#taking pictures with my phone fucks up the color and proportions

[ahahnopenope]

behold, the rizzard wonder !

[onesidedradiostatic]

(After the Respectless Reprise)

Velvette, calling Vox on the phone: VOX!!! End this stypid debate once and for all! What was the color of your turtleneck when you took that damned picture with Valentino?

Vox, picking up the call: Uh... What now?

Velvette: Some of your crazy "fans" cropped that stupid picture I took of you two near his desk with your monitors! They've been going crazy at the color of your stupid turtleneck in the leaked photo

Vox: Right right.... and..... This is my problem because....?

Velvette, muttering under her breath: I swear to god... this is just like that stupid dress thing all over again.....

Vox: The what now?

Velvette: Forget it! Your old arse wouldn't even get it anyway and we don't have the time! That stupid thing blew out of proportion!!! It's been trending on Vitter for Hell's sake so you better do something about it!

Vox: Vel, I don't see the problem. It's just a color for something that happened a long time ago. It shouldn't even matter.

Velvette: Well it does matter because demons—not even just sinners, Vox— have been going at each other's throats about this for hours on end just for the sake of their fanart consistency!

Vox: Fanart consistency?

Velvette: Oh for fuck's sakes, Vox— Aren't you connected to your network right now? You should be able to see just how bad it is in there!!

Vox: Mhm... yeah, yeah... well..... right...

Velvette: Vox. Are you listening to me right now?

Vox: *noncommittal hum* Yeah..... That's better...

*Velvette pauses for a moment before a look of realization crosses her face*

Velvette: Wait... Don't tell me your at your Alastor shrine again instead of at your office?

*Clatter clatter CRASHHH*

Vox: *cough cough cough* H-Huh? What? NOOOOooo... No, no I'm not. What are you talking about Velvette?

*Velvette side glances at Alastor still silently having his mental breakdown before moving onto Lucifer fiddling with his tie and cane as he refuses to meet anyone in the eyes*

Velvette: Yeaaah.... Right.

Vox: A-ActUALLY!! I was just about to go there. To— to my office I mean. I mean, I just came from an important meeting after all!! Yes, a very very important meeting. With uh.... About– Sinflix! Yes, yes Sinflix. You know how that annoying little parasite has been taking some of our profits with all their 'free services' shtick that we've been losing money in the other Rings.

Velvette: Right. Right. (I don't care)So... your turtleneck color?

Vox: RIGHT!!! *Ding ding ding!* Yeah, about that I uh....

*Side glances at the scarce remains of his closet that was once full of multiple variations of turtlenecks colored red, orange, yellow, and even blue. Some of them actually being striped. There was a sell in one of the secondhand-me-down shops if you buy in bulk back in the day when he first fell into Hell. And he wasn't one to pass up a bang for your buck. Unfortunately, he also had to burn a lot of them after Velvette joined team to avoid her wrath. And now he can't remember which one he wore during that picture*

Vox: Well... About that, I don't.... actually remember?

Velvette: You don't sound so sure of yourself.

Vox: Well, the picture itself is faded so some of the color has changed. Not to mention the lightning.

Let me ask Tino if he remembers.

(I hope you enjoy this. Someone please sedate me)

oh my fucking god (reference to this, and this, and the turtleneck discourse is just this entire fucking tag. basically we've been spending the last 2 days debating about vox's stupid fucking turtleneck)

literally everything being referenced is giving me fucking whiplash HELSPGKOS vox himself getting into the debate because he doesn't remember is hilarious

only thing I will have to correct there is that vox does in fact own netflix in hell so it's voxflix not sinflix

considering maintagging this and putting it out into the wild with zero context (until they check the links)

EDIT:

misunderstood whoops here's the clarification LMAO

[purplesurveys]

1934

Would you ever kiss someone with facial hair? Sure.

Have you ever drooled in public? It's happened a few times but thankfully I've been always alone whenever it occurred, lol.

Have you ever yelled at an electronic as if it could hear you? I mean I'll ask Siri to do stuff sometimes, like play a certain song, but that's it.

Have you ever been bitten by a dog? Yeah Cooper bit me in the face before. Cost me 12k to get shots all over my arms and thighs – HORRIFYING for my needle-phobic self – and it's become a running joke in the family that Cooper will always owe me 12k lol.

Would you ever shave your head? I mean if something miraculous would come out of my doing so, like getting to cure cancer or overthrow the government, then I would lmao. Otherwise I don't see a reason to.

Have you ever burnt yourself with a lighter? No, that sounds horrible. I never want to experience burning myself by accident.

Would you ever meet someone you met online? I have! I met Jila and Rafie at a wrestling show and they were both sweethearts. Javi I met when I lent him one of my wrestling books but I didn't like how he acted, so I stopped talking to him shortly after. Didn't even feel like asking for my book back anymore.

Where do you wanna live when you grow up? It'd be cool to experience living somewhere else in SEA at some point.

Are you wearing jeans, shorts, sweatpants, or pajama pants? Shorts.

Is there anyone you want to see right now? No.

What were you doing 12 a.m. last night? Watching Culinary Class Wars.

Are you a mean person? I mean never as a default, but I'll be mean if I have to.

What are you looking forward to? This week ending.

What color are your eyes? They're dark brown.

When you shut off your alarm clock, do you tend to fall back asleep? No. If I had plans to fall back asleep, I'd snooze it, not shut it off. Otherwise I'd be fucked.

Is your last name extremely common, like Gonzalez? I'd say it's very recognizable, but likely not anywhere near anyone's first 50 surnames if I asked them to list off the top of their head.

How often do you drink water?: On weekends when I'm freer, I drink constantly. I'll have my own pitcher next to me since I'm always needing refills. On weekdays when I'm tied to work...I tend to forget to drink and only catch up with 1-3 glasses' worth at night.

Name something that is on your bedroom wall?: Nothing, currently.

What accessory do you want in your bedroom?: I'd love a floor lamp and a reading chair.

If you could paint your walls any color what would it be?: The white I have now is okay. It makes the place look clearer and cleaner.

What are you drinking right now?: Just water with me at the moment.

What does your phone case look like?: It has purple edges and the back is opaque. There's also a ring thingy in the middle that I can take out so that it can be a phone stand. I have a Koya pop socket attached at the back.

What do you take the most pictures of?: The dogs and cat. But tbh, my camera roll is mostly screenshots.

Where do you want to go next for vacation?: I'd love for my next trip to be South Korea, as planned. We want to go when the boys all come back by June.

What do you do when you are stressed out?: I like to drown myself in YouTube videos so that I don't get caught up in my thoughts, which can get very noisy. The more stressed I feel, the more likely I am to turn on multiple things on multiple devices; worst case scenario I have something playing on my laptop, something else playing on the TV, while I'm watching/doing something on the phone. I know it's not the unhealthiest...but it's what works for me.

If you get into an argument what is it usually about?: I only argue with my mom and it's always about stupid things that she always blows out of proportion that people with healthy mother-child relatioships would never fight about.

Place you love to go?: Any coffee shop that also serves good pastries or meals.

What do you really feel like doing right now?: Reading. I might go back to my book after this.

What is the last thing you ate?: Lumpia with rice.

Something weird you eat but love?: Froyo but without the yo, because I only get the cookie butter/cookie toppings and give the rest of the sour crap to my mom, lol.

Are you on a diet?: No.

How much weight have you gained in the last 5 years?: Not much. Maybe by about 2-3 pounds? My face definitely looks fuller now but not by much. Just enough to be noticed.

What kind of athletic things do you do?: I mean...I play table tennis, but I haven't done it in years. That's it.

If you could be a professional in any sport what would it be?: Table tennis.

Would you rather write your own book or make your own movie?: . I'd go with the book.

What is one of your goals for the rest of this year?: I really I hope I get to secure a new job.

Why are you proud of yourself?: I've acknowledged a lot of things in my career at a stupidly young age. Most times I wish it took time for me, but I can't change the past anymore. All there's left to do is to be proud.

Why are you ashamed of yourself?: I don't have a lot of confidence in myself.

[shorkbrian]

Anxious

Prelude - It took me three evenings to write this (EW that’s the longest I've ever taken) and it’s RLLY long (almost 10k) so be warned. The style is mean’t to be jumbled, grammatically incorrect, and awful, rushed, and incoherent. My day-to-day life process is like this but worse lol and I wanted to capture just the feeling of bad that exists. Have fun.

(Ps Kirishima is the subtlest of creeps here. Def a stalker, but good at lying, and reader is too gullible.)

Pairing - Yandere Kirishima X GN Reader

Warnings - anxiety, panic attack, non con, NSFW, idk the usual.

Music - https://open.spotify.com/track/1qFMIjTe9esCDiytqUY19t?si=RrkIvlXMReyT6CYKEh6xdw

------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Oh god, is that Pro-Hero Red Riot?

Your hands tremble as you lift your drink to your lips, take a shaky sip.

It feels too hot in here, is it hot? You scream internally.

Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck.

Red Riot, your favorite Pro-Hero in the entire world, was currently standing in line at Starbucks, looking up at the menu with his big, dumb, handsome face. He was wearing his hero costume - meaning he was on-duty, abs out and mask on.

As usual, you had ordered your regular drink, immediately sat down (always the blue armchair by the window, the one with the little table next to it).  Normally you ignored each little tinkling of the bell above the door, the sound signaling another person entering the coffee shop. You just wanted to nurse your drink and look at stupid memes on your phone, try to gas yourself up for the day ahead, convince yourself that you would be able to get through whatever life decides to throw at you.

A particularly violent shake of the bell had your head snapping up, the loud noise startling you. 

And holy fuck.

Red Riot.

Your cheeks were burning as you lowered your eyes to your phone, knowing that the big man was moving up in line, then ordering, then probably moving to wait near the drink pickup.

Looking up was out of the question - you didn’t want to ogle the Hero and make him feel uncomfortable, or for him to catch sight of your stupid blushing. 

You almost dropped your drink the next time you raised it to your lips, your hands were so sweaty. 

And of course that little slip-up had your heart beating ever faster, embarrassed that you had almost made a mess all over yourself, self conscious that someone had seen, oh god, what if people were looking at you, thought you were dumb and couldn’t even drink correctly? Oh god.

You set your drink back onto the little table at your side. A quick glance upward (to check the clock, that’s where your eyes went) and you could see Red Riot out of the corner of your eye, smiling as he took a picture with a fan as they both waited for their respective drinks.

Wouldn’t that be cool, to get a picture with him? But oh, that would mean you’d have to stand up, stumble over awkwardly towards him. Could you leave your drink on the side table? Would your seat be taken before you got back?

The hero would probably be able to spot you from a mile away, see how weirdly you walk, how your body looked. The thought made you cringe; he was so muscled and fit and in-shape, he’d probably think you were fat, or maybe weak? He’d be disgusted, wouldn’t he.

If you managed to get close enough to ask him if he wouldn’t mind taking a picture with you, he’d have to hear your voice crack, see how you shook like a tiny chihuahua from nervousness, see how sweaty and flushed you were from the embarrassment of being alive, of being seen.

God, you hated yourself.

You could never approach the Pro-hero and ask for a picture. He’d see how revolting, how weird and nervous and pathetic you were.

Plus, you’d already talked to the barista to get your coffee, had walked to the coffeeshop all by yourself and committed yourself to the horrifying ordeal of being known and seen by society. You’d done enough today to make your anxiety skyrocket, your hands were already shaking so bad, it’s a miracle you hadn’t dropped your drink or your phone or done something stupid and embarrassing to call attention to yourself.

“Red Riot!” Your eyes flickered up at the barista shouting, saw Red Riot smile and compliment the barista as they handed over his drink, something large and brightly colored and sporting an ungodly amount of whipped cream on top.

Red Riot left the Starbucks, the bell above the door jingling just as violently as it had when he had entered - the man was enthusiastic about seemingly everything, even opening and closing a door.

That’s actually one of the reasons he was your favorite. Red Riot was so confident and self assured, beaming with positivity and kindness. It was clear to see that he loved his job, that he loved life. Of course, you had seen him have bad days - in a few of the interviews after big rescues or horrific fights, his smile seemed to waver a bit, his eyes getting misty as the casualties were mentioned.

But that just showed he was human. Sensitive.

You grabbed your drink again, grimaced as nausea washed over you in a gentle wave. You were such a nervous wreck. But Red Riot had left - the only people here now were the employees and the people waiting in line. You just prayed none of them would pay attention or take notice of you.

----

He was here again.

Holy fuck, he was here again!

This time you weren’t as nervous (a mild feeling of excitement could be felt), you could actually drink out of your Starbucks cup without shaking like a leaf.

The redheaded hero had gotten his drink already, once again something large and colorful and probably loaded with sugar.  But instead of leaving immediately, he moved to sit down and holy fuck - holy fuck he was walking right past you.

You didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to draw attention to yourself by moving - humans will subconsciously look towards movement, you knew that. But he walked further, you saw him sit down by the corner window, settling into the seat comfortably. He was wearing his hero outfit again, abs rippling as he leaned back, and out of the corner of your eye you could see him fiddling with his mask before taking it off and chucking onto the table in front of him.

Ah, so he was probably on a break.

Averting your eyes back to your phone, you tried to ignore his presence.  He was a human being, just like yourself, who deserved and probably appreciated his privacy. God knows, if you were in his shoes, you wouldn’t want fans to even think about you, much less look at you.

Minutes passed, maybe twenty? Thirty? But you had finished your drink. Now it was time to will yourself to your feet, to breathe, in, out. You were going to walk over to the trashcan, throw your drink cup away, and leave to walk back home.

Oh, but you were nervous.

You always felt nervous - this was a common occurrence, and each time you came here (you visited this Starbucks maybe twice a week)  there was always this fight with your anxiety.

People would look at you as soon as you stood up. Did you walk weird? Your body had weird proportions, people would be mocking you inside their heads as you walked. Your outfit wasn’t trendy, it didn’t fit your body right, you looked odd and out-of-place - that’s probably what people thought as soon as their eyes landed on you.

You’d get judged for your drink cup - the size, because people would probably think it was too big for somebody with your body. Or maybe too small? Would people think you don’t take care of yourself? 

Oh god, what if it slipped out of your hand as you were walking over? Even with it being empty, the noise of the cup hitting the floor would draw everyone’s eyes to you. They’d watch as you scramble to pick it up, and they’d probably think how clumsy and awkward and incompetent you were. 

And what if the trashcan was full? Would you carry your empty cup home with you? That would look weird, someone carrying an empty cup down the street. I mean, who does that? Well, you’d seen other people do it, watched them carry their drink until they reached a trashcan, and then throw it away. But what if there weren’t any public trashcans nearby? You’d look so odd, fumbling along trying so hard to walk normally, to not draw attention to yourself, to blend in with everyone.

Should you turn around to see if there was another trashcan in the Starbucks? Oh, but that might look stupid. The employees had seen you so often, you’d look like a fool for not knowing if there was another trashcan.

Ugh, and your walk. You have to focus on straightening your shoulders, keeping your back straight, moving your arms - just a little, not too much. Taking even steps, not walking with a heavy foot or making any stomping or scuffing sounds. 

There was so much to focus on, too much. And now you had been sitting here for five minutes, knuckles white as you gripped your empty drink cup. You looked like a moron.

You could do this.

Deep breath in, deep breath out.

Remind yourself that people didn’t care, didn’t pay attention to all of the lame little things that you did. You anxiety was misplaced, you worried about things too much, and everything was fine.

You were okay, you could do this.

And so you stood, walked to the trashcan by the door (oh thank god, it was empty), and threw your cup away.  

You heard Red Riot saying bye to the employees, his cheery, upbeat voice as he laughed at something one of them said. Oh, had something been said about you? Were the employees and Red Riot laughing about what a disaster you were? 

No, you were just being nervous, that was your anxiety talking. Red Riot wasn’t that kind of person, and the employees weren’t either. You knew this. 

The door jingled as you opened it, and you heard footsteps behind you so you moved to the side after you had gone through, holding the door open for whoever was behind you.

“Thanks cutie!”

Red Riot was fixing his mask as he strolled past, and your head snapped up, flushing fiercely as you met his gaze. You smiled awkwardly, throwing up a feeble thumbs-up. 

Oh god, why did you do that?

Red Riot smiled back at you, giving his own exuberant thumbs-up. Well, at least he was doing it too. That made your anxiety quiet down a bit, emboldened by your favorite Pro-Hero.

You watched his broad back as he walked away, muscles flexing with each step. He really was a beautiful man, both inside and out.

----

The next time you went to Starbucks, you reached the door right as someone else did (even though you saw them walking towards the door, even though you slowed down your pace so they would reach the door first and would go inside so you wouldn’t have to do that awkward dance of who-gets-the-door and who-goes-inside-first).

But they pierced through the awkwardness, yanked the door open for you and stepped to the side and motioned for you to go in first.

It was Red Riot.

He was wearing casual clothes today, ripped jeans and a dark hoodie, but you’d recognize that spike red hair anywhere, those gleaming shark teeth too.

You nodded your thanks quickly, hurrying through the door so he wouldn’t have to stand there for long. Immediately you headed for the bathroom, not wanting to have the Pro-Hero standing in line behind you. He was intimidating, but in the nicest way possible. You were just afraid there was something about you that he would think to be weird, or odd, or out-of-place. 

Better to just avoid the situation altogether. 

When you finished your business (you were a nervous pee-er), you ordered your drink, deciding to be bold this time and try something different from your usual choice.  It was the little things, the small little bits of life that made you anxious - those were the things that you tried to overcome. I mean, life’s all about the small victories, right? And hopefully if you built up enough small victories, you could have a really big victory someday, like telling your favorite barista that you liked her hair, or picking a different seat to sit in, or trying to make a friend with another customers as you waited in line.

But for today, the small victory was stepping outside of your comfort zone just a little bit, getting something new that you weren’t used to.

You ordered, waited patiently for your drink to be made, and then turned to go settle down in your blue armchair by the window.

And Red Riot was sitting in your seat.

Fuck.

Your hands were suddenly sweaty, and you felt the familiar pang of an upset tummy. You were so tired of being nervous, of freaking out every single time there was a small change that you weren’t aware of, or if something happened that you couldn’t control.

There was an armchair opposite the one you always chose - also blue, but not as comfortable and certainly not with a good view out the window. It directly faced your usual spot, but in all your time coming here, no one had ever sat in it. A first you had just figured it was uncomfortable, but as you came here more and more, you figured that the nook was probably for couples rather than individual coffee drinkers. 

The time you visited was a bit odd, eight PM, a few hours before closing. But it was the least crowded at this time, and the sun was barely setting, and it was the perfect time for you to be unbothered and by yourself.

But there was Red Riot, invading your (unofficial) space.

But it was okay, you could just sit somewhere else.

It felt weird, sliding onto one of the chairs at a small table. You were so used to your usual, safe routine that this threw you off. You were shaking so bad that you missed your mouth on your first try of sipping at the straw. What an idiot. 

You had to try again, holding the straw this time, before you could actually taste the drink.

Selfishly, you wished Red Riot had chosen a different chair.  But he was entitled to sit anywhere he liked, and it was obvious he enjoyed this particular Starbucks. Judging by the familiarity with the employees, he was becoming a regular like yourself.  You only came once or twice a week, but he probably got his drink fix more often than you did.

Hopefully he didn’t think you were stalking him.

Oh god, what if he thought you were stalking him? How would you show that you weren’t stalking him? Come on a different day? At a different time? But you were here first, this was your routine, and that was your chair!

But man, you really didn’t want to make the Pro-Hero uncomfortable - he’d probably had a few crazy fans who had stalked him before.

Sighing, you sipped slowly at your drink, pulling out your phone to look at memes and text a few to your friends. You could still go about your routine, even if you were sitting in a different spot.

----

You ran into him at the grocery store.

It was in the produce aisle, where you were trying to decide between red apples or green, weighing the pros-and-cons of each decision in your head. You probably looked like an idiot, standing in front of the apples and doing nothing but staring at them, but you needed to ignore that right now.

“Yo, Starbucks buddy!”

The shout rang out across the produce section, and you flinched, suddenly drawn out of your apple-selection process. 

It was late, almost ten PM, who and why was shouting in the grocery store??

You weren’t one to turn and stare, but you were curious, and surely whoever shouted like that wouldn’t mind a few questioning looks thrown their way. 

And so you glanced over your shoulder, expecting to see a bunch of teenage boys greeting each other, or maybe a man saying hi to his friend.

Red Riot was excitedly waving at you.

Your brain blanked. Immediately, you turned your head, trying to see if there was someone else he was waving at. But there was no one around you - hell, there wasn’t even anyone else in the produce section except for you and the hero. 

So he had to be waving at you.

Turning your whole body this time, you gave an awkward imitation of his wave, and let out a soft, croaky “Hey…” as the big man walked closer. 

He had a big dumb smile on his big dumb face, and as he reached you, it grew even wider.

“Starbucks buddy! I didn’t mean to make you flinch, my bad. I know I can get a little loud sometimes, haha.” He stopped right in front of you, a grocery basket filled to the brim with meat and a few vegetables clutched on one of his large hands. God, he was so strong, you would be struggling to carry such a heavy basket, and here he was lugging it around like it had nothing but a loaf of bread in it. Red Riot could probably squish your skull to a pulp with just his hand, goddamn he was big.

You shrugged at his words, desperately willing your brain to work and to think of something smart and eloquent and good-to-say. “It’s uh, it’s-it’s fine. I’m just y’know, one of those nervous people, y’know?”

Wow. 

Good job brain.

But the Pro-Hero smiled gently, putting his basket down on the ground. 

“Yeah, I kinda figured.”

Wait, what?

“I’ve seen you a couple times at Starbucks, the one on Grant and 1st. You always seem… well, nervous whenever I see you. At first I just thought it was because I was there, cause y’know, people have different reactions to seeing heros out in public.” 

Your eyes were big, you felt your face erupt in an embarrassed fire, and your hands were fucking sweaty. Why couldn’t you have been born like, a blade of grass? A tree?  Some non-sentient object that didn’t have to worry about thoughts or talking or how other people perceived it?

Red Riot continued, “But I’ve seen you a couple of other times; once on the subway, a few times at that park on the north side of town, haha, you really get around, dont’cha?” 

Ah yes, now would be a good time for something to happen, like a plane to crash into the building and kill both of you instantly. Or some emergency that required his immediate attention, one that was so big and urgent that he would forget about you instantly.

His red eyes were drawn to your leg, which you were subconsciously wiggling like a toddler. His eyes softened, and his voice lowered an octave. “You always seem a bit… anxious.  And I know that feeling, believe it or not. I used to be really insecure and nervous when I was younger-“

Oh, great. Now he was just calling attention to the fact that you were acting like a fucking child, that you were a fully-grown adult that couldn’t handle being out in the world because it was too nerve-wracking. Were you really that easy to read? 

“-but I had some awesome people to help me through it. My moms were always really supportive, and they took such great care of me. It was rough for a little bit, but I learned how to be confident and how to strut my stuff and it’s helped me to help others. It’s sorta why I became a hero, actually.”

You smiled again, nodding. That made sense - each and every hero had a reason for why they wanted to help the general public, and of course Red Riot’s reason would be pure and inspiring.

“But uh, anyways! I just saw you shopping and thought I’d say hi to my Starbucks buddy. I was hoping you’d come and sit by me the other day, when I sat in the place you usually sit? But I understand that it’s sorta intimidating to approach a hero, even one in civilian clothing.”

Shoot, so he’d wanted you to sit by him that day? And here you were thinking that he had unintentionally commandeered your seat and was just trying to be left alone. God, you were so stupid. 

“Oh, I’m-I’m sorry!” You stuttered out, face hotter than the actual sun. “I didn’t realize! I figured you always have people trying to get an autograph or a picture and you probably just want privacy, and I thought that maybe you just wanted to sit there and hadn’t gotten a chance to because I always sit there, which honestly that’s such a selfish thing for me to do - I should probably try to vary the places I sit so I don’t like-“

“Ah, don’t worry about it! You’re fine, okay? Trust me.” Red Riot patted your shoulder (yup, he could definite squeeze your head like a grape), before leaning down to grab his basket off the floor.

“Oh, well uhm, t-thank you, Mr. Red Riot” You resisted the urge to bow.

“Oh!” The man exclaimed, looking slightly surprised, “Call me Kirishima, none of that “Red Riot” stuff, alright?”

Confusion overtook you. “Uh, that’s only for your friends, civilians should respect the heros and call them by their chosen names.” At least, that’s what you had always been told.

But Red Riot just grinned. “Well, what’s your name?”

With a slight shake in your voice, you told him.

“I know your name now, so I officially deem the two of us as friends!” With his free hand, he patted you on the shoulder again. You shivered, and Red Ri-Kirishima seemed to notice.

“You alright (Y/N)? Didn’t hit you too hard, did I?”

“No, no… I’m just… kinda weird about touch I guess.” That was an understatement. You were so incredibly sensitive, every light touch felt searing, hugs always were too much sensation, you shuddered even thinking about cuddling - you were just too sensitive to touch.

Red-Kirishima stepped back, holding his hand up apologetically. “Oops, my bad. I kinda noticed that about you too, I should’ve remembered.”

At your questioning glance, the man hurried to continue. “Well, y’know, I saw that couple bump into you on the subway, and you looked like you were gonna cry. And then, like, at Starbucks you make an effort to not touch the barista’s hands when they give you your change.”

Great, so that was another thing you were obvious and weird about. Just great. You felt embarrassed that Kirishima had noticed that about you so easily, but you guessed being observant was part of his job. 

“Well, I’m gonna go check out now, unless you need help with your groceries?” The man motioned to your barely-filled basket, and you shook your head.

“No, it’s-it’s okay. I can handle this, but thank you.”

Kirishima gave you a thumbs up. “Alright, sounds good. Although, are you planning on walking home?”

You shook your head yes, prepared to receive the “its not safe” talk.  You knew it wasn’t safe, but it was just a few blocks, and you had made the walk to your apartment a million times, plus, you couldn’t afford to pay for an uber or a cab.

“It’s pretty dark out there, mind if I walk you home? I’m a hero and all, I promise I’m not going to try and steal your wallet.”

And there it was.  For someone as nervous as yourself, walking alone in the dark really was no issue. Maybe it’s cause you weren’t afraid of someone trying to hurt you. You looked poor, you were ugly as fuck, and it was only a couple of blocks.

‘It’s okay Mr. R-Kirishima, I don’t mind. I’ll probably be here for a bit longer, don’t worry about me.”

He probably had other things to tend to, and even if he didn’t, you weren’t important enough to make a Pro-Hero go out of his way to walk you home. You were such an inconvenience already, it would just make you feel worse about yourself. And would you have to make small talk as the two of you walked? 

Would he try and insist upon carrying your groceries? Would he want to walk up to your apartment floor with you? Or would he say goodbye in the lobby? Once again, best to just avoid the situation altogether. 

Plus, you knew the hero was just trying to be polite. He probably didn’t actually want to walk you home.

Kirishima tried to offer again, but you turned him down, shaking your head, self-consciously drawing your shoulders up. You probably looked so stupid, like a scared little dog that had gotten yelled at. But it was a nervous reaction, and it felt better than just trying to stand there like a block.

Kirishima smiled gently, told you to have a safe night, and then left to go check out.

You turned back to the apples, trying to focus back on which color you should get, stuck between red, or green.

----

The next time you visited Starbucks, your regular spot was once again empty. It was almost a relief, seeing that you wouldn’t have to figure out if Kirishima wanted to talk today or not, if he wanted you to sit by him, or if he was just trying to make small talk back at the grocery store.

So you settled in, warm hot chocolate in hand as you looked out the window, watched cars whiz by on the street, rain puttering down softly.

And then Kirishima was bursting through the door, sending the door bell jingling in a frenzy, rain patterned heavily over his jean jacket, His eyes immediately found you, and his face lit up in a smile.

“(Y/N)!!!!”

You gave a little wave, watching as Kirishima smiled cheerily at you, before quickly ordering a drink. Immediately, the muscled redhead came to sit down in the armchair opposite you, panting a little bit.

“Wooo, I had to run here, started raining on me!”

“I can tell.” You let out a small laugh, noticing how his spiky hair was drooping from getting rained on. 

“Glad to see you got home okay the other night.” The male blurted, leaning forward so he could strip off his jacket.

You paused. “What do you mean?”

He flashed you a grin, throwing his jacket over the back of the chair. “Well, you’re here, aren’t you?”

Ah, he had a point.

His name was called, and Kirishima jumped up and went to pick up his drink before plopping back down in the armchair with a sigh.

“So, (Y/N), you ever been to the ocean before? All this water, the streets might be an ocean by the time we leave.”

Kirishima proceeded to launch into a story about the time he went to the ocean with his buddy Bakugou, how they had swam with turtles and even got to see a whale.

You were glad he was doing all the talking, letting you sit back and listen while you sipped at your hot cocoa. There was no pressure for you to talk, no pressure for you to try and fumble for the right words. And it was nice, seeing the big hero be so excited and animated, gesturing with his hands and almost spilling his drink all over himself.

As you listened to him talk, you settled back further into the armchair contentedly. He was a nice person to be around, you could see yourself being friends with him, if he didn’t mind.

——

And friends you did become.

It wasn’t long before the two of you exchanged numbers - Kirishima had wanted to send you a picture of a dog he had seen the other day while he was out patrolling.

The two of you texted memes to each other, cute pictures of animals, and even though your anxiety was loud and demanding and convinced you that you were bothering the man, Kirishima always assured you that was never the case.

He always seemed to be able to tell when you were feeling anxious, when nervousness settled deep in your bones and refused to leave. You slowly began to notice that with Kirishima, your anxiety was quieter. It was easy to let the exuberant man to take the lead, for him to make decisions, whether to walk up and ask to pet the cute dog or not. It was freeing in a way, letting your new friend take your anxiety and make it be quiet. 

After all, no one gave you a second glance, now that you were trailing behind Pro-Hero Red Riot. 

Kirishima was such a character, goofy, cheerful, and always sporting a sunny disposition. His casual fashion consisted of the most god-awful color combinations and mixed patterns. It wasn’t uncommon for the man to bounce towards you in greeting, wearing neon green crocs, dark blue overalls that were plaid, and a head-ache inducing black-and-white psychedelic shirt. Somehow he made it all work, and didn’t look odd or out of place.

You admired him, truly. You wished you could have his confidence, his attitude and bouncy personality. If you had confidence like that, you could probably do anything. As it stood right now, you could barely approach someone on the street and ask to pet their dog.

It had been so embarrassing, walking with Kirishima down the street and listening to him talk between gulps of a bright pink slushy. You spotted a woman walking a dog on the other side of the street, a big dog, fluffy and sweet-looking and happily walking along it’s owner, stopping to sniff at each plant that grew in the cracks of the sidewalk.

“Cute, I wish I could pet that dog.” You interrupted Kiri’s story, gazing wistfully at the dog. 

Kirishima paused, swiveling his head to see what dog you were talking about. Once he did, his eyes lit up, and he grabbed your hand. “Lets go pet it then!” But when he tried to pull you forward, you balked, pulling your wrist backward. 

“I-I can’t, it’s….. I don’t know, It’s fine, I’ll stay here.”

Kirishima raised an eyebrow, studying you as he took another slow sip of his slushy. You had your own slushy, a significantly smaller size than the beefy Pro-Hero’s own giant cup.  

“(Y/N), it’s okay - I’ll do all the talking, ‘kay?”

He could tell that the thought of talking to the owner, asking to pet their dog, was making you nervous. What if they said no? What if they thought you were being rude? Would the dog not like you? Would the owner think you looked funny? What if they were hurrying somewhere?

But if Kirishima did all the talking….. maybe you could manage trailing behind him, only emerging from his shadow if the owner said yes to petting their dog. 

You gave the big man a weak smile, nodding gingerly before getting yanked forward, Kirishima already speed-walking towards the lady.

He asked, the lady said yes - you got to pet the absolute cutest dog ever. It was heaven. 

You were grateful for Kirishima - shyly told him as much. If you were by yourself, you would have noticed the cute dog, but done nothing about it, just wished you had the courage to approach and ask if you could pet it.

But with Kiri? He made anything possible.

----

You were worried you were annoying him.

There was no evidence, but still, wouldn’t it be annoying to have an anxious little shadow?  One that shook and stuttered and could barely go to the grocery store without freaking out and having a panic attack? Your fears and feelings weren’t entirely unfounded, I mean,  there were millions upon millions of possible outcomes of any one action. Unfortunately, your brain liked to focus only on the negative options.

