#this is coming from a film major and writing minor

[elio-monroe]

argh there was a tumblr post about how tv shows are being cut short and i agreed a lot with it. but their long movie take was so abysmal i couldn't get myself to reblog it. id add in the notes how i feel differently but id rather not be subjected yet again to someone thinking their opinion is so extremely righteous they need to mock me in front of their followers for absolutely no fucking reason.

but anyways, there have been long ass movies since people started making movies. this idea of the 3 hour movie (which is not at all what i would even classify as a long movie) is not new! its not invented by capitalism. just because you personally cannot sit through it does not mean its not good. also don't equate film to prose? films are not "short stories" thats a prose term and you are making absolutely no sense when you say that. same with the idea that television shows are suppose to be novels? i just... what exactly do people think novels are, like what does that word actually means?

its just weird to put your own personal preference for movie length in a post about how capitalism is ruining television and film. thats a pretty piss poor way to analyze art or even talk about the effects of capitalism. especially considering that the majority of studios used to want very short run times, and still heavily prefer them to this day. avengers end game was "long" because producers wanted a novelty. the irishman is "long" because scorsese normally makes long movies as thats the pace he feels is necessary to tell the story he wants to tell.

[usedpidemo]

Getting closer (Kang Hyewon)

“All I’m saying is—” Hyewon looks away, drink in hand, taking a little sip, calm and alluring as ever, “if you only want to see me naked, then you could have just said so.”

You widely stare back, silent, indifferent—or at least pretend to be. It’s gotten you a fair amount of awards, after all. It’s not the slightest bit of convincing whatsoever.  

She laughs, softly, as if this was the expected outcome. “So I’m taking that as an admission.” 

Setting down the near-empty wine glass on the bathroom sink, Hyewon attempts to walk away, only to be stopped by a sudden pull. Your hand appears tightly wrapped around her dainty wrist, unwilling to let go. Your eyes aimlessly wander up and down the empty void that is her black dress. There are hardly any thoughts behind that predictably empty head of yours, only the simplest of desires.

You catch the subtlest grin forming on her saccharine lips. You fucking hate how she makes you feel. How she makes your heart race with every exchange.

Despite all the time you’ve spent together, you wish you got to know her better.

—————

The last year and a half of your career has mostly centered around one thing, or in this case, one person: Kang Hyewon. There’s also this drama starring your pairing as co-leads, and you’ve been promoting together, but your names make up more of the headlines than the very show. Your names are synonymously tied together akin to an actual couple.

Unsurprisingly, Hyewon is damn gorgeous. It’s how she’s getting the calls to begin with. Another one of those former singers turned actors looking to be taken seriously within the larger entertainment industry. Most never make it past their first project and fall back on their old careers, with some completely flaming out of the spotlight altogether. She’s an exception. A minor part here, a supporting cameo there—until she’s more than pleasant eye candy. A starlet who knows how to pick what roles would showcase her talents the most. 

She’s the perfect blend of beauty goddess and hotshot young star that the internet can get behind.

So it comes as a surprise when she’s casted as second fiddle to you, the first billing—and everyone comes away talking about her more. The scene stealer. 

(This plucky rival agent, investigating a case your character has been trailing for years, barely scraping by with the thinnest of clues, only for her to uncover the mystery only days after starting the investigation. The writing screams Mary Sue, but she acts convincing and vulnerable enough to escape the scathing think pieces that’s commonly associated with such characters. Not to mention: you both look damn good together on screen and during your public appearances.

It’s a team that sailed a thousand ships—both for your characters and in the real world.)

The consummate professional you are, you don’t think much of it. Your filming experience can only be described as businesslike. Except for the scenes where you’re together on screen, you’ve been separated at arms’ length, only exchanging words between takes to keep any further relationship from developing. It’s only during the press tour where you’ve finally gotten somewhat close.

Perhaps a little too close for comfort. Enough to make video compilations by overzealous fans who think you and Hyewon are really an item. The evidence is everywhere—in interviews, behind the scenes content, and on both your Instagram pages. At least, that’s what they want to believe. Everyone else brushes it off as two hot people being hot together, and not much else.

Here’s the thing: you love Hyewon—that much is true. The question now is: does she love you back?

Thankfully, your duo doesn’t get in the way of the show being lauded, despite making up a majority of its fandom. Positive reviews from both critics and viewers, especially in regards to your chemistry. The connection between you two is one in a million, something that can’t be built over years and years of working together. It also helps your performances sell the dynamic incredibly well—well enough to create those delusional shippers that form the bedrock of your partnership. 

Your names were positioned to go far during awards season. Not the consensus top pick, but as dark horse contenders to steal one every now and then. And while you both won your fair share of accolades, neither of you ended up walking away with the top prize. The conversation during the final ceremony of the year consisted primarily of the media and viewers talking about how your appearances together these last few months—and how you’re a match made in heaven. 

Everyone’s gonna miss this pairing—and so will you.

Now you’re back at square one. Having snuck away from the afterparty currently celebrating the dozen or so awards your show won earlier tonight, you’ve brought Hyewon back to your hotel room. Neither of you cared once you both lost your respective categories. The pundits thought you each only had the slimmest of odds to win, so why bother. Hell, you were both itching to leave as soon as the red carpet concluded. 

It’s all behind you now. You’re finally free from the glitz, glamor, and chaos of these vanity ceremonies and can really focus on what really matters—the pretty girl that you most likely won’t be seeing starring tomorrow. Your careers and interests couldn’t be any further apart: your main focus is movies, while hers are dramas. Both of you remain booked and busy for the next few years with different projects, with not a single one reuniting you two for the foreseeable future.

Back to Hyewon. She’s looking down at her wrist, tightly held by your hand. She allows it. You can feel her pulse. You sense that your hearts are racing in unison, tense and anxious.

“Are you gonna do something?” she questions, daring you to pull the trigger. She knows something you don’t—or maybe you do. You’re blinded by fear to realize it. “The night is fleeting. If not now, then when?”

Her words ring through your head. 

If not now, then when?

The same five words, ordered in the exact same way—etched in tiny letters on her skin.

You still remember everything—frame by frame, down to the last details. On screen, it’s implied. In your mind, it canonically happened. She took her shirt off, exposing herself and the scars of battle, and you were gonna go there. In your characters’ supposed words, ‘Clean’’ in your own unique way.

It was ultimately never shot. Bare minimum of fanservice and completely unnecessary, the director said. 

The tattoo sticks out, not only because of how it's deeply embedded on her otherwise pristine, lithe figure, but also because it represents the last 18 months of your career.

During this period, there are a lot of things that you’ve regret—and will regret. The fact you’ve kept contact with her during filming at a minimum, keeping your interactions strictly between takes and creating a negative air around you in her eyes. The fact it took you so long to exchange numbers, only getting it done during the press tour. The fact that you never return her messages when she constantly reaches out to you, whether through text or on your Instagram. The fact you haven’t thanked her enough times during your acceptance speeches, even when you mention her name in almost every other sentence. If there’s anything you want to admit, it’s that Hyewon is everything.

Most importantly, the fact that you fucking love her, to the point where you’d yearn moments when you’re not beside her—and you still lack the will to confess to her. Even right now. When she’s right at your fingertips.

Perhaps she knows this. The signs were there all along. How she often posts your red carpet photos together and tags you in them. How she also mentions you as much during her acceptance speeches and credits you as a reason for her improvements in acting, even referencing specific advice you’ve given her. The biggest hint, however, are the dresses she’s been wearing to these galas, most evident being tonight. Simple all black, tailor made for her frame, showing off her assets for flaunting to the cameras. 

Earlier, she led you to an empty part of the theater to say something in private. “I wore this just for you,” she said—and from that point, you had to get her alone, whatever it takes.

Really, Hyewon has no intention to leave tonight. She’s just waiting for those magic words. There’s no other logical reason for her to be here, other than for you.

She might as well be holding up a huge signpost with all her requests written in capital letters. 

“If you’re not gonna do anything,” she says, tone casual, slipping one strap of her dress down her shoulder, the one half of the fabric dropping a fair amount. “Then I might as well do it myself. I was hoping you’d take this off me—”

“Stop.” 

You grab her other hand, close to touching the other strap, the dress more than ready to fall down. She raises her eyebrows in amusement. Afterward, she puts the seized hand down, convincing you to release the grip. 

Another win for Hyewon. You’ve lost count as to how many times she’s been messing with you throughout awards season. Probably in the hundreds. Thousands if you count the interviews and little jabs during her speeches. Every mention of your name is an immediate sign of trouble. You can sense she’s enjoying every single moment, relishing the remaining time you have left. Meanwhile, it’s clear on your face that you’re stressed. 

But for what?

“If it hasn’t gotten through your thick skull, then I have no choice but to explain it.” Hyewon climbs atop the bathroom sink, strong enough to lift herself off the ground. She pours the glass with new wine; it’s not meant for you. Her attitude flips instantaneously like a switch, composed and readying herself as if it were another photoshoot. 

Taking a sip of the drink, she pours the rest all over her dress. It serves no purpose anymore. it’s undeniable that she knows what she’s doing. That elegant yet cocky smile is permanently seared into your brain. Someone this haughty shouldn’t be this beautiful and seductive. “You can stand there and waste the night away, or you can do something about it. All up to you.”

You can only sigh. Whether out of wistfulness or annoyance is up for interpretation. You can add taking her back to your hotel room and taking this role in your ever growing list of regrets. When it’s all said and done, it’ll definitely be as long as the career documentary they’ll make about you in 50 years.

What more do you have to lose? 

This will all be behind you soon enough.

You finally stop giving her the cold shoulder. “God, I really wish you weren’t such a tease,” you remark, pulling on the dress strap she previously slid down. “Because otherwise, it would have been so much easier.”

Hyewon seems to have taken your words seriously, because she suddenly kisses you—as in, relentlessly smothers you. Her arms wrap around your neck, slowly pulling you close into an embrace. She smells of alcohol and perfume. An unusual concoction that you can drown yourself in.

“Only if you say the magic word,” she says, gently laughing between kisses. The lower half of your face is full of pale lipstick marks. It was foolish to think she had turned a new leaf, knowing how intentional Hyewon can be with everything.

You’ve really got no other choice.

“I love you,” you confess, but in the smallest audible voice imaginable—hiding that reluctance behind your tone. 

Hyewon pulls herself back, smiling toothily at you, borderline snorting. Her expressions convey the idea that you told her a joke, which it may as well be. 

“That’s it? Doesn’t sound like someone who loves me,” she remarks, tone evidently disparaging.

“Fuck me.” The groan comes out instinctively, as if this wasn’t your first time getting burned like this. Your head is raised to the ceiling, asking the gods for an out.

“That’s my line,” she spouts, her response almost as instantaneous. Wit comes naturally to Hyewon. The countless viewers and interviewers who’ve laughed can speak on her behalf.

“You’re gonna turn everything I say into a joke, are you?” you ask, knowing you’ve willingly fallen for the easiest bait in the entire world.

“You’re gonna turn everything I say into a joke, are you?” she repeats, mockingly imitating your voice, much to your utter chagrin. This isn’t part of some romcom or a sketch. This is real. Everything comes back around to Hyewon. She laughs—basks in your suffering.

It’s the kind of trait that would leave you second guessing whether you really love her or not. As it turns out, the public loves celebrities with a playful sense of humor. Not even you are innocent—you’ve been caught red-handed on camera a few times. Hyewon doesn’t need to reaffirm herself.

But she would love to hear it straight from the source.

“Say it. Say it.” Hyewon is urging you—demanding you—as if it were a matter of life or death. Her hands are everywhere, gripping you by the cheek and the throat like her prized possessions, threatening to choke the life out of you. 

Truthfully, this was coming the moment she stepped through those doors for the first table read. Hyewon’s gravity is inescapable.

“Love you—Hyem, please—” 

Struggling to push back against her hold, you can tell that she’s taking pleasure in every moment she has you like this: wrapped around her finger, so whipped over her that it’s alarming. There’s little use in trying to be coy or subtle. If she wanted you to go down to the afterparty in nothing but your boxers, you’d fold in a heartbeat. She’s the kind of girl you’d happily end up in a scandal with, someone you’d throw your career away in exchange for one timeless night, against the advice of everyone who knows better.

She knows this too. Look at the coy grin spreading on her face. A smile perfect for the front cover of any magazine or commercial. It’s the perfect facade for the attitude hiding beneath.

“I love you Hyem,” you repeat, showing a bit more desperation and sincerity this time. You’re breathing against her neck, the idea of pressing your lips against her skin a dire need. It’s unfortunate you can’t make it look like an accident—as is the idea of your bodies sinking down on the bathroom countertop. “For the longest time, I wanted you, but—”

Only now do you come to the simplest realization: there are no accidents.

Normally, you should feel some shame for being this oblivious. How a girl like Hyewon is giving out all these hints, to the point where she might as well be spreading her legs wide and pointing down at her cunt with a colorful sign. Hell, a thigh is peeking through her dress, pressing on your leg right now. If there’s one thing you’ve learned about working with other actors, it’s that chemistry comes naturally—it can’t be taught.

And your bodies are doing exactly that. The friction between you can’t be any more tense.

“Then show me.” She sighs against your ear, pulling on the topmost button of your suit, pushing down the matching coat. Her leg extends around your limb, goading you to pull away, even though leaving the pretty sight right in front of you is the last thing on your mind. 

You can only breathe. Slow. Hesitant. There's not a lot of hours left, and you’re wasting more by taking your sweet time—resting your gaze on her pale shoulder, admiring all the little details. In essence, you’re doing the complete opposite of what Hyewon wants. She’s showing a little frustration, proving how much better of an actress she is than you. Imagine being in her shoes, beckoning to someone astronomically unaware for months. So much energy and effort could have been saved if she chose to leave you out to dry. If you weren’t so preoccupied with thoughts of her, the many ways this little scene can go, you’d be wondering why she’s this persistent. 

