear is actually incredibly characteristic of his personality too.

But in order to understand why, of all the possible punishments of the world, it is the restriction that drives him to panic, let's remember what football means to him and his style of play in it.

Shidou has sharp and monstrous, even beastly reflexes and instincts. They are honed to the max. He is very strong physically, fast, agile, flexible, perfectly sensing the space around him. Optimal in his movements. Unpredictable. His illogical patterns are impossible to read.

Shidou is all of one naked reflex and instinct, free in his absolute savagery. He is a completely separate character outside of the Ego's system. He literally speaks a different language.

And Sae happens to be the only one who understands that language.

And up until their moments together, this is most vividly shown when Sae stops Shidou from beating up another player - and not just stops him, but understands what needs to be said.

Which again proves that in the violent chaos of Shidou's life he does have a certain logic. A constantly shifting, flexible one, but one...

Which, again, Sae alone understands.

And it is through playing with Sae that the whole point of why football is so important to Shidou is revealed. Why he plays it so instinctively, despising the rule, the tactics, and his teammates. Why is he suddenly willing to "break himself" for Sae, adjusting his rules of life to fit him, yesterday's stranger - because Sae accepts both him and his football, and doesn't try to limit or remake him. And that's exactly why Shidou is willing to be changed to match him.

Because Shidou's football, the life he wants to achieve, is all about freedom.

And that's not enough for him. It's not enough for Shidou just to play, just to live. It can't be enough for a man who is used to living on adrenaline and fighting for his existence every day.

Life for Shidou is about freedom, just as football is his escape and a place where he can exist.

Shidou stands out, doesn't follow the rules, exists so vividly and with every action clearly and distinctly proving his presence...

To live.

Both football and Shidou's life are about escaping, about breaking out of his limits. To see the world as himself - free and alive.

Football makes Shidou feel whole, feel alive. Football is what glues him together. It's the only way he can prove what he is - by achieving something. By making himself colorful, visible, uncomfortable - in a way that he can't be turned away from.

One that will allow him to leave a trace of his existence in the world. One that will prove to him that he is.

For Shidou, all these metaphorical (or not) explosions are actually a way of proving that he exists.

Even his fights and quarrels actually serve his purpose - and Shidou himself confirms this in his monologue. All of this is to be vivid, to imprint, to exist.

To be someone who cannot be forgotten or turned away from.

Who cannot be overlooked.

Who exists as obviously as he can.

Even his favorite subjects at school - Art and Physical Education (the latter obviously about football) - are related. Because it's possible to leave your mark on the world with art, too - and it makes sense that Shidou admires it so much. Because art is, after all, the most colorful thing a living person can leave behind.

And for Shidou, art is football.

For him, to exist is to be free. And to burn so brightly that it blinds his own eyes - otherwise both life and football become bland, boring and insignificant to him. Just like his evenings - remember "When is the last time you cried?" from The Egoist Bible? And remember Shidou's response?

"At the end of the day, when I became nothing, tears came out."

Because in the evening, emotions and people disappear and you're left to yourself. Empty, aimless and in a way pathetic - because you're no longer on fire. Because you lose all the things that made you feel during the day.

Shidou depends on vivid emotions - because, due to his difficult youth, they are the only things that allow him to feel that he is alive.

That he's free.

Shidou's favorite song is also about freedom and trying to break free from the constraints of his life.

There is nothing in the world Shidou longs for more than freedom.

And the spider in Shidou's favorite song is limited and weak.

A spider without wings is incapable of flying. The spider without wings is trapped in unfreedom, looking at the blue and vast sky above his head every day - one that he cannot reach.

A spider without wings is incapable of flying - and those wings Shidou himself, like the spider in the song, could not get, no matter how hard he tried.

But Sae gave Shidou those wings. Sae gave Shidou the ability to play to his full potential, the way he craved with his entire being. Sae took him out from Blue Lock. Sae acknowledged him. Sae gave him a chance to make his mark on the world and gave him purpose, he showed him that there was someone who understood him and his aspirations on this base, animal level.

Sae gave Shidou freedom.