But Kirishima never got tired, never got frustrated with you. He didn’t mind ordering for the both of you when you got snacks at a fast-food place during long afternoons. He didn’t mind taking up extra space with his personality, being loud and brash and drawing attention to himself when you felt like everyone was watching you, waiting for you to make a stupid mistake. 

Kiri seemed to like walking you home, helped you check your windows and in the closet and under the bed (not for people, but what if there was some eldritch monster that lurked just out of sight?). He never made fun of you for your feelings or fears, just gently listened and then tried to help you deal with them.

He even got you to be somewhat comfortable with making silly little mistakes in public. One time the man tripped on thin air, spilling warm coffee all over you and himself. Immediately he burst out laughing at his own clumsiness, apologizing between giggles as he heaved himself off the floor and went to go grab napkins.

If you had spilled a drink on him and yourself, you would’ve been asking Siri where the nearest cliff was. But you realized, the same way that you weren’t worried, and how it wasn’t that big of a problem that your shirt was now soaked with sweet coffee and sticking to your skin, Kirishima probably wouldn’t care if you spilled anything on him.

After all, it was an honest mistake.

The big man was helping you to learn how to be more comfortable in the world. But still, the creeping suspicion that he was just being kind to you out of sheer politeness was forefront in your mind. 

So you came up with a question, practiced asking it in the mirror, took several days to build up your confidence to ask Kirishima.

“Do you actually want to be friends with me?”

And sure, that might be a forward question. But you valued honesty, had told him so a few times when he asked you to rate his outfit on a scale from 1-10 (usually it was a solid 10 - his personality making the outfit shine) you tried not to lie to others, and expected the same courtesy from them.

The two of you were in the park, resting on one of the benches after walking around and looking at the different plants (one of your favorite activities, no matter how lame). And now was as good a time as ever, so you popped the question, barely stuttering once.

Kirishima was silent for a bit, and you were almost afraid of looking up at him. The truth would come out now - how he just saw a pathetic little civilian and felt so much pity for them that he decided to be their friend. You were just a burden to him, how could you ever be anything else?

When you dared to look up at the big redhead, the intensity in his gaze had you leaning towards the side nervously, away from the strength of all his attention focused on you.

“(Y/N)…. becoming friends with you was - it’s been the best decision I’ve ever made in my life.” His voice held such sincerity, his face open and honest. You recoiled from the statement, uncomfortable with the compliment. That had to be a lie, he was just saying that to make you feel better. You were so pathetic and weak that other people had to pretend that you were better than you actually were to avoid hurting your feelings. You wished you never existed. Why did you even ask him that question in the first place? There was no way that someone as nice as Kirishima would actually tell you how worthless and pitiful you were.

Large hands grabbed your own, and you jumped. Kirishima’s hands were warm, scarred and calloused, yet soft in their grip as they gently squeezed your own hands. You tried not to flinch at the contact. 

“I know that you don’t believe me, but you should. You know-“ One of his hands went to run through his hair, tousling through it’s straight, un-gelled style, before returning to your hand. “-I was pretty lonely before I met you. Like, I had my squad - Bakugou and Mina and Denki and Sero…. But it just….. There was something missing.”

Kirishima leaned close to you, your sides pressing together, his red eyes trying to catch your own. You were too shy, had to look off to the side.

“There was someone missing. And when I saw you, it felt…. Everything just clicked. I was missing you.”

You could feel his breath fanning against the side of your flaming hot face. It was uncomfortable. He was lying, he had to be. He was just trying to help you be confident in yourself, so he wouldn’t have to baby you and hold your hand and help you do simple things like ordering food or going for walks and not worrying about what people thought of you.

He was just being nice.

For some reason, you felt your throat clog up, felt the spicy sting of tears building up. Why did you feel like crying? You weren’t exactly in tune with any of your other emotions, only paid attention if it was anxiety or fear.  

A thumb rubbed over your knuckles soothingly (it burned), and the next thing you knew you were being enveloped in a bear hug, Kirishima’s arms crushing you into his chest, his pecs pressing against your face. 

Goddamn, he was built as fuck.

You tried to keep still, not squirm away from his touch like a child. You were an adult, you could handle a little bit of discomfort over being touched.

Kiri sighed. “I like being around you (Y/N). You don’t judge me for my mistakes, you accept them - you accept me. You uh, you make me happy dude, like, really happy.”

You chuckled a little bit at the redheads use of the word “dude”. Only a meathead could turn a sappy moment on it’s head by using the word “dude”. Still, you liked the way Kirishima talked, from the excited chatter when he was talking about something he liked, to the slow, comforting honey when he was being sincere and intimate, like now.

At the same time, your heart felt tight, waiting for the inevitable but that was sure to come. For the redhead to explain that he enjoyed your company but he was just being polite to a nervous civilian who couldn’t fend for themselves. You fun to hang out with but it was only because you made him look better, cooler and manlier because he was nice to someone as pathetic as you.

The but never came. You waited and waited, but Kirishima just kept the slow rhythm of his thumb rubbing over your knuckles, kept your face pressed into his chest and an arm wrapped around your body. You didn’t know what to do. 

Should you pull back? Your throat felt tight again. Kirishima was lying to you, he had to be. There wasn’t any way that someone would actually enjoy you as a person.

You pulled back from the warmth of his body, pulled your hand away from his. “I don’t….. I want honesty Kirishima. Please? Lies hurt more than the truth, please. I’m not a good person, I’m pathetic and nervous and shy, and I’m too loud sometimes, and my body looks weird, and I’m ugly and disgusting, and-“

“(Y/N), stop.” His voice thundered, cutting you off. Immediately, you fell silent, chest tightening, gaze falling to your lap. He was right. He didn’t need to hear all your insecurities, they were already clear to see. You were such a drag on his life, he probably hated having to deal with you, having to see you.

“Kiri, I’m not uhm-“ Your voice was wavering. “-I’m not feeling so great, I think I’m gonna head home.”

As you stood, so did the redhead. “Please don’t feel obligated to walk me home, I know it’s way out of your way.” He probably hated every second of it, probably insisted just to be polite. Even now, Kirishima was beginning to protest, grabbing at your hand. You pulled back, eyes fixed on the ground.

“Kiri, please.” You whispered, tears threatening to fall. You hated yourself. You hated yourself so much, your chest hurt, your ears felt full, everything felt too heavy and bad - there weren’t even any words to explain it. You just wanted to go home and cry, sob into a pillow.

Kirishima stayed put, probably watching you walk away from the park. God, you hoped he wasn’t, you walked so weirdly. Why couldn’t you just disappear?

——

You tried your best to disappear. 

You did the bare minimum, turning in assignments an hour before they were due, half-assing them. You hardly ventured out of your room, only to grab water or to use the bathroom.

Neighbors kept knocking on your door, probably the couple in the apartment opposite you, asking for a cup of sugar so they could make cookies, or wanting to tell you that your mail downstairs was getting full. But being the person you were, you were far too nervous to go answer the door. You were probably annoying people. It would just be better for the world if you weren’t in it, wouldn’t it?

Kirishima kept trying to text you, call you (Even though he knew you couldn’t pick up - calls terrified you), trying to coax you to go on a walk with him, to come get coffee or a slushie with him when he finished working. You brushed him off with lame excuses, telling him you were sick, backtracking when he said he was coming over with soup and movies. You didn’t feel well enough for company. 

Still, the man kept texting you several times a day, then only a few times, and now it was down to just once a day. In one corner of your mind, it hurt. The rest of your mind knew that it was for the best, knew that his life was going to be better because you weren’t going to be there bothering him. 

His texts consisted of simple messages now, ones you felt bad not responding to, but if you did respond, you hated yourself for the rest of the day. You sucked.

“(Y/N), look at this dog!” *IMAGE ATTACHED*

Cute.

“Yo, you wanna come get something to drink at our place? They have a deal on coffee today!”

Sorry Kiri, I’m not feeling too good today. You should go get a drink though, have fun!

“I saw some people rollerskating in the park, we should try that!”

Yeah.

“Would you wanna go for a walk sometime?”

I don’t think so, I’m pretty busy right now. You should go and get sunshine though, you deserve it!

“We need to go to our Starbucks soon, I need COFFEE haha”

(:

“Gonna ever come see where I work? I can show you my office, it’s super cool!”

“(Y/N), you doing okay?”

“I miss you.”

----

You woke up to the sound of your neighbors (or maybe the complex manager?) knocking on your door.  Anxiety filled you, palms immediately becoming clammy, so you fumbled around your bed, searching for your earbuds. Maybe if you could listen to music, you could calm down? Sometimes that worked, sometimes not. It really depended on how worked up you were.

Luckily you found them, quickly stuffing them in your ears as you queued music up on your phone. The knocking faded out as music filled your ears, but your anxiety still persisted. You curled up onto your side, hugging a pillow to your chest, almost on the verge of tears from nothing more than a few knocks at your door. You were such a burden to society.

It took a minute, but your heart stopped racing, palms stopped sweating, and you fell back asleep. You were so tired of being awake.

----

You awoke a second time to hands carding gently through your hair. It felt weird for a brief second, but you just ignored the feeling - until you remembered that you lived alone, and the front door was supposed to be locked. 

Squeaking in panic, you shot up, eyes wide, scrambling back into the corner of your bed, clutching the blanket to your chest. 

Kirishima blinked at you, hand still hovering over where your he’d had previously been. He was sitting on the edge of your bed, shoes off, bare feet on the floor.

Your eyes were still wide with fear, chest heaving with panic, but you managed to rip out your earbuds. “Kirishima? How-how did you get in?!? What are you….” You trailed off, tugging your blanket closer around your body as you realized that you were in your pajamas. They weren’t provocative, nor exposed any skin, but they drowned your form, were probably stained and most likely dirty, and you definitely looked awful. But back to the issue at hand, how did Kiri get in your apartment?

The man in question gave a dorky little wave, lips quirking up ever so slightly. 

“(Y/N), hey! I haven’t seen you in so long!” He paused for a second, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, more serious. “I missed you… I was kinda worried.”

“But how are you- I mean…. inside?” You stuttered, completely flustered.

“Oh, I talked to the complex manager, said I was a family member who was really worried about you. Showed him how you haven’t been answering my texts…. I was really worried (Y/N). You were giving such weird replies to my texts, and then you stopped answering completely, and no one answered the door whenever I knocked.”

Wait, that was him knocking? All those times?

You were going to jump out the window. 

“Kiri… I didn’t mean to worry you, I just… You shouldn’t be worried about me.”

“Why not? I care about you, I… I wanted to see you.”

It was time to be honest, say the things that were painful to say. The truths that hurt your heart, but needed to be said. Otherwise, Kirishima just wouldn’t get it.

“Kiri, I’m not-I’m not worth your worry. I don’t deserve it. I’m a nervous, depressed wreck, who can’t even open a door or answer the phone. You’re-you’re being nice to me cause you’re a good person. I don’t think I should be… well, like, around you. I just-I bring you down, and you have to do stuff for me and reassure me and I’m such a burden. Please just, I don’t know, please just don’t give me any more attention. I’m so stupid and gross and you should be friends with someone who isn’t….. isn’t like me.”

You finished your rant, almost breathless, choked up, feeling ready to cry.

Silence reigned between the two of you, everything quiet except for the sound of your breathing and the rhythmic clicking of your fan.

It was uncomfortable. But you’d said your piece. It’d be weird if you said anything else, right? Should you say something else? Was he going to hate you for wasting his time? Holy crap, Kirishima is gonna hate you for wasting his time, for not telling him that at the beginning, when he first got to know you.

“(Y/N)-“ The sound of Kirishima’s soft, low voice made your head snap up, up to his face. He was looking at you, red eyes dark and large and filled with… pity? Sadness? “-I don’t even know how to tell you how wrong you are about that.”

The blanket shrouding your body was quickly pulled away, Kirishima discarding it to the side so he could shuffle closer to you, wrap you in one of his signature death-grip hugs. You were quickly pulled into his arms, the large man hunched over you as he squeezed you tight. It didn’t feel good. You wished he would remember that you didn’t like to be touched.

“I was pretty sure of my feelings before… well, before you asked if I wanted to be friends with you. And truthfully, I wasn’t exactly honest with you.” Your heart gave the tiniest squeeze. You knew he had been lying to you, but yeah, it did kinda hurt to hear him admit it. 

“I kinda wanna be more than friends with you, actually.”

His hold on your body loosened, pulling back so he could look at your face. Your ugly, about-to-cry, gross face. You tried to turn away, pull out of his grip and find your blanket and crawl underneath it and stay there until you died. There was no way he was coming onto you - you weren’t good enough for him. He was Kirishima, Red Riot, pro hero, sunshine of the world, manliest and strongest guy out there.

And you were just….

You.

Kirishima didn’t let you move away. He grabbed your arms, pulled you up a bit so you were at his level. “I’m serious about this. I know you don’t believe me, all that anxiety and nervousness trying to lie to you, but….” A quick glance at his face showed the redhead to be blushing. “I’ve wanted to be more than friends from the moment I first saw you.”

Exasperated, almost angry at this point (he was lying), you scoffed, wiggling in his grip to signal that you wanted to let go. 

“Kiri, I held a door open for you, it was nothing special. I’m ugly and lame and I panic over the slightest things, stop lying to me and saying that I’m someone worth your time.” Surprised, Kirishima loosened his grasp on your arms, and you moved away from him to sit on the edge of the bed. “I could never be worth your time.”

Was silence becoming a trend between the two of you? Apparently, because Kirishima didn’t say anything, just crawled over and sat down next to you. The big man was hardly ever silent, always talking about this, that, or the other. You were just a pro at messing things up, weren’t you?

A moment longer of sitting awkwardly in silence. You couldn’t take it anymore, you wanted to be able to cry about your shameful existence in peace, without having to entertain Kiri’s pity and lies.

“Can you….. Can you-you go…. Please?” You whispered, hugging your arms around your body. Oh yeah, you had forgotten you were in your gross, oversized pajamas. Just another thing for you to feel bad about.

Kirishima didn’t move.

Afraid he hadn’t heard you, you turned bright red, what an idiot - you can’t even speak loud enough to be heard. You stuttered as you started to repeat your request, but Kirishima cut you off.

“Why can’t you see?” He turned to you. “You’re the most lovely thing, I want to be around you all the time. Why can’t you see that you’re the most wonderful person in the world?”

Horrified, you reeled back. He was just pushing more lies. You felt so uncomfortable, you hated this, you wanted him to stop. “That’s-that’s just some fantasy Kiri…. I’m awful. Please, just go-“

“No.”

No? His voice sounded different, harsh and filled with authority. You looked at your feet, settled against the bare floor. You just wanted to sleep, and sleep, and never have to wake up. Why did being a human have to be so hard? 

Might as well let the big redhead say his piece, make you feel worse about yourself. Then you could shove him out the door and spend the next week sobbing yourself sick.You felt bad, you couldn’t even explain your own emotions, put a name to this feeling that was painful and clawed at your chest like it was trying to rip you apart.

“You aren’t understanding me (Y/N). That’s no fantasy of mine - that’s reality.” A large hand grabbed your chin softly, turning your face towards Kiri’s. “Whenever I come up with a fantasy that involves you, I end up fucking my fist ’til I go raw.” 

The admission made you stutter, and you hadn’t thought it was possible for you to blush harder, but here you were - twelve shades redder than the reddest tomato. 

Kiri didn’t give you a chance to breathe. “I missed you so much, you don’t even realize. I could compliment you until I go blue in the face, but you’re so shy and nervous and adorable, you’d never, ever believe me.”

Well, that much was true. At least he knew you well.

“So instead, I’m just gonna show you how much you mean to me.”

Soft lips met your own, a hand fisting into your hair and twisting your head back to make kissing you easier for Kiri. You couldn’t even think, barely had presence of mind to push at the solid man, hitting his chest. You felt ugly, and gross, and stupid and weak, was this some sort of prank? This had to be some sort of prank. There’s no way Kirishima could actually be attracted to you.

Your mind was drawn to the present when a sharp blossom of pain emanated from your lip. Kiri pulled back, a single drop of blood running down his chin as he stared at you, your foreheads almost touching.

“Don’t get in your head, I want you here. Don’t think, just feel.” 

You wanted to say something, to open your mouth and ask him again to leave. He shouldn’t be kissing you, he should be kissing someone prettier, stronger, someone who had their life together. 

You wanted to protest, but you were being pushed onto your back on the bed, Kiri’s large, calloused hands grabbing at your limbs and bodily moving you however he saw fit despite your squirming.

“Kir-stop-stop touching! Don’t, please, I’m-I’m so gross-“

His lips were on yours again, swallowing your cries as he moved the two of you around on the small bed until you were splayed out underneath him. He was moving so quickly, with such confidence and self-assuredness that you couldn’t keep up. His hands were starting to squeeze at your waist, his thighs bracketing your own as the big man got comfortable over you, leaning down to avoid breaking the deep, passionate kiss.

Your lungs were burning.

You had to pull your face to the side, pushing at Kiri’s shoulders as you did so, making panicked noises as you tried (and failed) to take in air through your nose. How the hell was Kiri holding his breath this long? 

The man finally got the hint, letting you pull away from him, gasping for air. You felt dizzy, his hands were still squeezing and stroking over your waist, it was too much. As you tried to get your breathing under control, you glanced up at your friend, red-faced, on the verge of tears. Why was he doing this? You were so gross, ugly, nothing when compared to how fit and muscular and handsome Kirishima was.

HIs eyes were dark, chin smeared red from the blood earlier - you bet your chin looked the same. His chest rose and fell rapidly, seemingly also out of breath, but the moment your eyes met his, the man was descending again, this time to press hot kisses all over your face, on your jaw, behind your ears.

“Don’t, oh, please don’t. Kiri-why are you-? Stop-“ You gasped, the sensations of his lips trailing across your skin too much for you to handle. A kiss to the column of your throat had you jolting, trying to sit up, not knowing what you were doing but trying to get away. It was too much.

“Lay back.” Kiri’s deep voice rumbled. “Let me make you feel good. You’ll forget about the anxiety, okay? Just focus on me.”

You didn’t want to focus on him. But at the same time, the situation was so overwhelming, you didn’t know what to do except let him push you back down with a hand on your chest. 

Before you could process what happened, your clothes were off, his clothes gone as well. You wanted to shriek; cry and cover yourself and tell Kirishima to leave, but everything was happening too fast, and your body couldn’t keep up. 

You felt floaty, buzzy, like you were in a weird dream, ears stopped up full of cotton. 

Wet fingers prodded at your entrance. Oh, were they Kiri’s? When had they gotten wet? The fingers retracted, and you watched Kirishima gather the saliva in his mouth before spitting onto his hand. 

Ah.

The fingers were back, one pushing into you, the pressure too deep, too tight, too harsh. You knew in the back of your mind that you probably looked so stupid, gasping and shivering and shaking, but you couldn’t control it.

One finger turned into two, then three, then four, and then they were gone, something much bigger trying to split you open.

You felt sick.

You couldn’t move.

Kirishima was kissing your face again, his touch burning, making your skin feel tingly and painful and rough everywhere he touched. It hurt. He was saying something, but your ears were buzzing, everything felt fuzzy and weird, and you didn’t know where to look, what to do, except lie there and let the man continue.

He was soft, gentle. But no amount of easy touches or reassuring words were getting through to you, just the overwhelming sensation of being too full, nausea thick in your stomach, throat closing up. The room tasted like blood.

The pressure wasn’t going away, just building and building and building as Kirishima thrust into you, until eventually a twinge of pleasure slipped into your system alongside the discomfort of being filled. 

It felt weird… nice? You couldn’t tell anymore.

There was only sweat, slick, slapping noises, rough hands running over your skin, words being said. You couldn’t grasp anything. 

You felt full, empty, all at the same time. 

The pleasure built, higher and higher and higher until it burst into little sharp fragments that ran through your veins, zinging into your wrists, sparking through your tummy.

And then there was warmth inside you, and the part of you still lucid recognized that Kirishima had just cum inside your body.

You couldn’t get enough air into your lungs.

----

Kirishima was laying beside you, making shushing sounds, stroking your hair, pulling the blanket up around the two of you.  The pressure between your legs was gone, as was the stinging pleasure that had spilled all over your body. You couldn’t feel, everything was still too much, too loud and bright and rough and warm.

Kirishima was still stroking your hair as you finally calmed down, hyperventilating coming to a stop, shaking still there, but not as violent as it had been. 

“-so strong, and your laugh always makes me happy. I love you, and I know you love me back. It’s gonna take some time for us to work past all this nervous stuff, but I’m not give up. I’ll always be here for you, you know that?”

He was rambling, occasionally pressing soft kisses to your neck, along your collarbone - innocent, reassuring. You closed your eyes. 

“You need someone to be there for you, I know. You get so anxious, and you bottle up your feelings, and I know you get so scared of saying or doing the wrong thing and you just freeze or panic.” He continued. “You won’t ever have to worry about that with me. We worked around it today, yeah? You just relax, and let me lead. I’m never gonna steer you wrong (Y/N).”

You felt cold.

[septiembrre]

Physical affection prompts! 21! 25!

Prompt: accidentally knocking your head into someone’s chin + playfully biting someone

Established relationship. Beth and Rio try couples yoga. An injury ensues.

Side note: This is the first time I’ve ever attempted writing from Rio’s POV. Augauahgah!!! I feel like all the straight Mexi-boys I know are mad sappy about the ladies in their lives so… this is Big!Soft. Don’t hate.

On Ao3

A Bit of a Stretch 

It goes like this. 

Three months ago, a yoga mat shows up in the car. It’s purple (her favorite color), and Elizabeth probably thought it inconspicuous, neatly rolled up and tucked away in the back. But Rio’s only gotten to where he is in life because he’s got a meticulous handle on the details. So he notices, and it makes him pause -- the reminder of who he is these days. 

And he likes to think he’s a smart guy, evolved and shit. But, he’s got to admit he likes the thought of it -- his girl, Aphrodite trapped in suburbia (or was it Athena?), rolling up in the Wagon to some bougie yoga studio. Elizabeth would swing ‘round the back to grab her mat, doing that walk she does when she’s feeling herself as the other PTA chicks�� jaws drop. He likes the security of his second pair of keys in her hands, on her keychain. 

What did it say about Elizabeth’s hold on him that he fuckin’ delights in this daydreaming? 

And it’s complicated -- ‘cause on one hand, when did he become this guy? Actually, he knows. Three years, eight months, and two days ago. He’s not overly-obsessed with his relationship or anything, but a counter runs in his mind -- how long he’s been with her. So much so that he’s been thinking of getting the date of when she robbed him (the first time) on the inside of his wrist, a complement to the bracelets she’d bestowed him, to drag out as A Move during sex or to embarrass her in front of her friends. 

And on the other hand, it’s like...  damn, it’s been too long since they fucked in the car. 

They cohabitate now -- them and all their kids. They still had an absurd amount of sex in public places (and shit, since when had that been his kink?). He still takes great delight in pushing all her buttons and getting her to unspool around his cock, on his mouth, and in his arms. 

But, they were a lil’ calmer now, less feral. They had partially domesticated what this was and had fun in doing so. They shared a bed now, were crate-trained as it were. 

She and hers are his family. 

But, fuck, he’d been a strict no-strings-attached, hit-it-and-quit-it type of dude for years -- all of his adult life. It was what came with his job. 

He had tried to do his best by Rhea when he had gotten her knocked up. But, looking back on it, the exercise had been doomed. When Marcus was born, Rio was in his late 20s rocketing to the top of the food chain. It had been a time when all he could do was keep his head down and do the work -- running in the streets, scheming, consolidating power, and ultimately, he had to make a choice. 

Was he going to be a boss, a father, or a husband? To be honest, he only had time for one, but he did his best to make fatherhood fit. 

It’s what it was all for in the end, right? 

And yet, somehow despite all and many odds, here he was toting Elizabeth’s yoga mat around in his car. Mick rolls his eyes when he sees it, and there’s the typical jokes about being pussy-whipped and what not. But, yeah -- he loves her. At this point, he can’t really deny it. So, he laughs along with Mick’s jokes, and then sends him to chauffeur their million kids around, just to make sure he knows what's what.

Anyway, after a few weeks, Rio comes home from the gym and finds her practicing alone in the house, the kids scattered to their other respective households. Elizabeth’s got a video going on her phone, and her back is arched in a way he’s only ever seen in bed and she has to realize is provocative. But, she eyes him, self-conscious and with old defensiveness, as she twists into a few shapes. 

He tries to keep it chill, knows about the residual feelings she carries about her body (and Christ, he can’t believe he’s only had the opportunity to shoot her ex-husband once, he should have taken his own advice and emptied the fucking clip). So he settles close to her with his battered copy of Edith Hamilton’s Mythology from highschool that he’s been trying to get back into, and steals glances at her over the pages. 

He skims the pages on Athena and then Aphrodite, and he likes the hyperbole of each but neither quite fit. 

He eventually comes back to Artemis. 

And, yeah, maybe.

He looks up at Elizabeth again and admires her form. He admires her strength -- that reedy cord of tenacity he’s admired for so long making itself more visible through the facade of soft as she finds new ways to hold herself up and get herself stronger.  Her hair keeps falling into her face and he itches to crawl on the mat with her and pull it out of her face. 

She’s fucking gorgeous.

As she continues, Elizabeth notices him watching, and she starts to get a little playful. Eventually, he lures her off the mat and onto his lap.

Yoga becomes part of her routine on the days she doesn’t feel like driving into the studio. And he gets it. He’s always turned to grounding himself in his body when he’s needed to work through things. His first love had been basketball, soccer while on family vacations (and only with his cousins from Tamaulipas). In high school, it was track, and he still loves running, but with Detroit winters he’s mostly moved on to boxing and tennis. Never yoga, though. 

And yeah, he has some reservations, and yeah, it makes him feel their differences. He’s a tad judgemental about the white-owned yoga studios gentrifying the fuck out of his city. Blocks he grew up running in Detroit-propper suddenly got white people eyein’ up his tats and clutching their wallets. And shit, when has yoga ever been for guys like him? 

But, life increasingly becomes more complicated. 

He can still like that E’s found something that’s for her and he likes the peace it brings her. He appreciates the way it unknots her shoulders, the particular vibe it gives their day afterward when she’s able to let go of some of that stress she carries. He tries to complement it by eating her out and that special type of really good sex that comes from whatever alchemy is between their bodies. And yeah, he likes the headspace it gets her in, how it shifts the way she approaches their work, and the new depth it adds to the way they touch each other when sex isn’t her only form of therapy. 

So when she gets a water bottle with the yoga studio’s branding, Rio teases her a bit but he encourages her to go for the membership. Naturally, E being E, it don’t take her long to make nice with the owners. And then Elizabeth comes home excited about how she had just committed to doing a run of the studio’s promotional swag at the store. He and Elizabeth end up with a postcard on their fridge, a color photo of the studio’s abstract mural. The other side has text that advertises an event line up at the studio that includes a fucking “gong-bath”. It takes him a week to let it go. 

Actually, he hasn’t. He still brings it up.

But, then a second yoga mat appears -- a green one -- tucked away in the spare bedroom, mostly hidden under some of her crafting materials. He finds it, wonders for a split second why she needs two and has an answering inkling of where this might be going. 

The next day, a lil’ custom print for a “partners” yoga event gets pinned next to the first postcard on the fridge. 

And like... he loves her and all. But, does it really go that deep?

Rio pauses in front of the fridge, sipping his tea and staring at the picture of a white dude balancing presumably his Black girlfriend in a pose above his head. His eyes track to where Elizabeth sits in the other room knitting and watching the latest episode of her British baking show (he has half the mind to submit her name to the American spin-off). Considering what she’s up to, she sits with her back a lil’ too straight (on edge one might say) clearly waiting for a comment or for him to show her some grace.

And…

Nope. He’s not going to make it that easy for her. 

To her credit, after her episode is done, Elizabeth FaceTimes Ruby and asks her first. Then, as if to make a point that she’s rounding out her bases, she calls her sister. And it’s true that Marks’ sisters’ relationship is as close as it's ever been -- their family criming has forced Elizabeth to trust her sister with her life. But, damn, if he knows she don’t trust Annie to do anything remotely acrobatic, much less cartwheel Elizabeth into the air. 

He settles at the island in their kitchen with his tea and his work. She’s got the call on speaker in the other room, when Annie asks, “And gang boo?” 

“What about him?” 

Rio scoffs loud enough to be heard in the other room.  

“Why doesn’t he go with you?” 

E pauses, probably fiddling with the strand of her knitting yarn on the couch behind him. “It just doesn’t really seem like his thing?”

Annie snorts. “Have you asked him?”

“No,” Elizabeth sighs into the phone, as if she isn’t a few paces away, having a very audible conversation. 

“Don’t people usually go with their SO’s to these things? I mean I appreciate that you think I have the upper body strength for this, but you have to know that I will never in my life be able to do a push-up.”

“It was just a thought--” 

Annie continues, stuck mid-rant, “And, like there’s no way I can be your counterweight. You have so much more body than me. We’re like completely different proportions. ” 

“Well, so are me and Christopher.” 

“Yeah, but Christopher actually has body strength. Lots of it. “ Annie retorts. “And he’s going to love you sweaty, and sticking your butt up into the air, bendy and wearing tight clothing--”

He bites at his bottom lip and supposes yeah, he could try it once. 

“Okay, fine! I’ll ask him.”

Rio waits for her to come to him as he tries to make headway on his accounting. But, E doesn’t show. 

Instead, it comes later -- when they’re in bed. She’s being extra-nice, extra-smiley, and charming, cracking jokes and making him laugh. He hates it except he also loves it -- when she thinks she can get the drop on him like her dumb ass ex-husband. Except, unfortunately for Rio, she really does know her target. 

She waits until right after she blows him to ask. 

Elizabeth crawls up his spent, panting body, and pins him with hers. She kisses him hotly with her mouth that tastes like his come and he fucking loves when she does that. Then, she retreats to bite playfully at his chin and asks if he’s seen the flyer on the refrigerator.

And he gives her a little shit about it but…

He admires the strategy

------

The couple's yoga class is on a Saturday morning.

It’s the middle of March, and he’s fucking over winter. Detroit, so far from Mexico and so close to being the fucking North Pole. 

The temperature means he’s got to get bundled up in sweats, put on his damn parka and snow boots, all to take it back off again when he gets there. Apparently, the studio is heated perennially at 90 degrees. He don’t know how Elizabeth handles it, she’s so bothered by heat. He complains to her, and she reminds him that this is just like when he goes to the gym on his own. Except this time, they’re doing something together. And she’s being all shy in a way she usually isn’t any more around him and she’s fuckin’ happy he’s coming with her. 

The night before she had presented the green mat to him. He had said “Thank you” como su mamá lo enseño, and committed to stepping outside of his comfort zone. 

“Show me how this goes, darlin’?” 

Elizabeth had swelled up with the thrill of explaining something to him, and launched into it, “Yoga’s basis is breathing…” 

She had given him the low-down and gotten him started in the basic poses. He liked her hands, soft, and prim and careful, pushing and pulling at him and adjusting his posture. He had ended up fucking her on the mat -- as a proper thank you and to give her a little something to think about in class tomorrow as they contort their bodies in a way she’s adamant is not meant to be sexual. 

And he’s not trying to be a dick or ruin the day for her, but he’s dragging his feet a little bit. He don’t really want to be spending his morning off, kid-less, in a room focusing on his breathing surrounded by crunchy, white gentrifiers. 

And he might be simmering a choice comment about how it’s ironic that she wants him to focus on his breathing after she was the one who fucking shot him in the lung that one time...

But, he knows she’s not thinking of it like that and he knows if he just told it to her she’d get it. But, he don’t want to make it all about him and the struggle... and he’s rich now ain’t he? And Elizabeth’s excited to have him with her while she does her thing, excited to show him off -- and that gives him enough energy to walk through the door, green mat under one arm, and her hand in his. 

Immediately, they’re ensconced in a wave of warmth as they step into the heated studio, and there’s an earthy smell hitting him strong. He zeroes in on the incense lit at the check-in counter and Rio’s nose wrinkles in distaste on its own accord. 

Elizabeth squeezes her hand, in a silent reprimand. Behave. Then, she moves around the counter to hug some of the people hanging out back there.

There’s a flurry of introductions, a Bridgid, a Cassandra, Bryce, Patsy, and Tiffany. Tiffany is Black and he thinks Cassandra could be Latina… He ain’t sure. They’re all revealed to be instructors or staff of some kind and E seems to be chummy with all of them. He knows Tiffany is her favorite and will move heaven and hell (and their fucking drop schedule) to make it to class with her. 