Maybe you’re just as important of a character in her story too, or you’re both stubborn in your own ways. Perhaps both.

None of that is your concern right now. You’re cupping Hyewon’s face, kissing her, nibbling down on her creamy skin, reaching up to her lips by the way of her neck, pulling on the strap of her dress little by little. In response, she’s whispering sweet nothings into your ear, removing your dress shirt one button at a time. It feels like you’re going through the motions, acting under the words of an intimacy coordinator and a director. Slowly but surely, it’s all coming together, until—

“Stop.” 

You pull back, noticing your shirt is nearly undone as you look past her and at the mirror. Both dress straps are halfway down her arms, the fabric a mess, waiting to be swept away. 

You raise an eyebrow, puzzled. “What’s up?” 

Hyewon tilts her head at an angle, unsatisfied. She’s staring at you intently, taking a moment to analyze you like you’re a problem to solve—which you are—before coming to a rather alarming conclusion. “You don’t seem like you want me that bad.”

The remark doesn’t register in your brain. “What do you mean—”

She yanks you forward for a deep kiss, cutting you off. Reciprocating her passion comes naturally—and so does everything else. The movement of your hands, taking lease of her back, tearing through the fabric of her dress, coming back to her cheeks, until you stop feeling cloth and register more flesh. Feeling her skin becomes your new addiction, something you can’t get enough of. 

Watching her other movies—for research purposes—you knew she was well endowed, even when they were not on full display.  Some of her previous gala dresses truly put a spotlight on her cleavage. Part of you thought it was editing trickery, a perfectly taken photo at the right time, or a bra doing the heavy lifting. All three even. But holding them now, with nothing in between, you simply couldn’t believe how well they’ve been hidden from you. 

Her tits fold, go flush, and her nipples stiffen at your touch. They feel so right—as if they were handmade for you.

“God, Hyem—” you breathe out, savoring the sensation of her mounds in your clasp, unwilling to let go. Her taut nipples jerk with every run of your palms. If only you could rest your head between them, but your current position won’t allow you. 

“They feel so good right?” Hyewon moans in response, shedding your unbuttoned shirt off your body and tossing it to the floor, taking lease of your muscles and back. Her dress bunches up around her waist, practically collapsing when she decides to get up from the sink. Although an expected outcome, you’re both surprised that you’ve managed to get each other’s clothes off.

And you’re only getting started.

Pushing you away, Hyewon meets you at your level. Gravity does the rest. She stands before you in nothing but heels. What a mental image to remember her after tonight. She leaves you frozen and trembling, jaw agape, your eyes in a daze, unable to find a place to settle your fleeting gaze on—until she rests her hands around your shoulders. You’re caught up in your own disbelief to meet her lovely gaze and that rather sweet smile, quite the difference from her bare state.

She lifts up a leg, pushing herself onto you for another passionate kiss. Taking advantage, her legs eventually wrap around your waist, bearing all her weight on your grasp. Despite her surprise attack, she’s feathery enough to carry around. It certainly helps that she’s not the heaviest girl you’ve lifted before; you have some experience—mostly unpleasant and usually backbreaking. Still, you’ll treat her like some delicate object that crumbles at the slightest touch. Something—or someone—you can’t ruin, or else you’d be ruined too.

You both end up in the living room, deeply engrossed in a fiery passion that’s too hot for cameras. Lifting her high, your lips find their way to her chest, pressing them in the place where they rightfully belong. Hyewon is stubborn, pushing your head further up to meet your lips in a direct, frantic kiss. Back and forth, you take turns between her tits and her lips, unintentionally slamming her against a wall, eliciting a few yelps out of her. 

It doesn’t bother you both in the slightest. You hold her there, kissing down her abdomen and ribs, coming to the tiny inked part of her figure. The same tattoo that’s been ingrained in your head since you first saw them.

You mutter the very words against her skin. 

“If not now, then when.”

They’ve never been so relevant till right now. You softly kiss the ink, silently thanking her for saving you from a lifetime’s worth of regret.

Hyewon winces, throws her head back, moans up to the ceiling. Her nails brush through your hair, then claw at your nape as you remain fixated on her tattooed rib. She deserves to be adored and worshiped.

“Look at me babe,” she murmurs, gently tilting you up, faint at your touch. Against your desires, you follow. “Put me down. You know why I’m here.”

You oblige without a second thought—and you’re both on a level playing field again.

Still, you can’t help but kiss her right after. She reciprocates the favor. You’re a perfect match. Even as you’re making out, you’re thinking of ways to get messy and get the jump on her while she’s preoccupied. 

It ends up being your biggest mistake.

Both of you wrestle for control over the other, a scuffle that ends up knocking down a few appliances and tableware. The sound of glass shattering rips through the hotel room floor louder than your collective moans ever will. For someone with a lithe figure, Hyewon proves to be much stronger than you were led to believe. It shows when you try to push her onto another table; you both end up crashing to the floor seconds later. 

From there, it’s whoever is the first to get up, and you knew it was all over from there.

Hyewon leads you into the sole bedroom, shoving you onto the mattress. Unrelenting, she slams onto you right after, pinning you down with her bare hands. Surprising her with your own strength, you reach for her raven locks through her ironclad grip of your wrists. Your lips continue to crash like waves against rocks, neither of you willing to back down. There’s a clear disparity between you: she wants you more.

To further prove her point, she presses her palms down on your chest, sitting over you upright, straddled on your lap. She’s never looked better.

Making quick work of your trousers, your cock is freed from its confines, only to be immediately caught up in Hyewon’s hand. Her grip spreads through your groin, turning breathing into an absolute nightmare. The one fear that’s been haunting your mind these last few months, finally realized. 

And it’s staring you down with an innocent yet wicked smile.

“You have no idea how long I wanted this,” she remarks, her sultry voice sending shivers down your spine. Arching down, she presses her tongue forward on your throbbing tip. Combined with the pressure she’s building with her hand, holes puncture through your lungs. And right on command, you’re leaking. She’s lapping your cock in circles, slow and agonizing, taking every little drop of precum seeping. You can only tremble beneath her, utterly defenseless. “Remembering when I was tapping your foot with my heel earlier tonight?”

She leaves you in such a dizzying spiral that you can’t even look directly at her, let alone formulate a reply. Meanwhile, her eyes remain fixed on you, doe-eyed with innocence, yet her actions are cruel. Breathing proves to be a struggle, let alone returning with a response. “What about it?”

“I wanted you to follow me to the bathroom. And I wanted you to fuck me in there.”

Honest to God, that was not the first thought on your mind. If anything, the presence of many proved to be the ideal shield in keeping yourself away from Hyewon. Losing best actor was the greatest blessing in disguise, as it meant you didn’t have to look straight into her magnetic eyes during your theoretical speech and make an embarrassment of yourself in front of hundreds in attendance, and millions watching on television. 

Now that you’re in bed with no way to escape, you can only accept your fate.

“I’m not the best at reading the room,” you comment, sheepishly shaking your head.

“Not surprising, honestly,” she says, rewarding your candor with a kiss—on your tip. Then another. More heartwarming than arousing, if anything. “Anyone ever told you that you’re kind of a dork?”

“Not the first time I’ve heard it from a girl,” you say, in an attempt to show some wit, only to be met with a stiff grip on your cock. “Ah—fuck—”

A bit more force and Hyewon could break you in half with her mere hand alone. She’s cold, calculating, and cruel. Her expression seems apathetic, yet deep down, you can tell she’s having so much fun toying and teasing you, stealing what little semblance of willpower you have. And to think she’s this demure, sometimes funny celebrity with a certain image that’s universally admired by many. 

Behind that gaze, she’s thinking of more ways to further ruin you.

“I don’t think a dork like you has been with other girls,” she remarks, leaning forward to tease a kiss, only to leave you dry. “But looking at this cock—”

She stops to admire your shaft once more. Ultimately, she can’t help herself. She has to give your tip another ceremonious flick with her parched tongue in appreciation. Two, actually. If she doesn’t stop, you’ll soon be deep in her throat, and you know she’s not letting you go. Thankfully, she finally regains sight of what she wants in the first place.

Lifting herself ever so slightly, Hyewon takes a deep breath—then slowly melts into you. 

It’s a car crash you can’t look away from. It’s inevitable, but you’re completely powerless to stop her. You can only groan in agony as your bodies intertwine, creating a union that only she can break. Inch by inch, you helplessly watch as Hyewon slowly takes you into her suffocating heat. The sensation is unlike anything you’ve ever felt before: vicious, intense, and painful. 

It doesn’t help that she’s taking her sweet time, keeping you on edge for what may as well be an eternity, bracing for the certain explosion she’s going to leave in her wake. 

“Oh—fuck—it’s so perfect,” Hyewon throws her head back, her jaw dropping slow, every word delivered in a near-inaudible sigh. Eventually, she buries herself in you deep to the hilt—and she keens. “That—that’s it—that’s the fucking spot—”

Your hands cling to her waist, your maw similarly agape, breathing tensely as the pleasure slowly courses through your muscles. “God—you’re fucking tight—”

She hums in return, satisfied by your response, before losing herself in the sensation of your cock impaling her—and she begins to move.

As you fight the urge to cum right then and there, Hyewon slowly lifts herself off your lap, your cock reappearing with a fresh coat of her drenched pussy, before sinking back down. She rips the breath right from your lungs, while you’re forced to shut your eyes. Anything to keep your brain firing as the pleasure rushing throughout your body sends you into overdrive. 

You’re an outlet of ecstasy, a conduit for her to loosen all her pent-up frustration and lust. Her palms grip to your thighs, keeping you in place—as if you’re in any condition to move anywhere except for her whim. She’s crashing into you at a punishing pace as a result of keeping yourself away for so long. And she’s being open about it too: “Why did it take us so long—ugh—”

You can only moan back. Truthfully, you’re wondering the same thing too. 

As your eyes alternate between wide open and completely shut, you catch glimpses of Hyewon using every inch of you to fill her wanton pussy with cock. When she’s not cursing or screaming your name, her moans fill your ears with sweet, sultry music. It’s a sound not of her high class image. She’s riding you like it’s life or death, like her heart will stop beating if her cunt isn’t being stretched out.

With every bounce, so do her breasts. Up and down, settling into a rhythm, forming a hypnotic motion that your eyes get lost in. Your obsession reaches a point to where the movement of her tits stirs you on, reigniting your tired muscles. You can’t lie there and be a helpless viewer any longer.

And so, you meet Hyewon halfway, matching the grind of her hips with your thrust at the apex, setting her alight. This particular stroke. The hot sensation. It utterly shatters her. Her voice cracks. She trembles violently, giving you breathing room to sit upward and lean close to her chest. 

So while she staggers back, overwhelmed by your cock spearing her cunt, you go down on her succulent breasts, squishing your face between them. Despite having Hyewon’s body all to yourself, the friction between your bodies creates this wracking storm that drives you insane. It isn’t enough that you’re feasting on her tits, that her boobs are bouncing so hard it’s downright pornographic, and that she’s screaming her heart out in response to each stroke. This will be headline news tomorrow. Yet, none of that is your concern. You have to pour everything into her. It’s now or never.

“Fuck yes—oh fuck—fucking take me—fuck—” Hyewon’s riding your cock, forcing all the air out your lungs, rendering you speechless. Doesn’t matter, you’re drowning in her slick and her tits, pounding away with twice the effort. She’s swearing through her tongue like she’s a cop in a crime picture, biting down on her lip in a flimsy attempt to restrain herself, but anyone with a good ear nearby could have easily identified her voice through the four walls of this hotel room. Knowing her, it’s intentional. She’s determined to put you through a world of trouble, leaving you with no other choice but to shut her up.

And you’re going to do just that.

You end up yanking her by the waist as your bodies repeatedly collide with each other. Each impact the equivalent of a cosmic explosion, the aftermath echoing through the room. The sound of skin slapping skin fills your ears louder than what it seems in the movies. Sex with Hyewon is much, much better than in your fantasies. Here’s another thing that can’t be found on camera: her soft pleas begging you to keep going, interlaced between harsh whines and airy moans that can’t be faked.

“God, I’m gonna fucking cum, Hyewon.” There you go, your silly side showing at such a serious moment. Everyone knows you don’t proclaim your impending climax. Rookie mistake. You’re not shooting a porno, but you might as well be with how hard you’re fucking her. She can’t help but cackle even as you relentlessly pound into her cunt. What should be a moment of weakness immediately gets brushed aside as you hold her when she slams down, and you finally fall apart.

Impaling your cock hilt deep inside Hyewon, you’re digging your palms deep into her soft flesh, unwilling to let go. She rests her head beside yours as you blast her with thick, warm cum. Her prolonged, saccharine-sounding moan is nothing compared to the loaded groan that ripples through the room. The supplication she makes, demanding you to fill her with every little drop goes through deaf ears. Your dick seems to have heard it loud and clear, though. The amount you’re filling her is enough to rip through her body violently too. She follows with her own peak afterwards, hitting a previously unheard octave higher, your bodies finally melting into one. 

Just like that, she’s clinging to you like you’re her personal life support, completely drained of all her strength. 

The ecstasy lasts for a brief moment. The fall off happens too soon for your liking. Like her, you’re sapped of energy and you fall down to earth with Hyewon in your arms. The end comes—not with grandiose drama or spectacle, but by a calm, uneventful stir.

You should be done at this point. It’s been a long day. You’ve been up as early as sunrise, spent hours behind makeup and measuring tape for a suit you won’t wear more than once. Smiling comes natural, if not downright fake; in front of the cameras, on the red carpet, on screen, and even during the afterparties. Every time you step out in public, there’s an image, a reputation to uphold. You’ve done this a dozen times in the past few months alone, bearing a lifetime’s worth of and it never gets more comfortable or easier. It’s a miracle you haven’t cracked or had a public breakdown, even though your mind is calling for it.