And Shidou learnt to fly.

[comradekatara]

“being a man means knowing where you’re needed the most” is really the perfect sokka thesis statement because it’s such an illogically circular motto through which to define your unwavering sense of duty, and yet. every season sees sokka prioritizing his perceived duty over where he’s actually needed the most and dearly paying the price for it.

in “the siege of the north,” arnook takes him off the mission to assassinate zhao so that he can act as yue’s bodyguard and sokka accepts this role immediately even though if it hadn’t been a command from a father figure leader of his people to protect the girl he’s in love with, surely he would have resisted. surely he would have been like “wait actually i am the only person here who knows zhao personally and has intel on the fire navy and has seen combat, what are you doing rn.?” and if he had led the mission, yue probably would have lived, since zhao wouldn’t have gotten the chance to destroy the moon in the first place.

in ba sing se, sokka takes up katara’s offer for her to stay behind while he visits their father, even though he knows logically that it’s his plan and he should be the one dealing with the logistics of that, simply because he is so irrationally desperate to prove himself to his father that he doesn’t even bother interrogating why katara made that offer in the first place (hint: it’s not selfless sibling love). he truly believes that where he’s needed the most is with his father, even though hakoda himself explicitly disagrees. and had he stayed in the city, he would have tried to see suki, realized instantly that the kyoshi warriors were not who they said they were, and maybe even had the chance to foil their plot before it got to the point that aang, too, had to die.

and then “the boiling rock” is probably the most egregious example of this pattern because he genuinely believes that atoning for his sins against his father (within his own perception of what happened, always with the self-blame, always with the guilt) is worth risking his life over, even though he still does have a duty to aang that outweighs any sort of value potentially rescuing his father could bring. dying isn’t even an unattractive consequence to him (in fact one could even argue that he welcomes it), that’s how irrationally guilty he feels for fumbling the invasion, which he takes full responsibility for, even though, mind you, it was kuei who leaked the plans to azula and never mentioned it afterwards, and aang who decided to stay instead of retreat. and this perceived failure brings out his already latent suicidal tendencies to the point that he straight up forgets his promise to his father entirely, forgets that he is desperately needed elsewhere. because he failed one time, so surely that means he’s no longer useful (i.e. worthy, i.e. deserving of existence) at all…..right??

the thing about sokka is that he’s ostensibly someone who values the cold ruthlessness of logic and reason over the sentimental naïveté of operating on pure feeling (something that katara deems him “heartless” for), and yet he also displays a pretty dire pattern of not thinking clearly whenever the question of fulfilling his [perceived] duty to the Father is involved. what imbibing patriarchal logic when your entire notion of masculinity (and indeed the very question of possessing intrinsic value as a person) hinges on the valorization of martyrdom does to a mf…..

[goldenroutledge]

intimidated

pairing: jj maybank x kook!reader

word count: 5.3k

summary: you’re there for jj when it matters most. (inspired by this post)

warning(s): sprinkles of angst, but fluffy in the end.

a/n: the song i had in mind while writing this was intimidated by kaytranada & h.e.r <3

jj maybank masterlist

© goldenroutledge || do not plagiarize, repost, or translate my work in any way

JJ Maybank didn’t need handouts. As he told it, his independence was his most valuable asset. It’s what made him a pogue through and through. “Is freedom anything else than the right to live as we wish?”— An Epictetus quote JJ scribbled down, bored as ever in his freshman English class. His life motto condensed into twelve simple words, whether his newfound ‘freedom’ was out of his control or not. Either way, he played the cards he was dealt.

His friends— no, scratch that— his family, were his escape to comfort. A soft, pillowy landing from the nose dive that was his life. A foreign concept to him until he met John B, then Pope, then Kiara, then you. A refuge of safety, ironically enough, given the many times you all had looked death in the face.

Even though the pogues had already started wearing matching friendship bracelets that Kiara made by the time you came along, it was a smooth transition when you were welcomed into the group with open arms. By some more than others at first, given your kook status. But just as they’d embraced Kie, your initiation into the group was no different.