He isn’t sure exactly why so many of them are but apparently, they like to hang out here? His palms itch and he feels the sweat start to drip under his thick jacket. 

E starts to pull off her winter clothes, as she lingers in conversation with Tiffany, asking her about her husband and how Tiffany’s weight training is going. He blinks at his girl and the shit she can pull out of her repertoire.  

“I’m so glad you get to finally meet Christopher.” 

Tiffany turns to smile wide at him. “Beth has made so much progress in the past few months.” 

“It’s nice to meet you,” and she’s got a friendly vibe so he tries to dial up the charm. Smiling, and playing the proper beau, “She talks about y’all all the time.” 

Behind them, he clocks that instructor, Brad or Bryce, checking out Elizabeth’s ass when she ain’t looking. And sure he’s about Rio’s height and got some definition on his abs, but his jaw’s too square like it’s never taken a hit, his muscles never used in a fight. 

Rio snags the eyes of some chicks looking at him a little too eager. Damn, it’s Saturday morning and these people need to chill. 

And he rolls his eyes, tsking, then steps closer and loops a hand around Elizabeth’s waist, drops it down to her ass for a moment. He makes a show of leaving a kiss against her temple and then he bounds towards the cubbies, ready to shed some clothes. His jacket is about to kill him. 

As he peels off of the layers, he looks around, and okay -- it’s not as white as he worried it was. There’s other POC settling in for the class, at least one other interracial couple, too. And that Cassandra chick’s sweatshirt says “Chingona AF’ on the back. She’s the same shade of light brown as him, a mid-30s willowy mujer with a queer buzzcut.

He loosens up a bit and settles into the space. This heated shit is nice.

A few moments later, Elizabeth joins him and after they’re done tucking their stuff away, she draws him over to her favorite corner. They roll out their mats -- purple and green -- side-by-side. 

They settle on their respective mats and Rio takes the opportunity to give Elizabeth the same once over that asshole did. Her ass really does look great in those pants and she could fill out any shirt. Her eyes linger over him too, tracing his skin, the bar tattoos peeking out from under his t-shirt that she’s seen a million times and then her eyes meet his and she gives him that small, crooked lil’ smile. 

He’s not one for religion, but every so often he takes his mom to Spanish mass. All the viejitos and pious Catholic types think he’s a banger but his ma’s still excited to show him off. He sits with her in the pew and when the priest asks for the congregation to give thanks to God, he says a prayer for the riches that have come to him, the health and brilliance of his son, the vitality of the other little ones in his life now, and Elizabeth. And when he thinks of her in those moments, he sees her in his mind’s eye with this exact look on her face. 

And to top it all off, the 90-degree heat is already working some kind of magic on the knot he’s been trying to get out of his shoulder for the past two weeks. 

He smiles back at her. 

“This shit is dope.” 

“Yeah?” 

He shrugs, playful. “I like the heat.”

She scoffs, still smiling, “Of course, you do. I thought I was going to pass out the first time I came.” He laughs and tallies a point. He called it. E shakes her head, “I had never sweat so much in my life.”  

And it goes like that. 

Right as class starts, a white guy with dreads and his skinny, blond girlfriend settle in the space next to them. The white dude turns to nod in acknowledgment, but his eyes drop down to take the ink at Rio’s throat. He tries to be subtle about it but he and the girl scoot a few inches away. 

And he ain’t even seen all the old bullet wounds yet. 

Rio turns to look at Beth. She’s also staring at the couple, her mouth settled in a thin line. 

Then she meets his gaze. 

One of the instructors starts calling the group in, welcoming them to class, and Elizabeth takes the last opportunity to gently careen into his side, and kiss him deeply. 

Then she's back on her mat, listening attentively to the instructor like she didn’t just start some shit.  

And yeah-- he and Elizabeth are different. They move through space differently, and she has access to things he never will no matter all the gems, rubies and diamonds, Mercedes and stacks he adds to his hoard of wealth, And Rio has wondered, worried, if there will ever be a day when they look at each other and decide they don’t fit anymore. 

But, damn if she don’t make him feel alive like nothing else. 

So as the instructor has them sit back-to-back and leads them through an opening meditation. It’s corny as shit and formal meditation is not really his thing, always having relied on sports (and fights and hits) as a substitute in the past. 

But, he tries to settle here, in this room warm like a blanket, next to Elizabeth.

The class itself is pretty fun. The instructors are hands-on, demonstrating, and walking them through everything. It’s easy enough to pick up with them (and Elizabeth) giving him adjustments, and he likes the excuse to get his hands on her in a different kind of way. 

He helps Elizabeth through some inversions, smirking down at her with this particular view of her cleavage. She gets a few, sneaky passes at him, and he don’t know who she thinks she’s fooling surrounded by a room of people, and a whole team of instructors circling them. 

In one particularly nice sequence, Rio curls down into the mat in the child’s pose, Elizabeth had shown him as she stretches on top of him, her whole weight settling along him like a cocoon. 

Damn, he’s going to make them take another class like this ain’t he? 

The class eventually shifts into what the teachers call aerials.

He lays on his back and lofting E up into the air over him. It takes a little finagling to fully adjust to the distribution of her weight, she’s obviously top-heavy. He stares up at her -- her gorgeous, sweaty face smiling down at him -- and looks over the particular arc of her cleavage. And despite how much time he spends palming at Elizabeth’s tits, he underestimates how much they must hurt her back.

No wonder she needs this shit.  

‘Course that’s when Bryce or Blake comes over to “check on their form” and is this guy really going to try to check out his girl’s ass again? Right, the fuck now? 

Blake/Bryce pushes at Elizabeth’s shoulders trying to adjust her position and she maintains very apologetic eye contact with Rio. Huh. So, she’s aware. 

Then, It all happens real fast. Her balance shifts and her hand, sweaty with the heat, slips across his palm and out of his grasp. 

The realization hits him--  She’s gonna fall.

And for a brief, terrible moment, her face freezes above him skewed with panic and fear, and then, as if in slow motion, she floats closer, down to earth. 

And he knows better. He fucking knows better from all his fucking years of boxing, the previously-mentioned lifetime of playing sports. But he clenches his damn, fucking jaw just as the crown of her head collides with him.

And there’s a sharp, bolt of pain spearing through his chin.

And in this room, this heated blanket, incense-burning, crunchy, granola room… 

He’s knocked the fuck out.  

-----

Well, then it’s a fucking show. 

In the familiarity of Elizabeth walking into the studio, they hadn’t asked him to sign a liability waiver. Someone procures ice, and he cradles it to his chin as Bryce apologizes and asks if he can call an ambulance. 

For a concussion. 

And he’s pissed the fuck off but it’s still kind of funny? Because the only thing that had ever put him in a hospital had actually been this girl standing next to him (tal pesadilla when she put three slugs in his chest). But, he has to stop laughin’ because it hurts his jaw and they’re all looking at him like he’s nuts. 

Elizabeth grips his free hand like a vice, and he’s nursing a hell of a headache, as he has to swear a million times that he ain’t gonna sue anyone. Then, finally, blessedly, they’re allowed to walk out. 

Elizabeth insists on helping him into the car. Tiffany and Cassandra accompany them, helping Elizabeth carry all of their shit. 

They stand at the curb watching, concern etched on their faces as Elizabeth reverses out of the snowbank and drives off. And Elizabeth drives because he most definitely has a concussion. And she drives them straight to the fucking ER. 

They spend half an hour fighting parked in the lot outside. But, he knows concussions and he knows his limits. 

He convinces her to take him home.

----- 

The first twenty-four hours of the concussion are the most important. He’s not supposed to look at screens, not supposed to work. He knows his shit but Elizabeth reads at least ten internet articles on her phone as she lies in bed curled next to him. 

They spend the childless afternoon with the curtains drawn, lying in their bed, not fucking. 

But, the cuddling is good, too. 

Elizabeth strokes up and down his arm and talks to him about little nothings to keep him company. She periodically gets up to grab him glasses of water and more ice. And this sucks, but all things considered, this might be the nicest concussion he’s ever had. 

Eventually, they wander to the kitchen to figure out food. 

Elizabeth pauses staring vacantly at the fridge. Then her shoulders start to shake, and now he’s wondering if she’s okay. But, her hand raises to unpin the flyer from the fridge and he hears the first snicker.

She turns to him, laughter breaking across her face, pointing to that ridiculous picture. He knows enough now to recognize Tiffany lofted in that showy, stupid af aerial pose. 

He chuckles and then cringes as the pain at his chin flairs.

Elizabeth pouts but is still laughing to herself. She ambles over to him, wraps her arms loosely around his middle, and lays the softest kiss on his chin.

“I’m sorry, Christopher.” 

He shakes his head, just a smidge because movement fucking sucks right now. “It ain’t your fault.” 

“It was my idea.”

“It’s okay.” 

She curls into him, deflating, crumbling the flyer into her fist.  He gingerly rests his head on top of hers. 

“I liked it.” He admits. 

“You did?”

“Yeah.” The smell of her lavender-shampoo drifts into his orbit. “Liked you curled all around me. Liked touching you like that. Gave me some ideas.” 

She nods below him, pulling him tighter. “I liked it, too.” 

“You’ve gotten so strong now, Elizabeth.” He kisses her at her temple. “Maybe next time you should do all the lifting.” 

She pinches him at the ribs. Then, “Next time?”

“I’ll tell you what.” He shifts back to make eye contact with her. “We get to do a whole lot of private practice.” He gives her a look to make it clear exactly what he means -- sex. “Then, we’re gonna go back and make sure Bryce is really sorry, ‘kay? Make sure he knows I’m still around.”

And Elizabeth beams that crooked little smile at him. 

“Okay, but the next time you have to give me your hoodie or something.”

He nods, a smidge but still manages to imbue it with sage, territorial wisdom. “That would help.” 

“Well, I meant more for me to...” She looks at him, eyes darting. “Claim you.”  

I mean he is living for that but he frowns at her. “But, everyone there was a couple.”

Oh. Oh yes. Now he remembers. 

“That doesn’t mean anything.” Elizabeth rolls her eyes. “And I don’t share.” 

Her hand drifts low on his back, then lower to curl a firm grip on his ass in the privacy of this home that they share.

Unfortunately, despite all this time, Elizabeth still doesn’t know when to quit when she’s ahead. 

“Though, honestly, I don’t know why they kept staring at your butt.” She murmurs, sassing him while he’s down. “There’s nothing here.” 

Esta pinche mujer. She’s lucky he loves her. 

Fuckin’ adores her, really.

Damn.  

[skyview-temple-spring]

how do you draw so good? when i try to draw i just get frustrated that it's bad and so i never draw

I know this sounds super cliche, but practice. But! If you don't know how to practice it's really hard to start, which is super frustrating when that's all everyone says about getting better at art, so here's some tips I've picked up from the internet as well as formal art classes!

If you want to get better at digital art, stop doing a traditional sketch and tracing it from a picture. If you have the means to scan, then it works as a sketch layer, but pictures warp the proportions and that's why your sketch looks so different from the digital. Learning to draw digitally from scratch is like learning to all over again, it takes time to mess around with finding programs you like, stylus vs finger, what brushes you like using, etc. Traditional sketches make good reference images, though, so you don't have to stop completely! It's good to be able to draw on a variety of mediums

(Digital) Use reference images as a base layer but don't trace. Draw with the image on the canvas, turn the opacity down super low, and on a new layer draw next to or even over top of the original image, but draw like you were doing it from scratch, not tracing. If you use someone else's drawing you need to credit it but there are a lot of free refs that specifically say they don't require credit, they're made for artists to use for learning

(Both) Lots of sketch lines. So many. I'll reblog with an example, basically you want to use lines to measure distances and angles

(Traditional) The picture you take will never look as good as the original artwork, but you can make it look better by adjusting the camera angle and reducing shadows. I turn all the lights of, put a flashlight under my phone camera so there's no shadow, and move both the camera and light until there's no shine or shadow

(Digital) Learn to use the blending layers on your art program. They make shadows and highlights so much easier

(Digital) Multiple sketch layers. One for a base, another to adjust, another to readjust, another two for lineart.... It's not just layer one sketch layer two lines layer three colors. It helps me to sketch using different colors, so I'd use blue for the head and purple for the shoulders and red for the arms, etc.

You're not going to want to post everything you make. I'd say I share 25% of what I've drawn. You're not going to want to keep everything you post. There's a level of stepping out of your comfort zone that comes with posting. Social media is stacked against artists, but even though likes/reblogs/shares don't equal quality, it hurts when you work hard on something for it to flop. My current most liked piece of "artwork" is ZELDA HOLY FUCK, which took me literal seconds, whereas the Gate of Time which got less than my average... did not. If followers mean a lot to you, then you have to draw them in with comedy, ship art, and/or popular tags and then hit them with your personal favs. this is why there's so much fanart tagged LU that has nothing to do with it, you pretty much can't be a popular Zelda artist on insta without it and consequently why I refuse to draw the au :/

Also! Time and age do not equal experience level. Technically? I've been drawing since I was ten. There are artists out there who have only been drawing for a year and they make hyper realistic portraits. Some people do better at visualizing 3-D objects on a two 2-D plane, and some people are better at creating 2-D objects from scratch ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

This is getting long but I'll reblog with some examples! It helps to actually see what I'm talking about!!

[vee-angel]

Non-consent Nancy (part 2, repost)

(Technically this is part 3, I just posted part 1 and 2 as a single post)

CONTENT WARNING: This story focuses on a lesbian black woman who fetishizes rape, misogyny, racism, and abuse. This section briefly checks in with her recently raped Jewish friend, but the bulk of this section will focus on Nancy violently abusing and raping a young female-to-male transgender person.

And if you happen to be the type of person who might feel bad about getting off to a hate-crime (or you’re just a decent person who enjoys indecent erotica), consider donating to Trans Lifeline at translifeline.org

(Part of the Pervert Pentet Series)

Chapter 1, part 3

Nancy got a warm, fuzzy feeling when a mutual friend texted her saying that Hannah had been attacked and was presently being treated for her injuries at the hospital. She rushed out the door, eager to see the damage inflicted on her close friend.

She headed to a room on the second floor after a brief consultation with the hospital receptionist,  Entering, she saw Hannah sitting in the bed; her spirit broken and so was her beak-like nose. The normally large protrusion that jutted from the center of her face was now swollen to even more ridiculous proportions. Nancy couldn’t help but let a laugh escape from her throat, but quickly stifled it, putting her hands to her face and passing it off as a cry of horror.

Hoping to add to her pain just a little bit more, Nancy rushed to her side and flung her arms around the little kike, squeezing her face tightly against her large breasts. She twitched and pulled away, obviously in pain.

“Oh, I’m so sorry. I should have realized you’re not really touchable.” Nancy was proud that even now, she could drop subtle, subconscious jabs showing how repellent she thought Hannah was. “What happened, Hannah??”

“Somebody posted my pictures online. The ones I sent to you.” Her voice was even more whiny than normal; she sat hunched, staring down at her knees. “I don’t know how they got them, but they were giving out my address, too!” She began to weep. “Someone was pretending to be me, saying that I wanted to be… That I wanted this to happen. What’d I do, Nancy? I never did anything to anybody that would make them want to hurt me like this!” The sobs escalated to an ugly bawling.

Nancy sat, pulling her face into an expression of concern. She handed a tissue box to Hannah. “People will hate you no matter what you do. Some people just get off on hurting the weak. There’s not much you can do about that fact.”

Everyone hates you, you’re weak, you should give up hope; Somehow Nancy had managed to word those sentiments as though they were aimed to comfort.

After a few more moments of Hannah wiping the tears from her twisted, squealing Jew face, she turned back to Nancy, “I really appreciate you being here for me.”

“Of course! You’re one of my best friends. If you ever need to talk about what happened, I want you to know that I’m here for you, day or night.”

The two women spoke a few minutes longer, until Nancy elected to leave to make room for Hannah’s family, who had just arrived. She certainly didn’t want to get trapped in a room reeking so strongly of kikes.

She attended classes until late afternoon, at which time she popped over to her apartment to pick up the spy-cameras she’d had overnighted, then went back to the rape-crisis center hoping that Darla would return. She didn’t, but at least Nancy got some practice secretly surveilling some of the girls that came in.

That evening, she began to feel antsy. After all the delights she’d had the luck to witness in the last few days, she was starting to feel restless. She needed someone to rape.

She had a dating app in her phone that she’d set up under a fake name. She scanned through the few women who’d messaged or admired her, none of them were especially appealing. She decided to look at the males, thinking that maybe she could rape-bait one of them into assaulting her; it wasn’t exactly what she wanted, but then again, the wants of a man, especially a would-be rapist, would always surmount hers.

That’s when she saw it. A little cuntboy who called itself Angelo. If this thing thought it passed for male, it was sorely mistaken. She scanned the confused dyke’s profile and found the term “f2m” hidden at the bottom. Based on the message she’d sent Nancy, it seemed the desperate little twat was a little girl-crazy.

Nancy had a plan. She wrote back to Angelo, saying how handsome ‘he’ was, and how she’d love for them to get together soon.

The next evening, Nancy made her way to the restaurant that Angelo had picked out for them. The tranny cuntboy was already waiting on a bench out front. It sheepishly stood and introduced itself with a voice awkwardly forced into a lower register, then gave a quick, awkward hug before beckoning Nancy to join it inside.

A few inches shorter than Nancy’s statuesque frame, dirty blond hair cut short and neatly parted at the side, freckled cheeks beneath green eyes, and rather stylishly dressed; a white button-down shirt whose top two buttons were flirtatiously undone beneath a charcoal suit that actually managed to fit over the freak’s boyish frame. Angelo was just her type, not that Nancy would admit to the attraction.

Nancy had leaned into her femme side. A short, flowy, scarlet dress adorned her dark-chocolate skin, accessorized with a layered gold necklace and a druzy ring carved from a single piece of amethyst.

Angelo seemed eager to please, though just slightly on the timid side. Nancy laughed at “his” jokes, touched “his” hand from across the table, and looked down with a demure smile each time their eye contact lingered. She hoped her flirtations would speed the evening along.

Less than ninety minutes later they were walking into Angelo’s third-floor studio apartment. The room was tidy, with a muted color scheme and modern decor seemingly devoid of a woman’s touch. With a giggle, Nancy was upon the little cuntboy as soon as the door closed behind them, pushing it invitingly toward the bed centered against the rear wall of the room.

“Hang on a second.” it said.

Angelo stood, taking a zippo lighter from the bedside table, and lit a series of scented candles organized neatly around the room. It then hung up its coat and laid on the bed. Nancy crawled on top, her toothy smile ravenous with a hunger for what was to come.

Nancy kissed the dysphoric dyke hungrily, her hands frantically kneading across the flesh, moving downward until she felt a large silicone cock-and-balls that cuntboys like Angelo sometimes wore inside their underwear to play at being real men. She let out a little squeal of delight, pretending to believe that the thing in Angelo’s underwear was its own and not some dress-up toy ordered from an online costume shop for freaks.

She moved downward, gingerly unfastening the button of the slacks and pulling down the zipper. She stood briefly to yank the pants off with dramatic flair before playfully hopping back onto the bed, Angelo’s feet straddled between her knees.

“Wow,” Angelo said, almost breathless at Nancy’s forceful passion. It reached toward a drawer at the bedside table, “Let me get the, uhh, ya know.”

“Mmm, of course. I bet you need the magnum size.” She said, rubbing the front of Angelo’s grey boxer-briefs. She dipped her fingers into the waistband and pulled down as her face descended.

Then suddenly her expression changed. “What the fuck is this?” she demanded as she seized the realistic silicone genitals and held them accusingly above Angelo’s suddenly confused face.

Nancy threw the fake cock forcefully onto the bed and yanked the boxer-briefs down to the knees. “Oh my god! You’re a fucking girl?!?” She shouted, her lips curling in disgust at the last word.

Angelo sat up, her hands darting to her underwear to re-dress herself, Nancy responded by slapping her hard across the face. Angelo looked scared, and helpless. “You lied to me, you tranny cuntboy freak!” Nancy spat the words at her, before literally spitting in her cowering face.

“Please don’t call me that!” Her voice was cracking.

Angelo yanked her feet out from under Nancy and crawled off the bed, pulling her underpants up in the process. He wiped Nancy’s saliva from her eye and tried to compose herself. With still panicked breathing, she pointed at the door and tried to sound authoritative. “You need to leave right now.” she was actually shaking, “Get the fuck out of my house.”

While Nancy hated the ghetto-monkey dialect she had grown up hearing, she found it useful when the occasion arose that she needed to assert a sort of primal authority. Still, she couldn’t help but speak with her erudite style of slow enunciation and clearly articulated consonants, “You had best get that base out of your voice before I shove that fake cock up your bitch-ass, you tranny, cuntboy motherfucker.” Nancy took slow, menacing steps toward her as she spoke. Angelo retreated.

“That’s it, I’m calling the police!” She hurried over to the slacks that had been tossed across the room, squatting down to reach into the pocket. At that moment, Nancy threw a meticulously practiced roundhouse kick that caught the little girl-faggot just below the ear. Angelo was left slowly writhing, half-conscious on the slate tile floor.

“I told you what was going to happen, didn’t I, cuntboy?” Nancy reached down and raked her fingers through Angelo’s dark blonde hair before her fingers formed into a fist; dragging her by her hair, she forced her back onto the bed before yanking her boxer-briefs down and off in several successive, violent motions. She continued holding the tranny face-down by her scalp with one hand while she grabbed the fake cock with the other. She drove her knee into the cuntboy’s ass to spread it wide enough to expose her tight, pink asshole. When she began stuffing the soft rubber cock into her, Angelo seemed to regain her senses. She started thrashing, but Nancy overpowered her and began shoving even harder.

“No! No please! You’re hurting me!” Angelo tearfully cried out as Nancy’s french manicure scraped against her anus with each push. Nancy smiled with satisfaction as the confused boy-girl begged for the violation to stop.

After several agonizing seconds, Nancy had finally stuffed the last of Angelo’s packer up her ass. She released her victim and stood back to take in the sight of the broken bitch. “Flip over and show me your pussy.”

The little cuntboy closed her eyes tightly, as if trying to block out the world. Nancy grabbed her hair again, yanking her to her feet. She punched the girl hard in the face twice, the crystalline points of the amethyst druzy ring leaving deep wounds that would heal into permanent scars across her freckled cheeks.

“Lay down and spread your legs!” Nancy commanded. The terrified girl finally complied, blood dripping from her wounded face. The sound of whimpering providing soundtrack for the sight of the pink cunt, adorned with a neatly trimmed layer of wispy blonde fuzz.

“That’s fucking disgusting. If you don’t even know how to shave a pussy, than you don’t deserve one.” Nancy stomped over to the night-stand to grab the zippo lighter, then returned to the foot of the bed, pinning Angelo’s legs wide against the mattress with her knees. This ensured that the tranny wouldn’t be able to close her legs as she flipped open the lighter and ignited the flame. Angelo looked down in horror as Nancy brought the flame against her sensitive, pink cunt.

The bitter smell of burning hair filled the room as the boy-pussy went aflame. A panicking Angelo tried to sit up, but was met with Nancy’s strong, steely fingers clamping around her windpipe and pinning her to the bed. The pathetic twat thrashed frantically, she didn’t know whether to try to snuff the fire that was blistering the skin of her labia, or rip away the vice-like grip that was crushing her throat. In the end, she succeeded at neither.

The fire, thankfully for Angelo, went out after several seconds. The skin of her vulva was left bright red, with various round spots of white where the damaged skin was beginning to form blisters. “You know, if you just wore a skirt and shaved you cunt like a good girl, I wouldn’t have to do this for you. But you’re too fucked in the head to do that, aren’t you?”

Nancy released her throat, the tranny cuntboy had a coughing fit. Her legs were still pinned open, driven painfully wide by the pointed knees driven into the nerve-laden tissue of her inner thighs. She finally took a few gasping breaths as she realized that Nancy was still holding the burning lighter.

“I’m doing this to help you get better, you know. You’re probably going to be tempted to try to turn that little clit of yours into a full fledged dicklet sooner or later, so…” she paused for just a moment to forcefully blow out the flame of the zippo, leaving only the glow of hot-red metal where the flame had been, “let me remove the temptation.”

She drove the hot metal firmly against Angelo’s skin. She screamed as her clit turned to smoke; Nancy muffled the screaming, pressing her hand over the girl’s mouth. Even the half-silenced shriek was almost loud enough to drown out the wet, popping sound of boiling skin.

A few seconds later, she pulled the hot metal away, having left most of its heat in Angelo’s destroyed clitoris. Little bits of burnt flesh snapped off and stuck to the lighter. Upon examining the wound, she was satisfied to see a rectangular reddish-pink pit where the flesh had been, shiny-wet inside and wreathed with ragged black edges.

The toned, statuesque rapist needed to take a moment to catch her breath; they both did. She stood, closing the lighter and tossing it on the bed. She took a brief moment to stretch while she listened to the frantic screaming sobs as Angelo clutched her devastated genitalia. Nancy looked down with a smile to see the fake rubber penis peeking out of her asshole as she heaved with tears.

She had almost forgotten about that! She pinched the soft rubber tip and yanked the full mass out of the boycunt’s twitching asshole. Almost reflexively, Angelo seemed to reach out for it like a toddler who’s favorite toy was just stolen away. She watched as Nancy held the phony organ at arms length and walked over the the adjoining kitchen. There was a brief pause in the sobbing as Angelo tried to divine Nancy’s intention. A new wave of disbelieving shock came over her as she watched the piece that defined her identity dropped into the sink drain and Nancy’s finger moved swiftly toward the switch of the garbage disposal.

“NO! PLEASE!!!” She screamed like a little girl watching her teddy bear being eviscerated. Her voice was soon drowned out by the grinding sound as the only intact set of genitals she had left was turned into mangled rubbery slivers by the spinning metal blades.

“For someone who thinks they’re a boy, you sure cry like a little girl!” Nancy snapped.

The broken bitch-boy managed to whimper out “I’m sorry.”

“You’re sorry? Sorry for lying to me, sorry for being a fucking pervert, or are you just a sorry piece of shit?” Nancy spat the words as an accusation.

“I’m so-oo-orry! Plee-heease! Please… just leave me alone.” Angelo barely managed to articulate the plea through the tears that streamed down her bloodied and battered face.

“You want me to leave?? I thought you wanted to get laid, you pathetic little dyke. What, am I suddenly not pretty enough for you anymore?”

“Why are you doing this to meee?”

Nancy rolled her eyes, “Okay, fine. You’re little pity-party worked. I’ll fuck you, you don’t need to beg.”

Angelo looked confused as Nancy advanced. She scrambled backward on the bed, leaving crumpled piles of sheets in her wake. Nancy grabbed her ankles and dragged her down forcefully before hopping onto the bed herself; her dense, muscular form crushing little Angelo beneath it. She began kissing the girl, tasting the salty combination of blood and tears as Angelo clenched her lips and eyes tightly. Undeterred, Nancy reached down and forced two fingers into the mutilated cunt below. Angelo twitched in fresh pain as she was roughly finger-raped. Kissing her way down the cuntboy’s neck and chest, she arrived once again at the mutilated pussy. From this angle she had the leverage to properly fist-rape the little tranny.

She added two more fingers roughly inside and began pushing. Angelo twitched violently at the painful new violation. Nancy encountered resistance when her bulky druzy ring pushed against the back edge of her hole.

“You’re ring! Please take off your ring!” Angelo regained her senses just enough to make the seemingly reasonable request not to be fisted by sharp points of rock. Unfortunately, Nancy didn’t feel very reasonable at the moment.

The fingers were roughly withdrawn, but only so Nancy could take a firm jab at Angelo’s mouth, splitting her lip and shattering a few of her teeth with the pointed formations of amethyst. “Don’t you dare tell me what to do, faggot!” She jammed her hand back up the girl’s burned and blistered vagina, her ring slowly scraping its way inside of her with a series of sudden violent thrusts. Angelo began screaming again as Nancy buried her hand wrist-deep inside of her.

“If you don’t shut the fuck up, I’m going to slit your throat.”

Angelo quickly grabbed a pillow to scream into as Nancy resumed her violent assault on her cervix. She punched in and out, making sure to bruise and scrape every inner surface with the crystal shards she wore as jewelry. After a few minutes of vigorous thrusting, she heard the dyke-faggot’s voice give out. She withdrew her hand, now slick with crimson blood whose hue was deepened upon her chocolate colored skin.

She looked down at Angelo, still pouring tears and blood and snot into the pillow and asked, “Well? I need to get off, too. Come here and lick my pussy.” She lifted the front of her blood-red dress, the wet streaks on her hand leaving barely noticeable stains. Beneath was a form-fitting pair of white cotton panties.

“I said lick my pussy, Angelo.” She demanded with a sneer.

The defeated form slowly dropped down from the bed, walking on her knees over to where Nancy stood, waiting. Nancy dipped a finger down and pulled her underwear aside, revealing the firm, flawless skin of her coffee colored labia.

Angelo opened her mouth and hesitantly moved it toward the neatly formed, feminine flower. Just before her tongue made contact, Nancy shot a stream of pale-yellow piss straight down Angelo’s throat. She began to cough and turned away.

Nancy grabbed her head angrily with both hands, “Don’t you dare turn away!” She forced the tomboy’s face back into the path of her urine. “Open your eyes! Open your fucking eyes!” She pried her date’s eyes open and shot salty piss straight across the green irises. When she was finally done using Angelo’s face as a urinal, she threw her onto the cold tile floor and gave her a couple of firm kicks in the torso.

Finally satisfied, she looked down at the sad, tormented form. She listened to the small, heaving tears of the thoroughly raped woman at her feet, her ragged voice periodically went silent. It was as if she was having a conversation with some unseen entity, and responding only in the language of weary sobs.

Nancy smiled, “Thanks for buying me dinner, Angelo. I had a great time tonight.”

With that, she left.