And yet, all that labor and agony is worth it for what you have now. The awards, the recognition, the adoration—but most especially the girl. What are you now, taken out of a story. One that feels all too familiar and done to death, but it never grows old or tired. 

By all accounts, it should be a happy ending. 

Except you’re not done. You’re not satisfied, and so is Hyewon. Even though she’s settling down in your embrace, resting her head against your heartbeats, mumbling these sweet nothings about how much you’ve ruined her and fucked her to shreds, she’s quietly begging for more. It isn’t about keeping a sanctimonious image anymore; it’s about how far you’ll push her and use her. Your throbbing cock buried inside her cunt says it too.

If there’s anything you’ve learned about acting, it’s that one take isn’t enough.

Like a damsel in distress, you scoop Hyewon into your arms. Through what you might consider a second wind, you carry her into the bathroom again on wobbly legs, stepping into the shower, showing that you’re ready to take your relationship a step further. You’ll hash out the details in the morning—if she hasn’t left by then.

The sound of running water serves as background for the airy, lewd noises that quickly fill the shower. 

Hyewon feels incredibly soft to touch. Pliable in your grasp, like a doll to bend, twist, and use at your whim. You’re squeezing her flesh, fondling her mounds tightly till you’re seeing red everywhere. Her tits, her shapely ass, and everything in between. Kissing down her body, giving every little part its much needed attention. You’ve fucked her to pieces, yes, but she’s still housing a divine figure that deserves the same level of praise. 

With two fingers stroking at her cunt, she’s keening, her head tilted up to meet the relentless downpour rushing down over your bodies. Her voice is in tatters after an hour of tireless screaming, in addition to all the mindless chatter from earlier tonight. Part of you wishes to have taken up her offer. Something this good shouldn’t be kept secret, but you’re more than selfish enough to keep Hyewon all to yourself. 

Your raging impulse gets the better of you, and you slap her tits from behind. She yelps a cry of pain and pleasure. The recoil and sound activates something in your brain like a sleeper agent. You do it a second time, then a third. You stop counting after, indulging yourself in the satisfying noise of her mounds smacked over and over, every squeal, every strike equally as gratifying as your cock slamming into her pussy. She’s clinging to the walls as a respite, her body shuddering vigorously, but you don’t give her a moment to breathe. It’s what she would have wanted: to be used and taken like a ragdoll.

Hyewon screams again when you swing her around, lifting one leg around your waist, and slam your cock inside her. No pleasantries, no talking through the process—only a desire to fuck. Burying your face against her neck, growling into her skin like a ravenous beast, you hammer away without care for neither your comfort nor hers. You’re counting the hours, minutes, seconds before she disappears from your life, and you’re gonna make sure that years from now, she remembers this night in particular.

You’re too engrossed to see her expressions twist in impossible ways that average humans can make. But that’s the point: Hyewon is no ordinary person. She’s one actress, something that can be found in others who are more talented and have more resounding qualities, but more than that, to you, she’s everything. The clench of her cunt on your cock continues to invigorate you and push you further. With every thrust, she jumps and sends aftershocks coursing through your veins. God, you love how incredibly well she fucking takes it, and the slightest tilt of her lips struggling to form a grin reinforce this. You’ve got nothing else to say, really; you easily lose yourself in your own lust, and you wouldn’t have it any other way.

It doesn’t take too long before you feel it again. The end. It’s approaching faster than you can react. You knew it wasn’t going to be a drawn out affair, but you’re so desperate to reach that high, no matter how brief it may be. It was too good to pass up, and you’re beyond waiting a second more.

You’d give everything up for even a single minute longer, but the period of bargaining has long passed you by.

“Gonna cum again—fuck—” is all you can muster, your first words after a long while. Her pussy feels so good to form coherent words. Lust has utterly consumed your brain more than anything. The entire time, Hyewon’s mewling, keening in every direction, trying to find purchase on the walls or the shower door, only to fall a few inches short. She ends up coming back to you, hanging on for dear life. You’ve never let up, terrified that she’ll magically disappear into nothing at any second. 

Acting fast, as if you’ve got a ticking bomb in hand, you draw your cock out, coated in a thick sheen of your own cum and hers, pumping yourself with a few strokes of your hand until you finally explode. The shower washes down the milky white blot you’re unloading on her skin, never leaving a permanent mark. It does, however, bring you back to the place that began your undoing.

The tattoo on her rib. 

Water wipes the cum blocking the view. Despite those same five words occupying your mind for the last few hours, it still hits like a fresh revelation. You hear her voice repeating them inside your head as you come to your senses, your lust being satiated—for now. Even when Hyewon is completely broken before you, reduced to a quiet pile of flesh. One hand on the surrounding wall, the other in limbo, her leg still coiled around your waist, forcing oxygen into her tired lungs wherever she can. 

With the ‘quick’ shower done, and after hardly any cleaning was made, you carry her back to the bedroom. 

You don’t even make it past the living room before your legs finally give up. You end up crashing onto the floor together before you both finally call it a night.

—————

“This is your fault you know,” says Hyewon, drawing circles on your chest, over your calm heartbeats. “I’m supposed to be in London tomorrow for my table read. And yet I’m still here. My flight was five hours ago by the way.”

It’s already high noon when you finally regain consciousness, your head still spinning despite not taking more than one alcoholic drink the night before. Hyewon’s doing marginally better, having woken up 30 minutes earlier. No wonder it feels so hot; her body is snuggled up on you, your limbs tangled. Despite the urgency she’s speaking about, she doesn’t seem to be interested in moving any time soon.

At least you’re awake and sensible enough to fire back. “Who’s fault is that? I wasn’t the one inviting you to come over and have you fucked senseless.”

She chuckles into your skin, little ripples forming where her lips are gently pressed. “And I wasn’t the one who spent the last 18 months saying we’re just friends.”

You’re already lying flat on the floor, but the rebuttal only makes you want to get up only to fall back down. So you settle with an expressive sigh. 

Hyewon laughs. It’s what won over millions, including you. You’re taken back to that fateful day you first met. Right then and there, you knew there’d be no one else like her. If given an opportunity to go back and change a few things here and there or, you’d do it over again, mistakes included. Last night was worth all the waiting and teasing. 

“So—about that show,” you lean up, pushing her closer to your face, “What was it again? Something about you being a nymphomaniac? Delete what?”

“You mean Delete This? Let’s not.” 

Mention of the premise alone is enough to set her gummy cheeks on fire. For someone whose career has been built up on mostly more general audience friendly programming, leading a sexual soap opera is quite the jump.  

She buries her head on your neck, embarrassed, feeling guilty. “Yeah. I mean, last night was—different, you know? I’ve shown my tits and body already, but I’ve never had sex—on screen before.”

You should have known. She needed a reason to get in your pants without your working relationship only centering around your bodies. And those were clearly stand-ins based on how her face is never shown during her older scenes.

“Jesus, Hyem. If you wanted to have sex, you could have asked anytime. You have no idea how annoyed I was when they scrapped our scene last minute. It was only you taking off your shirt too.”

“On the bright side, we didn’t have an intimacy director getting in the way, right?”

She does have a point. Still, your personal cold war didn’t need to last 18 months before either of you would make the first move.

But with all that tension a thing of the past, the chains are unfettered. Now both of you have the ability to take this little secret in any direction you desire. You could simply be a workplace couple; it’s been the story of your year so far. Or you could take things a step further. The possibilities are truly endless.

Hyewon’s cheeky grin slowly reforms, her hand snaking up to cup your cheek. “Shame we only had one night. I could spend the rest of the day here, but—” she huffs, “I’m running late. Too bad I won’t get to have this cock for a long, long time.”

You lift an amused eyebrow, barely able to keep your new cockiness from showing. “Will you, though?”

She’s taken completely by surprise. “What do you mean?”

“Check your phone.”

After rising to her feet, Hyewon walks over to the console table where her purse is set. Fishing her phone from the handbag, she scrolls through the apps, her attention di–vided between the screen and you on the floor, finally getting up as well. 

Her stare then lingers on the phone, as if whatever headline of the day has caught her attention. 

Next thing you know, she’s grabbing you by the chest, dragging you back to the bedroom before shoving you back onto the mattress—right where you belong. Pinning you down and dead to rights, Hyewon mounts herself on your lap, your cock pressed against her aching core, ready to receive a fresh beating.

Some jokes can go a little too far.

“You fucking asshole. You mean that—”

“Yep.”

“And it’s not—”

“It’s not.”

You can feel her hips slowly grinding against yours. You’re gonna love—and hate—the next 18 months with Hyewon.

“I’m going to kill you. And I mean: kill you.”

“No better way to go out.”

—————

(A/N: Thank you for the commission! That Hyewon dress is so ripe for material, and I had to incorporate her tattoos into it somehow. She doesn't show them quite often—heck, she hasn't publicly addressed them even once, I believe. That little nod at the end is for everyone still waiting for Delete this to return. At this point, a reimagining or remake must happen first before the next actual episode because good God my writing back then versus now is night & day. Even comparing the last update from 2022(?) to today is also radically different in style. I'm still interested in reviving it; it's just a matter of when, not if. Thank you for reading!)

[shockercoco]

Consequences

Austin butler x reader

Warnings - 18+, smut, riding, P in V, overstimulation, dirty talk, jealous!Austin

Word count - 2925 (I didn't intend for this to be 3k words lol)

a/n - request: “Hi! Please can you write an Austin butler x fem reader smut where he's jealous after watching her film a sex scene and he shows her how it's done? Maybe he's a bit cocky as well because he knows that only he can make her moan?” - loved this ty, I hope you enjoy :)

“They need everyone back on set in ten minutes,” you hear your assistant tell you from outside of your trailer door, interrupting your inner turmoil.

“Okay,” you tell her, and you hear her walk away as you go back to your thoughts.

You had been pacing back and forth inside your trailer for the majority of your lunch break thinking about your upcoming scene. It was a sexual scene that included you having to be practically naked in a bed with your male co-star.

When you had accepted the role you knew what it entailed, but back then the intimacy part of the script seemed so minor, and you had brushed past it. Given the fact that this wouldn’t be your first time shooting this type of scene, you really shouldn’t be stressing out. During those past roles, though, you hadn’t been dating Austin so it was simple and wasn’t awkward. It’s also not like Austin would have a problem with you doing this either because he trusts you – after all intimate scenes are a big part of the movie industry.

The intimacy coordinator had talked to both you and your co-star Matthew separately to inform you guys on what was expected. You also knew you could always say no, and you would probably be replaced with a body double, but that didn’t do anything to calm your nerves.

Figuring enough time had passed, you exited your trailer and headed back to set where the makeshift bedroom was already set. You saw Matthew in a robe matching yours standing off to the side getting some final touch-ups from one of the makeup artists. He gives you a small smile when he notices  you walking in before turning his attention back to the woman in front of him.

You and Matthew had grown close over the past couple of months, which isn’t unusual because you were both the lead actors, and he seemed like a nice person –at least from what you’ve gotten to see. Austin would always tell you Matthew was too nice to you each time he visited you on set, but you never saw it and would tell him that you would be okay. Austin is a persistent man and didn’t deter from his theory, therefore, he would always eye Matthew and keep you in eyesight. You would just silently laugh to yourself when you saw Austin behind the camera eyeing Matthew.

“Matthew’s my friend so this shouldn’t be too awkward. This will all be over before I know –,” you think to yourself, but your thoughts are interrupted when someone taps you on the shoulder from behind. You turn around to see Austin there smiling at you.

“I didn’t know you were coming,” you smile back at him as he brings you in for a hug with a quick kiss on your cheek.

“It was a last minute decision. I had to attend a meeting not too far from here, so I thought I’d stop by. I hope that’s okay,” Austin tells you as you lean back to look up at him.

“Of course it is, I was just surprised.”

“What scene are you filming?” he asks you as you two pull away. That’s when he notices the bed sitting in the middle of the room and your robe. “Oh.”

You cringe a little. “It’s just a quick sex scene, you know how it is. It’ll be over before you know it,” you try to reassure him as his eyes find Matthew.

“Yeah, but it’s with him,” he makes a face.

“I don’t get to choose my co-star, Austin. There’s only a couple more weeks of filming, and then we don’t have to see him again until the movie premiere,” you grab onto his arm for him to look at you. He finally tears his eyes away from your co-star to look at you again. He rolls his eyes, not at you, and gives you a nod.

Your assistant comes up to you to tell you that the director is ready to start the scene. You give Austin one last look before going with her and walking into the fake bedroom, Matthew joining you. Crew members start moving around to make sure everything is ready to go, and the assistant director comes over to put you and Matthew into position, followed by the intimacy coordinator. 

You take off your robe underneath the covers, not wanting to reveal yourself too much. Nipple stickers cover the top of you while a skin-colored pad is attached to your lower half. Matthew also has something to cover his manhood.

Once everything is in order, the crew members start filing behind the camera. Austin is also behind the camera standing to the side with his arms folded and jaw tense.

“You okay?” Matthew whispers next to you, and you give him a quick nod. He’s currently laying on his side looking down at you. “I see your boyfriend came to cheer you on.”

You’re not sure how to respond so you just smile at him.

“Just imagine me as shrek or something,” he jokes, making you laugh in response.

“I was planning on it.”

When the lights dim and the director yells action, Matthew doesn’t hesitate to lean down to kiss you, putting his hands on your waist. Austin watches everything from his place behind the camera.

Safe to say Austin wasn’t a fan of the whole process. Austin watched everything from his spot behind the camera – the way Matthew touched and held you, and the sounds falling out of your mouth as you held onto him. There was also more than one take, which made Austin even more agitated and tense. He couldn’t help but wonder if Matthew was getting turned on or if he was messing up on purpose. 

Both you and Austin were relieved when the director called it a day, and luckily that was the only intimate scene that had to be filmed. When you got up from the bed and put on your robe, with the help of your assistant, you saw the look on Austin’s face. You thought it was best to avoid eye contact.