While it took time for JJ in particular to come around, his reservations were understandable. At first, you gave him his space and he gave you yours. Always letting him set the tone and lead the way.

As time went on, JJ soon decided he wouldn’t mind having you around him all the time, there was no going back. JJ loved to the point of no return, and it was incomparable to anything— or how anyone else could ever make you feel.

At times, he felt like that was all he had to offer. Nothing but fierce loyalty and protection over the ones he loves most. But you. To JJ, you were the fine line between hideaway and heaven itself. Even if he thought he may not end up there, he was sure that it would be you he’d meet at heaven’s gates.

Amongst any conflict or tension within the group, you always provided a safe haven for him to retreat to, though he had difficulty admitting it. In a way you had a solution for everything. Keeping tensions low and spirits high in the process. You were the original peacemaker of the group, before his precious gun came along.

Right now, it was almost all he could think about while he sat there, beer in hand, listening to John B and Sarah argue in the distance. How he wishes you were here, to ease his nerves and settle the anxiety simmering in his chest.

JJ hated this. He hated that nobody seemed to get along anymore. With all that was going on with the others, he wouldn’t even think to mention his problems. The looming eviction notice on his house, one of few things he had left on this island. While everyone’s lives continued to progress, JJ’s was at a standstill. No job, no parents, and now his friend group was falling apart at the seams. And with everyone else occupied these days, he was alone.

JJ, selfless as usual, would hate to bother you, no matter how badly he wanted to. He knew you’d have some inspirational shit to say to him. Though he’d poked fun at it sometimes, he’d never needed anything more right now.

The sound of footsteps came before JJ saw them, watching Sarah storm off and away from John B as he stood there, tense and silent.

JJ could be hot headed at times, that was no secret. He could understand his friends' quarrels to an extent. But he couldn’t look past the fact that you all were supposed to be sticking together, especially right now. When he said that nothing good could happen once you all returned to Kildare, he knew he was right. Call it a gut feeling.

-

Naturally, Sarah told you everything. Confidant, mom-friend, advisor— all titles bestowed upon you by your close group of friends over the years. You’d always tried to be as neutral as possible in times of conflict. Though in matters of the heart it was nearly impossible.

Days after her fight with John B, she found herself laying on your bed, venting all of her bottled up frustrations about him and the state of their relationship.

“I’m a mess, Y/n. I feel like such a mess.”

You looked at her sympathetically, knowing there wasn’t much you could do. Just listen, just be there in her time of need.

“So, I took my bag from the Chateau and I left. Kie’s parents told me I couldn’t stay, then I went to JJ’s and he wasn’t home. He’s working at Guffy’s again last I heard.”

You briefly glanced up at the mention of JJ’s name— and it didn’t go unnoticed by Sarah. Instead of divulging about it, she continued her rant.

“Then I was just wandering around, because it’s not like I had anything better to do. And who sees me drinking at Tiki Bar? Topper.”

“Topper?”

“Topper.”

You internally cringed at the mention of the Thornton boy. He was always nice when you saw him, nothing bad nor good to say about him. But you knew deep down he was Sarah’s achilles heel. He reminded her of everything she once had, the person she once was. Lately, you couldn’t help but crave some normalcy too.

“So.. what happened?”

She sighs heavily, dropping her hand across her eyes. “We went to Mase.”

“Alone?”

“We went with some people from KDC. The old crew, Kelce, Phoebe…”

“Is that it?”

“We made out.”

Sarah squeezed her eyes shut in fear of your reaction, knowing it’d probably show on your face before anything.

“Oh.” You swallowed back any judgment you might’ve had, compartmentalizing your love for John B and choosing to hear Sarah out. “And how do you feel about it?”

“Awful. I mean Topper has been so good to me lately with everything going on, he’s always there to pick up the pieces and I just feel bad. It was a mistake.”

“It can’t happen again, y’know. Not if you want to work it out with John B.”

“I do, I wanna work it out with him.” She urged. “And then the next morning we had breakfast. Kie came into the restaurant and saw us together and I think she got the wrong message. She said she’s staying out of it but I can tell what she’s thinking.” Sarah takes a deep inhale, and a deep exhale to follow. “What do I do, Y/n?”