[surveys-at-your-service]

Survey #323

“dehumanized upon a shell  /  we came to bleed it dry  /  obsessed with divine wealth  /  divide and multiply”

Have you ever drawn on someone’s face while they were sleeping? No. Would you scuba dive in shark infested waters if you had the chance? No thanks. What is your favorite slow song? There are so many, but one of the slowest and most beloved of mine is "Obstacles" by Syd Matters. It gives me goosebumps without fail. It's one song I know I want at my hypothetical wedding. If there were aliens on earth, would you be afraid? I mean, yeah. I'd want to know their intentions. If your best friend died, would you be able to speak at their funeral? It'd be extremely difficult, but if I had any say in it, I absolutely would. Do you enjoy going through old pictures? Sometimes. Other times it causes too much pain, depending on the pictures, of course. Do you tend to have a lot of drama in your life? Definitely not. My life is painfully uneventful. When’s the last time someone was disappointed in you? I don't know. Do you have a house phone? No. Which fast food place do you eat at the most? McDonald's. Have you ever met someone on the Internet in real life? Yep. What’s your favorite color to wear? Black. Do you like being in pictures? No. Do you travel a lot? Essentially never, even though I'd love to. Do you play any sports? No. Do you like pickles? Yesssss. How many times have you been kicked out of a store? Never. Is there things you’ve told someone that you’ve NEVER told anyone else? Probably. When was the last time you had alcohol? My birthday dinner last month. Are you one to often make typos? No, except when I'm texting. I have autocorrect on for a reason. On a hot day, would you rather prefer ice cream or a popsicle? Ice cream. Have you ever wanted to get drunk and get your mind off everything? Yes, but I just didn't want to drink anymore at one point. I'm far from a lightweight, apparently. Have you played cards recently? No. Is there a band you like with amazing music but a bad vocalist? Mother Mother immediately comes to mind, but not the main singer; he's great. The woman who occasionally joins in is fucking horrendous. Like, it hurts my ears. Is there a certain song you like to headbang to? I don't and never have really headbanged, surprisingly. It's a sure-fire way to make me dizzy. Anything you might be giving up on soon? I hope not... Sometimes I feel like it's time with photography, but I just. Can't. Have you ever captured a moth? I've raised a caterpillar into one before, then of course let it go. Is there a band/artist who has strange lyrics but you love them anyway? Otep, noteably. When was the last time you wore earrings? It's been a long time. How many pairs of heels do you own? I don't think I have any. When was the last time you changed your picture on Facebook? Uhhhh it's been at the very least a month, but I know more. Would you consider yourself to be physically strong? Absolutely not, especially my legs. I struggle to fucking walk because they're so weak. Have you ever painted a piece of furniture? Yes, actually. I helped Jason paint his shelf black. Do you have a really fat cat? No, we never have. We've always been good about keeping our pets at a healthy weight. Do your initials spell a word? No. When was the last time you went to a playground? A year or so ago when I was taking pictures of someone's son, as well as just general family photos. That same family just had another baby the other day. Have you ever made a business card for yourself? No. Do you have a favorite curse word in a different language? No. Are there any recipes you have memorized? No. Do you know your multipication times tables? Lol not most of them, no... It's been way too long. Do you have a favorite font on the computer? Of the basic ones, probably Garamond. Are you good at creating logos? *shrugs* I've only ever really made my photography watermarks, and I only JUST made one I like pretty well. How about catch phrases? I don't make those. Have you ever been severely burned? Not severely, no. Did you ever dream that you had a baby? I've actually had numerous dreams where I was pregnant, but I don't THINK I've had one where the baby was born yet. Do you or anyone you know have a rabbit? No. What was the weirdest thing you ever saw cross the road? Hm, nothing too weird, I think. Last song you got stuck in your head? "ALTÆR" by 3TEETH. Last song you listened to? ^ Favorite movie quote? I don't know. Maybe Rafiki's quote about the past hurting, but you should take that opportunity to learn. Favorite lyric? That is impossible. There are so, so very many that just like slather me in goosebumps. What magazine are you an avid reader to? None. Have you ever gone a full day without interacting with another person? I have. How many relationships have you been in that lasted less than a year? Four. Have you ever been significantly more physically fit than you are now? Man, take me the hell back to my WiiFit days. I was pretty damn fit. The last time I did it, it was seriously alarming how much I struggled doing things that were once pretty effortless. When growing up, did you parents keep the house very tidy? "Very" seems a bit too much, but Mom definitely kept it in order. How many watches do you own? None. Should teenagers be allowed to have their cell phones with them in class? Yes. Emergencies happen. Do you have any gay relatives? Yes; my mom has a cousin who's gay. Have you unfollowed, deleted, or blocked anyone on social media recently? Not recently, no. If so, what was the reason? ^ What’s the biggest financial mistake you’ve ever made? Oh, y'know, dropping out of college three fucking times. Once I pay my own bills and I truly understand finances, that's going to fucking wreck me. Do you like metal music? Fuuuuuuuuuuuuck yeah. If so, what sub-genres of metal do you like the best? Heavy and symphonic. Who was the last person you sincerely thanked? My mom for bringing home lunch recently. Have you ever been in a relationship where there was a large difference in maturity levels? No. What’s the longest you’ve ever stayed as a guest at someone’s house? Maybe like a month when I was technically homeless? How bad was your acne when you were a teenager? It was preeeetty rough. Do you like strawberry shortcake? No. What’s the last you got out of the freezer? A microwavable breakfast bowl. Do you go on the computer or watch TV more? Guess. Explain why you are single: Because I'm a very, very underdeveloped "adult" that has very little clue what she's doing. At my age, I and any potential partner should want someone with direction. What feature do you usually get most complimented on? My hair. Has anyone ever accused you of being gay? Well, I'm bi. I had this weird therapist once in middle school though who asked if I was a lesbian... Idk why she did? What Facebook groups have you found the most helpful? I'm in an advanced ball python husbandry group, and while a lot of people there are utter, degrading elitists, they do have valuable information. Did you name all of your stuffed animals and dolls? I sure did as a kid. What would you have your bridesmaids wear? Probably black dresses, and I think it'd be really cool if I were to marry a woman, the bridesmaids wear checkered Converses colored into a rainbow pattern, or something like that. Where do you want to go on your honeymoon? I think Alaska, if it was a good time to see the Northern Lights. Are you sick right now? No, thankfully. Do you feel loved? Yes. Do you like your butt? Why or why not? God no. I have such a flat ass. Are you ashamed of your faith? I'm assuming by this you mean religion, in which case, I don't have one and am not ashamed of that. Has anyone ever tried to force their beliefs on you? Yes. Have you ever personally been a victim of homophobia? Again, I'm bisexual. I have never had a personal act of homophobia inflicted upon me, though. Have you ever been accused of being homophobic? Yes, because I was for most of my life. Fucking repulsive to remember. "Repulsive" is much too gentle a word, but yeah. It is so, so embarrassing to recall myself ever believing it was wrong because my then-religion said no-no. Do you think you’d be happier if you had a pet? I have two pets. I would be so, so lonely without any. :/ I've had pets my entire life. Who was the last person you went on a date with? Sara. How long has it been since that last time you went on a date? Like two or so years. Do you think babies are cute? They can be, but I usually don't find them all that cute, honestly. Especially newborns/very young infants. They're usually hideous. My youngest niece is actually the only newborn that I remember seeing that I thought was absolultely precious. What is your favorite style of pants? Ripped skinny jeans. Were you ever hospitalized as a little kid? No. Who was the last person who broke your heart? Jason. ^Do you still miss this person? I'm sure I always will to some degree. Do you have someone to talk to and share your secrets with? Sara more than anyone, but Mom, too. Is there someone you feel extra shy around? Just men in general. Have you been hurt more by friend break-ups or romantic break-ups? Romantic. Closest living thing to you? My snake's terrarium is against the opposite wall. She's in her hide. Would you rather drown or burn alive? Drown. You go unconscious first, so. And I'd assume it to be faster than burning alive. Also me no like hot. :'''( Who is the last person you got really pissed off with? My stepmother posted some ignorant bullshit on Facebook about how people blow out of proportion our "supposed" environmental crisis. I nearly deleted her right then and there. I take that shit seriously. Most of her beliefs drive me insane, honestly, but she's a wonderful person at heart, so I just bit my tongue. Who was the last member of the opposite sex you laid in a bed with? Girt. What type of sushi do you like to eat? Never tried it, don't want to. Was the last person you kissed physically attractive? Yes. Do you have any flowers in your room? No. Do you know anyone that owns horses? Yes. Well, I took pictures for her family, anyway. Do you know anyone who has road rage? Who? Jesus, yes. My little sister. Is your mom a big health freak or your dad? Or neither? Neither are "big" health freaks, especially not Dad when you consider he smokes and knows it'll be what kills him. My mom is diabetic though, so she's reasonably careful. Do you know anyone who wants to be the president one day? No. What kinds of chips are in the cupboards? We don't have any. Ma tries to keep snacks out of the house for both hers and my sake. If you were going out with your celebrity crush, what would you wear? OH BOY idk. I'd probably spend days planning the "perfect" thing. Do you have any friends who have naturally red hair? I do. Have you ever cried when a teacher retired? Yep, my band teacher. He was incredibly loved by literally everyone. Do you have your mom’s or dad’s eyes? Neither's. They both have brown eyes. What’s the best date movie? We gonna have a problem if you don't watch The Notebook w/ me if I have it on lmao. How long has your current best friend been your best friend? Many years now. (: Do you swear and yell while playing video games? I might swear under my breath, but I don't yell. Would you rather name your daughter Andrea or Eva? Andrea. If you were adopted, would you want to know? Yes. Do you know anyone who has grossly skinny eyebrows? I couldn't care less about someone's eyebrows. Do your pets chase after bugs? Oh yes, Roman certainly does. When’s the last time you were so excited you couldn’t sleep? Why? Hmmm... this actually happened recently, but I don't remember why... What is your mom’s favorite movie? I don't know, actually. I think it's some romance one. What TV family reminds you of your own family? None, really. Do you know anyone who always looks perfect? Who? One of my best high school friends Alon was like... just always pristinely beautiful, it seemed like. I haven't seen many pictures of her lately, but I'm sure that hasn't changed. Has anyone you know ever pulled the fire alarm in school, joking around? I think so once, yes. Who was the main character in the last book you read? A dragon named Sunny. Who are the last people you saw kiss? On the lips, I'm sure it woulda been my sister and her husband. Would you rather look at clouds or stars? Clouds, I think. Well, it would depend on their design, I guess, and time of day. When you get married, who will be the maid of honor/best man? Probably my mom. Does your best friend get along with their parents? She has a wonderful relationship with them. Have you ever been in a wedding? What were you? I was the fat, hideous, crying bridesmaid. ;x; Are you purposely hiding something from someone? No. What’s the most intimate thing you’ve discussed with a stranger? My suicide attempt with doctors. What, if anything, do you substitute for fries? I always get fries. Have you ever been in a building that was on fire? No. Are you in an argument with anyone right now? No. Have you ever written a poem for someone? Yes. Who’s the last person who cussed you out in anger? My grandmother. Who is the person you are closest to that you’ve meet online? Sara. Have you friended your parents on FB? Mom, yes. Dad doesn't have one. What’s the last tourist area you visited? Chicago. Mice or roaches? Mice are precious, meanwhile I hate roaches. Did you give or get any Valentines this year? No. Well, Mom bought me and my sisters each a delicious candy apple, if that counts? What’s your homepage? Google. Is there anyone whose grave you visit? No.

[strawberryamanita]

Parker Needler: A Face Case Study

so, i personally really liked the 2019 “Addams Family” movie. i liked the characters, both new and updated; i liked the plot, and even though it was simple and a template i’m still gonna defend it because you don’t have to reinvent the Goddamn wheel everytime you make a kids’ movie; it was funny, it had heart, and the voice-actors were well-cast. i even liked the designs for most of the characters: i was gonna stick to my guns and say that you can’t beat the originals, but Wednesday’s braids ending in little tiny nooses has stolen my heart, and there isn’t a damn thing i can do about it.

there is one design, however, that was just... hard to look at.

i’m not gonna say Parker is “ugly”, because nobody in the movie was designed to be attractive looking. the movie’s design for the Addamses themselves were based off the old Charles Addams comic vignettes they first originated from, and those all had simple lines and exaggerated features. Parker isn’t ugly, not any moreso than any of the other characters; she’s just... i don’t know, her proportions feel squished? she’s got a giant forehead that they didn’t use any of, and stuffed all her features towards the bottom half of her head like an overpacked suitcase.

so, being the impossible-to-please Millennial design snob that i am, i futzed with her proportions a little.

(btw, if her face looks paler than it did in the movie, it’s because i put a solid color over the original picture so i could have a flat base to pop the features on. i didn’t use a liquify tool or anything like that.)

Trial #1

a very simple edit. thinned out her lips, shrunk her nose, brought her eyes and eyebrows up slightly. i like it, personally! she looks like she could finish up on-set with the Addamses and then take a trip to Hotel Transylvania.

Trial #2

if the features weren’t going to spread out to the forehead, i figured i’d just bring the forehead down. i also narrowed the width of her mouth, as opposed to the thickness of her lips. something about those lips, fam...

Trial #3

i personally like Parker’s big, baggy eyes; they look all puffy from how long she spends staring at her phone, which is very fitting. however, again -- everything’s too squished. all i did here was make the eyes taller (kept the width) and brought up the eyebrows. it’s the smallest fix, and yet it still feels at-home with the original movie’s style.

Trial #4

the opposite of what i did above: make the eyes smaller. also brought the mouth closer together again; maybe i don’t like the mouth as big as it is because larger mouths imply a more talkative character, which Parker isn’t.

Trial #5

i genuinely had to stop for a moment and look this one over for an extra second.

that’s just fucking flesh-colored Petunia Rhubarb. God wouldn’t have wanted this.

Trial #6

honestly, this is my favorite one of the bunch. maybe she looks a little too normal for this movie, and maybe she looks like JoJo Who, but the solution really just does feel like making the face feel less claustrophobic. i didn’t change the size of anything on her face, i just moved it up.

and of course, as we all know, if all else fails...

just copy-and-paste what you already have.

[flirting-with-psychology]

[yoliebloop]

Hey bitch, What’s your fucking name? Star, bitch

what color are your nails? They’re not painted

last time you got some ass? A couple weeks ago

do your parents like your style/music choices? My mom likes my music for the most part, and I think they both like my style

ever been verbally abused? No

ever been in a fight? why? Not a physical one

do you believe in God? No

describe your looks? Brown hair, white, glasses, brown eyes, a little above average height, a little overweight, big nose

in 4 words describe your day. My dad's birthday today

when did you last break down? Last night did you take mirror pictures a lot? Not a ton

what do you do before you sleep? Brush teeth

what time do you fall asleep on school nights? I’m done with school but it was like probably 1 or 2 am

one season forever - which one? Fall.

do you use hair products? Just shampoo, conditioner, and detangling spray.

what’s the worst thing about your school? The film program was disappointing

what food do you always have in your house? Eggs

last time you showered? Today

ever seen your parents make out? Maybe when I was little

who was your first kiss? A guy in band

what’s your dream height and weight? I like my height but I wish my legs were more proportional so I wouldn't have to buy short pants or hem them. I'd like to weigh like 30 pounds less

do you put your hair up a lot or down? About half and half

most of the time do you straighten or curl your hair? Neither, but I straightened it when it was short, and I curl it for special events

what do you do when your house loses power? Wait like 10 minutes

what piercing do you hate? I don't really like lip piercings were you raised in a religious house? No

do your parents get mad when your on the computer for hours? Not mad, but annoyed

what kind of iPod do you have? I had an ipod nano

have you ever been asked for a nude picture? Yes

what’s your favorite thing about your crush/bf/gf? His sense of humor

what’s the worst thing? He lied at the beginning of the relationship so it's hard to really 100% trust him

ever been so scared you pissed? No

can you watch scary movies at night and not be scared? Not really

would you rather be held or kissed? can’t have both pick one! Held

do you use a watch or a cell phone? Phone

last reason you got your cell taken away? I don't think I've ever had it taken away. When I was in high school I had a flip phone and it was never what I got grounded from

When you cry is it usually hard to breathe? A little

what song can bring you down? There's a couple about growing up that kinda get me

On rainy days what are you mostly doing? The usual, or moping

Do you listen to sad music when your upset? Yes

Has anyone laughed in your face when your crying? No

If you get the chance to kill your enemy, would you? I don’t have an enemy

if your in a hurry how do you do your hair? Down or ponytail

Style?(classy,trashy,goth) Comfy, creative, or fancy

What’s your current dream job Something creative but steady that pays well (the goddamn unicorn of jobs apparently)

what song is always playing on your iPod/stereo? Taylor Swift or showtunes

when you cry can you speak clearly? No

What would you do if your parent hit you? Idk, probably tell my other parent

What’s your most common mood? Bored

what’s your grades in school/what were your grades? As in high school, As and Bs in college

do you like poems? Sometimes

do you quote lyrics on your status often? No

what band would you love to hang out with? Taylor Swift

who has your heart right now? My boyfriend

have you ever felt so hurt you can’t move? No

do you wear your jammies all day on weekends? No

take out the 2nd and 3rd letter of your name, how would it be spelled? Sr

would your rather never hear or never see?(just pick one) Hmm, never hear I think

Have you ever caught your ex cheating? No

ever see yourself going to jail? No does your family look down on you? Not really

last song you sang? Something Taylor Swift

do you know all the words to your top 3 favorite songs? Yes

when you lie to someone can you look at them in eyes? I don't really lie

do think Jerry Springer is fake? Idk

Megan Fox or Kat Von D? Idk who Kat Von D is

has the last person you kissed slept with more then 3 girls? No

ever been tested for any STD’s? Yes

what’s on your take of music these days? I know I sound like an old fart but I don't really like a lot of the popular music lately

do you make your bed? Kinda

what food item could you live off of? Pasta

how much money did you last spend? I think like $8

do you think its weird when girls change in front of their bf/gf? No

to do like Techno, Rock, or Rap remixes of songs? Sometimes rock are interesting

can you name one song by the Beatles? Yesterday

this Christmas, what do you want but cant have? To go back to normal

tongue ever hurt from eating to much sour candy? Yes

rather get Chinese or pizza delivered? Pizza

do you like cartoon or anime? I'm not really big on either, but cartoons if I have to pick

do you think anime porn is kind of creepy? Yes

are glasses hot to you? Depends on the guy. But they are not practical for kissing

what do/did you usually eat at school lunches? PB&J

get a new camera or new phone? New phone, it will have a camera in it

do your parents have time limits on phone calls? This must be old

what about when you have to be in bed? I am an adult

does short hair girls mean there a lezbo? No

would you change your eye color? Maybe, I think green is pretty

last person that saw you naked (can’t be yourself) My boyfriend

ever kissed someone half naked? Yes

is being sweaty nasty? Yes

do you wax, shave, or pluck your eyebrows? No

would you spend 5,000 for hairless armpits and legs forever? No

do you think its gay for male swimmers to shave there legs? No

can you talk about your flaws and not be embarrassed? Depends on how socially acceptable the flaw is

[theydontknowaboutusimagines]

Outside The Rain - Harry Styles Series (Part 7)

Part 6

“Harry Styles seen leaving with Ex the morning after the Met Gala” 

“Harry Styles hosts afterparty with ex girlfriend after Met Gala” 

“Harry Styles rekindling with Ex girlfriend during Met Gala” 

You rolled your eyes as you excited out of your social media. Everything that was currently trending was about Harry and his ex. You knew it was probably bullshit, however, you couldn’t ignore that there were photos of them together. You didn’t really have a reason to be upset or hurt even if they did spend time together because you and Harry weren’t actually together. 

But it did bother you a bit that he made time to speak with her, but not you. Someone, who he literally went on a date with recently. But you just shook the thought from your mind. 

With everything going on in the media and some other things, you ended up cutting you trip to New York short, without seeing Harry. 

Over the next few weeks, you were in the studio working on the new album. Harry had tried to call and text you, but you didn’t know what to say to him. Deep down you knew you were probably overreacting about the situation, but it was more like you felt unimportant to him. 

I mean why would he make time for literally everyone else, but not you. 

**

You were currently in your hotel room in Italy. You were going to the Gucci Cruise fashion show and you knew Harry would be there too. You still hadn’t spoken to him and now you felt as if things had been blow way out of proportion and you felt foolish about it. You knew should have texted him because now you would end up seeing him in person and that would just be even more awkward. 

There was a knock on your door, which was weird because you hadn’t been expecting anyone. You felt a little nauseous wondering if it was Harry coming to your room to talk to you as you walked towards the door. As soon as you opened the door, you felt even worse, Stevie was standing there and you knew, that she knew what was going on or not going on. 

She had already given you a little spill about you and Harry. 

“Hi,” you forced a smile. 

“Well, you don’t look too happy to see me,” she noted. 

“I’m always happy to see you,” you said. 

“But-” she said stepping into the hotel room. “You know I’ve got something to talk to you about.” 

You closed the door and followed her into the room. 

“So, I was a little concerned when you didn’t tell me about how your talk went with Harry... and then come to find out, you two never talked and still have yet to talk to him. So, what happened?” She asked. 

You groaned laying down on the bed, “I fucked up.” 

“Explain,” she said laying next to you. 

“I got upset over something... and I was being petty so I sort of just... well... didn’t talk to him,” you said. 

“Is this about all the articles after the Met?” She asked. 

You looked over at her. 

“Hey, I’m on the internet too, you know,” she said. 

“I mean... it as a little bit to do with that... but it’s not entirely the reason,” you mumbled. 

“Then what is?” She asked. 

“He didn’t talk to me that night, but he obviously made time for everyone else. So, I guess I just started feeling like maybe... maybe... I wasn’t really a priority to him. I know that night was a huge fucking deal, but when he can make time for others... surely if I was important to him than he would have made time to me,” you said. 

“Since when are you that fucking needy, Y/N?” She sat up. “I understand where you’re coming from, but your reaction to that... well, makes it seem like you wanted him to be only with you that night.” 

“I know, I know,” you groaned. “I told you I fucked up.” 

“Well, then you’ll just have to make it right,” she said. “And this time, I’m going to make sure you do.” 

**

Harry looked in the mirror as he adjusted his blazer and put on his sunglasses. He was heading out to the Gucci Cruise show and he was starting to feel a little nervous. He knew you would be there and he was excited to see you. But after what happened the last few weeks, or didn’t happen, he was worried about what this meant for the two of you. 

He knew all the shit articles that were being written after the Met Gala wasn’t exactly the most ideal thing, but surely he would have thought you would understand that none of what was written was true. But then you weren’t answering any of his calls or text messages and you didn’t contact him about meeting up with one another in NYC. 

He was really starting to feel like there wasn’t going to ever and be and you and him, but he wasn’t ready to give up just yet. He just hoped you hadn’t given up either. 

When he arrived at the show, he was greeted by the sound of fans cheering for him. He smiled, waving to them, and stopping for pictures along the way. He kept his eye out for you, but he had yet to see you. 

That was until, he saw you already sitting down. You were sitting in the front row, chatting with someone next to you. The first thought in his mind was that you looked beautiful. You were wearing a blue velvet jumpsuit with a sweetheart neckline. The color reminded him of the suit he had worn the night you two first met. 

You were wearing your hair up, but there was a few loose strands framing your face. You were laughing and smiling with the person sitting next to you, when you happened to look over in Harry’s direction. You two locked eyes. You gave him a small smile and a wave, which gave Harry a little boost of confidence that there was something still between you two. 

**

After the show was over, you had made it your mission to search for Harry. The were was an Afterparty, and you knew the sooner you got there, the sooner you could tell him how sorry you were and hopefully make things between the two of you better. 

When you arrived, your phone rang and you groaned. You quickly got it out of your bag and saw Stevie’s picture on your phone. 

“Yes?” You asked. 

“What no hello?” She smirked. 

“Hello, Stevie. What may I do for you?” You asked. 

“Can you come to my dressing room? I need some help,” she said. 

At that moment, you saw Harry walking in, “Can you give me like five minutes?” You asked. 

“Not really. I need you ASAP,” she said. 

“Ugh, okay, I’m on my way,” you sighed. 

You put your phone back in your bag, while you rushed to her dressing room. Whatever it was that she needed, hopefully it wouldn’t take very long and you could get to Harry before he left or starting talking with other people. You walked into the dressing room to see Stevie getting her makeup done. 

“Okay, I’m here. What did you need?” you asked. 

“Just one second,” she said as the makeup artist sprayed setting spray over her face. 

“Hey, Stevie,” Harry said walking into the room, merely minutes after you. 

“Ah, there you are,” she smiled. 

Harry saw you and you both looked at each other. 

“Now, that you both are here, “ she said getting out of her chair. “You two are going to stay in this room and talk. I love you both and you both are being stubborn about your feelings. Oh and you better actually talk because I’m not letting you out of here until you two figure out whatever the hell is you two want from each other.” 

“Um... we’re performing in like half an hour,” Harry stated. 

“Well, then you two better get to talking,” she smirked walking out the door and locking it behind her. 

[sunkissedpages]

We’re Only Kidding Ourselves- Part Eight || Tom Holland x Reader

A/N: Your feedback and the ffh trailer motivated the hell out of me to write this part!! 

Prompt: Enemies to lovers au (from @marvelellie‘s 1k writing challenge!!)

Summary: You work as a production assistant for the Spider-Man: Far From Home crew, or rather as Tom Holland’s handler. The two of you don’t get along very well to say the least, but you won’t quit and he can’t fire you so you’re stuck with each other.

Warnings: swearing, angst 

What I listened to while writing: Mamma Mia + Mamma Mia Here We Go Again, classics of course. I played the Cher version of Super Trooper on repeat.

Word Count: 3.5k

Part One | Part Two | Part Three | Part Four | Part Five | Part Six | Part Seven

“I’m sorry, could you not understand me with the dick in my mouth?” you quipped, surprising yourself with your forwardness.

“Come again?” Tom said with wide eyes.

“Could you not understand me because I was on my goddamn knees for Jon Watts?”

At that moment you saw something click in Tom’s head from the way his expression changed. “How do you-”

“Your best friend and your brother are idiots.”

“Tell me something I don’t know.”

“You’re an asshole.”

You half expected Tom to say he already knew that too, but he just sat on the bed with his mouth agape.

“What the fuck, y/n?”

“Oh, like you have no idea what I’m talking about.”

He paused and crossed his arms nonchalantly. “I do, I just don’t get why you’re making a big deal out of it.”

You felt like you’d been slapped. “You’re kidding, right?”

“It’s not like we’re best friends, we say shit like that about each other all the time.” Tom shrugged.

The fact that he wasn’t taking this seriously was only adding to your anger. “Not shit like that! And not in a groupchat of other people! Not only was what you said demeaning, but it was completely disrespectful! To both me and Jon!”

“I said it in the heat of the moment!” He said defensively, raising his voice now.

“You typed it and sent it, it’s not like you just blurted it out!” Tom didn’t open his mouth to respond. “Are you seriously not going to apologize to me?” God, he was stubborn. It was one of the few things the two of you had in common and you resented him for it. “I knew you were a dick, but this is low even for you.”

Tom stood from the bed, finally taking this fight seriously. “How is this different from you calling me a douchebag?”

“That was months ago!” you argued. “Back then we weren’t-” you paused.

“Friends?” Tom challenged, raising an eyebrow. “We’re not friends, y/n.”

You scoffed. “No, I guess not.” You took two steps further into the room to grab your backpack before making your way back to the door. You could feel Tom’s eyes burning into you as you gathered your things. “Because I feel sorry for anyone that does consider you a friend,” you spat and stormed out, letting the door slam behind you.

You’d just come back to the hotel, but there was no way you could be here now. Not after a fight of that proportion. Haz always said you and Tom fought like an old married couple, but you saw it as more of a newly separated couple fighting over custody of the dogs. You both fought passionately and mercilessly, going right for the jugular.

The lobby was scattered with guests, security, and staff, all trying to ignore the onslaught of fans and journalists outside the doors. They’d been camped outside for days now. You felt bad that the wide-eyed, adoring fans didn’t know how much of a giant fucking prick their idol was, but it wasn’t like you could tell them the truth. Even if you really did go out there and tell them, there’s a zero percent chance they’d believe you since their beautiful British boy is polite and charming to absolutely everyone and their mother and is publicly as unproblematic as they come.

It was actually quite lonely to be the only person that hated Tom Holland. And you’d gotten used to it over time, before he’d tripped you up and fooled you into thinking he might not be so bad. But the worst part was, you couldn’t even hate him with your whole heart after everything he’d done to you because some fucked up part of you still thought you could change his mind. You just wanted everyone to like you so bad, and you knew it wasn’t healthy, but you couldn’t help it.

You spent the evening wandering Venice by yourself. You’d go back to the hotel, eventually, but you and Tom both needed space. The temperature was beginning to drop, but at least the rain had stopped. Shops and restaurants had turned all their lights on illuminating the pathways with a warm glow. It was beautiful, but it was lonely.

A long walk and two cones of mint gelato later you finally slumped back into the the hotel. You were ready to just shower off and hop in bed and never speak to anyone again, but Haz and Harry were sitting in the lobby waiting for you. They were squished together on the small love-seat, their lanky limbs tangled awkwardly. They stood when they saw you.

You sighed. “Well, you guys are the last people I want to see.”

“Good evening to you too,” Haz snipped.

“Fuck off.”

“Y/n, we’ve been trying to reach you all day! You haven’t been responding! We didn’t know if you were okay or not!”

“Of course I’m not okay!” you snapped. “And don’t act like we’re friends when you’ve made it clear we’re not.”

“Who said we weren’t friends?” Harry chimed in with genuine confusion.

You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Usually when you make a groupchat behind someone’s back to talk shit about them it’s implied you don’t particularly love them.”

“We already told you we didn’t make it to talk shit about you,” Harrison insisted.

“Right, it already conveniently existed, because that’s so much better.”

“Yeah, not helpful, Haz,” Harry agreed, shaking his head.

“Harry and I never said anything about you.”

You looked at them skeptically. “Really?”

They both nodded. “Really.”

“Do you really think we’d do that to you, y/n?”

“You both knew Tom before you knew me, and I know I’m not perfect so I thought, I don’t know, you might have agreed with him or something.”

“Nah, let’s face it we all know you’re way cooler than Tom,” Harry teased.

“Now that we can agree on,” you said, then cleared your throat. “I want to see the messages.”

Harrison clutched his phone to his chest tighter subconsciously. “Are you sure?” That told you all you needed to know. Just how far had Tom gone in these messages? Was what Harrison had let slip just a warm up, or was it the the meanest thing he’d said about you? You didn’t like your odds.

“No,” you sighed. “I guess not.”

“Hey, y/n give me your phone.” Harry urged suddenly. “Don’t ask questions.”

“What? Why?”

“Both questions,” Harry muttered, but began explaining anyway. “Tom’s fans are outside and they’ve, uh, been taking pictures and videos of you with us for like five minutes now. Get together with Harrison, I’ll take a picture, make it look like you’re just a fan.”

You wanted to slap yourself. Why hadn’t you thought about the fans who’d been outside for days? You’d walked right through them to get inside.

Obediently, you handed Harry your phone and shifted closer to Harrison. Cozying up to Harrison was the last thing you wanted to do right now because you were still mad at him, but you knew what would happen if you didn’t. You tentatively moved in and he slung an arm over your shoulders, giving the camera a smirk. You fought the urge to roll your eyes since you were supposed to be incredibly infatuated with him and forced a smile instead. You hoped it’d read as nerves to the people outside and not misery, but it was a toss up.

“There.” Harry handed the phone back to you.

“Should I get a picture with you too? Or is that overkill?”

Harry shrugged. “Might as well. Come ‘ere.”

You slid from Harrison’s grasp to Harry and the younger boy slung his arm around you like Haz had, but offered no smirk. He threw a peace sign to the camera and you gave a similar uncomfortable smile.

You took the phone back and tried to continue smiling to keep up the act. There was a reason you’d gone into the technical side of film and not the performance side. You looked at the pictures that’d just been taken. You looked a little rough, but it was dark enough that they weren’t too bad.

“See you in the morning?” Harrison asked casually, but you knew he was really asking if you were staying on the job.

“Unless you have your eyes closed,” you joked and the boys groaned.

“I take back what I said about you being cool!”

“No take-backs,” you argued back then began to make your way over to the elevator. “Don’t follow me upstairs for at least five minutes. We don’t need anyone starting any rumors.”

“What could they possibly start rumors about?” Harrison asked cheekily. It was almost as if nothing had happened between the two of you, but you knew better

“Wouldn’t you like to know?”

Tom was in the shower when you got back to the room which you were glad for. You weren’t ready to face him yet. Nothing looked out of place in the room other than the pillow barrier being back in place.

When you opened the mini fridge to grab a water you noticed the soup Tom had bought you earlier was sitting there with a peach colored sticky note of yours on top.

Soup’s still yours if you want it. There’s a microwave downstairs. -T

It wasn’t a proper apology, not even close, but it was Tom. You’d take what you could get.

The boys were gone by the time you made it downstairs with your soup. The lobby was completely dimmed and empty now, except for the lone night manager who sat behind the front desk with a magazine.

You could feel the jealous eyes of the people outside who recognized you from mere minutes ago on you as you heated up your meal. Man, if they knew who’d bought you the soup they’d lose their shit. 

The beep of the microwave startled you back to reality and suddenly you had a choice to make. Either eat your soup here, in the lobby under the watchful eyes of diehard fans or eat it back up in the room with Tom. Neither choice was ideal, but you decided you didn’t really care to have any more pictures of you on the internet today, especially of you eating.

Tom was out of the shower when you got back and was watching Chopped in Italian on the tv. He didn’t acknowledge you when you came in.

“Do you want some soup?” you offered.

He finally looked at you and took a deep breath like he was weighing his options. “Sure,” he decided and scooched to the edge of the bed. You offered him a spoon and you both began to slurp in silence.

Out of all the awkward and uncomfortable situations this job had put you in, this was definitely the least expected. Your heads were extremely close together to keep from spilling the soup and the only sounds that could be heard was the loud slurping of soup in each others’ ears. As hard as you’d try you’d never be able to forget this experience.

You thought it would be chicken noodle or something, but it was chicken tortilla and spicier than you expected. You choked about five spoonfuls in and had to pull away.

“You okay?” Tom asked, the mask falling away for just a second.

“I thought you wanted me to choke,” you sputtered sarcastically before chugging water in an attempt to recover.

“You have to know how that sounds.”

You narrowed your eyes. “If I die,” you managed to say through your coughing fit, “they’ll pin it on you.”

Tom only chuckled and offered you a napkin which you gladly took. The two of you finished the soup without further incident and you hurried through a shower. There was no argument over anyone sleeping on the floor tonight, but there wasn’t any conversation either. The pleasant(ish) moment of sharing soup had passed and you were both stuck marinating in the aftermath of the fight.