The car ride back to Austin’s house didn’t involve much talking, and when you finally entered the house he was still silent. You decided to take a shower, to wash the day off and to give Austin time to cool down. Seeing that the sun is long gone, you prepare for bed — filming took longer than expected. As you walk out of the bathroom connected to the room you shared with Austin, you notice him already in bed on his phone, appearing to have already showered.

He probably used one of the guest room bathrooms, which isn’t uncommon of him, but given the situation you just find it extremely petty. You can’t help but laugh at Austin’s attitude, but then again you wouldn’t be too happy either watching him have pretend sex with another girl, which is why you try to avoid joining him on set during those days. 

As you climb into bed next to him, he doesn’t even glance at you as he continues to check his emails. You sigh dramitically, hoping to get his attention, as you look at the clock on the nightstand displaying eleven o’clock. Still nothing.

“Austin,” you say, trying to get him to look at you, but he just gives you a hum in response. You call his name again and he just raises his eyebrows, waiting for you to say something else.

“Are you really going to be upset all night?” You ask him.

“I’m not upset.”

“Are you sure because I’m pretty sure this is what upset looks like,” you point at his solemn face.

He looks over at you pointing at him, still with a plain face, before looking back down at his phone. You roll your eyes at his pettiness as an idea pops in your idea. 

“Is there anything I can do to make it better, at least?” You ask sweetly, even though none of this is your fault, hoping that a little pillow talk will help him get over this. A mischievous smirk grows on his lips before he finally tears his attention away from his phone, placing it aside to look you in your eyes.

“You know, there actually is something you could do,” he says, making you want to rescind your offer at his eagerness.

“What is it?” you ask, already knowing the answer.

He motions for you to sit on his lap by patting his thigh, but doesn’t wait for you to say anything as he grabs your hips to pull you onto his lap to straddle him. He forces your hips down against him causing you to hold back a moan, your thin panties allowing you to feel him grow hard through his sweatpants. Keeping his grip on your hips firm, he then begins rocking your hips back and forth, forcing you to grind down. You place your hands on his chest before gripping the fabric of his t-shirt as your eyes begin to flutter.

“You know what, maybe I am upset,” he leans to whisper into your ear. A shiver runs through your body from the feeling as he continues, “I’m upset that I stood there and watched the way your co-star enjoyed fake fucking you, and after all this time you still don’t see the way he looks at you.”

“He’s acting, Austin, that’s what his role entails.”

Austin pulls away from your ear and looks you in the eye to say,” So he’s still acting even when the director calls cut?”

“He’s just a friend, I promise,” you whine out as you begin to feel arousal pool out of you and form a spot on your panties. Your answer doesn’t bring Austin any comfort. 

“This is exactly what i’m talking about, you don’t see it,” he shakes his head at you and removes his hands from you. “Lift up.”

Confused, you listen and lift your hips to hover above his lap, only for Austin to shimmy his sweatpants down his legs enough for his underwear to be revealed and to pull his hard length out. He then takes the lead and pulls your underwear to the side, grabs himself in one hand, pulls you down a little, and begins to rub himself against your slit. You both groan at the feeling – him at your wetness, and you at his teasing with your knees already growing weak.

“You’re going to take a seat and ride until I’ve had enough,” he tells you, knowing well enough that you weren’t a huge fan of riding. 

You didn’t enjoy taking control, and you would always get tired too quickly, which encouraged Austin to take matters into his own hands and thrust into you until you were overstimulated — not that you didn’t enjoy all of that, you just rather be on the bottom.

You nod before lowering yourself onto him until you’re completely full, taking a moment to take in the feeling before beginning to move. Austin tilts his head up with a sigh, his lips slightly parted at the feeling of your warm, rigid walls swallowing and releasing him repeatedly.

Your hands are on his shoulders now, gripping tightly, using him to help stabilize you. Keeping his grip on your hips firm, Austin looks down at the space between you two, watching as his length continues to disappear and reappear. Your eyes join his gaze and whimper at the sight. 

As expected you feel your legs quickly growing tired, so you lean forward to hide your face in Austin’s neck, using him to place some of your weight on.

“Oh, no. I want you to look at me,” he tells you.

“Austin,” you whine as you move your head away from him. One of the hands on your hips moves to your jaw, forcing your eyes onto his blue ones. His stare sends a wave of warmth to your center, his unpleasant mood turning you on, bringing you closer and closer to your climax.

“You didn’t seem to have a problem earlier when you had Matthew grinding on you,” he states. He drags his thumb across your lip, tugging it down before releasing it. 

“You know it’s not like that,” you tell him breathlessly as you shake your head. He continues staring into your eyes without responding to you.

Austin finally breaks that contact when he goes to take off your shirt, revealing your bare chest. He leans down to take one of your breasts into his mouth, sucking and twirling his tongue around your nipple, and eventually moving to the other. He brings his hands up to your back, bringing you closer to him. This just sends another wave of pleasure through your body, making it harder to keep your rhythm strong. 

You whimper as you look down at him getting lost in his own world, and that’s just enough to make you tumble over the edge. You squeeze his shoulders and let out a cry as a strong rush of pleasure flows through your body and down to your cunt. With his mouth still connected to your breast, Austin can’t help but moan at the feeling of your walls fluttering around him, causing a shiver to run through your body. He smirks to himself as he watches you fall apart above him.

He doesn’t let you or himself recover, though, as he flips you onto your back. He pulls his sweatpants, and underwear the rest of the way down his legs before pulling his shirt over his head and throwing it. He then proceeds to rip your thin panties and toss them aside, too impatient and needy to take them off the correct way. He goes to hover you and quickly sinks into you with a moan before pounding into you with intensity, trying to chase his own high. 

Still sensitive and not completely over your previous orgasm, your next one comes almost instantly at Austin’s rapid pace. This one is definitely more intense and as you open your mouth to let something out, you’re met with silence, leaving your mouth hanging open and your eyes closed as you toss your head back and release around him a second time. 

Feeling your walls close around him once again, Austin cums with a deep moan as his head dips down. He never stops thrusting into you, just slows down, as you feel his warm load shoot into you. This prolongs your high and brings you into overstimulation as your back arches, and you finally find your voice to let out a sob as your body continues to quiver and shake. Just when you think he’s going to stop, Austin speeds back up into you, making you place your hands on his waist to grip down.

“Please,” you whimper, wanting to tell him to stop with the continuous torture, but you’re enjoying it too much. He just laughs above you.

“What’s wrong, huh? Too much?” he teasingly asks, but you don’t have the energy to answer. He looks down at the spot you two are connected to see the remains of your orgasm pooling out and onto the sheets below. He watches as your flow of arousal coats him as he continues to plunge into you.

“It can’t be too much, I mean you seem to be loving it too much,” he removes your hands from his body and holds them in his hands as he leans down onto his elbows. You're caged in as he pins your arms to your side. Austin rubs his nose against yours to bring you back to reality, watching as your eyes find his.

“Austin, baby,” you breathe out.

“Austin, baby what?” he asks with a tilt of his head, knowing he has you right where he wants you. He leans down a little to spit into your already parted mouth.

You don’t respond, you can’t respond as you continue taking him in. Your body is on fire, and you can feel your walls constantly clenching down around him.

“You don’t want me to stop, right? I mean there’s no way,” he smiles. “It seems like she doesn’t want me to stop either,” he says referring to your cunt releasing a squelching sound with each thrust from how soaked it is. 

What comes out of your mouth next is nothing but a blabbering mess as you give into him, feeling drool – or his saliva – coming out the side of your mouth. You feel more of your wetness run out of you at his dirty talk, before feeling yourself unexpectedly cumming again. You release for the third time with a shriek as you dig your nails into his hands.

When Austin feels himself coming to his second orgasm, he quickly pulls out before jerking himself off the rest of the way. He shoots his sticky load onto your stomach, marking you as his. You feel yourself clench around nothing, your cunt so used to him diving into it.

Austin uses his finger to swipe some of his remains up from your stomach, and then places his finger on your lips, wanting you to open. You bring him into your mouth before tasting and sucking his finger while looking him in his eyes.

“You better stop before we go again,” he looks down at you, already feeling himself growing hard.

[alphabetboyluvr]

NIGHT CRAWLERS - JJK

title credit: night crawlers - kids in glass houses

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

synopsis:

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

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

wordcount: 26K

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

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

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

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

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

That, and 'rather be dead than cool.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least they barely crossed. Past tense. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again, the rogue look isn't a front.

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

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

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

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

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

"Mhmm?"

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

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

Partners?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A control freak, you note. Nice.

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

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

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

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

"I'm very much capable of editing-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When they were still talking to you, that was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn't reply.

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

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

Well, no. 

That's not quite right. 

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

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

Given your rejection, he was pleased with his choice.

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

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

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

"Like?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he's also determined. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's the big dream at least.

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

It's his fault, and he knows it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The lack of a camera proves otherwise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hold on."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus, you think. Who pissed in his cornflakes?

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

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

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

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

"You could have fucking killed me!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Never said I wasn't."

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

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

"Where are we?"

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

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

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

That's a lie.

He doesn't think they're stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Look I-"

"So-"

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

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

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

"At two in the morning?"

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tomorrow?"

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

"Oh right. Yeah. See you tomorrow."

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

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

"Thanks, again."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps that should be your project piece.

Secrets of Seoul: The Seedy Underbelly of The City.

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

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

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

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

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

Who the fuck are you?

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

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

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

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

"Once in a blue moon. Gotcha."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook wants what he wants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook wants what he wants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Curious.

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

"No can do, sugar."

"Oh my god, stop calling me that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he's right. It is worth it.

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

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

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

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

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

"It's good," he promises.

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

"Are you broken?"

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

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

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

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

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

And neither of you really care.

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

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

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

He knows you read them.

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

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

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

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

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

You have been thinking about him.

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

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

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

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

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

You don't ask him to expand.

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

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

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

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

And so you return, every week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Per hour?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You've gotten good at playing pretend. 

Jungkook only jokes about you being a sugar baby.

He doesn't fathom that you actually are one.

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

The way you hold onto his waist is different tonight.

Physically, it's the same.

But it feels different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod appreciatively. "You sure?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Kook?"

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

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

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

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

"Like what?"

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

"I don't."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if he fears the consequences of his claim.

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

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

But you don't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

x

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

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

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

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

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

Unlike Jimin, apparently.

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

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

"You're being dramatic."

"You're being boring."

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

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

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

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

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

A few months ago, he was a fucking idiot.

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

And you ignore it.

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

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

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

It's all a bit nauseating.

Maybe a party would actually be a good distraction.

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

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

And you were nowhere to be seen on Tuesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No good ever comes from being nice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you are annoyed.

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

You barely know him. Not really.

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

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

It seems like you found your answer.

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

And he's right.

He's not the city.

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

He's not the goddamn city.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really, Kook?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey."

"Uh, hey."

"You good?"

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

Ah. You cringe.

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

"Hmm?"

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

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

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

"Good night?"

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

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

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

You don't know what to say either.

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

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

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

"Oh?"

"Yeah..."

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

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

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

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

Oh.

Not a coward. Just cautious.

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

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

"Can you come over?"

THE WAY YOU keep Jungkook hanging on tenterhooks is deliberate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except you do. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I see?"

"Not yet."

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

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

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

You both feel it.

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

"Some girls like it," he flirts back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You look warm," he husks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do I?"

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

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

Yes.

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

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

Yes.

"Ddaeng."

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

Maybe you do. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hobi, can I-" 

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

"Hobi will you let me fucking talk!"

Attaboy.

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

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

You try to decipher the conversation, but fail. 

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

You blush. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don't hang around for much longer.

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

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

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

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

Just a little peek. He'll never know.

Oh, how you loathe your brain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook thinks he knows who, now.

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

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

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

That had been the plan, at least.

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

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

A punch to the face means very little to Jungkook.

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

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

The dial tone bleeds out, just like his nose.

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

"Wassup, kid?"

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

"I got jumped Yoongs."

Fuck.

"You alright? Sound pretty bad? Where?"

"Daerim-"

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

"Hobi wanted me to drop off my stash."

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

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

"Gone."

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

"No."

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

"Yoong-"

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

"Ple-"

"Kook. Seriously. Trust me with this."

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

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

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

The girl who's now returning his call.

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

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

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

"Can I come over?"

Fuck. Anything except that.

"Please."

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

But he does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This place is just temporary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook knows he should stop.

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

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

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

Should repulse you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All that matters is what is happening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wants it all.

Wants you naked.

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

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

Wants it. Wants you. Just wants.

And what Jungkook wants, Jungkook gets.

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

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

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

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

He's utterly obsessed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He likes this. Likes how you react to him.

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

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

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

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

He's bored of waiting. Wants you now.

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

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

"What?" he toys.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Shit," he whispers. "Shit."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And then he gets it.

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

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

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

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

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

You've considered how Jungkook would orgasm on more than one occasion - and you're pleasantly surprised to find that your imagination was wrong. There's no grand declaration, nor large grunt. He's not aggressive, either, like you'd half-hoped he would be.

Instead, Jungkook kisses you as his hips begin to stall. His brows are creased, moans muffled against your lips. His torso shudders, abdomen as tight as his balls. "Baby," he drowsily mewls, and then it's happening. His cock pumps into you, unloading thick creamy spurts with every stroke of your pussy. The first one is so desperate that you're almost positive you can feel it paint your insides. You moan along with him, utterly obsessed with this, him, whatever the fuck just happened.

He doesn't withdraw immediately. Just lays there and kisses your skin, absolutely spent.

You don't move a muscle. You don't want it to be over. Don't wanna lose this. Lose him.

When you tilt your head to look at him, he's smiling. Eyes closed, cheeks appled. Serene. In a state of fucked-out bliss.

You tell him that he's pretty, and he lets out an airy laugh, covering his face with one of his hands. You move his hand and watch him fondly, enthralled with the grin that he's struggling to fight.