It still baffles you at times that you’ve become the voice of reason. You hope Sarah doesn’t notice that you feel uneasy about the whole thing. “Just… be honest. Don’t let John B find out from anyone other than you. He’s gonna be upset but he has a right to be.”

The blonde sits up, crawls over to you and envelopes you into her arms. “Don’t know what I’d do without you.”

-

Sun reflected brightly off the boats docked at the marina, the two smoothie cups in your hand sweating from the sweltering heat. Your family's boat was kept here at Guffy’s; particularly when your parents weren’t in town to cruise around the island and daydrink with their kook friends.

At least you had an alibi, just in case you happened to run into JJ. The two medium strawberry banana smoothies you carried might need some explanation, though.

Ever since you all had made it back to the island, JJ had been hard to track down. He was rarely in one place for too long. So where else better to catch him than at work?

“Y/n? How are you doing today?” Billy questions from a distance away, putting on his friendliest smile for the daughter of his best clients.

“Can’t complain. Happy to be back.”

“And it’s good to have you back. Everything alright with the boat?”

“Oh yeah, everything’s fine, I just realized I left behind my favorite sunglasses.” You explained, hoping your excuse sounded authentic enough.

“Alright. You take care, now.”

“Actually… I was wondering is JJ around?”

“Maybank? He was here a few days ago.”

“Hm, I could’ve sworn he was working today.”

Billy sighs, eyebrows furrowing. “Listen, Ms. Y/l/n, I know you want to advocate for your boyfriend and all but JJ can’t work here.”

Confusion spread through your features this time as you genuinely had no idea what the man was getting at. You chose to not correct him when he’d mistaken you for JJ’s girlfriend.

“Don’t get me wrong, he’s a good kid. I know he wants the job back but Guffy put a pin in it. I’m sorry. Really not much I can do.”

You forced a polite smile on your face as the dots connected, remembering the melting smoothie you held in your left hand while your half-finished one remained in your right. The two of you exchanged brief goodbyes before you quickly left the marina.

If JJ really hadn’t been working at Guffy’s again, where the hell was he? His act of disappearing was unmatched, but so was your skill of guessing.

If a game of hide-n-seek is what he wanted, a game of hide-n-seek is what he will get.

-

Grass brushed against your ankles as you approached JJ’s home, your steps careful as you looked around for him.

Going to JJ’s home was forbidden. When Luke was around, that is. He was a phantom— an ugly, dark presence looming over the quaint home that would otherwise feel serene. The chirping birds in the trees couldn’t tell the difference.

You haven't been here many times. The times you had been here weren’t anything you nor JJ wanted to remember. The feeling of uncertainty creeped into your mind from your past visits. You never knew what to expect.

To your left, there was a beautiful, never-ending view of the water past the grass of the Maybank’s yard. You hadn’t noticed that before. This spot had probably seen some beautiful sunsets. In a moment of imagination, you almost pictured sitting there with JJ on the plush green, hand in hand, watching the warm hues of the sky melt into a dark night.

The caution tape wrapping around the wood of the house caught your interest as you made your way onto the porch, also noticing the eviction letter left on the door, moving closer for a better look.

“Y/n?”

JJ called out, appearing from around the corner of his home, startling you out of concentration as you re-read the notice again and again.

As if you didn’t come over to finally see him in the first place. Though you couldn’t speak— for once unsure of what to say. ‘Sorry you’re getting evicted?’, it just didn’t sound right. Then again it might’ve been better than standing frozen and staring at him, silently, like you were doing.

“What are you doing here?”

“I- um…. I brought you a smoothie.”

You held out the cup, approaching him and handing it to him. He stood there dumbfounded, eyebrows furrowed. His lips eventually pursed into a smile as a way to say thank you. This wasn’t the relaxed JJ you were accustomed to; nonetheless he was still the JJ you loved.

“Why are you here?”

“I told you. The smoothie.”

“You came all the way out here from your mansion on Figure 8 to bring me a smoothie?”

“What?” You scoffed, his tone dictating where the conversation was headed. Most likely nowhere.