You wanted so badly to shut the world out and lose consciousness for several hours, but your body was keeping sleep at bay. Despite the pillow barrier and how cold the room was, the warmth radiating from Tom’s body over to your side was making you unusually hot. If only he slept with a shirt on. 

You assumed Tom was just as uncomfortable as you were since his breathing was still steady and the tension in the room was almost palpable. It was like you were back to square one.

When you woke up Tom was gone, the unmade side of bed was the only evidence he had been there at all.

It was a day off for everyone. You’d had plans to spend it with the cast, but after everything that had happened your invite had been...unofficially rescinded. It was better for everyone. Still, it stung a little that Tom would leave without saying anything.

You rolled over to check your phone. It was nearly noon. You wondered how long you’d been alone.

You spent the first hours of your day working. There was a lot of paperwork that had piled up since you’d left London that you needed to tackle. It kept you distracted for a couple hours until you finished it off and forwarded it to Steph. She’d be pleasantly surprised you finished everything on time and in full for once.

After that you checked in with your parents and some friends, using your best “tired but couldn’t be happier” voice. Your mom was the only one who sensed something was off, but you lied and said you were feeling a little under the weather. She sounded unconvinced, but ultimately let it go. She was just happy to hear from you. Everyone was. It felt nice to be missed even though you were all the way across the world living a completely different life than you had been a few months ago.

As soon as you finished your work there was rapping on the door. When you peered through the peephole you saw it was Harrison. You cracked the door just wide enough so that he could see you, but not into the room. Tom’s things were still strewn about and no one was still supposed to know that you were sharing a room.

“Hey, Haz,” you said tiredly, but happily. You were surprised he’d dropped by, you thought he’d still be out with Tom and the others.

“Hey, you busy right now?” Haz tried to peer into the room to see if you were alone, but you stood on your tiptoes to block his view. He furrowed his eyebrows at you, but you played it off by pretending to be stretching.

“No, why?”

“There’s a really cool art gallery we found and I thought you’d love it.”

You hesitated. “Oh, I don’t know about that-”

“You’ve been cooped up all day and it’s just down the street!”

“I don’t think Tom wants me there,” you protested.

“Screw Tom, everyone else does,” he insisted.

“Okay I’ll get dressed,” you agreed. Haz moved to follow you into the room, but you put a hand out. “Um, you wait here.”

“Okay?”

“Sorry, I’ll be really quick.”

Harrison didn’t question your behavior as you walked down to the lobby, but you knew he was secretly wondering. Before you reached the bottom you stopped with realization.

“Haz, the fans- they already know my face.”

“Right,” he said with remembrance and held the familiar yellow sweatshirt out to you. “I think this belongs to you.”

You snorted. “It’s not my sweatshirt.”

“It might as well be.”

You couldn’t hold back your giddy grin as you slipped back into the warm hoodie and pulled the drawstrings tight around your head. “How do I look?”

“Kind of like a minion to be honest.”

“Oh my god that’s the worst possible thing you could’ve said to me.”

Everyone was waiting outside and cheered when you and Haz ran up to the group. Jacob clapped you on the back and Zendaya gave you a quick side-hug. It made you feel all warm and fuzzy inside.

Harrison had dragged you to the Gallerie dell’Acadamia, or the Academy Gallery. Its halls were full of art from the 14th-18th centuries, specifically the Renaissance. Haz had been right. You did love it. You weren’t an art buff or anything, but you’d taken one (1) art history class in college and it had permanently changed how you looked at art.

You recognized a few of the artists and paintings and pointed them out to the group, only to be met with playful eye rolls and a few groans that you were a know-it-all from the cast; like they ever let you hear the end of anything when you watched movies with them, and you were the film graduate!

You made Harrison take pictures of you in front of a bunch of giant beautiful canvases only to end up looking like a yellow teletubby with your hood pulled up around your face. They’d still be memories you’d treasure forever.

After about an hour and a half everyone headed back to the hotel to get ready for the press event, leaving you to face Tom on your own again. The elevator ride was awkward as always, but the cold silence in the room was even worse. You thought you had every right to give him the silent treatment, but you sensed that he was returning the sentiment, which you didn’t feel you totally deserved. Had you called him a dick? Yes. Had you implied that it was impossible/horrible to be his friend? Also yes. But to be fair he’d started it, technically, and neither of you had really apologized so you just thought you would just not address it and move on like always.

You let him shower first since he was the one who needed to look good for all the pictures and historically took longer than you to get ready anyway.

You rifled through your suitcase for what felt like an eternity for something to wear. All you knew about the event was that it was at a club. You narrowed it down to two dresses, but still couldn’t decide.

“The silver one,” Tom said from behind you. You jumped. You hadn’t even heard the shower stop running.

You ran a hand over the sequined fabric thoughtfully.  “Thanks.”

“Mhm,” was all he murmured in response as he buttoned a crisp white shirt

You had to admit the silver dress was a good choice as you observed your reflection in the mirror. It was a little short and a little flashy for your taste, but it looked good on you. You knew you were supposed to be downstairs any minute so you half blow-dried your hair and did what you could with makeup before dragging Tom downstairs.

He cleaned up nice, which you hadn’t been sure was possible after endless days of gray t-shirts and jeans. He wasn’t wearing a jacket with his slacks like Harrison undoubtedly was, but how much could you expect from Tom, really?

“You look nice,” Harrison complimented once you and Tom met them in the lobby.

“Same to you.”

The four of you were the last to arrive at the bar. Music was blasting, people were dancing, and several individuals were already obviously sloppy drunk. You couldn’t remember the last time you’d been to a party like this.

Tom immediately left your side to meet up with Jacob and Tony, and Haz and Harry slipped off saying something about drinks, leaving you alone at the entrance. You hugged yourself uncomfortably, looking for other familiar faces you could float to. You should’ve known this would happen.

Your job tonight was supposed to keep an eye on Tom, but he was already out of your line of sight. You’d hunt him down later. You could only imagine the look on his face when he saw you pushing through the crowd to scold him about how much he was drinking. You weren’t looking forward to it.

Drinks were free for everyone the whole night, but you weren’t sure if you were allowed to partake. As far as you were concerned, you should be able to after everything you’d been through on this trip. You deserved to let loose a little.

You shoved your way through the sweaty bodies to get to the bar.

“One rum and coke please.”

The bartender flashed you a toothy grin and started filling a glass with ice. “Coming right up, on the house,” he added and winked.

“Everything’s on the house tonight.” You rolled your eyes.

“For you, any night.” He handed you the drink and gave you another sly smile. You bit your lip  and thanked him shyly before sliding off the bar stool back into the crowd.

The night was off to an odd start. Not bad, but definitely odd. You picked a spot in a corner where you could watch the entire crowd. Tom was causing a scene in the middle of the dance floor with the other boys. They’d formed one of those dancing circles you see at middle school dances and Tom was currently in the middle. He hadn’t even had anything to drink yet, as far as you knew, and he was already acting like an idiot. You chuckled and threw back your drink. You were already on board to get tipsy, but after watching Tom’s dance moves, you were ready to get shitfaced.

This part is a little all over the place, but I had a lot of fun writing it lol. Lmk what you think though feedback is always appreciated!

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[foxyseok-blog]

Codename

genre: smut

pairing: hoseok x reader

words: 6.2k

warnings: spanking, dom/sub undertones, choking

summary:  “From the moment I stepped inside the fancy building I knew this job would be different. I was sent to steal a ring from an empty apartment and ended up with the owner himself demanding an explanation from me. Hoseok is far from being just another target and I had to learn it the hard way.”

From the moment I stepped inside the fancy building I knew this job would be different. As I climbed the stairs, getting tired after the third floor, I felt uneasy and like something just wasn't right. My black boots matched the whole black outfit I always wore to these kinds of jobs; it was sticking to my frame, not even one millimeter of fabric more than necessary. Someone could say I was an agent or a government spy, but I ain't such thing. My job's description way less heroic than that. Well, to be honest, there's nothing heroic on being a thief but that's where life got me so that's where I stand now.

Literally. I stand in front of the door with an opening kit – as my boss calls it – in my hands. I get on my knees to look better at the door handle, opening it after barely one minute. All these years of robbing made me good at it and, even though I shouldn't be, I'm proud of it.

The apartment is silent, as I predicted, the owner doesn't live in here since it's just another property with his name on it. Imagine having so much money you need to buy patrimony to hide it, now that's the life this guy lives, apparently. I don't know much about him but I look at the picture frames hanging on the light colored walls, a young man with a fluffy looking dog stares back at me.

Damn, he is really beautiful. It should be forbidden to look like this while having so much money.

I shake my head and try not to let anything get in my mind anymore. I need to focus on finding the ring my boss so desperately wants. The living room is big, just like the kitchen and, apparently, all the rooms. They all have furniture inside that indicates someone could live in here very comfortably.

But he doesn't, does he?

I stop breathing as I hear the sounds around me, there's nothing but the calming rain hitting the windows. My boss wouldn't just send me to a house with people inside, he's not that dumb, I guess.

I go to the master bedroom still without turning on a single lamp, can't afford to let anyone outside know I'm in here. I rummage through his absurdly big closet – there are so many coats and hoodies, shoes that costs hundreds of dollars, pieces of clothing that could probably buy me a car. I wonder if I should just put them all in this bag, a very expensive one I notice, and leave without the ring.

But no, my boss would kill me. He's been talking about it the whole week. This guy bought it from a person my boss was hunting down, now I need to rob it from him as we can't kill him, don't know why exactly.

Now that I think of it, I'm happy to know I won't put an end to such a beautiful existence like him. His eyes were glowing even in a picture, his soft features smiling at the lenses with a dog in his arms.

I finally open a drawer of all his jewelries and holy shit, he's got a lot of them. I take my phone out, finding the picture of the ring I need to get, and start looking for it.

After twenty minutes, I give up on the drawer and start searching the whole room. I'm getting desperate, I can't go back empty-handed. All the information we got is that the ring would be here, in this apartment, in his room, in his drawer.

Why isn't it then?

My trained ears pick up a sound it shouldn't be hearing; the front door is opening. I remember the short amount of time it took me to come from the door to the room and realize I have no time to hide outside of this master bedroom. I end up squeezing myself in the middle of two coats inside the closet.

It's not the first time something like this happens to me, to be honest. There's so much you can predict of someone's steps and, sometimes, I make mistakes. I don't let myself think too much about it now, I have to plan how to leave this place without letting him see me because if he does, I'll have to bruise up his pretty face.

I let the closet door slightly open so I can see what he's doing but it's completely yanked open by him. My heart finally starts to beat fast, even knowing I could just punch him and run I still get that adrenaline running inside my veins. But he doesn't see me. The way I'm completely squeezed between two of his dark coats blend my existence and his eyes never meet my frame.

My eyes, though, see him very well. His face is so much more than what that picture could portrait. He's so much hotter, a jawline that could cut, a pointy nose sculpted by the most talented artist, sharp eyes with that hint of a mysterious glow, heart shaped lips with a soft pale pink color to it. His black hair parted to the side to reveal a bit of forehead shines with the soft light of his room. He takes off his long reddish brown coat and I see the dainty body underneath it. It's all proportioned, long legs and small waist, his chest filling the white button up so prettily. He hangs the coat in the closet, still completely unaware of my shaking existence, and leaves without closing the door again.

I see him unbuttoning the wrists of his dress shirt and pulling it up his arms, my eyes are completely lost in the veins of his forearms when I notice the rings on his fingers. A total of three just in one hand and voilá! There is the precious little thing I need to rob.

In his fucking hands!

My whole escaping plan is instantly deleted from my mind as I see I can still save this whole operation. He can't sleep with rings on, who's the idiot that does that anyways? I pray that it isn't him. And as my brain starts to work on another way to get out after actually getting the ring, he starts to open the first two buttons of the dress shirt, revealing the soft golden skin of his chest.

- Any particular reason you're in my closet right now, little one? – his sharp eyes meet mine for the first time.

If my mind hadn't gone completely numb, I'd bathe myself in his honey like voice, deep, calm but firm, demanding.

But I was trained for this, my instincts are stronger than my hormones, I jump out of my hiding spot and try to get to the door before he can get me, trusting my legs to be as fast as they have always been.

Once again, there's so much I can predict. I didn't even think this guy would be faster than me. My legs are long enough so I can always get myself out of this type of situation but oh he's faster.

As my clothes are strategically sticking to my whole body, he grabs me by my ponytail, yanking me backwards until my back painfully hits the floor. When I look up, I see him smirking at me, I get hot all over wanting to punch the faint smile out of his stupidly handsome face.

Did I really say I didn't want to bruise him? Well, can't remember any of that right now.

I rise to my feet getting in position to smash my fist on his nose and bring him down. When I launch forward, he stops all my moves easily. During the ridiculously small amount of time I fail to punch him, my mind realizes that I'm fucked. He's much more than I actually seized up and thought he would to be. I obviously saw he's taller and a bit broader than me but I'm always stronger and faster than my opponents, my boss never gives me a target I can't handle.

But this fight wasn't supposed to be happening; he wasn't supposed to be here.

He grabs my arm twisting it to my back and shoves my chest onto the nearest wall, snatching my other free hand and locking it behind me. I could easily stop such movement – I swear I know how to defend myself properly – but he did it so fast and efficiently that my mind processed everything too late.

- I asked you a question, didn't I? – his breath is on my ear, I feel his whole body encaging me on the wall.

I don't say anything, that's how we're supposed to be when we encounter with our opponents: no talking so they won't have anything against us.

- You're the quiet type. I see. – he's containing the anger inside this velvety voice.

I feel the pressure of his hold loosen a bit and start to think he'll let me go, but he shoves me harder against the wall, the pain in my breasts making it almost impossible for me to breathe.

- But I think I can make you talk.

He pulls me back and starts walking towards his closet, I try to get free but his grip on me is strong enough to bruise even though he holds with only one hand now. I walk backwards hearing when he grabs something inside the closet. A soft sound of clicking and the cold feeling of metal around my wrists let me know he got them handcuffed.

I'm fucked.

- Here's how it's gonna be. – he says as he pushes my shoulders down and I forcibly kneel on the floor. – You'll tell me why you're in my apartment and if it's a reasonable explanation I'll set you free.

He locks the bedroom door putting the key inside the front pocket of his black slacks. God, why did I end up here? This guy came straight out of my wettest dream and probably wants to send me to jail, or kill me.

He crouches in front of me, I can feel the delicious sweet perfume he wears, masculine but soft. His sharp eyes gaze at me, curious and angry at the same time.

- W-what's your name? – the first words I say are choked out, maybe because I shouldn't be engaging a conversation with him.

He gets up, a lazy smile showing up on his features, and slowly disappears behind me.

- My name? – I feel the tug of my hair being pulled harshly, he takes off my scrunchy and lets my locks free as I look up to see his face staring down at me. – You broke into my house and you think you have the right to know my name?

I'm so stupid. I'm being manhandled by the guy I should be stealing from and my whole body seems to sing every time he touches me.

- But I'll give it to you so you'll have something to scream for later. – his hand softens its grip on my hair. – Hoseok.

I let my mind savour this new information, finally giving the handsome face a name just as pretty. And the more I think about it, more I feel like I've heard it before, maybe during conversations of my boss with some of our clients that I probably shouldn't be hearing but I let the curiosity get the best of me.

I hear the sound of a slap before feeling the pain across my right cheek.

- Focus on me. – I look up to see Hoseok staring back at me angrily. – Or is there anything else more interesting in here?

Did he just slap me on the face? How am I letting a man do this to me so easily?

I fight against the handcuffs, eyeing the door once again, thinking of a way to get the hell out of here, just to feel another slap, way more painful, across my left cheek. The cold feeling of his rings still lingers on my bruised skin.

- You're not leaving until I say so. – he tells me.

- Fuck off. – I mutter under my breath, different feelings running through my body; excitement, fear, arousal, anger.

- If you're gonna be disrespectful I prefer when you're with that dirty mouth shut.

- You slapped me and I'm the disrespectful one? – I yell back at him.

He's so calm, standing with one hand in his pocket, looking at me fiercely.

- I'm teaching you manners, little thief.

Oh. So either he knows I'm here to rob him or it's a shot in the dark. But, to be honest, if you see someone with an all black outfit inside your closet it's only suitable to call them thief. If he knows what I'm here for why didn't he call the police?

- You're late for that. – I reply looking straight into his dark eyes. – I'm too old to be taught anything.

- You're not that old, Shadowcat.

My eyes widen in shock. Hoseok knows my codename. Only my boss and the people I work with know about it. It was given to me as I entered this underground world. Since I always have black clothes on and move like a shadow behind my opponents, coming in and out without being seen, they say I'm a shadow that can move like a cat. The realization that I might be in a situation much worse than I previously thought is finally sinking into my bones.

- What? You think I don't know who you are or who you work for? – he crouches down in front of me again, keeping eye level with me. – You'd be dead if I didn't know you.

- Why did you ask then? Why are you keeping me in here like this?

- I didn't ask your name, now did I? I wanna know what you're here for. Certainly not to kill me, Yuyi wouldn't send someone so weak for that.

My boss's real name is something not even I can say out loud, he goes by the codename of Key and that's how we all call him.

- So I assume you're here to steal something. – he reaches forward and sticks his hand inside the only pocket in my pants, taking out the opening doors kit and my phone.

Hoseok looks at the kit, probably knowing what it is already, and lets it fall to the floor along with my phone in a silent thud. His hands travel around my waist, back on my ass where he found the kit, down to my thighs, squeezing and searching for hidden pockets. But my outfit leaves nothing to imagination, there's nothing that could be successfully hidden in it and, because of that, I can feel the heat coming from his palms making me hot.

- And you didn't find it. – he breathes out next to my face and, for the first time, I don't see only anger in his eyes.

There's lust mixed with hate in them.

- I'm not weak. – I respond to his earlier statement since it's the only thing my mind could hold on to when he's so close.

- Yeah? – he chuckled darkly. – Bet you wanna punch me right now but your weak little hands couldn't handle me.

- Asshole. – my heart starts beating fast but for a completely different reason.

Hoseok's hand closes around my throat, squeezing it enough for me to be uncomfortable but not enough for me to stop breathing.

- If you act like a bad girl you'll be treated like one. – he tightens his grip on me. – Why the fuck are you here, brat?

- Y-you know I'm a thief. – I say weakly with the short amount of oxygen entering my lungs.

- I'm not dumb, I wanna know what you need to steal. – his words make me frown a bit, Hoseok says as if I didn't have a choice but to rob him.

I stay quiet, my eyes focusing on the mole on his top lip, his long lashes flutter when he blinks his eyes. Fuck, he's the prettiest man I've seen.

- Aren't you ashamed of looking at me like this? – Hoseok says with a disgusted tone but his eyes give away that he's as affected as me, his pupils completely blown out.

- No. – I say licking my dry lips, knowing damn well I'm throwing away any precaution and plans I thought I had.

Since the very first moment I laid eyes on him, I should have known this operation was lost. He looks like and does all the things I didn't even know I liked.

Hoseok's hand leaves my throat and he closes his fist in my hair but this time around he doesn't pull it to growl at me, he brings my face close to his and smashes his lips on mine.

Finally. One of his hands remains tugging at the roots of my hair while the other rests on my waist. I feel his tongue licking the seam of my lips, asking for entrance. I don't comply and he bites my bottom lip harshly. I whine feeling the metallic taste of blood and open my eyes to see Hoseok smirking at me. He's still so close, our noses touching.

- Open up for me. – he whispers in my mouth, his hands coming to grab my chin.

- Make me.

I see a flicker of anger flashing in his eyes before he manhandles me out of the floor and throws me on his huge black bed. I can't even balance myself on my elbows because of the handcuffs but I see him grabbing my kit and phone from the floor and placing it on the top of a white desk before coming back to me. Hoseok's body towers above mine, his dark hair falling prettily around his face.

- Since you wanna make this harder I'll give it to you hard. – he says before nipping at my jawline.

His hot tongue meets the pulsating poing of my neck, sucking it deliciously and making the skin sensitive.

- You really broke into my house... – he growls on my neck. – ...wearing this tight little thing you call outfit.

His hands slide down my thighs, tugging at the fabric of my pants and opening my legs so he can slam his hips down on my core. I gasp out a strained moan and he takes the opportunity to finally glide his tongue on mine, exploring my mouth, licking my teeth and nipping my lips so expertly that my knees would buckle if I was standing.

My whole body is electrified and we're still fully clothed. I can feel the ends of his soft hair touching my face and I wanna run my fingers through it so badly, my arms restrained behind me are a hurtful reminder that I can't.

- Open the handcuffs. – I mumble inside his mouth. – I wanna touch you.

- Don't trust you yet, little thief. You'll have to earn that. – he rolls his hips on me before I can reply anything, my mind getting lost in the feeling of his bulge smashed against my core.

- Fuck. – I moan out loud, trying hard not to close my eyes so I can see every expression he makes.

- You have such a filthy mouth. – Hoseok bites my lip again, licking the bruise right after, making me squirm under him. – But I have a better use to it.

He gets off of me and I instantly make a complaining noise that is picked up by him.

- Shut up and get on the floor again. – Hoseok commands.

He doesn't help me out of the bed, instead he watches me struggle rolling on my side to get up with a defying smirk on his face.

- Can't you be a fucking gentleman for once? – I say as I stand in front of him, his taller figure looking a bit scary to me now.

- You're not deserving of that, you filthy thing. – he shoves me down again, making my knees hit the carpeted floor. – But I'll give you a chance to show me you can be a good girl. Understood?

- Yes. – I reply submissively, without even thinking twice, because I just can't ignore the constant throbbing between my legs.

- Yes what? – he caresses my hair giving me the chance to make up for the little mistake.

- Yes, sir.

- That's what I thought. – his long fingers open the zipper but he doesn't pull down his pants.

I see the black boxers underneath it before he grabs his dick and pulls it out. I'm not gonna lie, I don't find this part of the male anatomy to be very charming. But oh my God how I love this specific one. It has a soft golden color like his skin, it's pretty, long, thick and a vein going from the bottom to the tip catches my attention. I feel saliva pooling inside my mouth.

- Get to it, you have drool on your chin already. – his words may be degrading but his voice is not even a bit near that, the lust and need in it making him sound a bit weaker.

I stick my tongue out to lick his tip testing the waters, Hoseok makes a restrained noise instantly grabbing my hair and forcing me to take more of him. I try my best not to choke but he hits the back of my throat so easily, I clench my thighs to try and ease the growing need of relief.

Giving blowjobs is not usually an activity I enjoy but Hoseok makes it so good that I probably moan on his dick more than he does. His voice gets deeper, grunting when I swirl my tongue around his tip, he throws his head back closing his eyes exposing the delicious looking neck. I have saliva dripping down my chin like the Nicaragua Falls, since I can't use my hands, but I don't even care. All I do is watch his expressions; the furrowed brows, the hooded eyes looking at me, the plump lips caught in his teeth. I feel like I could come untouched just by watching Hoseok like this.

- Fuck. – he grunts pulling his dick covered in spit away from me. – Seems like you're a talented little thief after all.

- Please. – I beg without even knowing what for, I just feel my core screaming for attention, my panties sticking to it.

His hands, that were tugging painfully at my roots, now pet my hair softly while a lazy smile spreads on his face.

- Yeah, baby. You deserve a reward. – he pulls me up and holds my waist, carefully walking me backwards. – I'll give you what you need.

His words obviously have a double meaning behind but I pay no mind to it as I'm finally gonna get my end of this deal. The back of my legs hit the bed and I sit on it, watching Hoseok put his dick back in the black boxers, leaving the zipper open.

- What are you doing? – my voice is raspier with all the times his tip hit my throat way too deep.

- Didn't you want me to be a gentleman? – he looks down at me before placing one knee between my thighs, his body leaning close until my back hits the mattress. – I have to stretch you open first so I can fuck you properly later.

A strong shiver runs down my whole body when I hear his words being whispered in my ears, his sharp teeth nip on my earlobe before Hoseok looks at my face again. My pupils are blown out, hairs sprawled around the sheets, bruised lips parted so I can breathe better, completely lost in my own hormones. He seems satisfied with that, though.

- You look so hot like this, all needy and fucked out. – his fingertips gently slide between my breasts, going down to my bellybutton.

He tugs at my blouse and lifts it up revealing a simple black bra underneath it. His long fingers pull down the fabric covering my breasts, a knowing smirk showing up when he sees my hard nipples responding to him without even being touched.

Hoseok keeps his eyes locked with mine when he lowers his head and captures a nipple in his mouth. I throw my head back letting my ragged breath come out. The feeling of his hot tongue around my nipple is enough to make me wanna scream. When he's satisfied with the first one, he goes to the other one, giving the same unrelenting attention, sucking, licking and bitting.

- J-just fuck me already. – I whimper, my arms getting more and more uncomfortable just like the need between my legs.

He lets my nipple go with an obscene "pop" and gives it a little lick that makes my eyes roll behind my back. As if he's not hot enough, he's also a tease in bed.

- I barely started, ungrateful thing. – the hand that was holding me still by my hips starts a slow trip from my stomach to the elastic band of my pants.

- Please. – I say softly trying to clench my legs together, completely forgetting the way his thigh is keeping them apart.

He catches the movement and chuckles with amusement.

- So impatient. – Hoseok says but finally starts to drag down my pants along with my panties.

My boots are yanked off and thrown out somewhere in the room just like my pants. When he comes back to tower above me I feel exposed, he's fully dressed while I'm undressed to his sharp eyes. He doesn't pay attention to my sudden reddened cheeks, just snakes one arm under me, lifting me by my waist and plopping me down, my head hitting his soft pillow.

Fucking hell, Hoseok's eyes are so absurdly hot, they travel around my body devouring me inch by inch slowly.

- Good thing I installed hidden movement sensors and cameras in this apartment. – his hand is on my stomach, caressing it gently. – Imagine the surprise I had seeing your pretty ass on the screen of my phone when you were looking for something on the floor of my room.

Cameras? Who the fuck installs cameras inside their own bedroom? Besides, that's something my boss should have known way before me coming in here. How did this job turned out to be so wrong?

Two harsh slaps on both of my thighs get me out of my thoughts really fast.

- Focus on me. – Hoseok growls, he opens my legs delivering more painfull slaps while he kneels between them.

- Hoseok! – I yelp opening them to try to get rid of the punishing hands.

He runs his palms on the insides of my opened thighs, making me quiver with desire as his eyes are focused on my exposed and glistened core.

- I prefer you like this; red, needy and panting my name. – he says darkly, lifting his eye to my face. – Aren't you ashamed of how disgustingly wet you are when I barely touched you?

- You've been manhandling me around since the very first minute though. – I whisper back.

- Didn't know someone could get aroused by being mistreated. – he mocks me but his blown out pupils and the tent inside his pants tell me otherwise. – What a slut.

He delivers two hard slaps on my thighs again, I scream loudly at the pain but he just glides his hands up, keeping me opened and exposed to his eyes. At this point I know I'm dripping down on the sheets.

- You're making such a mess. – his fingertips finally slide softly on my lower lips, I feel my whole body tense in anticipation.

Hoseok buries his face on my neck, licking the skin before pulling it between his teeth, and looks at my face again.

- Keep your eyes open or I'll punish you again. – he says as I feel two of his fingers being pushed inside of me.

I'm so wet that they slide right in, the feeling of his rings against my lower lips makes me release a soft moan when he's knuckles deep. Hoseok starts pumping his fingers in and out immediately, scissoring them inside me, literally stretching my walls the best he can. To keep my eyes open reveals to be a very hard task when he's fingering me so good.

- Keep looking at me, baby. – his other hand brushes the hairs sticking to my forehead, a sweat that I wasn't even aware of dripping down my temples.

His thumb finds my clit and I arch my back, my hands grip the sheets wishing they could grip on his hair.

- You have a tight little pussy, don't you? – he says in a husky voice.

I can't help but to close my eyes feeling my walls clenching around his skillful fingers. Hoseok slowly slides them out, opening my folds and gliding them up and down, missing my clit on purpose. He plunges the same two fingers into me again, making me cry out loud with the teasing, just to repeat the same process again, spreading my wetness all over. By the fourth time I'm begging for him to fuck me with tears running down my face.

- Look at you, falling apart when I have only two fingers inside you. – his voice diminishes me.

Hoseok slides his fingers out of my walls, bringing them to his mouth, and I see the ring I should rob covered in my own juices. He licks one of them, keeping his eyes locked on me, then offers me the middle finger with the fucking ring on. I open my mouth letting him do whatever he wants, feeling myself on my tongue. When Hoseok is satisfied, he lets me eye his beautiful skin being revealed while his hands work on the buttons of the white dress shirt still covering his chest. His faint abs make me wanna lick every line of it.

- But I'll take mercy on you. – he suddenly grabs my waist and flips me over, forcing me to get on my knees while my face is pressed down against the pillow.

- Please. – I beg for what it seems to be the millionth time tonight.

Hoseok opens my lower lips again, tapping my clit two times, making me squirm in desire.

- I want your little clit to get slapped every time I fuck into you, baby.

I moan so loud that any neighbor sleeping at this time will probably wake up. His words are so filthy, they send me into a frenzy and he isn't even touching me.

When I think I can't wait anymore, the painful throbbing between my legs becoming unbearable, I feel the tip of his member pushing inside me. Hoseok doesn't even let my walls adjust around his girthy length, his hips pound me incessantly since the beginning. He could have spent hours fingering me and I still wouldn't be ready to take him like this, the stretch is an addicting mix of pain and pleasure. I bite the pillow trying to muffle the ridiculously loud moans that form in my throat but Hoseok's hands start spanking my ass.

- Don't keep your sounds in unless you want me to force them out. – he growls at me.

- I'm sorry. – I manage to choke out.

- Sorry what? – his palms come down again even harder and I know I won't be able to sit tomorrow.

- I'm sorry, sir! – I cry out loud.

His pace never falters, just gets more and more punishing, his balls slap on my exposed clit every time, making me lift my chest a bit and look down on my body. I see him pounding in and out of me, a little droplet of a mix of our wetness slides through my folds and drips on the sheets. The scene is so overwhelmingly pleasurable that I'm instantly ready to combust.

- I'm so c-close. – I mutter under my breath.

- You're not allowed to cum yet. – even when making so much effort to practically rearrange my insides with his cock, he still has a controlled voice.

- No, sir, p-please. I-

My voice gets lost in the middle of a sentence when my hair gets pulled back. Hoseok brings me flush against his chest, my palms opening to feel the tensed skin of his abs. This angle makes him hit my sweet spot directly and he knows it, because he starts hammering that place unmercifully. I feel my orgasm so close that it's almost painful.

- I said no. Learn to hold that shit in, slut. – he whispers darkly in my ear.

My walls instantly clench around him with the way he talks to me, making it so much harder for him to move. I hear a soft moan leaving his mouth.

- Of course you'd like being called slut. I should have had my fingers in you when I slapped your face, I bet you'd clench on them too. – he slips one of his hands down my stomach while the other one keeps me in place by my hips. – Cum.

With that command, he slaps my pussy. And that's when I lose it. My whole body spams, he lets go of my hips and I fall on the pillow, his hips are still moving, not as hard as before, fucking me through my first orgasm.

- Fuck, you take me so good, baby girl.

The new petname makes me smile faintly against the pillow. My clenching walls are probably making him feel so good he forgot the harsh façade for a while.

- Come here, I wanna look at your face. – he slides out of me and when I start moving to get on my back he holds me still. – Wait a bit, little thief.

I feel the handcuffs being tugged and then I'm finally free. I bring my hands down, supporting my weight and looking at the red marks around my wrists.

- You won your freedom for now. Do anything stupid and I'll tie your four limbs to the bed. – he says unmercifully before twisting me, putting me on my back again.

Hoseok helps me to get out of my blouse, his hands not wasting any time in feeling my whole body again like I was fully dressed until now.

This time around I make sure to drag my fingertips on his abs. He looks at the scene under him, my legs opened and thighs all glistened, hands savouring the feeling of his soft skin.

- Fuck. – Hoseok curses making me look up at him.

The ends of his hair are wet with sweat, it's still parted letting me see the forehead, his hooded eyes are ready to eat me whole, lips red with our bruising kisses. He's still wearing the pants that hang low on his hips with the visible V line going down to his dick.

Hoseok is the hottest guy I've ever laid eyes on.