He turns to look at you, and the smile he's been boasting amplifies. "God, you're gorgeous."

It's not a new observation; just one he's never voiced before. One that he was able to resist saying. But you're naked now, chest pillowed against his, eyes glowing and nose blushed.

You hum, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "I'm glad you chose to come here."

Just like that, there's a knot in Jungkook's stomach that seems to anchor that feeling he keeps having.

"Yeah," he nods. "Me too."

IT'S THREE IN the afternoon by the time you wake from your post-fuck snooze. Jungkook's never had one of those before. Hated being sticky after sex with anyone else. Always had to shower - but with you, he wants to stick to you like glue.

"Should have filmed that," he hums, the tips of his fingers stroking up your arms. You aren't sure if he's joking or not. "Would have given us a unique take on the project. Probably wouldn't have gotten us very high grades, mind you, but art is subjective."

"Some would argue that the critique of art is objective," you muse back, still blissfully cum-drunk from the events prior to your nap. Jungkook's nose has stopped bleeding, and the pair of you have almost forgotten the reason he showed up in the first place. "Documentary maker by night, porn star by day," you flirt. "Although it's cute that you think you fuck like a porn star."

"I felt you shaking," he says, knowing there's no possible way that you didn't enjoy it. His nose feels a little cold after all the trauma of the morning, so he buries it into your hair. "Can't fake that."

"That's what I'm saying," you simper, pressing a kiss against his bare torso, just below the meeting of his collarbones. And then another, simply for good measure. "Porn stars never actually look like they're making the woman feel any good." You trail down his chest, tongue licking gently at the darker skin around his nipple. "You... yeah you don't fuck like a porn star." And then you suck a little. He hisses, in the best possible way. 

"Don't," he says. "Not ready to go again."

You laugh. 

Jungkook thinks he's reached Nirvana. Almost certain, in fact. Never had a girl do that to him before. He loves to give it, but hasn't ever thought to receive it. Wonders what other things you'll do to him that he's never had done before. He can feel his cock fucking twitching again, achy and sore, definitely not recovered yet from how hard he went earlier - but god, he wants it. Wants to bury himself inside you again. Belong to you.

His hands paw at you, one gripping on your chest, the other on your ass, pulling you closer. Your leg hooks over him, and he can feel how wet you still are on the side of his thigh. His balls fucking tighten. He can feel it happening, blood rushing to his crotch. 

Yet despite it all, he just kisses you. Softly. Tenderly. Merely his lips languid between yours. Withdraws slowly. Keeps his eyes closed. Bliss.

"The fuck have you done to me, sugar?" he whispers, dark eyes opening to look into yours. His speech is husky, like he trying to steal the answers of a pop-quiz from you. You can't help him. You don't have a clue what the answer is. You're just as stuck as he is. "Got me feeling all fuzzy 'n' shit."

"Just a sugar rush," you smile. "It'll pass."

You're both acutely aware that it won't, but that will be a problem for another day.

"Tell you what," Jungkook muses, though his thoughts are shallow. He's not digging deep. Just talking for the sake of it. "I might not fuck like a porn star, but you don't fuck like a hooker." 

He pulls your arm up so that he can study the crease of your elbow. You let him move your body like you're a barbie doll. You'll be his toy, you think, if he wants. No bother. 

His fingers press at the thin skin that covers your veins, inspecting. 

"Not a scratch," he assesses. "So you're not an addict either."

You laugh, slightly amused. "No? Maybe I just don't inject."

Jungkook gives you a stern look. Hopes you're joking. Tells you that you better fucking be joking. The sweetness of your laughter tells him that you are.

"So?" you press. "I'm not a prostitute and I'm not an addict. It's your lucky day. What of it?"

Jungkook tilts his head down so that his nose is nestled into the crown of your head again. Comforting, he thinks. Smells like laundry. You must have washed your sheets recently. 

His next statement takes you off guard. 

"Only ever see three kinds of women down in Daerim." 

And you know.

You know he knows. 

You can feel it in the way he protectively presses his lips into your skull, as if he's Prince Charming trying to rid his Sleeping Beauty of the nightmare she's been living. Wake up.

But Prince Charming rides a white horse, not a petrol-spitting, air-cooled, steel-framed shadow that rips through the city at night. 

There are no nightmares, either. You're already wide awake. There's no saving you. 

He sighs against your head. Pauses. Resists, and then confronts. 

"I know what you do in the dark, sugar."

You don't say anything for a moment, and then you're pulling away from him, reaching for your shirt. He doesn't like this. Misses your warmth, but doesn't stop you. Instead, he follows, sitting on the edge of your bed, the corner of your comforter lazily protecting his modesty. His muscles are relaxed now, a little crease in his stomach from the way that he's slouching, hands in his lap. Those Bambi eyes of his are peaking through his hair, cheeks red and grazed from the morning encounter he'd had in Daerim.

He watches as you pull your shirt over your head, hair just as messy as his, and a graze on your cheek to match. He was pretty certain before that it had been carpet burn, but now that he's seen it up close, softly rubbed his thumb against it during pretty kisses, he's sure of it.

You avert his gaze. Feel shameful. Hate that he knows. You never cared before. It was just a fun little secret, the fact that he didn't know you were no angel. 

But you want him to think that you're one, now. 

For a moment, you were sure that he had. 

Instead, now, it feels like you're falling from grace.

He reaches for your hand, but you pull it back. "Please don't."

And so he doesn't. Just sits for a little while instead. "Do you want me to get dressed?"

You really don't. 

But your tongue is lodged in your mouth and it won't budge. You turn away, internally furious with yourself. It's been a while since you've gotten like this; so dreadfully panicked that you can't talk. It's a once in a blue moon kind of thing, the early onset of a panic attack, but you're hoping it won't reach the stage of no return. Praying.

"Babe?"

He sounds worried now, and it's making it worse. Feels like you've just reached the top of Bukhan Mountain without taking a second to catch your breath. 

Has your chest always been this tight? Or has someone just been wrapping rubber bands around your torso without you noticing? 

It isn't possible, and you know this, but it feels like it and - oh God - you can hear him shuffling, the buckle of his belt clanging. He's leaving, he's leaving, he's leaving, your ribs cackle as they close down on your lungs. 

There's a light hum behind you, like a wasp is coming to send you into a state of anaphylactic shock and then it stops. His jeans are tossed to the floor once more.

"Yoongi?" Jungkook speaks quietly behind you into the receiver of his phone. "Wassu- Yeah, yeah, I'm safe. I'm good."

I'm safe. 

I'm good.

"Where are- Yoongi stop. Stop it. I'm being deadly fucking serious-"

You don't realise it, but your chest begins to mellow as you listen in to his conversation. 

"It's my mess!" He shouts now. "I'll fucking fix it. I don't give a fuck what Hobi says. Where you at? The Zoo? I'll be there- Yes, I will. Don't do anything fucking stupid."

And then he hangs up, chucking his phone into your bed with more aggression than he'd ever wanted to show in your presence. You don't see it, back still turned, but you hear it, the way his phone rebounds against the springs of your mattress.

"Shit," he hisses, and when you turn to face him, you find that his head is in his hands, elbows on his knees.

Crouching by him, your chest expands. You don't give a shit about yourself anymore. Your palms rest just behind his elbows, eyes anchored below his, looking up. 

"He's got his fucking final in an hour," is all Jungkook says. "He's gonna miss his fucking final."

He lifts his head, tender lips pouted, eyes bloodshot from the pressure he's been placing on his palms. Looks right at you. Decides he'll never trust another pair of eyes more.

"I know what you do in the dark, sugar," he relays. "But I do worse. So much fucking worse. And I've just gone and fucked it all up."

And while he blames it all on himself, you know it's your fault. 

He didn't stay away from the girl. He tempted fate, tugged on the red string, and accidentally snapped it.

Forlorn, he slumps, tongue wetting his bottom lip as he bites down on it. It's only to stop it from trembling. Clouds lurk in his eyes, trying to block his vulnerabilities from you, but it doesn't take a genius to work out that he's scared. 

"Take it," you say, lips in a flat line, eyes stern. You nod towards the pile of cash on your desk, and his eyes follow. "Take it. Pay your debts. I can earn it again. I don't have a deadline. You do."

He shakes his head.

"I'm not taking the money you've earned."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm not," he protests and you've got it in your right mind to slap his pretty face silly. "Gonna be totally honest," he adds, "Don't really want your sugar baby money. Kinda resent it a little. Resent the fucker who gave it to you."

Jungkook hates him. 

Doesn't know him.

Loathes him.

"So then give him the middle finger and take it," you plead. "He got you fucked up into this mess, he got you jumped, he got your stash stolen. Take his money and get yourself and Yoongi out of it. You don't have time to be fucking arguing with me."

He wants to fight back. You stop him.

"We can argue later," you promise.

And that ever-present effervescent feeling is back in his chest. 

"Sugar," he speaks quietly. "Don't do this."

"Kook," you respond, voice much firmer than his. "You gotta do this. Yoongi shouldn't be fixing your mistakes and you know it. We can work it out on an I.O.U. basis. It's okay."

"I.O.U. suggests I'm gonna keep seeing you for a while," Jungkook mumbles. He isn't feeling as confident in himself as he had done earlier. 

You stand, offering your hand to him so that you can pull him up with you. Neither of you acknowledge the fact that he's stark bollock naked. It's really not the time. Nothing you haven't seen before, after all.

"Well, yeah," you shrug with a straight face, but there's a glint in your eye. "I'd hope so. Pretty sure you said you were fuck my tits later? Gotta hold up your end of the bargain, sugar."

And despite it all, he laughs, toying with your hands before slipping his finger between yours. "Don't call me that."

"Why not?" You squeeze his hands. "You're technically my sugar baby now."

"That's not how it works."

God, he knows he shouldn't be fucking about, wasting time flirting, but he just can't help himself.

"No?" You question, equally distracted.

"No," he says. "If you're paying me, and I'm fucking you, then that makes me a hooker."

He's not wrong. 

"Oh, that's kinda hot," you smile, pulling gently on his hands to encourage him to lean down. He does as he's told, and kisses you like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You're so fucked up," he whispers against you, knowing that it's exactly why he enjoys you so much.

You don't let the moment linger, though, tossing him his clothes and going to grab the money while he dresses himself. You stack it together, all nice and neat, using the desk to straighten the edges. The wedge is thick in your hands. Yellow 50's are laughing at you. Stupid girl thought we'd fix her problems, they chatter silently to one another.

"Three and half million won," you hold it out to Jungkook. He hesitates, so you force his grip around it and let go. It's his problem, now. Not yours. You smile so warmly that Jungkook can't help but let that feeling in his chest simmer. Your hair is still messy, mascara still smudged. He wants to kiss your cheeks. 

Jungkook hasn't disclosed what exactly was in his bag.

But in the same way he knows there are only three types of women in Daerim, you know there are equally only three types of men.

There's only one demographic that he belongs to. Yoongi, too. 

You don't say it explicitly, not like he does. 

"Holangi are nasty fuckers," you acknowledge. "I know they raise the stakes just for the fun of it. Whatever got stolen, the street value doesn't matter. Take it all. You'll need it."

Take what I owe you.

When he kisses you goodbye, it's just like the first time; all breathy and needy, lips parted and pouting. Again and again, he presses down into your lips. His brows furrow, hands on your cheeks, chest pressed against yours.

The crimson paint that had stained you from his very first kiss returns. You're painted in red for the second time that morning, but this time only you can see it. Only you can feel it.

That's her. That's the girl who let Jeon Jungkook kiss her like he actually meant it. 

But it's funny now, because you know that he does mean it.

When he finally leaves, his nose is blushed, his cupids bow too. Eyes glassy. Smile forlorn.  

Disappointingly, as you close the door of your apartment when he's no longer in your line of sight, you remember exactly how Jungkook had kissed you for the first time:

Like it was going to be the last.

And it consumes you, because the kiss you just shared felt exactly the same.

Your chest is uncomfortable again, but it's not rubber bands this time. 

It's that stupid red string that Jungkook had tugged too tightly on.

The one that he'd snapped right in half. 

WATTPAD // AO3 // KO-FI // CARRD

[david-talks-sw]

"The Acolyte" wasn't 'woke' propaganda.

I had my issues with the show (you can check out my other posts to see what they were) but there's this notion that The Acolyte was created to spread The Message™ of "woke propaganda"... and I think there's a bit of a mix-up going on, there.

Because that's simplifying things a lot.

When you're a minority, you're not "being woke" when you're just being yourself! Conversely, you're not "writing to be woke" when you're a minority drawing inspiration from your personal experiences to tell a story.

I talked before about how George Lucas implemented elements of his personal life in his own films. In his own words:

"There's no way to write without writing from yourself. Y'know, the stuff gets made out of things that you care about… whether you've actually lived them or not. There are emotional issues that you deal with, and I think that's always a major factor with any writer. I don’t think— it's hard to write without having some kind of emotional connection to the material. I've never seen any reason not to. It’s easy to write that way. It's hard to write in the abstract. So when I write a scene, I write a scene that moves me or I care about, or is something that is personal to me." - George Lucas, Q&A with Lynne Hale, 1994 (StarWars.com)

Any piece of writing worth some salt needs to come from a personal place to some degree because that's where the heart of the story, the truth, lies. That's what an audience will relate to.

Example: The six original Star Wars films are purely George Lucas. As in, everything in those films, from the characters, to the cinematography, to the editing style, etc are all a reflection of who George is as a person and what he stands for:

anti-Vietnam / "fight the corporate & imperial machine"

60s-70s white kid from Modesto, California

single father of three

who defines himself as Methodist-Buddhist,

has an anthropology major and

a passion for Kurosawa,

cinema vérité,

cinema history in general

art and visuals and

car racing.

You see all that in those films.

Same thing with The Acolyte.