“Go back to reading by your pool or something. You shouldn’t be here.”

“I haven’t heard from you in days, JJ. I’m just checking up on you.”

“So what? You touring around the Cut now? Delivering smoothies to lost pogues? Is Heyward’s your next stop?”

He resumed tinkering with his bike, and from the looks of it he was working rather aggressively— desperate to distract himself from the conversation at hand.

“I miss my best friend. Am I not allowed to miss you anymore? I mean it’s not like we were stranded on an island together… not knowing whether we would live or die!”

“Well, we’re not exactly a big happy family right now. You should know that.”

“Yeah. John B and Sarah are on some kind of break. But that doesn’t mean I can’t see you, that doesn’t have anything to do with us. I thought we were past the whole picking sides thing.”

“I’ve been busy.” JJ shrugs.

“Busy working? At the job you lied about having?”

His eyes snapped to yours immediately. Your heart clenched as soon as the words left your mouth, you didn’t mean to go too far. But at least you had his attention.

“What, are you stalking me now? Or did you hire a P.I. to figure that out?”

“Hilarious, JJ. I was at the marina earlier to grab something off my boat. Actually hoping I would run into you but, whatever.”

“Yeah. Whatever.”

A few moments of awkward silence lingered between the two of you, as you kicked a pebble around with your foot.

“I know you don’t owe me anything… but you could’ve just told me.”

He paused his movements, thinking about how he was going to respond.

“Tell you what? That I prefer mixed berry over strawberry banana?” He jested, smiling to himself.

“I’m not talking about the smoothie, idiot.”

His eyes drifted over to his home, knowing exactly what you were thinking, just afraid to acknowledge it.

“My problems aren’t your problems, Y/n.”

“And I know that. I just wanna help you, however you’ll let me.”

“Well, you can help me by not helping me. I’ll figure it out. Always do.”

“All I’m saying is you don’t have to figure it out alone. I’m here.”

At that, he dropped his tools, running tense hands through his hair. “But you aren’t here! You don’t have to live like this and you should be glad that you don’t!”

He raised his voice at you, frustrated. JJ was never good at putting his feelings into words, especially when it came to actually expressing them.

He didn’t know how he could tell you about everything. The worst day he’s ever had, the lowest he’s ever been. He couldn’t see a way in which he could tell you all of it and carry on the same. You were always a constant in his life. He needed it to stay that way, by any means necessary.

“That doesn’t make sense, JJ. What’s the point of having anything nice if I can’t share it with the people I love?”

The both of you were taken aback at what your explanation implied. In actuality, it took all of your power not to say those three words to him outright. But you couldn’t, not like this.

“You don’t have to pretend to care that much. I’m sure you can find another community service project to focus on.”

“Community service?” You chuckled emptily, baffled at his ridiculousness, though deep down you knew this was how he dealt with things. He simply didn’t know anything other than defensiveness. “That’s what you think this is?”

JJ closed his eyes in exasperation, wishing this conversation away. He could hear it in your voice, your feelings were hurt. Maybe not as bad as when your 8th grade crush asked someone else to the Valentine’s dance— but even a little was too much.

“If you’re gonna reduce our decade of friendship to me doing charity work, I guess there’s no changing your mind. I’m just wasting my breath.”

The words were stuck in his throat. He wanted to apologize instantly, but now he wasn’t sure if his apologies were something you’d wanna hear at the moment. He wasn’t sure if you’d believe him.

For all the disingenuous apologies he’d accepted over the years, he’d hate to put you on the receiving end of one. Even if his heart truly was in the right place, JJ couldn’t muster up the courage to show it.

“You don’t have to antagonize me. Because everything you’re blaming me for, it isn’t my fault. Just like this isn’t your fault either.” You gestured to the eviction notice at his door.

“Yeah.” He mumbled. “You’re right.”

“Say what you want about me, but I just wanna know that you’re okay. And if it’s an apology you’re looking for, you’re not gonna get it. I’ll never apologize for that.”

He nodded, unsure of what else to say. All he could do was try to understand.

Realizing he had no further comments, you turned your back to leave.