And he fucks me all over again. But slowly, with languid strokes that make my toes curl, dragging every inch of his length inside of me, making me feel full. I drag my hands on his soft hair, pulling at it, bringing his lips to mine, drag my nails down his strong back, leaving red marks. I feel his teeth doing the same with my neck, marking me so I'll see him when I look at the mirror again.

But I'd see him on me even without the marks. The feeling of his skin on mine is too remarkable to ever forget, the drag of his girthy length inside me too fucking good to let it go.

He seems to notice my mind is away and delivers a punishing thrust in me that makes my eyes widen.

- What did I say about not focusing on me? – he whispers on my lips.

Before I can even think of anything else, he's sneaking a hand between us to play with my swollen bud, making sure I'm feeling the maximum pleasure that he can give.

After what it feels like the third time I'm cumming, he finally slips out of my heat and lies down besides me. Our laboured breathing mixing with the constant sound of the rain outside.

- You can have this. – Hoseok finally speaks, taking off the ring on his middle finger and placing it on my belly.

- How did you know? – I frown looking at the beautiful ring closely.

- I saw it on your phone

My phone? The only time he had alone with it was in those small seconds when he got it from the floor and placed on his desk. Hoseok is way more skilled than I thought and now I wonder who exactly I just fucked for the past hour.

- Listen to me, Shadowcat. – Hoseok gets up on his elbow, cupping my face with one of his elegant hands. – Take it to Yuyi.

For the first time I don't see lust or hate in his eyes, he looks at me fondly, making my heart ache for affection.

- And come back to me if you wanna change the life you live.

[fanaticfangirl001]

The One and Only Ms.Mercury pt 2

Rami x reader (Freddie’s daughter)

Author’s note: Let’s do this guys! 

Vocab words: Take away- delivery food. (In the Uk you can get more than pizza delivered) 

Also for future reference:  Dad refers to Freddie, Papa refers to Jim. 

Ps: This one seemed short, but it also seemed natural to stop it there. 

Thought you guys might enjoy this.

@queen-irl-af

@kiillerqueeen

@rami-malek-trash

*I guess I’ll use the same gif because the other gifs aren’t loading. 

Y/n kicks off her shoes near the front door and goes up the stairs to her room. She flops onto her bed and picks up her sketchbook from the night stand. Grabbing a pencil she sketches a simple drawing of her dad’s, based off a picture inside a little pink frame that’s laying on her desk. Y/n is sitting on Freddie’s lap. Both of them are wearing plastic tiaras and feather boas,eating cake. It’s from her second birthday.

 Her art style has varied during her four years on YouTube but it typically stays within a cartoon like style, roundish characters with thick outlines. Many of her professors hated the style but she never really cared what they said, as most of the artwork that they preferred were sad people, or too pretentious for Y/n’s liking. She didn’t really show many people her artwork offline in “real life” due to many of their “criticisms”. 

Y/n sets down her sketchbook, and walks over to her cabinet of art supplies, mostly gifted to her by the companies for reviewing it, or from art subscription boxes. She pulls out two watercolor palettes one for the skin tones, and another for bright metallic neons. Y/n tosses some fine liner markers onto her bed followed by the pallet. 

She drops herself onto the bed and starts erasing the lines lightly so she can line them with the markers. Rolling the kneaded eraser in her hands, Y/n starts thinking: This movie is going to change things. The only reason I’m not hounded by reporters is because I stay in and stay out of the spotlight. Me helping on this movie, thrusts me into some spotlight. I’m also a woman so there’s that added pressure. 

Y/n puts down her eraser and closes her sketchbook. She walks to the bathroom and stares into the mirror. She rubs the bottom of her chin, bumpy due to the acne that wanted to stick around and takes the pony-tail holder out of her hair. Spotlight, do I need an esthetician, or a glam squad when I leave the house? Am I British Kardashian? I mean I have the ass of one, and that’s from take-away. Are people going to expect me to dress like my dad? 

Y/n shakes her head of all the crazy thoughts and started the water for a nice soothing bath. She finds the four bath bubblers from Lush and crumbles them under the faucet. The bubbles and foam threaten to overfill the tub. Y/n strips off her jumper and jeans. She carefully sinks into the bath. Her phone rings to the custom ring meaning that her Uncle John is calling. Y/n carefully stands up and grabs her phone. 

“How was the business dinner?” John asks once Y/n picks up. 

“You knew.” Y/n says exasperated shaking her head. 

“You didn’t?” John adds. 

“Nope, disguised it like a family dinner. There’s gonna be a Queen movie, by the way.” Y/n adds. 

“Are you going to be on set?” John asks. 

“No I’m just gonna let them fuck my dad’s image up the arse.” Y/n sasses her uncle. 

“Language Y/n, who the fuck taught you those words.” John sasses back. 

“Did you just want to sass your niece or is there a reason for this lovely phone call?” Y/n asks 

“Luke said you seemed upset after the dinner, and I wanted to check up on you.” John says. 

“Uncle John, you’re getting sappy.” Y/n teases. 

“Let a grouchy old man care about his niece, who needs to visit him more.” John replies. 

“I’m sensing you also want me to visit because I made chocolate cake and brought it the last time.” Y/n muses. 

“Call it a consolation prize.” John offers. 

“Are you saying that you were suffering because my presence was not there.” Y/n says dramatically. 

“Severely.” John sasses her with his dramatics. 

“I’ll come by more.” Y/n adds, “ With cake.” 

The typical goodbyes are said and Y/n hangs up the phone to enjoy the rest of her bubble bath. 

She carefully gets out and grabs a towel to dry off, then puts on a fluffy purple robe. 

I need to edit, record a voice over, and then go back to the drawing. 

Y/n walks over to her desk and sits down ready to edit. The video she filmed yesterday is a review of a subscription box and using the art supplies in it. The sketch went well but as she went on to color it, something seemed off and it looked better in black and white. This sometimes happened when she worked with a supply she wasn’t familiar with like makers. She speed up the sketching and erasing portion of the video and shortened the thirty minutes of drawing down to fifteen minutes, including the initial opening and swatching of the materials. Y/n takes a sip of water and plugs in her microphone to record her commentary. 

She begins introducing the video and its main contents being the box and the challenge of using all the materials in it to make something. Y/n during the swatching section says the colors of markers: a mustard yellow, olive green, and a cranberry red might be a little difficult to use together, and that she isn’t very comfortable with markers but she’ll make the best of it. The first idea for her challenge is to draw a person but every practice attempt was erased because she didn’t like the head, or the proportions. 

Y/n finally decided on drawing a badger wearing a  yellow bobble-hat, sitting on a moss covered log, eating berries. Her commentary ranged from artistic decisions, to wonder what badgers actually eat, or if a badger could comprehend the color yellow and all it’s majesticness. Most people that watch her videos enjoy her ramblings in the background as they see a piece go from a brainstorm to a finished project, because she seems so genuine and a little odd. Y/n signs off from her video in the traditional way with “ Stay weird, Stay Mad, and always draw with Mercury.” 

She chose the name Drawing With Mercury, for two reasons: one, Y/n’s favorite Disney movie has always been Alice in Wonderland, especially for the character, Mad Hatter, and two, she wanted to use her last name since, it’s a pretty cool last name, and you only live once. She uploaded her first video and received a warm welcome from her subscribers. In the beginning there were a few mean comments but they weren’t about her appearance as she only showed her hands in her videos. 

Y/n splices the audio with the video and rewatches herself draw, erase, draw again, ink, then color her drawing. She uploads the video and waits for it to be complete which for this video and with her wifi connection it would take around an hour. She opens her sketchbook back to the drawing of her birthday with Dad and takes out her water color pallet. Dipping her water brush pen into the paint, a small tear dripped from her eyes, fell from her cheek and onto the corner of the page. 

“I miss you, Dad.” Y/n says to no one as she fills in his face with color. 

There was no copying the photograph perfectly. Freddie in the pictures, looking down at his messy daughter with chocolate cake on her face, his face shows nothing but adoration and pure happiness. It was his idea for a princess party, since every Sunday the three of them would have tea parties and Y/n always loved dressing up. Y/n looking up at her dad with same look in her eyes as his. 

Y/n rubs her eyes and continues painting the party outfits, even the feather boas and tiaras. She puts the sketchbook on her dresser letting the paint dry and falls onto her bed. She opens her small jewelry box on her nightstand and takes out her silver heart locket with a smaller heart diamond on the front. Y/n opens the locket looking at the small picture of her Dad and Papa. 

“I miss you, Papa.” She says again, to no one. 

She lightly kisses the locket and puts it back in the box, and puts it in the first drawer of the night stand. Y/n pulls the covers tightly around herself and slowly falls asleep to the rain hitting the roof.

[gia-fox-blog]

BASIC INFORMATION

FULL NAME: Lady Alexandria Georgiana Fox PRONUNCIATION: (a poor attempt was made to use the IPA respelling guide)  a-lihkhs-AHN-dree-ə joor-jee-ah-NƏ  FAWKS NICKNAME(S): Gia, Georgie, Princess Die (whispered, primarily — the resemblance is too much to deny). BIRTH DATE: 7 June, 1997. AGE: 21, blackjack. ZODIAC: Gemini, the twins. GENDER: A lady never tells. PRONOUNS: She and hers suffice. SEXUAL ORIENTATION: Unimportant, uninspiring, unnecessary. NATIONALITY: British (English), holds a Swiss passport as well. Ethnically part-Indian (Goan), mostly English, with a very tiny part Chinese. TITLE(S): The Fallen Angel, due to her family’s peerage she is styled as Lady Fox. MAJOR: Art History (with a heavy emphasis on the Baroque period in Europe). EXTRACURRICULARS: Sulking, primarily. Borderless World Volunteers, figure skating, skiing (all formerly).

BACKGROUND

HOMETOWN: Chelsea, London, England (via Somerset, England and Panjim, Goa, India). FATHER: His Grace Arthur August Fox, 9th Duke of Westminster. MOTHER: Her Grace Astrid Nâtaline Fox (née Blackwood), Duchess of Westminster. SIBLING(S): Lord James Edward Fox, Earl Grosvenor (twin). OTHER IMPORTANT RELATIVES: Kanan Zâbel ‘Elizabeth’ Blackwood (née Vaidya) (maternal grandmother), James Arkanj Blackwood (maternal uncle). ARRESTS?: None to date, though any arrests made would be dealt with with a single phone call (it’s a good thing that’s how many they give you from jail).

OCCUPATION & INCOME

SPENDING HABITS: According to her father’s accountant, they are “egregious”, “ridiculous”, and “irresponsible”, though Saint Augstine’s isolation has quelled her spending, as the Swiss campus does not take deliveries from Selfridges and Harvey Nichols and it is impossible to spend endless, expensive days in Harrods in the alpine village. MOST VALUABLE POSSESSION: The pair of sapphire studs that Jamie gave her for their shared eighteenth birthday, before that, the simple gold hoops she was gifted as an infant (though she suspects they were not, as her mother claims, a present from the Queen but rather the Princess Royal’s, or one of her lesser-titled children, doing). Taken literally, the most valuable thing in her possession (or, at least, held in a vault in her name) is the Westminster Tiara.

SKILLS & ABILITIES

TALENTS: Crying on command, penmanship (winner of her year two class’ most beautiful penmanship award), figure skating (formerly), dancing on tables (formerly), doing a line in less than a second, piloting Dassault Falcons, writing art history essays (genuinely). SHORTCOMINGS: Primarily, jealousy, something like naïveté, little control over her emotions. LANGUAGE(S) SPOKEN: English, Spanish (Castilian) (fluent), semi-fluent in French and Latin, phrases in some of the following: Swiss German, Bavarian, and Italian. Knows less Konkani than she should. DRIVE?: She could until her licence was revoked. RIDE A BICYCLE?: Yes, handily, her father taught her how. SWIM?: It’s her favourite summer sport, she has pictures with Michael Phelps from London 2012. PLAY AN INSTRUMENT?: Gia played violin for a brief period in primary school (she was forced to) but never left the ‘beginner’ level. PLAY CHESS?: Yes, though she tends to lose she knows the basics. TIE A TIE?: No, she’s never needed to know how to.

PHYSICAL APPEARANCE & CHARACTERISTICS

FACE CLAIM: Zoë Barnard. GLASSES/CONTACTS?: She should be wearing reading glasses but adamantly refuses to. DOMINANT HAND: Left (Jamie’s left-handed as well). HEIGHT: 5′10, her father is 6′5 and her mother is 6′ so she’s the shortest in her family. TATTOOS: None. PEIRCINGS: Many, entirely in her ears, including cartilage, helix, tragus, and lobe piercings. MARKS/SCARS: The reconstruction marred her once pretty features, and while the plastic surgeon managed to clean up some of the mess required to keep her alive, there’s are numerous scars up and down the length of the left side of her face, the most prominent seemingly dividing her eye into two. NOTABLE FEATURES: Now? The scars. Before, her gaze. Not her eyes themselves or their colour, but the way she looked at things, and the intensity of the way she did so. CLOTHING STYLE: Verging on Sloane Ranger revival, impeccable and elegant tailoring with a dash of ‘I don’t give a fuck’, like Princess Diana and her short, skin-baring dresses post-divorce, or CBK in a jumper-and-collared-oxford with her husband’s baseball cap turned backwards on her head. Slouchy but still crisp. Equestrian but not obnoxiously so. Burberry cheques are out.

PSYCHOLOGY

MBTI TYPE: ENFJ, the Protagonist (also at times INFJ, the Advocate, she has a 60-40 split between Extroverted and Introverted). MORAL ALIGNMENT: True Neutral. TEMPERAMENT: Sanguine. MENTAL HEALTH: Poor, to say the absolute least. ADDICTION(S): Nicotine, oral fixation. DRUG USE: Restricted, used to abuse cocaine and Ritalin (slash other amphetamines) frequently. ALCOHOL USE: Restricted, formerly a heavy drinker. PRONE TO VIOLENCE?: Her strops are biblical in proportion (and that is the Old Testament God biblical, not Jesus Loves All biblical).

FAVORITES

ANIMAL: Some kind of sleek, fast cat, like a cheetah, or a jaguar. BOOK: She claims it’s Anna Karenina, but she’s never managed to finish it. COLOR: Indigo. FOOD: She’s been a vegetarian since she was eight years old, so she would say, with complete sincerity (and even earnestly) that she loves a good merlot, because grapes are definitely a food so wine must be one too. MOVIE: She flits between noirs, currently the battle rages between The Big Sleep, Vertigo, and In The Mood For Love. MUSICAL ARTIST: Rosalía Vila Tobella. QUOTE/SAYING: “And I say to myself: a moon will rise from my darkness.” (Mahmoud Darwish) SCENT: She wears Robert Piguet’s Fracas (her winter scent, and winter is eternal in the mountains) and Serge Lutens’ À la nuit (if Fracas is a lustful death, then À la nuit is drowning in jasmine blossoms), though she still dreams of her mother’s old perfume, the increasingly impossible to find Shiseido Nombre Noir, lingering on Chanel tweed jackets and Versace mini dresses in the back of her wardrobe in the townhouse. SPORT: Figure skating. VACATION DESTINATION: Anywhere with a desert and an oasis and mountains looming. Alternately, Iceland.

ATTITUDES

GREATEST DREAM: Snuffed out quite aggressively by the crash. GREATEST FEAR: Thunder. BIGGEST SECRET: She was sober and conscious when the car crashed. TOP PRIORITIES: Vengeance.

[gukyi]

the millionaire and his lover | jjk

⇒ summary: over the course of your lifelong friendship with jungkook, you can’t say that you’ve ever had the greatest ideas, and a fake relationship with the boy you’ve been in love with for years is no exception. 

⇒ self-gratuitous ceo au, friends-to-lovers, and fake relationship trope rolled into one big shitstorm of a jungkook fic

⇒ pairing: jungkook x female reader

⇒ word count: 18k

⇒ genre: fluff, angst, and light smut

⇒ warnings: alcohol mentions, smut

⇒ a/n: hello all! i wanted to kickoff my writing on this blog with a bang, so here’s a longish fic on my wildest dreams. 

When you first tell people that you happen to know CEO and multimillionaire Jeon Jungkook, they tell you one of three things:

1: You’re so lucky! Could you introduce me?

2: You must have saved an entire country in your past life.

3: Is he as much of an asshole as the news outlets make him out to be?

What you don’t say, though, is this: You and Jungkook have had history for as long as you could remember. As not only neighbors, but also childhood friends, you happen to know quite a lot about the man who made a name of himself before he even graduated from university. You would also very much like to keep quiet the fact that you’ve harbored a crush on the boy for quite some time now, obvious to everyone whose name isn’t Jeon Jungkook.

Jeon Jungkook is, in one word, brilliant. He is brilliantly intelligent, brilliantly talented, brilliantly beautiful. He is suave and smooth and gets what he wants and if he didn’t possess such a disdain for the tabloids that do nothing but stretch the truth, he would have them wrapped around his finger. Sure, he’s no actor or singer, but he is a celebrity, and a skilled one at that. The media know no boundaries when it comes to a man like Jungkook, painting him as stunning yet rude, rich yet selfish, smart but cold. You know they blow his brief affairs out of proportion, and you know they will never know the boy who fell off of his bicycle in the second grade.

Jungkook is not powerful enough to replace the stars in your sky, but he is powerful enough to rearrange them right in front of your eyes, creating endless constellations that all remind you of him. He is the boy you have cherished since your elementary school days, when he would accidentally drool on your shoulder and throw sand into your mouth, and you are the girl who, despite all class differences, has stuck by him through thick and thin. It is not enough, but perhaps to him, it is.

“Do you ever try to mooch off of his wealth?” People ask you. “I would.”

And sure, every now and then you will ask him for money and he will give it to you, but your intentions are pure and you do not, will not, ever take his generosity for granted. Not when he has so much and you so little. You know what life is like when the world keeps trying to trip you, and a bit of smooth ground is not enough to keep you from forgetting the struggle.

That is, until you get laid off your job due to an influx of new workers, and your next student debt payment is due in roughly, a week.

“What?”

You glare at the email on the screen of the laptop you’ve had ever since your third year of secondary school. On the screen, in big, bold, black letters, are the words DISMISSAL NOTICE. Under them, your name.

This is the worst timing you’ve had in a long while. Not that your job was dreamy or anything, but it paid and it paid well enough for you to keep on top of your rent and your student debt payments. The rent’s been taken care of, especially since your eccentric roommate has a hell of a job and is pretty generous herself, offering to pay for more of the rent when she knows you can’t make it up to quota, in return for completing some of her schoolwork or whatever. It’s a good system, really, but this has thrown you for so many loops that you don’t know which way is up anymore.

“Fuck,” you mutter under your breath. Both elbows are on the desk in front of you as you rub your eyes, tired of this job and this room and this life. Days like this are the days you can’t stand to see Jungkook’s face on the cover of a magazine or his name in the headline of an article, flaunting his wealth with his Armani suits and Rolex watches and slicked-back hair. Envious isn’t a characteristic you’d like to describe yourself with, but when it comes to him, the feeling can’t help but creep up.

You have no idea how you’re going to be able to afford the last several hundred thousand won of debt payment without a job. Sure, Jungkook is only a mere few phone taps away, but even this is too big of a favor for you to ask him. You don’t think you’ve ever asked for more than fifty thousand won from him, and to Jungkook, that’s pocket change.

So, in perhaps more of a desperation than a determination, you start cruising the online bulletin boards and local stores’ websites for a job, one that you are vying to keep.

A day passes, and then another, and nothing.

“No luck?” Your roommate asks as she walks into your bedroom, seeing you hunched over your laptop with red eyes and messy hair.

“No,” you sigh. “No one’s hiring. Probably because the graduating university class this year was so big. Everyone wants young employees, or they’ve already got them.”

“You’ll get it,” your roommate assures you. You’re doubtful, but her encouraging words lift up your spirit ever so slightly. “I believe in you.”

“Thanks, Wendy.”

She smiles before leaving your room, shutting the door behind her like a true best friend. You really appreciate Wendy, and her uncanny brightness and constant friendliness.

The job hunt continues.

Three days before the deadline and you’ve only been able to make a couple thousand won for helping an old lady with her groceries up several flights of stairs. Like a true procrastinator, you are somewhat stretching out your search — which you know you shouldn’t be doing — but it’s not like a new job offer will just pop out of thin air. They’re all taken, all of them. You knew not going directly into a career after graduating was a shitty move, but you did it anyway, and here you are. Besides, what can you do with a history degree anyway when history teachers are a dime a dozen?

Wendy is making no mention of Jungkook, which you are very thankful for. She knows how you feel about borrowing money from him, so he is, essentially, out of the picture. Or, so you hoped he was.

As you’re lounging around on your sofa, lazily scrolling the forums for any more job popups, your phone rings.

It’s Jungkook, because of course it’s Jungkook, and the very fact that he’s calling you rather than texting you makes you know that this is serious business.

“Hello?”

“Y/N! How are you?” Jungkook exclaims on the other end.

“Busy,” you reply, sort of telling the truth but also sort of lying. Yes, you technically are busy with your job hunt, but you are also not busy with your job hunt thanks to your superior procrastination skills.

“Busy? Is now a bad time?” You can practically see the concern on Jungkook’s face.

“No, you’re good. What’s up?”

“I was wondering if you could meet me at the company? I have a favor to ask you,” Jungkook asks.

“A favor?” You sputter, clearly surprised. A favor? Since when was he the asker of favors? For as long as you’ve known him, it’s almost always been the other way around. Now you really know this is something serious.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind. We could go out for lunch too, if you’d like. There’s this great Italian place that just opened up in Gangnam that we could try—”

“So soon?” You ask, looking down at yourself. You most certainly do not have your Gangnam style on, thank you very much.

“If you’re cool with that. I’d like to meet up sometime today, though,” says Jungkook.

Wendy walks into the living room where you sit, having your conversation. She can tell immediately from your furrowed brows that it’s Jungkook you’re talking to.

What’s he want? She mouths.

He wants a favor, you mouth back. And lunch.

Go! Wendy motions as though it’s the most obvious thing in the world. She may know a thing or two about your harbored and quite frankly, unsurprising crush on Jungkook.

You look back at her like she has fifteen heads, surprised that she’s so adamant about you going on this outing with the boy. She merely glares at you in response, a single eyebrow raised. You know you’ve lost this debate.

“Sure,” you say into the phone at the same time that Wendy pumps a fist in support. “Give me fifteen minutes to get ready and I’ll be over soon.”

“Great!” Jungkook exclaims into the phone. “See you!”

The second you turn the phone off, you’re about to argue with Wendy about her decisions made throughout the entire conversation, but she cuts you off, shoving you into your room and in front of your closet.

“Scream at me later, you have a date!”

“It’s not a date!” You whine from behind the closed door. “It’s just… an outing!” You mentally facepalm. Yes, this is a date. You know you can hear Wendy snickering from the hallway as you shuffle through your closet for the nicest dress you own.

The ‘company’ Jungkook was talking about is his skyscraper of an office building smack dab in the middle of Seoul, his name plastered in big metal letters across the top reading, JEON CORPORATIONS. It’s hard to mistake it for anything else, really, and as you step off of the bus right in front of his building, you’re as intimidated as always. Every time you come to this building you tell yourself not to look up, and every time, you do.

You feel so out of place walking into the pristine building, the floors marbled and the walls gleaming. The lobby, as per usual, is sparkling, likely a result of Jungkook’s need for everything to be as neat and tidy as possible. Even when you were little, his room was always spotless and his schoolbooks ordered by height, then color.

You swear you’ve been to Jungkook enough times while he’s at work for the staff in the lobby to stop questioning you, but protocol, you guess. It’s not very often a young, lost girl stumbles into the building without a product to sell or a camera crew behind her.

“Hi,” you say to the lady at the front desk. She has an earpiece in and her hair is tied tightly back to reveal the crisp collar of her blazer. “I’m here to see Jeon Jungkook.”

“Name?”

You give her your name and she shuffles through her computer, clicking away before she shakes her head, friendly but professional.

“You’re not on his list.”

You roll your eyes and sigh. You’re never on his list. His list is for businessmen and authorized interviews and people who have a meeting with him in his big meeting room with those leather chairs that are surprisingly uncomfortable, not you. Surely his staff should recognize you by now. You show up a the building once every week or two.

“He asked me to come here,” you say through clenched teeth. Like he always does is on the tip of your tongue, but you keep your mouth shut so you don’t get confronted by those terrifying security guards of his.

“Oh,” the lady says, disregarding your comment completely. “You’ll just have to wait until he’s free, I guess.”

Lord knows when that will be. You know you can’t necessarily stomp up to his office without any sort of authorization, but you assume that if you’ve done it before, you can do it again.

“Thanks,” you say, not thankful at all. You walk up to the elevators before the lady can say anything to stop you, and get in before she can get out of her seat to kick you out of the building. His office is on the top floor — surprise, surprise —so you hit the button and wait in silence. Luckily, Jungkook isn’t awful enough to force you to listen to that shitty elevator music. You spend the brief ride thinking on what you might say to the big men guarding the door to his office, but before you can come up with anything plausible, you reach the top floor.

As expected, once you approach his door one of the big men places his hand in front of the handle, preventing you from going inside.

“Name?”

“Ugh,” you reply, tired. “Y/N. Can’t I just go in?” These guards can’t be as dense as his staff downstairs.

“Sorry, Miss, but Mr. Jeon is busy right now. Is it urgent?”

“He invited me here,” you tell them, as though that will change anything.

“Mr. Jeon made no mention of that to us, so unfortunately, I cannot let you inside,” the other big man says.

You stretch over the hand covering the door and knock on the wood roughly and loudly. The guards are affronted, you can tell, but you really don’t care. They both step in front of the door now, their heavy bodies blocking the entire thing from view.

“Jungkook! It’s me!” You shout over them, hoping your voice pierces through the mass of wall and big men.

Not long after, the door opens.

“Y/N? Here already?” Jungkook asks, forcing the two big men to step aside. “I didn’t think you’d get here for another ten minutes.”

“I got an earlier bus,” you reply.

“Mr. Jeon?” One of the men interrupt. “Do you know her?”

Jungkook looks to his guard before he glances towards you, eyes wide with fear. You’re glaring at him, your eyes squinted and arms crossed. “Yes, she’s a good friend.” He grabs your arm and pulls you inside. “Thanks!”

The moment the door is closed, Jungkook braces himself.

“You know how much of a pain your staff was to me today?” You shout at him. “I swear, they made me lose five years of my life. Why am I not on your fucking list?” You push his chest, but he is strong as hell and doesn’t even move.

“Sorry, Y/N,” Jungkook says, shrugging. “I’ll try to remember to remind my staff that you’re authorized to be here at any time.”

“Yeah, you punk,” you reply, collapsing on the couch he keeps in his office. It is, for the most part, untouched, your body normally the only thing that ever sits on it. Jungkook doesn’t let very many people into his office, let alone allows them to sit on his couch as crassly as you.

“I’m glad you got here. I could ask you for the favor now, while we’re at lunch, or after,” Jungkook says, leaning back in his office chair. Sometimes, when he runs out to go settle some deal or simply use the bathroom, you spin yourself around in it. It’s a rule that when you are met with a wheely office chair, you must spin.

“Tell it to me now, because I have a feeling I’m not going to like it, and then the lunch can compensate me,” You advise, not even looking at him as you lie on your back.

Jungkook chuckles. “How do you know you won’t like it? I haven’t even told you.”

“You never ask me for favors, Jungkook,” you remind him. “I think the last time you asked me for a favor, YG was still a thriving entertainment company.”

That comment elicits a laugh out of Jungkook. “Listen, you have to trust me, Y/N.”

“I never trust you, Jungkook.” You smile as you sit up on his couch, beaming at him.

“Well,” Jungkook begins, and you’re already shaking your head. “My family is coming from Busan to visit next week, and within the next couple weeks I have a ton of business parties and get-togethers, so—”

“I am not going to iron your fucking suits, Jungkook. You should know how to iron things by now,” you immediately say, sternly. If Jungkook asks you to come over to his extravagant penthouse just so you can do his laundry one more time, you’re going to explode.

“No, no, that’s not what I was saying,” Jungkook laughs. “Let me finish, you get too ahead of yourself.”

You sit back, mildly intrigued as to what his favor might be.

“You know that my family’s pretty adamant about me having a relationship, and at the business parties I keep getting asked about a girlfriend, so I was wondering if you could accompany me as a pretend girlfriend, almost?” He asks, wincing.

He should be wincing. This is definitely the weirdest thing someone has asked you in forever.

“A pretend girlfriend?” You ask, confused.

“Yeah, like, you would walk around with me and we’d pretend to be dating and stuff. I was going to just find some other girl, but you’re the one I, uh, trust the most.” Jungkook scratches at the nape of his neck, nervous. “Like, you know the most about me anyway, and it’s practically like we’re dating already, except we’re not.”

“What’s in it for me?”

“I’ll pay you. And buy you nice things.”

That gets your attention. Payment? To hang around Jungkook? Normally, you’d be declining in almost an instant, refusing to accept money in return for your company. But now, in a situation like yours, with your debt payment creeping up on the horizon and a futile job search, it actually doesn’t sound like a bad idea.

“For how long?” You ask, intrigued.

“Um, a few weeks, I guess. You could move in for that time period too, if you want. It makes it seem more realistic,” he offers.

If Wendy was with you right now, she’d be making an elaborate display behind Jungkook that spells out one thing, which is no way. You know it’s a bad idea; the ghost of Wendy is hissing it in your ear. You’ve seen the movies, you know how all fake relationships end up, and still, you are genuinely considering taking the offer. If Jungkook is offering you a couple of weeks where you can finally experience what you’ve been dreaming of doing for years, then perhaps it might not be such a terrible idea after all.

“I could?”

“Sure, I have tons of space,” Jungkook says without a shadow of a doubt. He seems pleased. “It’s so lonely up there. I could use some of your company.”

“Really? Never pegged you as a people person, you know,” you tease him. “You’re always so aloof and distant.”

“Don’t tell me you’re believing what the media says about me now,” Jungkook says, exasperated by you. Tiring him out happens to be a favorite hobby of yours.

“Oh, don’t worry, you big oaf. I just don’t know if this fake dating thing might be a good idea,” you say.

“It’ll be fine,” Jungkook says reassuringly. “We’re already best friends, so it’s not like anything will change. We’re just friends.”

“Just friends.”

“Just friends,” Jungkook states. “With a bit of kissing on the side.”

“What?”

Jungkook laughs at your reaction, your eyes blown wide in surprise at the notion of kissing him. You’re in shock at the idea of kissing him, the boy you can’t help but love, but also in shock with how calmly he brought it up. Hasn’t he seen the movies? Doesn’t he worry about what might happen to your relationship?

“We have to kiss, we’re dating,” Jungkook chuckles.

You open your mouth, about to respond when Jungkook’s phone vibrates in his pocket. He pulls it out and jumps up from where he was leaning back on his desk, grabbing your hand and his suit jacket as he pulls you towards the door. “Our reservation!”

“What! You made a reservation?” You exclaim as he nods to his security guard and tugs you into the elevator.

“Yeah. We’re going out, aren’t we?”

“But won’t this seem kind of… I don’t know, scandalous? Reporters wait outside your building every day. They’ll see us!” You worry.

Jungkook looks down in between the two of you and holds your hand, interlocking your fingers. It’s not unusual for you to hold hands often — it’s become a symbol of friendship — but this time, it feels different.

“Yeah, and you’re my girlfriend now, so I don’t care.”

The first thing Jungkook wants you to do is move in for the next few weeks.

You don’t have to bring too much stuff, just enough for you to live at my place. I can buy you new clothes if you want, he texts you as you are stuffing your suitcases with all of the clothes you deem necessary to survive in a new environment. It doesn’t matter that Jungkook is rich beyond belief and could probably accommodate you like a king, you want your goddamn pajamas.

“It’s going to be so lonely,” Wendy laments as you pull your suitcase towards the door to your apartment.

You laugh, amused. “You’ll be fine. I’ll keep you updated, no worries.”

“Damn straight you will,” Wendy says back, eyeing you with such a ferocity that you know you can’t back down from your unofficial promise. “Are you only taking one suitcase?”

“It’s got all my shit, my clothes, my laptop, my toiletries,” you say, shrugging. You know you’re forgetting something, you just can’t exactly pinpoint what it is.

“Alright, if you say so. When’s your bus?”

“In like, ten minutes, I think? I’ll probably go outside and wait there,” you say, slipping into your sneakers.