Leslye Headland drew from her personal experiences.

Among other things, Leslye is gay. So that's what she uses as inspiration to, for instance, craft Qimir's character motivation.

"I was on the treadmill being like, “What is [Qimir] gonna say?!” And my wife, who is a huge part of my creative process, finally she said, “What do you wanna say? Stop thinking of it like you have to somehow tap into a different guy.” [...] I was like, “I wanna say that people don't want me to exist as a gay woman, as a woman in this particular space, working in this wild sandbox.” There was a whole crew of people who believed in me, but deep down, I felt like, “I am unaccepted for who I am because of what I believe in and wanting to wield my power the way I'd like without having to answer to the legion of people that just exist out there.”" - Leslye Headland, Collider, 2024

She took this specific life experience of hers, and then made it more universal, so that a bigger audience could relate to it.

"By the way, I think everybody feels this way. I think that's why it resonates when you're honest about yourself, and you get personal about it. When [Qimir] says, “I want freedom,” that's what I want. I just want freedom. I want to be able to just be out there and be myself and be the type of artist I want to be without having to answer to anybody." - Leslye Headland, Collider, 2024

Same goes with Osha and Sol's relationship, or how she defines the Jedi Order. It derives from her own relationship with her father and how she felt being raised straight, in a Christian household.

If you have the time, listen to this audio clip where she describes that.

In the context of the whole interview, her voice goes down a few octaves and starts to crack a bit. This is a vulnerable moment, when she's talking about it... and it's this experience that she turned into fuel for her writing of Sol and Osha's father/daughter bond.

"There's this thing that's called benign sexism, and part of it is this paternal protectionism — it seems like this good thing, but like you said, there's this, “I have to protect you from everything. I have to make sure you're okay. I have to tell you what track to get on, and then once you're on that track, I need to support you.” Ultimately, what happens is — again, this is a father-daughter relationship — as women evolve in their lives and develop their own personalities separate from their fathers, at some point, they have to reject that protectionism. [...] She cannot stay a little girl or an adolescent or young adult. She has to, at some point, say, “I reject what you have told me I need to do to make you proud, to follow in your footsteps.” She has to do that." - Leslye Headland, Collider, 2024

Now... if we're talking consistency with the themes in Lucas' Star Wars, then yeah, The Acolyte misses the mark.

The Jedi Order isn't the patriarchy or the Catholic Church. They're more like Buddhist monks, George has stated so multiple times.

The Jedi teachings aren't narratively meant to be the same traits found in toxic masculinity or benign sexism.

When a Jedi tells you to be mindful of your emotions, it's not meant in the "boys don't cry" sense.

When they talk about letting go of attachments, it's not meant in a stoic "don't get emotionally involved" sense.

Anakin too, the whole point is that he's wrong, the narrative frames his fall to the Dark Side as his own fault, it's not meant to be perceived as a failure in upbringing.

But she's not the only one who does it. Filoni does it too, a majority of fans have this take on the Jedi.

And because of her experiences, I can see why her takeaway would be that. Same goes for Filoni, they're products of their generation, upbringing and experiences.

My point is:

Leslye Headland is writing from a personal place, when she's writing The Acolyte. It's partially informed by her politics because - like she quotes, "personal is political" - but when it comes to the writing of the show, it's personal first and foremost.

What this was, was a Star Wars fan (arguably the nerdiest one we've had so far, in terms of creators) putting all of herself in the creation of a show that perfectly reflects who she is and what she stands for, resulting in:

a story about growing past your father's paternal control and accepting that our guides aren't infallible,

where her wife holds a role and gets to wield a lightsaber,

a show about taking corrupt religious institutions to task

about the Sith and the Dark Side

and questioning the unquestionable

and exploring whether the good are really so good and if the bad are really so bad.

This was a project written from the heart, and regardless of whether the resulting art found its mark, I think it's important to note that it wasn't written to spread a propaganda message in some "pro-woke holy war" or whatever the hell the YouTubers are peddling.

[katareyoudrilling]

The Sweepstakes: Frankie Morales (Porn Star AU)

Pairing: Frankie Morales x Porn Star Female Reader

Summary: A popular porn site runs a sweepstakes to win a night with your favorite porn star. One of the winners is a man and he has chosen you.  Will it be a night of mediocre sex or will Frankie surprise you?

Word count: ~3.5k

Rating: Explicit (18+ only. NO MINORS)

Content Warnings: Unprotected PIV (paperwork is involved), oral (m and f receiving), a hint of tummy worship, reader’s clothing is described briefly but no physical description

A/N: I got in the weeds a bit thinking how something like this could be made safe for everyone involved and decided we all just need to suspend our disbelief.  I left some in for the sake of “the plot” but let’s trust that everyone has good intentions.  The company mentioned is heavily inspired by Bellesa.  This was a lot of fun to write and I hope you enjoy a reverse sweepstakes!

Comments and reblogs are greatly appreciated!

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Taglist - link in bio or let me know!

“Thanks for coming in.”  Erin shuts the door behind you as you take a seat across from her desk.

“Of course.”  You have a scene to film after this meeting.  It was no problem to come in a little early.

“So, as you know, we are running this sweepstakes for our subscribers to win a night with their favorite performer.  You agreed to be one of the female options and even though the vast majority of our subscribers are women, one of our winners is a man and he chose you.”

“Oh wow.”  You can’t help but be a little flattered.  Everyone likes to be chosen.

“Yeah, so I just wanted to check in with you and make sure you’re ok to continue.  I have his picture and basic info here.”  She slides some paperwork across the desk, and you pick it up.

Looking back at you are the kindest brown eyes you think you’ve ever seen.  He is wearing a baseball cap – hair curling around his ears – a scruffy beard, and a lopsided smile.  His name is Francisco Morales.

“We’ve done a background check and everything like we talked about, and he looks good from our end.  You still have the right to refuse, though,” Erin continues as you read over Francisco’s information.

“He’s cute.  I’m not concerned.  I can handle a night of mediocre sex with a civilian and make this guy’s dream come true.”  It feels a little conceited to say it, but as an adult entertainer, you know you’re the subject of a lot of male fantasies.  You also know that you are very good at what you do.

Erin laughs.  “That’s very generous of you.  Hopefully it won’t be too bad, but best to set expectations low.”  She takes the papers back from you.  “I know you have a scene to film upstairs.  I’ll let you know when we get this scheduled.”

“Sounds good.  Thanks, Erin!”  You push back from the desk and leave the office with a wave.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

When the day arrives, you prepare like you would for any scene.  You’re not more nervous than any other day when you’d be having sex with a new scene partner.  You dress in your signature outfit of a crop-top and cut-off jean shorts, showing off your legs is never a bad idea.

When you arrive at the studio, you check in with Erin to go over Francisco’s final paperwork and reaffirm that all the company’s requirements around consent and safety have been met.

When everything is settled, you go to meet him in the filming room.

You open the door to a man pacing back and forth, worrying a baseball cap in his hands.  Erin had warned you that he seemed nervous and not to expect him to be sitting eagerly on the bed waiting for you like your usual partners.

He looks up at you when he hears the door, panic written all over his features.

“Hi, Francisco, it’s nice to meet you.”  You approach him cautiously, opening your arms for a hug.

He accepts the hug and you’re pleasantly surprised at the warm comfort of his broad shoulders and t-shirt-clad chest before pulling away.

“Call me Frankie,” he replies, running his fingers through his wavy hair.

“Frankie it is.  How are you?”

“I’m… I’m sorry, I just… I feel like such a creep.” He hangs his head and twists the hat in his hands.  “The cameras…” he gestures to the tripods set up in the corners of the room.  “They said they are partly to keep you safe… I… I shouldn’t be here.”

He was right about the cameras.  Sweepstakes winners had the option of recording their encounter for private use, but in your case, the feed would also be monitored for your safety.

“I heard you chose to go for the recording option.  I’m glad you did.  I would have tried to change your mind before we started otherwise.”  He glances up at you, surprised.  “I like performing for cameras.”  You shrug and one corner of his mouth twitches.  You take it as a good sign.

“Look Frankie, I’m not going to make you stay, but I’d really like if we could talk for a minute.”

You sit on the bed and pat the spot next to you.  Frankie relents and sits next to you, keeping a safe distance between your bodies.  It’s endearing really, and warmth stirs in your chest.

“We’re both adults here, Frankie.  I signed up for this too, you know.  No one is forcing me to be here.”

Frankie lets out a long exhale and finally meets your gaze.  “Thank you for saying that.  It’s just a really strange situation and I got in my head about it.”

“Perfectly understandable.  Why don’t you tell me why you entered the sweepstakes?”

He runs his hand through his hair again, it must be a nervous habit of his.  It’s delightfully disheveled and you notice shades of caramel and gray woven through the dark brown waves.  You allow your gaze to roam over his features.  Aquiline nose.  Pouty lips.  He is a very handsome man.  His picture didn’t do him justice.

“I’m not sure what I was thinking at the time, to be honest with you.  I’m just a big fan.”  He offers you that lopsided smile you first saw in his photo.

“You know, most of our subscribers are women, it’s kind of our thing.  What lead you to us? And as a subscriber as well?”

“Good question,” he exhales again.  “I really like the idea of supporting an ethical production company where I can know everyone involved is consenting.  I don’t want to ever think someone has been coerced or treated badly while I’m… you know.”  His ears turn pink, and it might be the sweetest thing you’ve ever seen.

“That’s important to me too,” you nod and scoot a little bit closer to him on the bed.

“I also like that the orgasms are real.  I’m not interested in anyone... faking.”  If his ears weren’t red before, they certainly are now.  Along with his nose and cheeks.

It occurs to you that one of the other female performer options practically comes if you look at her.  If Frankie had just wanted an ego boost tonight, he could have easily chosen her.  It’s not that it’s difficult for you, but it is going to take some effort.  It stirs your interest that he might be up to the challenge.

“Do you like making women come, Frankie?”

He nods and smiles a little, still looking down at the hat in his hands.

“Do you think you can make me come tonight?” You look up at him through your eyelashes.

“I’d certainly like to fucking try,” he looks directly into your eyes and the deep rumble of his voice turns the affectionate warmth in your chest into a building fire in your core.  You move even closer so that your leg is touching his.

Frankie stares at the bare skin of your knee where it brushes against his jeans.

“Can I touch you, Frankie?”

He looks up at you and nods.  So much want burning in his kind eyes.

You run your fingers through the hair at his temple and scratch your nails through his scruff.  He leans into your hand and moans.

Oh fuck.

The sound shoots straight to your pussy.

“Can I touch you?” Frankie rasps.

“Yes, you can.  But you need to lose the hat.”

He chuckles, dropping the misshapen hat on the floor before tentatively lifting his hand to place it on your leg.  His hands are large, warm, and calloused.  Sparks fly over your skin as he strokes your softness.  You lean in slowly and press your lips to his cheek, then his mouth.

His plush lips part with a sigh.  You turn his face towards you as you gently explore.

It’s been a while since you’ve just made out with someone.  He seems to need you to go slowly and you certainly don’t want to spook him now that he is more relaxed.  In your brief conversation you’ve become very curious about this man.

Frankie tentatively glides his hand over your clothed hip, barely letting his fingers caress the skin above the waistband of your shorts.

You guide him gently up onto the bed and stretch out along his long frame.  He’s so warm and soft, you just want to snuggle into his chest.

It’s luxurious and unhurried and oh so hot.

You let out a contented sigh as you slide your hand under his shirt and up his back.  His grip tightens on your hip, so you roll your hips towards him in response – encouraging him to touch you.

He receives the message, shifting his hand to palm your ass.  You moan into his mouth and are rewarded with a strangled groan as his grip tightens.  His rough fingertips skim the sensitive skin of your upper thigh sending shivers up your spine.

“You feel so good, Frankie,” you break away from his mouth as he trails kisses down your neck.  “I want to feel more of you.”

You tug at his shirt and he reluctantly stops kissing you to pull it over his head.  You are rewarded with a vision of golden skin over strong muscles.  He’s slightly soft around the middle and it makes you want to see your teeth marks on his skin.

You sit up and quickly pull your crop top over your head and are reaching for the clasp of your bra, when he sits up and stills your hands.

“Let me, baby.”

“Whatever you want, Frankie.”

You place your hands on his chest as he traces his fingers over the cups and straps of your bra, watching goosebumps rise over your skin.  It’s so sensuous and deliberate, you’re struggling not to whimper and you don’t even have your clothes off yet.  When he reaches around to undo the clasp, you crowd into his chest and begin to lick and suck at his neck.

His Adam’s apple bobs in his throat as you taste his skin.  Delicious.  You allow your bra to slide down your arms and off then reach for the button of his jeans.  “Take these off.”

“In a minute,” Frankie replies and you scoff.  This isn’t the nervous man you first met.  You smile to yourself.  He must be getting comfortable.  

Turns out he needs a minute because he wants to explore your tits.  He brushes his fingertips over your nipples, watching them tighten in response.  He gathers you onto his lap, better to pull each bud into his mouth.

He swirls his tongue around you, one breast at a time, palming the other with his large hands.  It’s exquisitely, maddeningly slow.  Your pussy aches as you try to find some friction through your shorts, but he’s holding you away from himself.

Frankie smiles around your tit as you whine and try to grind into him.

“You like this, huh?” you complain, clutching at his broad shoulders.

“Do I like making you sound like that? Yes, I do.”  His voice rumbles pleasantly against your chest.

He finally relents, working his way up your neck and back to your mouth.  You take control of the kiss, plunging your tongue into his mouth and nipping at his bottom lip.  He lays back for you on the bed, settling with his head up against the headboard.  You take the opportunity to undo the fly of his jeans.

“Can I have these now?” you tease.

“Only if I can have yours.” His gorgeous mouth pulls up into his signature lopsided grin.

“Deal.”  You shimmy out of your shorts and underwear as he pulls down his jeans and boxers and tosses them on the floor.