“Will I see you at the Chateau tomorrow?” You asked over your shoulder, hope remaining in your voice despite the uneasiness that remained between you two.

“Don’t count on it.”

“Alright, well… bye.”

JJ waves, before muttering a monotone ‘thanks for the smoothie’ as he watches you go.

-

Since returning to the island, it was an unspoken thing that you all were to meet up at the Chateau at some point. And with all the new developments in your lives lately, these meetings were much needed.

Pope handed you a beer as he came into John B’s living room, opening one of his own as he sat down beside you.

John B and Sarah seemed to be laying low, but it was clear they were back together or had come to some sort of resolution.

Kiara was going on about how much shit her parents had been giving her lately. They’d been hovering— watching over their daughter’s every move from the moment she set foot on the island again.

Pope told the group about how Cleo had won over Heywar in record time, much faster than John B or JJ. Pope’s parents simply wanted the best for him, and knew that the danger and mischief his friends came with couldn’t be productive.

“We’ve been best friends for what…? 13 years?” John B recalls. “And your dad can hardly stand the sight of me but Cleo won him over in a few minutes? How?”

“Are you surprised?”

“Not at all.” John B holds his hands up in surrender to Cleo, Pope smirking beside her as he witnesses the interaction. “Just confused.”

“I have many superpowers, John.”

“Apparently! Winning over Heyward is like, unheard of in this group. At least for JJ and me.” John B explains, sipping his beer.

“Speaking of, where’s he at?”

At the shift in conversation, you can feel several pairs of eyes fall upon you. All you can do is act as normal as possible, tipping off any of your friends always ends badly in the case of keeping a secret. Until the cat’s out of the bag, your friends will make it their personal mission to reveal whatever it is you’re hiding.

You raised your eyebrows, pretending to only catch onto their stares moments later. “Why’re you looking at me?”

“No reason. It’s not like you guys are secretly together or anything.” Pope mutters under his breath, catching a glare from you at his false claim.

“We’re not. I wouldn’t know where he is.”

John B hisses, pretending to shiver. “Is it a little chilly in here? Or is that just Y/n’s cold shoulder?”

You roll your eyes, further proving his point until Sarah chimes in, pondering if she should speak up about what she knows.

“I actually stopped by JJ’s the other day. He.. wasn’t home.”

“Oh yeah, didn’t he go fishing? Probably not back yet.” John B remembers.

“I don’t think he’ll be going home anytime soon.”

At this your eyes meet Sarah’s hazel ones, full of hesitation. You shoot her a look of ‘whatever you’re about to say, don’t’, and you hope she is wise enough to pick up on it.

“Why is that?” Kiara questions, confused.

“He got evicted.” Sarah blurts, regret spreading through her expression as she sees you react; you don’t react. And that slightly terrifies her.

“Really?” Pope asks in disbelief, though not too surprised. More so disappointed that his best friend had to endure this, silently at that.

“Yeah. When was the last time anyone’s heard from him?”

The group silently recollects for a few moments, Kie pulls out her phone to review her latest texts with the man in question.

Instead, you’re wondering how the hell Sarah even knew about this to begin with. How long could she know about this and just stay silent? Forget not telling the group, how long could she keep this from you? How could she not help her friend who was clearly in need of support?

“How long have you known?”

Sarah appears confused, wondering where your line of questioning is coming from.

“I- uh. After John B and I fought I went there, remember Y/n? I was hoping I could stay but he wasn’t home. That’s when I saw the eviction notice.”

“And you waited, I don’t know, a week to bring that up?”

“Y/n, it’s not like I intentionally kept this from you, okay? We know how protective you are over JJ.”

Her words strike a cord within you, already on edge regarding JJ Maybank because of your argument with him the day prior. It was still a sore subject, even more so made by having no one to confide in about it.

“It’s not about that, Sarah. You didn’t even have to tell anyone at all but you didn’t think to maybe find out if he’s okay? At the very least?”

“I was a bit homeless at the time, Y/n, sorry about that.”

“Oh, right. You were too busy hooking up with Topper to care about the well-being of our best friend? Good to know the bare minimum is impossible for you.”