Wendy’s gazing out the window, appearing particularly confused at what she’s looking at. “I don’t think you’ll need to take the bus, Y/N.”

“Huh?”

You walk up to where she stands, eyeing the landscape outside. Below your apartment, you can see half of a gleaming black limousine, waiting. Without thinking twice, you know it’s from Jungkook. Of course.

“I hate this boy,” you sigh. You didn’t even tell him what time you’d be leaving your apartment, and still, he does this.

“Better go, don’t want to keep that limo driver waiting for too long,” Wendy says, pushing you towards the door before you’ve even got both sneakers on.

“What?”

“See you in three weeks!”

You find yourself just outside the door to your apartment, and when you turn around, you are met with Wendy’s beaming face right before it shuts in front of you, signifying that you are no longer allowed to be in the apartment.

Once you’ve migrated downstairs, the driver greets you politely before ushering you inside the limo. Only the best for you, is what’s written on a notecard on the table inside. Fucking Jungkook.

You have to say, Jungkook really does spare no expense for your comfort, evidenced by the expensive mini-fridge stuffed to the brim with sodas and brownies and the pristine leather seating. It makes you feel out of place, really, your worn-in clothes sitting in such fine seats. Then again, you normally feel out of place whenever you’re surrounded by Jungkook’s expensive belongings.

The drive finally comes to a halt in front of Jungkook’s building, yet another skyscraper that hurts your eyes to look up at. You offer to tip the driver on your way out, holding twenty-thousand won out for him to grab, but he declines, telling you that he’s already been paid plenty, courtesy of Mr. Jeon, obviously.

At least the security guards at Jungkook’s own penthouse know who you are. You have no issue trying to coax them into letting you inside, them having already been notified of your arrival. You merely bow towards them as they let you inside.

Much like his office building, every time you visit his home you are taken aback by how extravagant yet stunning it is. The place is fucking immaculate, from the walls to the floors to the little turtle figurine sitting on his coffee table, likely worth more than several of your student debt payments. His house looks practically untouched, but you know that under the first impression lies a lived-in and loved abode. You can see it in the faint wear in the couches and the dullness of an otherwise brand-new refrigerator.

Jungkook isn’t there to greet you, probably too busy having some aggravating conference call or with his headphones in, playing Overwatch, but his stuff is. Normally, you’d flop onto his couch and stare at his built in television until he came out of his room, but with a suitcase in hand, you don’t really know what to do.

I’m here, you text him. He gets the notification instantly, and no more than a few seconds later, emerges from his cave.

“Oh! You are here,” Jungkook says, surprised to see you. “I thought you meant you were outside my building, or something.”

“Nope, they let me in. Nice place,” you comment.

“Oh yeah, like you haven’t seen it before,” Jungkook laughs. “I’m glad you’re here.”

“Me too,” you breathe in relief. Even though his penthouse is triple the size of your own apartment, it feels cozier. Perhaps that’s just Jungkook. “I feel like it’s been awhile since I came over.”

“Yeah, we’re always going out and shit instead,” Jungkook agrees. He gazes down to the suitcase by your legs. “Do you want me to take that for you?”

Before you have a chance to tell him no, you’re fine, you’re a big girl, he’s reaching down and picking up your suitcase with both hands, the muscles of his biceps peeking out of his white t-shirt. It makes your breath catch in your throat, but you pass it off as a hiccup as he leads you down the hallway. The two of you walk straight past the guest bedroom you slept in whenever you would stay over for a night, much to your confusion, as he brings you into his massive master bedroom.

“Uh, Jungkook?”

“Mmm?” He hums back, leaning down to place your suitcase on the ottoman in front of his bed. It drops onto the cushiony seat with a great thud, and he dusts his hands off before turning around to face you. “What’s up?”

“Aren’t I staying in the guest bedroom?” You question him, unsure of what he may be hinting at.

Jungkook chuckles. “No, silly. If my family’s coming over to stay for a few days, then you need to stay with me. They think we’re dating, remember?” He taps his head, as though he considers this ‘thinking ahead’.

“So we’re sleeping together?”

That makes Jungkook crack up. “No! Unless you want to, of course. I’m not opposed.”

You glare at him as he wiggles his eyebrows suggestively. “In your dreams, babe.”

You suppose sharing a bed with Jungkook won’t be too bad. You used to do it all the time as children, so other than age, what’s the difference? His room is gorgeous anyway, probably bigger than your entire apartment back in the outskirts of Seoul. Sleek and monochrome, which could be considered boring if it weren’t for the splashes of color in his red t-shirts and blue beanbag chairs.

You’ve reached the point with Jungkook where neither of you have very definitive boundaries. The second you open your suitcase to fish out your slippers, he’s digging in there with you, picking through your clothes and shoes and observing every single piece.

“You’re the fake girlfriend of a young multimillionaire and you bring this to my place?” He asks, holding up your ratty sweatpants that you’ve owned since secondary school.

“They’re comfortable, leave me alone,” you snap, snatching them back and placing them inside your suitcase. “Not all of us have money to drop on Gucci sweats.”

“I’m staging a fashion intervention,” Jungkook declares, standing up straight.

You look up at him, a single eyebrow raised, as he grabs his sunglasses from the table next to where you’re sitting and tries to put them on in one fluid motion. Unfortunately, he misses completely and ends up poking himself in the eye, making you laugh.

“Yes, very suave, babe,” you say, rubbing his arm soothingly.

“Don’t talk about it. Let’s go.”

“Go where?”

“I’m taking you shopping.”

You can’t even open your mouth to protest — Jungkook has done enough for you already — because he’s dragging you and all of your unprepared glory out of his shimmering penthouse and into one of his very many pricey cars, gleaming just like the rest of his belongings.

“Jungkook I really—”

“Oh shush, Y/N. I want to treat you,” Jungkook replies, zooming out of the complex’s garage and into the busy streets of Seoul. “My family’s coming over tomorrow. They’ll skin me if they see that I don’t buy you nice things with the money I have.”

“Wow, way to give me a nice image,” you joke.

“Trust me,” Jungkook pleads, shooting down the road. “I’m in the spotlight. I know what looks good.”

He finally stops in a parking garage that leads to the most high-end mall in the area (thank God, Jungkook was always a terrifying person to be in a car with. Every time you get in a car with him, you hold onto anything he can. He’s ruthless.), making your eyes widen. You slowly tilt your head down and look at your clothes in comparison to the boy’s pristine tee and skintight black jeans. He never lets you get ready for anything.

“Jungkook, I look like a trash bag,” you hiss as you walk inside. The mall is decently empty, save for the two of you and a couple other couples with heavy wallets. Jungkook is hardly paying attention to you, his focus drawn to the extravagant window displays of the stores you never dreamed of walking into.

“We can just buy something for you change into,” he says, waving off your concern. Your brows furrow as he stops in front of a store before cruising in. The ladies waiting by the doorway bow respectfully towards the two of you. Your eyes widen at the sight of the gold lining and expensive clothes. You feel like you can’t even touch this shit.

You take a seat on one of the couches in the main room as Jungkook peruses around, pointing at different articles of clothing without a care in the world as the attendant following him rushes to pull them from the racks. After several painstaking minutes, Jungkook returns with a hefty pile of clothes and a hefty price tag.

“Try these on, Y/N. There must be something you’ll like. I tried picking out the most comfortable things. We can get a dress at another store.”

A dress? You mouth to him as the attendant opens up a fitting room for you. Just then, it dawns on you that a nice dress is exactly what you were forgetting when you left your apartment, and Jungkook must have noticed. Jungkook sends you into the room with a wink as the door shuts.

“Don’t forget to show me each piece!”

And so, the process begins. Jungkook went way overboard, you think as you stare at the pile of clothes on the bench. It’s like the kid didn’t know where to stop. Eventually, after what must have been an hour of change, show Jungkook, criticize the article, repeat, you leave the store with a decent sized bag, worth much more than a mere student debt payment.

“Jungkook, next store we go into, don’t pick so much fucking shit,” you order, shoving him gently.

Jungkook chuckles. “But I like seeing you twirl around for me. ‘S cute.”

“Shut up,” you say, your cheeks heating up. You, if possible, stuff yourself further into the pricey hoodie Jungkook bought for you.

The next store you head into is much more posh. Somewhere along the way from the first store to the second, Jungkook had grabbed hold of your hand, the two of you interlocking your fingers together, and you hadn’t even noticed until he let go when you sat down on yet another couch.

“Do you see anything you like?” Jungkook asked, sitting next to you. “I won’t pick out stuff for you this time.”

“All of it,” you say jokingly, gazing around. Jungkook looks about ready to ask the attendant for everything, but you stop him. “I’m kidding.”

You get up to wander the racks, wondering if your hand is rich enough to feather through the silk and satin. Eventually, you stumble upon a white dress hidden in the corner of the store. It’s gorgeous, stunning and exquisite. Flower petals decorate the bottom hem of the dress and fade out as they move inward, with colors ranging from purple to blue to a pastel green.

You’re so enraptured by the dress you don’t even notice Jungkook walk up behind you. “Do you like this one?” He asks.

You, at a loss for words, nod. With a single wave of a hand, an attendant is taking one off of the rack in your size and shuffling you into a fitting room. If the dress looks ethereal, it feels divine.

When you emerge from the fitting room, the dress cinching at the waist before poofing out like a waterfall, Jungkook isn’t paying attention. He’s having one of his angry phone calls, probably with some business partner, lecturing into the phone with his brows furrowed. You cough to get his attention, and his mouth practically drops open.

“I’m gonna call you back,” he says into the phone before dropping it on the cushion of the couch.

“I take it that you like it?” You ask, twirling.

“Is it that obvious?”

“I dunno,” you laugh. “You seem pretty starstruck to me.”

“I’m speechless, babe,” Jungkook admits, scratching the nape of his neck. “You look great.”

You beam at him, taking in the luxury of it all. You, standing in the middle of an expensive store in a high-end mall, spinning around in a dress that feels like wearing a cloud, with Jungkook staring at you in his Armani goodness, lost for words. If this is a dream, then may the Sandman never leave your side.

“Good. I think so, too,” you smile, your hands brushing over the fabric.

You change out of the dress as Jungkook hands over his seemingly limitless credit card to the attendant, who rings you up as you come out of the fitting room with the dress draped over your arm, practically drowning it.

Jungkook immediately holds your hand, as though it’s almost second nature at this point, and the two of you walk out with yet another large bag, the high-end brand stapled all over it.

The rest of the afternoon is spent bouncing around the mall, divulging into shared macarons and ogling the window displays for all of the upcoming trends. Jungkook offers to buy you anything your eye catches, though you constantly decline, telling him that the new clothes are enough to keep you satiated. He eventually does coax you into buying some new shoes “to go with that new dress of yours”, cute pumps you already know you’ll abandon three hours into wearing them. You never really had time to shop before this, since you were always busy with your job and your work towards a master’s, but now, dancing around the marbled floors with Jungkook grinning fondly by your side, you feel like you could do it forever. Sometimes, Jungkook’s company is all you need.

(The facade shatters when you return home, laughing with glee at some hilarious story you brought up from when you were both mere children, and Jungkook writes you a check for suspiciously just enough money to get your upcoming student debt payment off of your back. Right, you think. None of this is real.)

“I think it’s been months since I last saw your parents,” you say the next morning, making your side of the bed as Jungkook does his. God, all of this is so domestic, it makes you want to hurl. Or grin.

“They miss you,” Jungkook replies. “I haven’t exactly… told them that you’re my girlfriend. I just said that I had a girlfriend.”

“Surely they must have recognized me from the tabloids,” you say. Those reporters have really been milking your one outing to that lunch place.

“Probably not, since I forced you to put on sunglasses in the car ride there,” chuckles Jungkook. “They’ll be pleased. It’ll get them off of my back for a while so I don’t have to deal with their constant whining to ‘get a girlfriend’, ‘get a girlfriend’.”

You leave your side of the bed to fish around in the dressers Jungkook is forcing you to use, because “if your suitcase is here, then this will seem really sudden”. You pull out your socks — Jungkook’s floor is damn cold — and tug them on as you make your way outside his carpeted room. You’ve slept in, the sun high in the sky by the time you’re making breakfast.

“Shit, my parents are getting here in an hour,” Jungkook swears as he checks the time on his phone. “This place looks like a shitstorm.”

You roll your eyes. Even in Jungkook’s definition of a shitstorm, his abode is more immaculate than yours could ever be.

“You clean, I’ll make breakfast,” you say.

“Just give me some cereal, please,” Jungkook asks as he shuffles around, getting the empty crisps packets and straightening out the blankets strewn over the arms of his couches.

“All you fucking have is cornflakes,” you observe, severely disappointed.

“They’re all I eat,” Jungkook says, shrugging.

“You’re a bland man, you know that, Jeon? Bland,” you comment, shaking your head as you pour two bowls of cornflakes for yourselves. Jungkook is intent on keeping his glass dining table sparking, which keeps you limited to his breakfast bar stools.

You eat your breakfast in relative silence and fairly quickly, allowing you more time to rush around and make things perfect before his parents arrive, much like when you and Wendy would clean up right before your landlord came for an inspection. Jungkook’s giving you instructions for when they arrive, telling you to not walk in until after he’s started talking about his mystery girlfriend to add an element of surprise.

“They have to think it’s cheesy and realistic as hell,” Jungkook reminds you as the minutes tick down.

“Stop telling me what to do, you little piece of shit,” you sneer back. “I can handle your parents.”

He shrugs. “If you say so.”

Barely five minutes later there’s a buzz that sounds throughout the penthouse, alerting the both of you of his parents’ arrival. Jungkook’s eyes widen as he stares at you from across the guest bedroom, where the two of you currently are, fixing up any last minute items. He bolts out of the room, leaving you flustered as you walk behind him. He’s already at the front door before you reach the end of the hallway, evidenced by the cries from the doorway of “Jungkook-ah!” and his muffled voice, likely a result of his father’s bone-crushing hugs.

“Where’s this girlfriend at?” A gruff voice asks, and you assume that must be his older brother, whom you did not know would be joining you. You and Jeonghyun never really got along.

To fit in with the perfect timing that Jungkook wanted, you walk out of the hallway at that exact moment, rendering his family members speechless.

“Jungkookie, did you see where I left my lip balm?” You ask as cutely as possible before immediately deciding in your head that everything about that sentence and the way you uttered it was unnatural. You haven’t called Jungkook ‘Jungkookie’ in literal years.

“Y/N?” Jeonghyun immediately asks, eyes wide. “Is that you?”

“Jeonghyun?” You ask in response. The boy doesn’t look like he’s changed one bit.

“You’re dating Y/N?” His mother realizes, clearly elated. “As in, little Y/N who teased you for falling into the mud as children?”

“Eomma,” Jungkook whines.

“Nice to see you,” you greet, holding out a hand. Jungkook’s mother completely disregards it and pulls you in for a hug. When she finally lets go, his father does the same.

“It’s been so long, Y/N! Look how grown-up you look! Very pretty,” his mother compliments.

His father lightly slaps Jeongguk on the shoulder. “You should have told us you started dating! We would’ve come down sooner.”

Jungkook meets eyes with you, and you know that that’s exactly why he didn’t bring it up. Jungkook loves his parents, he really does, but sometimes they can be a bit overbearing.

“It’s good to see you, Y/N,” Jeonghyun says, his outstretched hand as stiff as the rest of his body. “Should we let bygones be bygones?”

“It’s been years, Jeonghyun,” you reply, shaking his hand firmly. “You and I have no reason to hate each other anymore.”

“Oh!” His mother exclaims, wrapping an arm around your shoulder and leading you from the doorway. “Tell me, Y/N, is Jungkook treating you well? He’s very picky, sometimes. He won’t eat zucchini, did you know that?”

Jungkook looks helpless as he watches you get dragged away by his mother, and you shrug, letting him know that you’re fine.

“Jungkook is treating me perfectly,” you assure his mother. “It’s almost as though it’s not even real.”

Sometimes, you’re glad Jungkook can’t hear what you have to say. He won’t be able to hear the heartbreak in your voice, waiting to happen.

Jungkook’s family has long settled into their respective rooms within the next hour, and Jungkook’s finally gotten you away from the watch of his mother. The two of you are lounging around in his room, on his ottoman.

“Are you okay?” He asks, rubbing your shoulders. “You look tense.”

“I’m fine,” you promise. “No worries.”

“I’m worried about you, Y/N. You’re normally never this silent,” he says, concern lacing his eyes.He grabs your hand and rubs your thumb with his own. It’s so soothing, you almost forget the aura of falseness surrounding your every move.

“I’m okay, Jungkook. I’m just busy thinking, that’s all,” you swear, looking up into his deep brown eyes. They are beautiful and rich, and you can’t help but let yourself drown in them.

Just then, Jungkook pulls you towards him, his hand resting on your cheek, and presses his lips to yours.

The first thing you notice is that they’re chapped. The second thing you notice is this tingling feeling that tickles you as it dances across your skin. The third thing you notice is how your heartbeat has gotten unmistakably faster. This is no fireworks display, no electrifying spark. You had always imagined kissing Jungkook would feel like a supernova, a dramatic burst of stars within the galaxy, illuminating the night, but it’s far from it. Kissing Jungkook is like returning to your bed after months abroad, like revisiting your favorite childhood locations, like taking a bite of your most beloved dish. Kissing Jungkook feels like home in every sense of the word, because he is everything you love and everything you wish to come back to.

You break away before you allow yourself to become too consumed, because a single taste of his lips is all you need to become addicted. With burning cheeks and heavy breaths, the two of you gaze into each other’s eyes, like neither one of you were expecting that.

“Is this a bad time?” Jeonghyun’s voice asks from the doorway to Jungkook’s room, red in the face after interrupting what he thought was a moment. Only then do you realize that the kiss was nothing more than a show, a purposefully done act just to convince Jungkook’s family even further.

With the ghost of the feeling of his lips on yours, you break into the saddest smile you swear you’ve ever given and shake your head. “No, you haven’t disrupted anything.”

Dinner that night is a ruckus, to say the least. Between Jungkook, his mother, and his father scrambling around his kitchen to cook the meal and you and Jeonghyun fishing around the cabinets and closets in his dining room to set the table. It’s a group effort, really, and once dinner and all of its side dishes are on the table, it finally feels worth it.

You and Jungkook sit next to each other at his monster of a dining table, and even though no one’s watching the two of you, he holds your hand under the table.

“So, Jungkook,” his father begins heartily, his voice booming without even trying. “When did you start dating Y/N?”

“Um,” Jungkook says, looking towards you. Your eyes are wide, since neither of you discussed beforehand what your backstory would be. “A couple of months ago. I wanted to keep her out of the spotlight so I didn’t really say anything.”

“How’d you even fall for her anyway, Jungkook-ah? You kept telling us you’d never date someone while you were still in your prime,” Jeonghyun asks, his mouth full of seaweed.

You remember those days. Since Jungkook turned twenty, he’s refused to engage in a committed relationship. You’d often ask him why, and his simple answer was that he didn’t want to deal with the media nor did he want to be tied down. What made him change his mind?

It’s your turn to look towards him, see what he might say. He meets your eyes and takes a breath.

“I-I don’t know,” he stutters, the hand grasping yours getting tighter. “Y/N’s always been there for me. It wasn’t some noticeable event or anything, nothing I can recall. One day I just realized that I was irrevocably in love with her. I never knew why I didn’t see it before.”

You thought hearing the words coming out of his mouth might get you out of your facade, remind you that none of this is real and Jungkook’s just saying these things for his family, but when the words meet your ears, you can’t help but hear sincerity in them instead. You’re probably dreaming it, hoping for the words to be true so much that you’ve tricked your mind into thinking they are. But when he meets your eyes, looks into your eyes with those bright round moons of his, you can’t help but fall even harder.

“And you, Y/N?” His father notions towards towards you.

Oh God, where do you draw the line between what’s real and what’s fake?

“I don’t think I realized it until recently, but I’ve always been in love with Jungkook, from the moment we met as kids. I don’t think I could imagine a life without him by my side,” you say, hoping that the rawness that bleeds into your words filters out before Jungkook can think about them too hard. You place a hand on his soft cheek, rubbing it as his hands come up to meet yours. “He is my everything, my nebula and my supernova.”

Perhaps it’s better this way, if you’re honest now and a liar later. They say the best actors are the ones who feel like their character, because then you can’t tell where the actor ends and the character begins.

“I want to barf up this nice meal,” Jeonghyun says. “You two are disgusting.”

“Yah!” His mother chides. “They’re adorable. I’m so thrilled you finally worked up the nerve to start dating Y/N, Jungkook-ah.”

“Yeah,” he says, letting go of your hand. “It was a long time coming.”

You spend the rest of the dinner talking about other things, like Jungkook’s work and your education and things happening back home, in Busan. Jeonghyun is married now, the honeymoon phase having long worn off and left mutual respect and trust in its place. He says his wife is beautiful, smart, and demanding, but doesn’t look like he’s complaining.

It’s nice to hear what the Jeons are up to, what you’ve missed out on after not contacting them for so long. It feels like old times, when you would stay at Jungkook’s for dinner during secondary school and discuss his family affairs as though you were a part of them. Jungkook never held your hand back then. You wonder why he’s only starting now, if no one can see your interlocked fingers anyway.

Late at night, after his parents and brother have migrated to their respective guest rooms for the evening, you and Jungkook cruise around his penthouse before eventually coming to a stop in his room, where he closes the door. The moon is high in the sky at this hour, the light filtering in through the slits in his blinds and making patterns on his carpet.

“Good job today,” Jungkook congratulates you like an actor would congratulate a costar after a long day of working.

“Thanks,” you reply, indifferent, changing into your pajamas. “You too.”

“You really won them over with that galaxy shit,” Jungkook comments, as if you need further reminding that this entire setup is in fact, pretend. “I don’t think I’ve seen my mother swoon so hard since she met my dad.”

“Oh?” You ask, glad at least one person found sincerity in your sappy speech. “That’s good.”

“It was good. Even I wanted to shed a couple tears,” Jungkook chuckles, sliding out of his tee. “It sounded straight out of a movie.”

“What about yours?” You change the topic. If you have to keep listening to Jungkook applaud your entirely genuine confession as though it was some kind of act, you don’t know what you’ll do.  “Yours was nice, too. Artsy for a boy who speaks the language of business.”

“You thought so? I made it up on the spot, I was under a lot of pressure,” Jungkook smiles, climbing into bed. “Couldn’t you tell?”

“You seemed fine to me,” you say truthfully. “Seemed pretty legit.”

“God, I hope so. I’m sorry about kissing you, earlier. Jeonghyun just seemed skeptical at first,” Jungkook apologizes, and you don’t know why your heart still falls from its cage in in your chest if you already knew the kiss was nothing more than for show.

“It’s fine. Feel free to do it again whenever necessary,” you say, trying to lighten the mood. “You’re a good kisser, you know. I could get used to it.”

“I’ll start kissing you more often, then. All the more for the act, right?”

“Yes, the act,” you agree, nodding your head. “It’s all an act.”

Once you return from his bathroom after washing up, you climb into the bed with him, the sheets warm from his body. His bed is large, too big for two people, let alone one, and even with the both of your bodies in it, you feel too far from him, like one more move and you’ll drift away. You slide in a little closer to him, hoping he won’t say anything. If he could just let you have this, this peace and quiet in a bed that feels like home because he’s here, then it’s enough.

Jungkook is facing away from you as he lies on his side, shirt off and back muscles visible. Before you know it, your eyes are falling shut, the day tiring on your mind and body. The last thing you see is Jungkook turning around to look you in your sleepy eyes, a fond smile growing on his lips as you lose consciousness.

You don’t know it, but Jungkook watches you after you fall asleep. Your hair falls in front of your face with a quick shake of your head, and he feels a compelling urge to move it from your cheek, his fingers brushing your skin. You look so innocent when you’re asleep, like your mind isn’t racing from one thing to another like it does when you’re awake. A small smile dances on your lips as you dream, and dream you may.

“I want you to know my confession today was real, Y/N,” Jungkook says softly, admiring your peaceful features. The words he utters are words he’s been hoping to tell you for years, but perhaps it’s better if you’re not awake to listen to them. Maybe they are words you shouldn’t hear. “I want you to know I love you, but sometimes we shouldn’t always get what we want.”

You could get used to waking up like this.

The light of the rising sun filters through the windows of Jungkook’s bedroom, shining on the bed where the two of you lie. It is quiet in his grand room, the only noise being the rustling of the sheets as Jungkook milks the last few minutes of his sleep cycle. Other than the sun, it is dark in the room, providing just the right amount of light for Jungkook to look ethereal, though it’s not as though he doesn’t look golden any other hour of the day.

You could get used to waking up like this, next to the boy you love in a bed that you could technically call yours. Jungkook’s still facing away towards you, his eyes barely closed and a dried path of drool marking his skin. At this hour, he looks like everything you’ve ever wanted.

You simply wait for him to get up, and for all you know, it could be hours later, but you lose track of time following the strands of his hair that hang over his eyes and the curve of his lips as he snores ever so lightly.

Eventually his eyes open, still hazy from sleep, and he smiles when he sees you gazing at him.

“Creep,” he says, but you can only pinpoint fondness in his words. “Staring at me sleeping.”

“It’s the one time I can catch you not saying any sort of dumb shit,” you joke back, ruffling his hair.

Jungkook pretends to be affronted as he sits up in his bed, wiping the spit from the side of his mouth. “I’m insulted. Sometimes I can be intelligent.”

“Sometimes,” you say, getting out of bed. “What are we doing today?”

“Lounging around at home, I guess?” The boy shrugs. “I don’t have anything planned, but count on my parents to drag us out somewhere.”

“That’d be cute,” you say, not opposed to the idea.

“I know, I just hope it’s somewhere inside. My rhinitis gets aggravated when I spend too much time around flowers,” Jungkook says.

You beam at him, blinking your eyes innocently as you lean over his bed towards him. “Is that why you’re always sniffling around me?”

He scrunches up his nose in response, pushing you away as you burst into laughter. “Don’t flatter yourself, Y/N.”

“Oh, you love me and my flowery ways,” you tease.

“That I do,” Jungkook agrees as he shuffles through his walk-in closet for something to wear. A single glimpse and you can see the wall of white tees that he hoards, something you will never fucking understand. “We’d be so domestic if we stayed in today, like a true millennial couple.”

“Truly.”

The both of you pull on things that aren’t pajamas before emerging from your cozy cave. No one else is awake yet, meaning the two of you get first dibs on breakfast.

“Corn flakes again, you boring piece of shit?” You ask as you make your way to his designated cereal cupboard.

Jungkook sneers at you from across the room, where he’s made quite the dent in the cushions of his pristine couch. “Very funny.”

He gets up to join you in the kitchen as the two of you hunt for something to eat.

“Pancakes?”

“I don’t have any eggs,” he admits, making you scoff.

“What kind of multimillionaire doesn’t have any eggs?” You ask rhetorically, in disbelief. How does this boy sustain himself?

“I haven’t been shopping in a while!” He exclaims defensively. “There! That can be what we do today. Let’s go shopping.”

“Like a true domestic couple,” you say as you pick up the most bruised banana you have ever seen, and take a bite of it anyway. Jungkook truly has no breakfast food, other than the leftover sticky rice from last night.

The rice seems to be on Jungkook’s mind as well, as he fishes through his industrial-sized fridge for the pot with the plastic wrap over it.

“Here, let’s finish this,” he suggests, placing the pot on the counter and grabbing two dishes. “Then we can go shopping.”

Jungkook eats his rice quickly, encouraging you to do the same so the both of you can go shopping before his mother chides him for having no food in his expensive penthouse. The both of you are out on the streets of Seoul by nine, where the sidewalks have emptied after the school and work morning rush. Jungkook keeps your hand firmly in his as he speeds down the pavement to the nearest grocery store, a simple market on the corner of a road, unaffiliated with the wealthy people who live in the buildings nearby.

“Those reporters are going to have an aneurysm,” Jungkook comments as a flash of light goes off to his left. “Jeon Jungkook, millionaire, goes grocery shopping with girlfriend. Has the world ended?”

Once you’re inside the quaint place, the two of you walk around, holding up different food and asking the other if it’s necessary.

“You can get whatever you want, you know,” Jungkook reminds you as he stares at the shelves lined with cereal. “I don’t have much of a budget.”

“But we can’t just lie around eating corn flakes and chips all day,” you whine as you pluck your favorite, interesting cereal from the shelf and place it in the cart.

“You sound like my mother,” Jungkook complains.

The two of you spend a good five minutes arguing about brown sugar versus white sugar, because Jungkook doesn’t seem to know the difference, and doesn’t understand why you can’t just use white sugar for everything.

“Brown sugar has health benefits! It’s not as bad for you,” you insist, shaking the bag of brown sugar in front of Jungkook’s face.

“But all sugar’s bad for you! You’re just telling me that brown sugar has less bang for your buck. Who wants that?” He criticizes. “If we’re going to be unhealthy, we might as well just go all the way!”

“The point of brown sugar is its health, you dumbass!” You exclaim.

“Why don’t we just get both, then?” He sighs as he grabs the packet from your hand and places it, along with the packet he holds in his, in the cart. “Problem solved.”

An old lady passes by the two of you as you both sneer at each other, still disagreeing. She chuckles as she walks by, stopping her cart beside yours.

“The both of you are so sweet,” she comments. “You remind me of my husband and I, when we were young like you. How long have you been together?”

“Oh, we’re not—” You begin, but Jungkook cuts you off.

“A couple of months,” he says, pecking your cheek. The faint touch of his lips leave a tingling sensation behind as you shiver.

“You seem very infatuated, the two of you,” she says, smiling. “Young love is inspiring to the world.”

She keeps going, nodding her head goodbye as she leaves the two of you and your sugar debate.

“What was that for?” You hiss as the two of you make your way down the next aisle. “She doesn’t need to know that we’re dating.”

“Sure she does,” Jungkook says, shrugging. “What’s wrong with showing the world how happy I am with you?”

Jungkook’s family leave the following afternoon, bidding farewell to the two of you as they usher their suitcases out of his doorway.

“You did well, kid,” you hear his father say as he pulls Jungkook in for a side-hug. “You keep doing well.”

“Yes, appa,” Jungkook says.

“Don’t let that girl go,” he advises as you wave an amicable goodbye to Jeonghyun, whom you hope you can get closer. “She loves you, Jungkook.”

“I know,” Jungkook says, and you don’t think he really does.

“Y/N?” His mother asks, placing a soft hand on your shoulder. You turn around to see her small frame, and hum in interest. “Can I speak to you?”

“Sure,” you say, letting her walk you away from the herd at the door.

“I want to thank you,” his mother says.

“Really? It wasn’t a problem, hosting you—”

“No,” she interrupts. “Not for that. I want to thank you for teaching Jungkook what it’s like to fall in love.”

“Oh,” you say, embarrassed. With every word uttered from his parents’ mouths, you feel worse and worse about lying to them.

“Ever since he was little, it was his education first, then his business, and I was so worried that all he would ever be was a businessman, but you’ve changed him. I’ve never seen him so absorbed in someone before,” his mother says, and you wonder how good Jungkook’s acting skills really are if his mother was fooled that badly. “He really loves you, Y/N. I’m sure you already know that, but I don’t want you to forget it. One day you might fall out of love, but cherish these moments that you have with him.”

“I will,” you nod, smiling. You do cherish these moments, these brief few weeks in the span of your lifetimes where for once, you don’t have to pretend like you’re not in love with the boy.

The next week is when Jungkook’s infamous business parties begin, the ones that require you to look your absolute finest as you walk around in pinchy heels with thin glasses of champagne that you won’t drink.

Jungkook seems noticeably more stressed about these gathering than when his family came over, getting more tense as he goes through his countless suits to find the right one, stretching out his ties from the pressure.

“You okay, babe?” you ask as you come up behind him as he’s squeezing the life out of some dress pants. Tonight is the first one, and you’ve just emerged from the shower, wrapped in a towel.

Jungkook turns around to meet you, taking in a sharp inhale when he sees you in nothing but a towel. Of course. “Yeah, I’m fine, why?”

“You seem uptight,” you say. “Nervous?”

“A little,” he admits. “I’m worried people will see right through us. The people at these parties have status, wealth, connections. If we look fake, then they’ll be able to tell.”

“We had your parents fooled,” you assure him, rubbing his back to relax his muscles. “Come on, big guy. You know you got it. You play around with the media once every week. This should be no different.”

“You’re right,” he finally says, feeling a bit better. “I’m gonna go get ready.”