You sit back on your heels and take in the gloriously naked man in front of you.  His long legs stretch out on either side of your hips.

He’s not the polished, waxed, perfectly honed specimen of a man you often work with.  You find that it’s perfectly ok with you, might even be preferable.  He’s so real, splayed out and unselfconscious.

Broad, warm, soft at the edges, but hard where it matters.

And the way he’s looking at you…  It gives you shivers.  There’s a deep hunger in those brown eyes, but also patience and a surprising amount of control.  You had expected this to be a pretty quick encounter, but that doesn’t seem to be the case anymore.  You squirm, noticing the wetness building in your center.

He watches you with hooded eyes as you slide your hands up his muscular thighs.  His cock bobs eagerly against his stomach.  He has a very nice cock.  Possibly the best you’ve seen on a civilian, being a porn star does spoil you a bit in that regard.

His is nice and thick and plenty big enough to know he will feel really good.

You take him in your hand and stroke him up and down, licking your lips.

“You don’t ha…” he interrupts and you silence him with a look.

“I’m not doing anything I don’t want to do, Frankie.  Trust me.”

He nods and exhales, relaxing again against the headboard.  His chest is delightfully flushed as he takes stuttering breaths with each stroke of your hand.

“You’re so pretty,” you praise him and watch as the flush creeps up his neck and blooms across his cheeks.

So fucking pretty.

Then you take him in your mouth.

His hips buck underneath you and he curses as he tries to still himself.  

You pull out all the stops, giving him the slipperiest, deepest blow job you can.

You enjoy watching men come apart for you.  It’s a shame so many of your scene partners are so used to it now, they don’t react the way Frankie does.

He fists his hands in the sheets.  His mouth drops open.  His chest rises and falls with ragged pants.  The tendons in his neck strain as he tries to keep himself under control.

His cock is thick and heavy on your tongue.  Just how you like it.

You take your time taking him apart.

He’s just so pretty.

At the first sign that his control is slipping, you slow down.  Easing yourself off him and surveying the wrecked man in front of you with satisfaction.

You kiss your way up his tummy, nipping his soft flesh as you go.  Your teeth marks look just as good as you hoped – little pink crescents on his golden skin.  You continue up his chest and recapture his mouth for a hungry kiss.

You straddle his hips and line yourself up to sink down, when he grabs you and flips you over.

“Not yet, sweetheart.”  He pants into your mouth before kissing down your body, stroking your skin with his calloused fingers.  He continues working his way down to your pussy making his intent clear.  What a pleasant surprise.

You love oral sex and even sub-par oral, is still oral, right?  You prop yourself up on your elbows and open your knees wide so you can watch as Frankie takes a long lick from your entrance to your clit.

You sigh in contentment.  His mouth is warm, wet, and firm.  So what if you don’t come, it still feels good.

You relax and let your head drop back as Frankie explores.  He circles… sucks… nudges.

Oh

Ohhhh

Tightness coils in your belly and you look down at him with a gasp.

He’s good at this.

He’s looking up at you.  Brown eyes crinkled at the corners as he slowly drags his tongue through your folds.  Then he winks.

He knows he’s good at this.

You can’t help the giggle that escapes your throat, but are quickly pulled back under by the pleasure emanating from between your legs.

“Yes, Frankie. That feels so good,” you moan succumbing to the building pressure.  You clench around nothing and are rewarded with a thick finger in your cunt.

“Fuuuuck,” you whine as he strokes in time with his tongue.

“You taste so good, sweetheart.  You gonna come for me?” he rasps between licks.  His scruff tickling your sensitive skin.

Who is this pussy-eating king who is better than some of the professionals you’ve worked with?

It doesn’t matter.

All that matters is the coil winding tighter in your belly.  The fluttering of your pussy.  The stars sparking at the edge of your vision.

And suddenly you’re coming.  Pulsing against his tongue as he works you through it.  Groaning his own pleasure into your center.

As the waves subside, Frankie reclaims your mouth, dragging his cock through your slick folds, blocking out your vision with his broad shoulders.  You pull him down to you, running your fingers through his hair and down along his muscular back.

“How do you want me, baby?” you ask him between nips at his bottom lip.  You tilt your hips up to him and savor the rough grind of his cock between your legs.

“I want you every way, sweetheart.”  He nuzzles into your neck and your heart does a little pitter patter.  Just post-orgasm glow, you tell yourself.

“I want this to be a night to remember for you, Frankie.  How about the porn star special?”

He pulls back from nuzzling your neck, amusement lifting one side of his face into that charming grin.  “What’s the porn star special?”

You give him a mischievous grin, “Just follow my lead.”

Over the course of the evening, you lead Frankie through your repertoire.  The kinds of hyper flexible positions he’ll only ever see in porn.  You giggle your way through some of the more ridiculous ones when Frankie furrows his brow and questions what exactly anyone is supposed to be getting out of this.

You slow down when Frankie grabs your hips and hisses that he’s too close.  You kiss across his chest and shoulders and from his neck to his soft tummy as he regains his composure.  You take breaks for water and lube, teasing and laughing while you catch your breath.

You come more than once along the way.  Frankie finds your clit and gives you the extra friction you need to tip over the edge.  He stays with you, locked eyes and panted breath, through each one.  You don’t think too hard about why each time you come, it’s while staring into those soulful eyes.

In the end, you find yourself on his lap, grinding your hips into him as he sits with his back against the headboard and his face between your tits.  He feels so good in your pussy, filling you up just right.

It’s syrupy and slow, both of you worn out and rocking into each other.  Frankie’s panted moans hot against your chest.

“Can I finish in you?” he pleads, sweaty curls plastered across his forehead.

“You don’t want to see your cum all over me?”

“No, no, I need to feel you around me when I come, sweetheart, please,” he begs.  “I need your perfect pussy.”  As if you would deny him that.

You brush his hair away from his face and press a soft kiss to his lips.  “Of course, Frankie.  Fill me up.”

Frankie practically growls as he tips you backwards on to the bed.  He positions himself above you, grasping your leg as he drives into you in long, firm strokes.  

He pours every last ounce of his energy into you, finally allowing himself to chase the climax you’ve been edging him towards all evening.  He presses his forehead to yours while he slams into you at a relentless pace.  So close.  So deep.  Your climax hovers on the horizon once again.

“Come with me Frankie,” you whimper.  He groans and stutters in response.  You watch his face contort into pure bliss and it tips you over the edge with him.

Such a beautiful sight.

Maybe you need a copy of this video too.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

Frankie waits on the sidewalk for his Uber, resting his back against the non-descript building and letting the memories of the evening replay in his mind.

After the scene, you had both cleaned up.  The bed was a mess, but you had assured him that it was ok, it came with the business.

You were more wonderful than he ever could have imagined.  So beautiful, sexy, and fun.  You had been so kind and complimentary after.  He didn’t know how to end the evening… to say goodbye.  He stammered his thanks when you gave him a hug and a final kiss as you showed him where he could take a shower before he left for the night.

When he’d come out, you were already gone.

Just a memory now.

One he would revisit often.

Thank fuck he agreed to the video.

His phone buzzes in his pocket.  The Uber is probably close by.  He pulls it out absently, brain still hazy and sex-addled.

There’s a message from an unknown number:

I hope you don’t mind, I convinced Erin to give me your number.  I had a great time tonight.  Call me sometime ;-)

A slow smile spreads over his face.  Maybe not just a memory after all.

- - - - - - - - - 

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Taglist in reblog

[kaylatoonz]

I apologize in advance for the person I become when the next few sonic movie 3 trailer come out rather Amy excluded from the film or if some miracle she is in it.

I'm seriously considering taking a break from sonic after this years maybe move toward my other hyperfixations like trolls… maybe.

The constant hate and the need to “fix” a character that ain't broken is getting on my nerves. If it was just the majority or minority of the fandom I can probably get over it, but the writers/sega too!

I have experienced, hate and misinformation being spread about other series and characters I’ve liked but I never experience the amount of bull that is the sonic franchise/community when it comes to Amy Rose.

It tiring and disheartening to see Amy fans and sonamy fan get kicked down at their lowest or at their highest. Everytime I think things are finally getting back on the right track with Amy’s characterization they take another several steps backwards.

So here what I’m going to do for now.

I’m gonna try to finish the character sheets for movie Amy and metal AU and give a synopsis on what it’s about. (still might be a while since I’m working on other stuff).

The comic involving the AU will be on hiatus until I find motivation to do it again😓.

If I feel up to it after I’m done with the character sheets, I’ll continue drawing the other movie Amy au ideas.

As for the fanfic… hiatus for now, unfortunately. It’s just a one-shot but it's like pulling teeth to write this thing🥲. And the added fact that I am losing motivation for creating sonic content is making it harder.

Lastly, I’ll try to take a break from Twitter and maybe mute or block anything involving ” Amy is better off with her “obsession” with sonic Being removed because it was her only character trait now she can be a “good”character”😑(maybe on Tumblr too).

At this point, I’m gonna just skip shadow generations for now too. Most of the leaks made me more and more disinterested in the DLC. In a recent leak I heard that they might’ve removed any mention that Amy had involvement with shadow turning a new leaf.😤

Unless something really interesting happens in the shadow story I don’t think I want to see anything.

[applepie2523]

" HOTD's Issues Writing Women Part 2: The Whitewashing of Rhaenyra

**This is part 2 of my analysis on the issues with the writing of the two main female characters. If you haven’t already please read my part 1 post where I analyze Alicent’s character assassination which you can find on my profile.** I think many fans on the Blacks and Greens and in between regarding HOTD have been concerned and disappointed with the way the two main female characters: Rhaenyra Targaryen and Alicent Hightower have been written in HOTD seasons 1-2. This is very understandable. Female characters in general in HOTD and I think a lot of Hollywood films nowadays are not being written as well as they used to be and could be. Go on Youtube or Google and you'll find many film reviews/tv show reviews that critique the Mary Sue and Girlbossification or just poorly written in general female characters that are taking up a chunk of characters in Hollywood. Rhaenyra and Alicent to me were such great characters in F&B. They were two different kinds of medieval women in a fantasy setting. One, the medieval queen who gains power/influence through her relationship with men and advocating for her son. Two, the medieval queen who sought power in her name and defied some norms that make her compelling but also immoral in their eyes. They are two deeply flawed and complex characters fighting on opposite sides of a dynastic civil war.

This post is here to address the main issues of whitewashing when it comes to writing Rhaenyra Targaryen.

\***Some disclaimers: This is no issue with the actor themself. Emma D'Arcy while I may disagree with their opinions from time to time, they are a wonderful actor who is doing the best they can with the scripts they're given, so this is by no means a critique of them. I am going off of the show canon although the book will be mentioned.**

**So firstly... What is whitewashing?**

The modern definition of white washing is to cast in a show/movie or rewrite a character of a minority and make them white. For example, if someone decides to do a movie about Rosa Parks and they cast Emma Stone. However, white washing has another definition. It means to essentially remove or hide negative unpleasant facts or traits of a person or thing. I think Rhaenyra Targaryen suffers from this problem as many of her written negative traits or deeds so far are either not shown, projected onto another character close to her (Daemon Targaryen mostly), or severely downplayed. This results in a character that is almost too virtuous and bland for the setting she is in and a far cry from who she should be. A character whom doesn't seem to fit in the ruthless at times immoral world of Westeros. A character whom is almost a close to a Mary Sue. As I am very much on the belief that flaws versus virtues are what make a character compelling and human.

**I will say not every change made to Rhaenyra story arc and personality are necessarily all bad. Some are good ideas just poorly executed (ex - exploring more of Rhaenyra's hinted bisexuality, as there are hints in F&B that her close relationship with Laena may or may not have been more than platonic) and others are just good changes in general.**

*1. Victims vs. Villains - Biases in Writing Female Characters*

In the words of the iconic Grey's Anatomy actress Ellen Pompeo, “Women are one of two roles. You’re either the victim or the villain. But the victims are only victims because they don’t have what it takes to be the villain.” I think she states the major issue with writing female characters nowadays that HOTD has an issue with. Women must either be victims or villains. The character assassination of Alicent and white washing of Rhaenyra to me stems from this: Alicent is the villain in Rhaenyra's story to Rhaenyra's victimhood.

*2. Rhaenyra's Negative Traits: Arrogance, Hot Temper, Frivolity, and Bad Decisions to Peace-Loving and Plainness*

Rhaenyra had many great qualities in the book but it is only when coupled with major character flaws are we truly compelled. She was a loving mother, passionate, intelligent to a degree, etc. However, she was also very ambitious and power-hungry, arrogant at times, quick to anger, slow to forgive, and frivolous at times. **As a writer myself, I firmly believe that characters are truly humanized and compelling when they have major character flaws coupled with their virtues. Flaws they either have to overcome or use to their advantage. Flaws that make them who they are. Flaws create layers of complexity in a character. Or Flaws that help foster the characters downfall.**

I'm not saying the Rhaenyra in the show isn't flawed. She is! For example, I think what's great is that a flaw they gave Rhaenyra is something show Viserys also had: the ability to ignore or downplay potential conflicts or hard truths versus facing them head on. Viserys refused to see the potential conflicts in naming Rhaenyra heir or pretending her elder three children are trueborn. Rhaenyra in the show refused to listen to Jace whose concerns regarding his parentage as her successor and the dragonseeds were ignored or dismissed. The issue is thought, Rhaenyra is not given the flaws that she most certainly had, **flaws that helped lead to her downfall**. She's not flawed the way she's supposed to be.

Similar to many other Targaryens including her half-brother Aegon II, Rhaenyra was quick to anger and slow to forgive. We have some brief moments where we see Rhaenyra's temper and quick witt, but we don't see the major moments where her major character flaws are shown. Alicent provokes Rhaenyra for example in season 1, having her take Joffrey to her moments after he is born. We never see Rhaenyra provoke Alicent back. Any times where we should have seen Rhaenyra's sharp temper at the slightest of remarks are not shown.