Sarah scoffs, John B shakes his head in exasperation. Kiara stays silent mostly, being no stranger to your and Sarah’s sister-like fights. She couldn’t even disagree with you, though with her parents keeping her on lockdown it was hard to do anything about it. She wasn’t in a place to have an opinion.

Pope and Cleo shared looks, communicating wordlessly as they had grown to do. Being away at Heyward’s kept them out of the loop quite a bit.

“JJ will figure it out, Y/n. Relax.” John B reassured. Though he was defending his girlfriend, now that they were in a ‘good place’ again, you felt anything but reassured at his carelessness around the subject. You’d think of all of you, John B would understand the most.

“Relax? Why should I relax if JJ is in trouble? If anything, you’re too relaxed!”

“I’m sorry you feel that way but you don’t have to take it out on Sarah, this isn’t even her fault! Not all of us want to fight your battles.”

“If you had any sense left you’d realize this isn’t about me. This is about our friend, who I thought we all cared about. At least enough to share this kind of news. We’re talking about his well-being here, I mean he’s losing the house he grew up in and nobody seems to care about that?”

“If he wanted us to know, he’d tell us.”

“Like he’s ever going to do that! You know better than anyway that he won’t!”

“It’s not my problem.”

“Mhm. It’s a shame JJ’s busy solving all of yours.”

“Y/n, please. Can we just have a chill night?”

“Aren’t you supposed to be his ‘best friend since the third grade?’ Because you don’t fucking act like it.” You huffed, standing up to get rid of your beer can. At this point you were rambling to yourself, more than okay with the group hearing what you really thought about them and their carelessness for the situation.

“Indeed. Which is why I don’t need to force him to tell me shit, okay?”

“Why are you such an asshole, John B?”

“Y/n, I just found my dad. So, excuse me if JJ’s living situation isn’t at the forefront of my mind.”

“I never said it had to be, but you’re acting like you don’t even care!”

“I do care! We all do!” John B shouts. “And maybe if you’d let up on him he’d actually come to you about this stuff!”

“What are you talking about?”

“I’m saying, maybe JJ would give you the love you so desperately crave if you weren’t fucking suffocating him.”

“John B!” Kiara warns.

Sarah held her face in her hands, knowing John B had crossed the line. Maybe he had one too many beers in his system. Either way, hell was about to break loose. And when it came to JJ, hell hath no fury like you did.

Your head felt like it was about to explode. How could your friends seem to be so comfortable with this? The same friends that claimed to leave no pogue behind, to never turn their back on one of their own.

If that was true, then what was this? From the looks of it, nobody even pretended to give a damn.

“You’re fucking terrible, John B. This isn’t even about me at all! You just can’t stop deflecting from what a shitty friend you are. I mean, JJ would die for literally every last one of you guys. And he almost did! On multiple occasions! But instead you’re gonna neglect the one person who's seen you through all your bullshit and as soon as it’s over you’re gonna pretend like nothing happened? Like the Earth is back on its axis? The world doesn’t fucking revolve around you, John B. That’s just not- that’s not something you do to someone you love.”

There wasn’t a need to announce your departure, as it was so quiet inside that you could hear your own breathing.

As hard as it was to fight with John B like that, you couldn’t deny the weight that had been lifted off your chest. Your spirit was lighter. It was therapeutic, really. So therapeutic you felt peaceful enough to go home and take the longest nap ever recorded, maybe in John B’s own hammock just to prove a point.

Entranced in your own thoughts, you didn’t even register JJ resting in the hammock himself, hands intertwined behind his head. Not asleep, but wondering what your next words will be. The walls of the Chateau were thin enough, echoes of your voices amplified by the open windows.

He wasn’t sure if you simply didn’t notice his presence or if you were flat out ignoring him, walking past like he was invisible. Testing the waters, he called out from behind you.

“I never really thanked you for the smoothie.”

You froze in your tracks, face heating up and muscles tensing at the thought of the argument he probably just heard and decided not to barge in on.

“It’s alright. Wasn’t looking for praise.”