“Look at you go,” you cheer him on.

If Jungkook looks good in a bland, white tee, he looks breathtaking in a sleek black suit, hair brushed messily in front of his forehead and a gleaming silver watch on his wrist. He looks so unbelievably professional, the sight making your breath hitch in your throat as you open the door to the bathroom and see him pacing up and down the hallway.

“Are you ready? I don’t want to be too late,” Jungkook asks, getting a bit antsy.

���Almost, I just need to grab my bag and put on my shoes,” you say, looking down at your dress. You have a slight stain from an orange that you were snacking on earlier, but it’s hardly noticeable and nothing the Tide-to-go pen can’t fix.

You open the door all the way, decked out in the dress you fell in love with in the store a week or so ago, and Jungkook stops in his tracks.

“Can you see the stain?” You ask, eyes widening as you fumble around the dress for a way to disguise it.

“You look beautiful,” Jungkook says, making you pause. “Mind-blowingly beautiful.”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything after that, waiting for you to step out of the bathroom completely before grabbing a hold of your waist and pressing you against the wall, making you gasp in surprise.

“Jungkook?”

“You are stunning,” he mutters, pressing in closer. “Gorgeous.”

He doesn’t give you a chance to reply as he leans in to kiss you. It takes you aback but you gladly welcome his touch, relishing in the feeling of his lips on yours. He smiles against your lips, his cheeks warm and his eyes bright, and your heart bursts at the sight of him, against you, loving you.

“You’re really milking this whole fake relationship thing, aren’t you, Jeon?” You ask as you push him away before the stain sets in your dress.

“You’re beautiful,” Jungkook repeats, like a mantra. “The fake relationship thing just lets me show that I think that through kissing instead of insults.”

“I’m touched,” you say as you place a hand over your heart.

“We should go,” he says, “Whenever you’re ready?”

“I’ll be good in like two minutes, relax, hey babe?” You raise your eyebrows, rubbing his shoulders. You shuffle around his penthouse one last time, grabbing your bag and rubbing your to-go pen on that little spot before meeting him at the door, where you slide into the heels he bought.

Jungkook is the talk of the fucking town, him and his millionaire status, and the limo he’s rented to take the both of you to whatever high-end country club you’re visiting is simply evidence of that. When you pull up to the joint and he emerges from the shining black car, people whisper, but when he opens the door for you to step out, people talk.

“They love you,” he whispers as you link arms. He guides you towards the center of the room. Around you are stars, business moguls, celebrities, people you see in magazines and in the headlines of articles. Jungkook can see your hesitance to be so close to people like him, rich and famous and beautiful. “Stay close to me, alright?”

You nod as he leads you around, saying hello to old business partners and friends of his as they talk like buddies, hugging and patting each other on the back. You keep quiet, under immense pressure to look as fabulous as the rest of the people there, graciously accepting the little sandwiches and champagne the waiters scurrying around offer you on silver trays. You feel so out of place at an event like this, where you can’t make jokes at your own expense or spill things on yourself.

Everywhere you go, you notice people talking about you, whispering to their friends and their partners as they point to the both of you, and it freaks you out.

“Why do they keep talking about us?” You hiss into Jungkook’s ear as he takes an elaborate fruit skewer from a caterer.

“You’re the most beautiful girl here,” he says back. “Why wouldn’t they?”

At one point, you lose Jungkook in the crowd that just seems to get bigger, getting left alone at a table as you let your poor feet rest. You eventually spot the tuft of his familiar black hair as he filters around, jumping from person to person. It seems like he knows everyone here, or at least, everyone here knows him.

A man sits across from you at the round table, holding up his half-full champagne glass in your direction.

“You came here with Jungkook, correct?” The man asks.

You nod.

“I’m Taehyung, a friend of his. You are?”

“Y/N,” you say quickly, the conversation stressing you out. You hate feeling so out of place.

“It’s nice to meet you. Are you looking for Jungkook?”

“No, I know where he is,” you assure him. “I just wanted to sit down.”

“It’s tiring, walking around and trying to fit in, isn’t it?” Taehyung says, making you turn your head sharply towards him. He chuckles. “Trust me, I know how you feel. You did look a bit lost.”

“Is it that obvious?”

“Not when everyone’s looking at your dress and not at you,” Taehyung says, offering some sort of consolation. “These people can smell fear, but they’re addicted to beauty, so you have nothing to worry about.”

“I’m just on edge, you know?” You say, exhaling as you take a sip of your champagne, the taste burning your throat as you down it.

“No one’s going to do anything. They can all see how infatuated the two of you are with each other, clinging to each other like koalas,” Taehyung says, making you sigh a breath of relief. At least the people here believe the act as well. “It’s nice to see Jungkook like this. It keeps him grounded, you being here. He has someone to hold onto, someone to love.”

Just then is when Jungkook approaches you, sitting down in the seat next to you and chugging his champagne in a single shot. “Taehyung?”

“Nice to see you again, Jungkook-ah,” Taehyung smiles towards the boy.

Jungkook smiles back. “You too, hyung.”

“I was just talking with Y/N, here. She was worried without you.” Taehyung motions his head towards you and Jungkook turns, wrapping an arm around your shoulder.

“Sorry, babe,” he says, lightly pressing a kiss to your cheek. “I’ll bring you around next time.”

“These heels are fucking murder,” you mutter, tugging the back edge of them off your feet for some relief. “How do people stand in them all day?”

“You’re just not used to the heels life,” Jungkook jokes. “You live in sneakers.”

“This is reminding me why I do,” you groan.

Taehyung bows out, waving goodbye to the two of you as he goes off to mingle elsewhere. Jungkook lets go of your shoulder.

“What was that all about?”

“I dunno, he just started talking to me,” you say, shrugging. “He seems like a nice guy.”

“He is, he’s just normally not so upfront like that. Did he pull anything on you?”

You laugh at Jungkook’s concern, shaking your head. “No, he didn’t. You don’t need to be so stressed about that. Taehyung was telling me, everyone knows that we’re dating.”

“Of course they do, the media says it all. I’m just worried they think it’s all for show,” Jungkook says.

“We had Taehyung fooled,” you assure the boy, smoothing out the wrinkles beginning to form in his suit jacket.

“One down, dozens to go,” he beams towards you, standing up from his seat and holding out a hand for you to take. You interlock fingers with him, and he pulls you up, ready to face whoever else wants to speak with the both of you.

Eventually, as the night turns into early morning, you make your way onto some sort of balcony, gazing into the stars.

“Did you enjoy this?” He asks without looking at you, his shoulder leaning against yours.

“The food was nice,” you reply, distant.

“But did you like walking around and talking to people?”

“It was fine.”

“Just ‘fine’?”

“My feet are killing me, but the people here aren’t bad people. Just not for me,” you say, shrugging. “I much prefer looking out into the stars than being inside, listening to rich people complain about rich people things.”

“It’s peaceful out here, isn’t it? Just us and the stars,” Jungkook asks. “You did great today, though, if it’s any consolation. Remind me to pay you when we get home.”

Right, the payment. The foundation to your fake relationship. It was the reason you accepted this in the first place, right?

“No need for payment,” you say, shaking your head.

“But surely there must be something you want, eh? A new dress for the next event, concert tickets, the like? I can get you anything you want,” Jungkook asks, adamant on rewarding you for your work. All of this feels like such bullshit.

The champagne buzzes in your system. The glass door to the balcony opens, and you know someone’s watching you now. You turn to Jungkook, who’s looking at you lost and confused, like he doesn’t know why you won’t accept a gift from him in return for your fucking presence, but he is better than any gift you could get.

“I just want you,” you breathe, the alcohol making you sound more desperate than you want to appear. You’re not drunk, just buzzed, and Jungkook is the most beautiful person you’ve ever seen. “You are all I need.”

Those words are all it takes for your reserve to break and you meet his surprised eyes with a kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck. He parts his lips, allowing you entrance, pressing deeper, deeper, pulling him in closer, closer.

“I don’t want to look at the stars anymore, Jungkook,” you whisper into his open mouth as he catches his breath. There’s no need to wish on things so far away when there are stars decorating his pupils instead. “I want to go home.”

Home you go. Jungkook barely has enough time to shut the door behind you before you’re pressing into him again, desperate for another kiss. You know you’ll never be brave enough to do this again, so you take the chance that he’s giving you, holding on for dear life.

He begins to take over, swiping his tongue over your bottom lip to gain access to your mouth. He’s leaning into you with his whole body, not just his lips, running his hands along the sides of your figure as he sighs over and over again. Jungkook leaves your parted lips with a heavy breath before moving onto your ear, nibbling at the edge playfully, making you laugh, then your chin, neck, collarbones, pressing kisses onto every peek of skin he sees, like he can’t get enough.

You inevitably stumble into his bedroom, still fully clothed, but fall onto his bed with a soft thud, making you jump before you pull him in closer, your back to the sheets with him looming over you, lips still tugging at a spot right below your neck.

“This wasn’t in the deal,” you joke, though now isn’t the best time to remind him that your entire relationship is a game of make-believe.

“Do you want to stop?” He breathes back.

“Never,” you whisper, and it’s all he needs for him to dive right back in.

You yank on his suit jacket, not-so-subtly hinting to him that you want it off, and off it goes as Jungkook removes it in a fluid motion and flings it across the room, wasting no time away from your soft lips or warm skin. He can’t help but move his hands all around your body, your thighs, hips, waist, shoulders. He drags his fingers over them lightly, making you giggle from the ticklish sensation as he presses his lips everywhere he can, everywhere he wants to.

“Are you sure you’re sober enough for this?” He asks, just to double check as the two of you sit up and you begin to unzip yourself out of this fabric prison. “I don’t want you to regret this.”

“How could I ever regret you?” You counter, letting the straps of the dress fall from your shoulders to reveal your relatively drab bra. You can’t say you were very prepared for this. “I want you, hey? Do you want me?”

Jungkook’s mouth drops as the top half of your dress falls from your body, piling at your hips. “Ever since this evening, I’ve wanted you. Please.”

He whispers his desires into your skin and breathes his lust into your parted lips, hopes that you can hear the way he wants you from the sound of his fingers as they dance along your body, from head to toe. There is no tomorrow, no yesterday. There is only now, and now is right here, his body pressed against yours. 

He may not love you but he may love the feeling of you, and in your hazy, desperate state, that is all you need. That even just a toe in the water is better than nothing at all. 

When you’re all cleaned up and tired out a few minutes later, he wraps his arms around your own and tugs you in for a post-sex cuddle in his bed, the sheets cold but his body warm.

“How was that?” He whispers, the sleep evident in his voice.

“Like a dream,” you reply, hazy.

“I promise that it wasn’t,” he says before rolling over, a marker that he’s about to crash.

Some days, like today, you wish that it was. Maybe that way, you won’t be as heartbroken when it ends.

It seems like Jungkook’s business parties never stop. They are endless, a new one to attend to every day. Each morning, when you are awake but he is not, his phone will buzz with a new notification, a reminder from his calendar that he has So-and-So’s gala tonight, or What’s-His-Face’s celebration. You royally underestimated how many events Jungkook had planned for the duration of your stay with him, assuming you would spend the several days in between each one doing fun couple-y things. Instead, every day is a rinse and repeat cycle of getting ready to go out for the evening.

Jungkook takes you shopping on the one free day he has in between gatherings, his reasoning being ‘Rich people and their significant others don’t wear the same thing twice’, easily one of the most pretentious things you’ve ever heard come out of his mouth. You feel like you’re constantly about to attend an awards ceremony with the dresses the two of you pick out together, fancy clothes by fancy designers that people will judge you for wearing. If this were a movie, you’d be thrilled, flaunting the fifteen shopping bags hanging from your arms, but this is no movie, and these bags are heavier than they look.

“God, why is being a rich person so tiring?” You sigh as you collapse onto the couch when you finally return to his penthouse, letting the bags drop from your arms onto the floor beside you.

Jungkook is in the kitchen, grabbing a glass of water. “Now you know it’s not all cameras and money.”

“It still is, don’t you think? It’s just, cameras and money but more in-depth. There’s a lot of shit that goes behind the cameras and money.”

“Fair point,” he reasons, joining you on the opposing couch, letting his feet rest on the glass coffee table in front of him.

“Do you ever get sick of this life?” You wonder aloud.

“Sometimes. Some days, when the cameras and money are too much for my mere twenty-year-old self to handle, I wish we could go back in time. To high school, maybe. When my only responsibilities were maintaining my schoolwork and I had time to lounge around in unpresentable clothing and play videogames.”

“High school you was the worst,” you joke. “You were so unbearable.”

“I wish we could go back time just so I could stop being ‘the worst’,” Jungkook laughs. “Seriously, I wish we could go back. That nostalgic shit, you know? It’s meaningful. High school was my first time for a lot of things. First fight, first kiss, first love.”

“First love?” You ask, curious. You sit up from where you lie on the couch, meeting Jungkook’s eyes. They are wide when they gaze into yours, as if Jungkook said something he didn’t mean to say. “Who?”

“Oh, um, just some girl from chem,” he says, scratching the nape of his neck.

“We were in the same chem class, who was it?”

“Dahyun,” Jungkook spits out, like he’s on edge. “Remember Dahyun?”

“Oh, the one with the dyed ends. Yeah, I remember her,” you say, recalling the bubbly girl that sat in the front of the class. She was always talking, but never in an annoying way. “You fell in love with her?”

Jungkook’s expression softens as he moves his eyes from yours to his hands, thumbs twiddling in his lap. “Yeah, I fell in love.”

To say that you and Jungkook stopped having sex after that first business party would be a complete lie. It appears to be a ritual now, by the fourth business gala, for the two of you to end up leaving early, pressing each other against the wall with breathy moans in each other’s ears. You can’t say it’s the most healthy of options for your emotional state, but how can you resist him?

Every night, you find yourself getting closer and closer to confessing, to revealing everything felt for him, feel for him, will feel for him. But you bite your lip each time, keeping the words from spilling out as the two of you fuck, because it’s not really making love if only one of you is in love.

Jungkook’s a heavy sleeper, but even heavier after a hearty night of sex, and it’s the perfect time for you to tell him, when he can’t hear you.

“I love you,” you whisper, wrapping your arms around his bare torso and pulling yourself closer to his body. “I love all of you, every piece of you.”

This is how it is, this is how your life is. The two of you will bounce around his apartment when you’re getting ready, grabbing his kitchenware and playing knights and princesses, like you did when you were little. That nostalgia truly is meaningful, you realize, wishing to remain in it without having to return to the troubles of the present.

His final business party rolls around on a gloomy Saturday evening, the clouds covering the stars you can barely see from the city of Seoul anyway. The weather knows you, you think as you prepare yourself for the last night you will ever spend with the boy in his penthouse as a girlfriend, as a lover.

Jungkook knows this too, but his resolve is strong and words even stronger.

“Don’t forget, I’m driving you back home tomorrow,” he says as you pluck the final dress you will wear from the rack. He’s walking around his bedroom, picking up any clothes on the floor that belong to you and placing them into your suitcase. “What time do you need to be home?”

“Wendy’s welcoming me back for dinner, so anytime before then,” you answer, indifferent. Jungkook always does such a good job of reminding you that what you have with him isn’t real.

The night begins just like every other one. As per usual, the two of you are leaving things until the last minute, especially your packing. You’re resisting the need to pack your belongings into your lone suitcase so you’re ready to leave tomorrow, acting as though you’ve forgotten about it entirely as you scurry around his apartment trying to get ready. Every time you pop into your bedroom to grab something, Jungkook is moving around, picking up any clothing items that belong to you and placing them gently in your suitcase. You don’t want to leave, but he wants nothing more than that.

The dress you’re wearing tonight is black. You joke that it’s to mourn the end of your fake relationship, but it’s the closing screen to this three week period of nothing more than a facade, a facade you fell for anyway. Somehow, throughout these weeks, all you’ve managed to do is fall for Jungkook harder, even though you knew the affections he displayed towards you were fake. A royal fuckup, in your opinion.

Jungkook looks like a damn prince in his getup today, a white suit accented with black to complement your own outfit, and it’s both a blessing and a curse that he looks so fucking good on the last night you will spend together like this.

“Ready to put on one final show?” He asks, holding out his arm for you to link yours with as you emerge in your silky black dress and kitten heels.

Lights,

Camera,

Action.

The sole thing that distinguishes this particular gala from the dozen others you attended is its location, a primo hotel with a ballroom, something reminiscent of a castle. You have to admit, it’s the nicest one you’ve attended so far, elegant and fancy without being over-the-top.

At this point, you’re used to walking around with Jungkook, used to people saying your name and greeting you like old friends. You’re known now, thanks to Jungkook and his many parties, top stars and business moguls recognizing you from prior engagements or even magazine articles.

“Look at you go, queen of the night,” Jungkook beams as he drags you away from another company acquaintance, one you had a nice conversation with. Namjoon, his name was.

“Please, you’re the royal one here,” you say back.

Jungkook shrugs, taking a sip of his champagne, still sparkling in its glass. “Guess that makes us the king and queen, eh?”

King and queen is right. Halfway through the night, the ballroom opens, leaving the floor empty and free for anybody who wishes to let loose. Neither you nor Jungkook are the dancing type, but the two of you suppose that on your last night, you can afford to have a little fun, scooting into the edge of the open space and lightly dancing. Jungkook might be flawless when it comes to business offers, but he is less-than-flawless when it comes to unchoreographed dance. The two of you stick to the side, allowing more confident, better dancers to occupy the center.

A slow song comes on. You feel like you’re in high school, only it’s no sappy love song, no, it’s the waltz. The fucking waltz. And it just so happens that during this waltz, you and Jungkook are pushed into the center of the crowd, forced to dance.

“I’ve never waltzed before,” you chuckle as Jungkook places a hand on your waist.

“Me neither,” he replies, taking your hand in his and holding it out like everyone else is. “Let’s wing it.”

It’s as if time stops completely. Suddenly, you forget that you’re in a crowded hotel ballroom, surrounded by people who will be earn more money in a day than you will in your entire life. Suddenly the herd phases out, turning into a blur, and all you can see clearly is Jungkook in front of you. Jungkook, who is holding your hand and your waist and gazing at you and fucking waltzing with you. The night is upon the ballroom, the light of the moon barely illuminating the room. One more step and Jungkook is in perfect alignment with a window, glowing in the moonlight.

It’s your last night, isn’t it? Last night of this, of looking at Jungkook like this and failing miserably at your plan to try and not fall in love with him, and so you do what you feel like you must.

At first, Jungkook doesn’t react. Perhaps he’s too absorbed in the placement of your feet, or your position in the crowd, but he soon comes to when he realizes your lips are on his, humming delightedly in response as he presses back.

As cheesy as it sounds, this kiss is nothing like your other ones. There is nobody watching, nothing to prove anything to. In this moment, you are simply in love, and that’s the feeling that the kiss delivers.

Love.

It’s a silent confession, almost.

No heavy breaths after this kiss. The two of you break apart, barely noticed by anyone around you, your bodies dancing without the two of you thinking about it. You’ve moved just enough to be in front of the window, the moonlight making your eyes glossy. Jungkook’s eyes are blown wide, his mouth red but not swollen.

“What was that for?” He whispers, leaning in to your ear.

In that moment, you respond with the only words that come into your mind. “You are kissable always, but especially so in the light of the moon.”

The waltz ends, and Jungkook leads the two of you away from the center of the ballroom hastily.

It’s a silent confession, but almost is never enough.

Jungkook is silent the entire limo ride home, and you wish he would tell you why. He isn’t necessarily annoyed or angry with you, but he is distant, cold, exactly the man the media paints him to be. You bombard him with sentences that demand a response the entire way home, until the two of you end up in his penthouse once again.

“Jungkook, listen, if this is about the kiss then I can explain—” you begin, following him after he storms off the second the two of you walk in the door.

Jungkook stays mute, making a beeline for where his wallet and checkbook lie, strewn over the kitchen counter.

“I still need to pay you for your work,” he spits out quickly. You catch up to him just as he’s scribbling out a hefty check for you. “We’re finished here.”

“Jungkook—”

“I do hope this check is satisfactory — I tried to stay consistent with the other payments I’ve—”

“Enough with the fucking payments!”

Jungkook finally makes eye contact with you, a little jarred after hearing you shout so crassly. “Then… how about a car? Or clothes? Jewelry? What else would you want?”

“You!” You shriek, breaking the dead silence as the word resonates around you. Your voice is softer, now. Sadder. “I want you, Jungkook. Can’t you tell? I don’t want a house, or a car, or clothes, just you. I just want you.”

Admittedly, this is not the confession you were hoping for.

Jungkook is floored. His checkbook has dropped from his hands to the counter, empty checks crinkled. He’s looking at you like he’s desperate for you to say something else. “Me?”

“I have to admit, I never really imagined that I’d tell you like this, but I guess I am,” you try to joke, your eyes getting increasingly watery. “I’m in love with you, Jungkook. I’m so fucking in love with you.”

You see the panic as it grows on Jungkook’s face, how his expression morphs from surprise to worry, and this, this is exactly why you should have just kept your goddamn mouth shut.

“But how can you be, Y/N? That wasn’t part of the deal. What we have, what this is,” he says, motioning between the two of you, “isn’t real. You and I, we’re just pretenders. We aren’t real.”

“But I was hoping we could be!” You exclaim, letting your tears fall freely down your cheeks, leaving ugly patches in your makeup. Perhaps, if Jungkook has seen you at your best, he should also see you at your worst. “Can’t you see? Everything I did with you, the kissing and the hand holding and that fucking confession with your parents, it was real, my love for you is real, and I thought maybe we could be real too, but I-I guess not.”

You make to wipe the tears from your eyes, hoping to sooth yourself through this conversation, but you change your mind at the last second, leaving the tears dripping from your cheeks to your dress.

“Y/N,” Jungkook begins, wary of what to say. You already know what’s about to come out of his mouth. “You don’t understand. I just—”

“You just what, Jungkook? You just what?” You ask, your sobs nearly turning into laughter in some sickeningly sad sort of way. “You don’t need to tell me twice, Jungkook. I know how you feel about me. We’re just friends, that sex we had, it was just for these few weeks, it didn’t mean anything. Don’t think I didn’t notice how you never forgot to pay me, always reminded me that what we were doing was fake, make-believe. I know you Jungkook, I know you don’t love me and I don’t know why I expected otherwise, but I did. And here we are.”

“Y/N, that’s not what I meant,” Jungkook says, desperate for your to hear him out. “I didn’t know—”

“I know you didn’t, Jungkook, but you didn’t need to. I have all of the information I need,” you say. “I don’t blame you for not loving me, Jungkook. I just… I wish you would have told me, so I wouldn’t have had to play this fucking game with you.”

The light in his hallway isn’t turned on but it doesn’t need to be, not as you walk through it, hiccuping down your sobs as you come to your room, his room. Anything within eyesight that you know belongs to you you pack, carelessly throwing it in your suitcase as you begin to remove yourself from his apartment. You’re almost out of his room once and for all when you eye the dresses laid out on his comforter, each of them gently placed over the previous.

You leave his room in pajamas.

Jungkook hasn’t budged. He’s glued to the floor by the kitchen counter, his checkbook still astray, and he’s looking down. When he hears your suitcase hit the hardwood, he looks up.

“I know we said tomorrow morning, but I don’t think I can stay here for one more night,” you tell him. “I’m sorry, Jungkook.”

The boy is silent.

As you reach the door, you turn around a final time, at exactly the same moment he looks up at you. Is that sadness you see? Regret?

Your hand lingers over the doorknob, hesitant. Perhaps he will say something, anything. If he could just… say something, you’d stay. If.

If.

If he says nothing, you will leave.

A tear rolls down Jungkook’s cheek.

You open the door.

You say that Jungkook needs a few days to calm down, but Wendy says that Jungkook is a “piece of shit who, if he really loved you, would try to get you back the second he lost you”, and perhaps the worst part of that is the fact that both are probably correct. You’ve cried already, let your tears out in the comfort of your own pillow as Wendy pops in every hour with a new bucket of ice cream or frosting and the like, and Jungkook has made no attempt to bridge the ever-growing gap between the two of you. Wendy, the most fiercely loyal friend you have, will, at times, snoop the media for any news on him. All she can find are question marks on your relationship.

A month drags by, duller without Jungkook’s beautifully wispy smile lighting it up, but not emptier. The local museum has employed you, finding great use for your historical expertise with its artifacts and paintings. You never realized it, but staring at ancient pots and fading paintings, trying to make sense of them, is your favorite pastime. The memories of your time with him, shopping bags and movie tickets and name cards, they are hidden in a shoebox at the bottom of your closet, merely a touch away.

“Don’t you miss him?” Wendy asks one day as the two of you eat dinner.

“Miss him?”

Every day, you think.

“Sometimes,” you reply. “It’s hard to think about him these days.”

“It’s been a month.”

“A month too long.”

Wendy reaches a hand out, holding onto your wrist as she rub it with her thumb.

“I can’t look at him without the memories of that final night, the checkbook falling to the counter, his eyes blown wide. Bad memories always outweigh the good ones.”

“But surely, that could be considered a good memory?”

You laugh out loud. “How on earth could that be a good memory? He rejected me.”

“You confessed that night,” Wendy reminds you softly. “He knows, now.”

“But does he care?”

Wendy slides an envelope over to you, her name neatly printed on the back. At the top corner lies the return stamp, JEON JUNGKOOK lining the top row. “You tell me.”

You wonder if you’re on the list this time. You walk into his building, people in suits and pencil skirts scurrying around with books and folders and papers, bustling like worker bees. There’s a different lady at the front desk, but her hair slicked back and her collar sharp, all the same.

“Name?”

“Y/N,” you reply, leaning over the desk to get a glimpse of what she’s searching up.

“You’re on the list. Is it urgent?” She responds swiftly. This feels different.

“Is he busy?”

“His lunch break is in a few minutes,” the lady informs you.

“Can I go up?”

“Sure. I’ll tell his security personnel.”

As you make your way to the elevator, the lady picks up the phone and balances it on her shoulder as she types.

Jungkook doesn’t know you’re coming this time, and you’re hoping the element of surprise will be beneficial to your cause. It’s been a month, and Jungkook’s not only disappeared from the media, he’s disappeared from your life. If he won’t make a move, then you have to.

“Name?” The security guard grunts when he sees you approaching. There’s only one next to his door this time.

“Y/N,” you respond.

“There’s no Y/N on our list, Miss, so unfortunately—”

The other one comes jogging around the corner, slightly out of breath despite the fact that he’s incredibly buff. “They just let a girl up,” he says before making eye contact with you. “Oh. Well, she’s on the list now.”

“Really?” The first guard asks, eyebrows raised. “Alright Miss, go on in.”

The man opens the sleek wooden door, allowing you to slowly step in. Jungkook’s facing away from the door, his office chair spun around as he lectures somebody on the phone while staring out the window. You don’t know how to get his attention. Perhaps, if you run now, he’ll never even notice you were in here.

You continue to move forwards, trying to keep your footsteps quiet as you approach the couch you’ve collapsed on so many times. As Jungkook speaks, you can hear the exhaustion, the tension in his voice. He never used to sound like that.

This time, when you sit down, you sit up straight and on the edge of the seat, anxious for what will happen when Jungkook turns around.

It’s strange, being in here again, reminiscing of when you came for him to ask you the favor that began this mess. So many things are the same, yet so many things are different.

“Hold on, I’m getting another call,” Jungkook sighs, and you tense up, thinking he’s going to turn around. He doesn’t, merely takes the phone away from his ear for a few seconds before returning it. “Hello? Wait, another client? Right now? God, alright.”

You wonder who Jungkook may be talking about when the office chair rotates, leaving you face-to-face with Jungkook himself, the phone still held up to his ear.

It drops to the floor. “Y/N?”

“Hi, Jungkook,” you say, avoiding his gaze.

“What-What are you doing here?”

“Why do you think I’m here, Jungkook?” You ask sadly.

Jungkook purses his lips. “I have things to say, too.”

“Would you like to say them to me now or should we go out for lunch first?” You joke, smiling nostalgically.

Jungkook chuckles as he stands up, grabbing his suit jacket from where it’s draped over his chair. “Let’s go out to eat. There’s this great Italian place that opened up a while ago in Gangnam.”

“Sounds great.”

Once there, it seems that neither of you know exactly what you’d like to say, keeping the conversation limited to the menu and the weather. The tension is thick in between the two of you, settling on the table like dust.

“I finished the brown sugar,” Jungkook blurts midway through your meal. “I used it all up in my tea.”

“Did you like it?”

“I felt healthier,” he says.

“That was the goal,” you say. “You know, when we bought it.”

“I know.”

Silence falls.

Jungkook coughs, clearing his throat as he swallows down another mouthful of pasta before continuing. “You know why I told that lady that we were dating?”

“To be a nice person, I guess?” You suggest.

“No,” Jungkook says, placing his fork down with a clang. “I told her, a woman who would never know who we were, never need to know our stunt, because I was hoping that maybe, if I said it to her, it would be real.”

“Jungkook—”

“You scare me generally, Y/N, but you especially scared me when you told me you loved me.” Jungkook exhales. The both of you have stopped eating, at this point. “I thought — I thought maybe you were acting on feelings that were fake, that you has simply fallen in love with the idea of me, a rich guy who could pay for your wildest hopes and dreams. I didn’t trust your feelings, but more importantly, I didn’t trust my own.”

You open your mouth to say something, to explain yourself, but Jungkook beats you to it.

“You’re not supposed to fall in love with your best friend. I’ve seen you at your best and your worst and vice versa, they are moments not worth romanticizing because we are loud, messy people. But those few weeks we had as a couple, fake or not, it was a taste into a dream I didn’t know I had and I never wanted to wake up. You’re not supposed to fall in love with your best friend, but I did, anyway.”

“You’re such a sap, Jeon,” you say playfully, nudging his shoulder. “That was so cheesy.”

“The cheesiest confession for my cheesiest best friend,” he beams in return. “I’m sorry I didn’t recognize my feelings in time for you to stay. I’m sorry that it took a month for me to finally come to terms with them. I’m sorry that you loved me before I knew I loved you.”

His hand is on yours now, your fingers touching in the middle of the table as he draws mindless designs on the back on your hand.

“Saying yes to your proposal was the hardest thing I’ve had to do in a long while,” you admit. “I knew what would happen and yet I still gave in, desperate for a chance to know what it’s like to have you. I’ve watched you, cheered you on from the sidelines for so long that I decided I wanted to try. It was a mistake,” you say, meeting Jungkook’s eyes as his expression falls. “I only fell in love with you harder.”

A smile creeps across Jungkook’s face.

“You’re right, you’re not supposed to fall in love with your best friend, but neither of us have ever been very good at following the rules. I love you, Jungkook.”

“Is that a confession I hear?” Jungkook asks, bringing a hand to his ear. “I’m sorry, I think I missed it.”

“I already confessed to you a month ago, you little shit,” you say, scrunching up your nose. “Don’t push it.”

“For what it’s worth, I love you too, you know.”

“I know.”

Jungkook lets go of your hand, shoving it off the table. “Do you want to try this dating thing? Like, for real?”

“Hmm,” you say, pretending to ponder the offer. “I don’t know. What do I get out of it?”

“My unconditional love and affection,” Jungkook says as you roll your eyes. “And some nice things, every now and then.”

“I guess I’ll take it,” you say, letting the grin on your lips burst into a full-on smile.

Jungkook giggles, all of his teeth showing in that beautiful bunny-like smile of his. “If we weren’t sitting across each other in a booth, I would so kiss you right now.”

“Damn, cockblocked by a piece of wood,” you sigh, shaking your head.

“Fuck you, wood,” Jungkook swears, making you laugh. In exchange for a real kiss, he takes your hand in his, pressing his lips to your fingers.

On the way back, Jungkook decides to take you the long way, weaving through the side streets of Gangnam as he points out different landmarks.

“Is this some elaborate ruse to avoid the reporters? You know you’re not very inconspicuous, right?” You ask as he guides you from the main street, taking you down a back alley littered with trash that probably costs more than your rent.

“Why would I need to avoid the paps?”

“Um, I’m here. A girl. Next to you. Holding your hand,” you say, motioning to your interlocked fingers.

A camera flash goes off.

“Are you my girlfriend, or are you my girlfriend?”

“Woah, woah, when did we cross that line? We haven’t even had our first date yet,” you say defensively.

“Count this one as number one, then,” Jungkook says before he’s running, cameras flashing as he bolts, his hand still interlocked with yours.

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