JJ met you halfway, taking note of your tired eyes and your feet dragging against the grass.

“So, what? You’re picking fights for me now?”

“You heard?”

“I think Ward Cameron heard. All the way from Guadalupe.”

“Stop it.” You warned, cracking a smile for a split second. JJ was good at that. Making you smile no matter the circumstances. “I stand up against injustice. That’s all.”

“Then are you still mad at me?”

“About what?”

“Yesterday. The whole… note on door situation.”

“Could never be mad at you, JJ. Especially not about that.”

He softly smiles, one that you return. It’s been a long time since you’d shared a small moment like this. Too long.

He gestures for you to come closer and slide into his arms as he’d held them out for you, just like you belong there.

“I am sorry, though.” JJ mumbles the words softly, almost into the crook of your neck as if he was speaking to you and you only. “I know you’re just trying to stick around for me.”

“Yeah. Just trying to be wherever you are.”

“You don’t have to fight for me, y’know.” I’m already here. Though you may not have caught on instantly, nothing he’s ever said has made as much sense.

“Sorry, J. Sometimes I just feel like we don’t deserve you. Like I don’t deserve you.” You admitted sheepishly.

JJ scoffs, and you’re not sure why. He’s often sarcastic, but it’s hard to tell what he’s really thinking in these situations.

“Are you fucking kidding me, Y/n?”

Your eyes meet his, hesitation behind them.

“You’re the one who doesn’t deserve me? Is that a joke?”

You looked at him as if it were obvious, like the line had already been drawn in the sand. This fact had already been decided; there was no going back, not now, and not ever.

“I know I’m not the smartest person, okay, but you’re making no sense.”

“Come again?” You asked, equally as confused as he was. It was incredulous for anyone to believe JJ of all people wasn’t worth it— as if he wasn’t worth someone who would go to the ends of the Earth for him, someone who would defend him six ways to Sunday. There was no one in your life more deserving of such a thing.

“Listen, Y/n...”

“No! You listen. Nobody should treat you like that. Especially our friends! As if their problems are bigger than yours or something. It’s just fucked up for any one of them to act like they don’t care because I know deep down, they do. They care just like I do but they just suck at showing it. Mostly John B. He sucks the most. And I’m not exempt either, I mean I should’ve checked on you sooner-”

“Shoulda, woulda, coulda.” JJ interrupted, placing his hands on your shoulders. “Y/n, it’s okay. I don’t need anything.”

“I know that. I just want to love you. Because I really do. I really love you, JJ. Like bad. So bad that it’s probably sad at this point but I really don’t care anymore! Not about what John B has to say, not about anything, because I’ll never regret it. I’ll never wish that I didn’t love you.”

That stupid weight again, feeling as if it’s taking off like a rocketship and leaving your conscience for good. It makes you want to scream the words from the rooftops. Over and over and over again.

Confessing feels good, but kissing JJ feels damn euphoric. His lips are on yours before you can even register what’s happening, too busy being self-aware to realize the way his eyes turned glossy, or the way he’s gently got one hand on your waist and one hand caressing your cheek.

“He’s got it all wrong. I love you, too.” JJ confesses after pulling away from you, briefly taking his eyes off yours to glance at the Chateau. His head shakes as he says it, that starry glint in his eyes so undeniably present. “So bad.”

He earns a giggle out of you as he mocked your words to him just a few moments ago. But now, things were changing. He couldn’t stand before you and pretend he didn’t feel the way he did. Not anymore, not ever again.

Not after you’d shown your love for him so confidently to everybody, time and time again. JJ Maybank wasn’t sure about many things in life, but you weren’t one of them. This was surely the best decision he’d made in years.

“Come over.” You whine between kisses, breaking him out of his trance. If you let him, he’d kiss you forever, and it still wouldn’t be enough.

JJ raises his eyebrows, smirking.

“For dinner. We’re having sloppy joes.”

JJ, unresisting temptation, leans in again and moans against your lips dramatically. “What about dessert?”

You give his hair a tug and kiss the smirk off his face, whispering to him a secret.

“And maybe dessert.”

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