Rhaenyra's actions herself were also very whitewashed with how they were portrayed. We either see their negative consequences downplayed, not shown, or the actions were projected onto another male character. In the books due to how similar Laenor and Rhaenyra were in looks (I mean they were both white) there was still a tad more ambiguity as to whether or not Jace, Luke, and Joffrey were bastards. Race changing the Velaryons made it even more obvious her elder three boys were bastards. I took issue with the writing of Rhaenyra's dialogue and that of the characters around her, not truly showcasing why having bastards, especially as a woman, is a truly egregious thing. The potential chaos Rhaenyra could cause was completely downplayed.

A few actions for example that were incredibly violent and evil were butchered. First example being the murder of Vaemond Velaryon. I was disappointed with this scene. Firstly, we only see Vaemond protest Luke inheriting Driftmark which sets it up as more so an ambitious second son seeking power versus a man who doesn't want his house to be run by someone not of his blood. We don't see other Velaryons protesting with him. After Vaemond made his little speech, Rhaenyra orders him dead and Daemon kills him on **her orders**. She then viciously has his corpse fed to her dragon Syrax. I think this scene was crucial as it foreshadows the danger Rhaenyra would be in the future to House Velaryon and sow more seeds of discontent that are crucial to the house's eventual turn to the Green side. Not only is Vaemond killed more viciously, Viserys orders the tongue removal of even more Velaryons who sided with Vaemond with Rhaenyra's consent! Instead, the show projects this entirely onto Daemon. Daemon goes Rogue (see what I did there) and kills Vaemond on his own accord. Rhaenyra stands there shocked and doesn't even order the body fed to her dragon. Rhaenyra is absolved from all blame to Vaemond's unjust execution without trial.

The thing about B&C is Rhaenyra was paralyzed with grief for her son, Luke. The moment her child died was the moment where her descent into madness and powerful wrath began to truly manifest and she would stop at nothing. I was very disappointed in the fact that she has one episode of grieving and then continues to be so level-headed. I couldn't feel her grief, rage, and resentment towards the Greens for her son's death that makes the war even worse. Daemon tells Rhaenyra that he would avenge her son. I loved the acting of Matt and Emma during their argument about the aftermath. However, I felt like Rhaenyra wasn't acting on character with the book. I don't think book Rhaenyra was 100% okay with a child dying as her vengeance, but I do feel with how angered and filled with grief and hatred Rhaenyra should be, Rhaenyra should be a bit more hardened. She should have not been so sorry about the child's death.

I also think that one of Rhaenyra's most controversial and evil decisions in the future are going to either not be included, blamed on someone else, or downplayed. It's very clear at the end of season 2 episode 8 that my favorite dragonseed Nettles is being cut and given to Rhaena who had her own plot and dragon hatchling. After Ulf the White and Hugh Hammer betray her, Rhaenyra's paranoia goes overload and declares that all the dragonseeds are traitors. Corlys advocates for Addam Velaryon and Nettles and Rhaenyra responds by having him arrested. He warns Addam, and is then bound, beaten, and thrown into the black cells. One of her most powerful allies is now thrown in the black cells. This causes the fleet of House Velaryon to turn against her. Later, she attempts to violate guest right, which is sacred in Westeros (which is why the Red Wedding was so horrific to Westeros even more so), by plotting to have Nettles murdered. As Nettles is being cut, I doubt they'd show this truly negative action as Rhaena can't have Nettles's complete plot. Rhaenyra's unjust arrest of Corlys and House Velaryon turning from her from what they're doing so far might just be blamed on someone else, have a different excuse that is not the one that the book gave, or not shown whatsoever.

I also think they might just be setting her up to be innocent of the torture of Tyland Lannister. After the Greens flee with most of the treasury leaving Rhaenyra in Kingslanding pretty broke, he refused to tell her where the gold was sent. Under Rhaenyra's orders he was tortured and castrated and blinded and disfigured to point of being disgusting. They might just have him be tortured by Mysaria or Daemon on their own accord without Rhaenyra's orders, leaving her innocent, or they will have him tortured by the Triarchy or something. Maybe after Mysaria and/or Daemon torture him, they'll frame it as vengeance for Jace and then Rhaenyra might let him go to appear merciful to an audience. As they cut Maelor whose murder was the breaking point that caused Helaena's suicide, we might not see how another child under the war was murdered by her faction. I worry that they won't show how how her cruelties that she did on her own accord caused her to be hated just as much if not more than her half brothers Aegon II and Aemond. They might not truly set the tone and show actions that lead to her being "Rhaenyra the Cruel" and "Maegor with Teats" they might not show the actions, or blame them on someone else or something else. They might not have her tax into oblivion the smallfolk or send her knight inquisitors to execute dozens upon dozens of supposed or proven Green traitors. I was also confused by the characterization of the smallfolk as these naive little lambs who will follow whatever. There is no famine or riot against the Greens at the point the show showed it. I was pleased with the fact that we saw the book-accurate support the smallfolk gave to Helaena after her son was murdered and how angered they were at Rhaenyra and the Blacks. However, days later they are singing her praises. It makes no sense to me that they would forget something so easily. Of course, I argue in another post on my profile why the riot and famine made no sense. So they might continue to get rid of her all of her negative actions.

**These evil actions make her even more compelling and even more realistic in a violent medieval world. It shows how both sides commit great evils as both Rhaenyra and Aegon II were not remembered fondly by their own descendants, smallfolk, and nobles alike.**

I also hate how they hardly showed just how feminine almost girly Rhaenyra was. Rhaenyra notably loved fashion and wearing beautiful intricate gowns that always showed off her beauty and figure. She dressed very richly as befitting her station, wearing gowns of purple with maroon velvet and Myrish lace. Her bodices often had pearls and diamonds. She always wore rings on her finger that she'd play with and turn when anxious. I honestly found these traits very endearing and relatable as someone who is a girly girl. Finally, a "strong female character" who is a leader who is also very feminine and girly. She doesn't need to be a tomboy and wield a sword to be a badass. But no... we don't see that. Yes the costumes Emma D'Arcy wore were nice I guess on the show but they didn't feel like something book Rhaenyra would wear. I get they had budgets but still... you couldn't have made something else? Like where is the purple and maroon? She's mostly wearing just red and black. No rings. No nothing!

*3. Unequal Screen Time and Too "Modernized": Rhaenyra is the Main Modern Girl*

I feel like HOTD has a problem with perspective. GOT had it perfectly done! The original ASOIAF were written from the perspective of multiple characters so we got a perfect ensemble cast with writing that highlighted the stories and perspectives of many different characters. Jon Snow's narrative didn't overtake Daenerys's screen time and vice versa which is just how it should be. However, I feel HOTD makes a mistake especially in season 1 with framing. Rhaenyra as the main with secondary-main perspectives of Alicent and Daemon. We get most of season 1 from Rhaenyra's perspective and to a lesser extent Daemon and Alicent when the show should have been formatted like GOT as multiple perspectives were given in F&B. We should have gotten an ensemble cast with equal development and perspective from multiple characters, especially an equal development of both Aegon II and Rhaenyra. We get both of Rhaenyra's weddings, two births, her raising her children, many scenes with her dragon, her perspective, and her interactions. Our first intro to her sets her up in a more heroic light as she's a beautiful princess riding her dragon. We don't get Aegon II's wedding or Alicent's. No birth scenes for Alicent or Helaena. We hardly get their perspectives compared to Rhaenyra. We should have seen more of Aegon II's childhood and perspective versus just him being a bully and later a rapist. While they improved perspective a bit more in season 2, it's not enough to take away from what was done in season 1. Rhaenyra is the protagonist and **THE main character versus A main character.**

What I think they should have done is showcase the real dynamic of Alicent and Rhaenyra more. They can start off with their friendship but then transition it to the dynamic that both women had at court: competition. Both women wanted to be First Lady of the Realm and first priority to King Viserys. The Queen vs the Princess and named heir.

Rhaenyra does at times come off as more modern than she should be. I think her and even her aunt Rhaenys. For example, in the book Rhaenyra is at times very homophobic by our standards to Laenor. When she discovers she's to marry Laenor Velaryon in the show, we see her initially not too excited about it, but not fully antagonistic. She in fact has a very decent and friendship like conversation where she uses the metaphor of preferring roast duck to insinuate she understands and accepts Laenor for being gay, deciding to do their duty and support one another, while pursuing their own pleasure with each other's consent with whomever that may be. They appear to be very supportive of one another times, at least on Rhaenyra's end. She compliments him deeply when he says he wishes he were different.

While I'm sure on some level Rhaenyra wishes Laenor was bisexual at the very least so they can have more than a friendship and have trueborn kids together, Rhaenyra is almost too accepting for her medieval context. In the medieval world, same sex relationships were a HUGE no-no. In fact being gay was considered a mental illness and sickness up until the 20th century! Rhaenyra appears too accepting of Laenor, appearing too modern in just how accepting she is. In reality, while I'm sure Book Rhaenyra cared for Laenor on some level and had some kind of respect for him and affection, it wasn't this deep and this accepting. Laenor did mean something to her on some level, after all he is still the man she married, and very important to her storyline---however Rhaenyra in the book as a much more medieval reaction and medieval view on his sexuality. She was notably very unhappy about her betrothal to him. It took serious threats from King Viserys to remove her from the line of succession in order to get her on board and she did so reluctantly. She notably even said that "My half brothers would be more to his taste." This is a very cutting and almost homophobic statement. I mean her half-brothers were still toddlers. However, we never get any true antagonism, frustration, or even subtle or outward homophobia on Rhaenyra's end. While this statement is mean and homophobic, that is a more medieval response. It's sad, but it's true. Rhaenyra is a medieval woman in a medieval setting. She is a product of what her society raised her to be, which is being gay isn't something one should accept.

The same issue occurs with Rhaenys having an almost too modern point of view or opinion that doesn't fit with her medieval setting. When she discovers her husband Corlys Velaryon has bastard children, Addam and Alyn of Hull, she is neither furious nor disappointed or horrified. In fact, Rhaenys advocates that they deserve to be "raised up and honored not hidden in the tides." This is an incredibly unrealistic and unfitting reaction on Rhaenys's end. In our modern day society, even, if a woman finds out her husband cheated on her and sired kids off his side chick, she'd be furious. Of course, I think a moral modern woman wouldn't take her anger out on the children, but still. Rhaenys's reaction is almost too modern and too gracious. Characters are products of their circumstances. Despite Westeros being a fantasy world, we feel how medieval the characters are through their beliefs and behaviors. Catelyn Stark or Cersei Lannister's reactions to their husband's bastards is far more realistic---specifically how Catelyn and Cersei hated what their husbands had done and felt it was an affront to them personally. Corlys in the books was terrified of Rhaenys finding out as it would dishonor him, her, and their dead children together which is why he tried to pass them off as Laenor's no matter how ridiculous is sounded. Rhaenys should have been more realistically horrified at Corlys and angry. She shouldn't be advocating for them to be anywhere near her house or imply they should have been raised amongst their own trueborn children.

I think this does two things: 1) Makes it though Rhaenys is fully on Rhaenyra's side when raising her bastard children of Harwin as if they are her trueborn grandsons and 2) Modernizes her too much. That is a main issue. The show attempts to modernize her and make her appeal to a more modern audience. However, there is a way to do that without modernizing her so much that she doesn't seem to fit with her medieval context.

was very disappointed when I heard that the directors told Olivia Cooke to portray Alicent as "woman for Trump" and Rhaenyra is this "punk-rock Hillary Clinton." Modern day politics and movements and ideologies have little to no place in the way Westeros should be written as its a **realistic medieval setting with realistic medieval characters in a fantasy world**. Rhaenyra is too modern in her interactions and beliefs that she doesn't seem to fit well in Westeros. Rhaenyra as well is also presented as this more feminist character.

*4. Two Things Can Be True At Once: Women Can Be Victims of Sexism AND Still Do Terrible Things, Be Self-Serving, and Wield Significant Amounts of Power*

**What I ultimately believe that Condal and the HOTD production seem to get wrong is that in a medieval setting like Westeros, women are ALWAYS overlooked and dismissed and cannot take so much significant power. I feel like they believe that women can't do terrible things in the patriarchal system of Westeros while being victims of sexism.**

Women in the real middle ages and Westeros in Martin's story are not feminists by our definition. At times we see women take advantage of and gain power from the sexist patriarchal society they live in. We see it with Cersei Lannister, Margaery Tyrell, Daenerys Targareyen, Catelyn Stark, Olenna Tyrell, Ellaria Sand, Lysa Arryn, Melisandre, Arya Stark, Sansa Stark, every woman in the original GOT series were victims of sexism and an oppressive patriarchal system of Westeros just like real women of the Middle Ages AND YET they still were able to wield some power and do terrible or morally gray things. We can view them as victims of a horrible system but still see how they take advantage of it, gain power and agency as they have no choice to use the system versus fight it, do horrible things, but still view them as victims.

Rhaenyra is one example! I will say that this is partly more so the interpretation of the modern casual audience versus a writing issue, but it is still a writing issue that there are people who believe her to be a feminist. She's not! Of course just because she isn't one doesn't mean you can't root for her, but don't root for her if you think she's a feminist. We might never see the moments where Rhaenyra herself is denying women rights of inheritance from Lady Stokeworth to Lady Rosby. We should have been emphasized that Rhaenyra is not the closest thing to a modern day feminist. She is not advocating for women's rights or to make the world better for women, but to be an exception to the rule. Like most medieval woman in power, she takes advantage of the patriarchal system and gets power from it. Laena Velaryon is older than Laenor. She takes advantage of patriachal rulings to install her (bastard) "son of Laenor" as future Lord of Driftmark versus advocating that the eldest child, Baela Targaryen, daughter of Laena Velaryon, the elder sibling, to inherit Driftmark.

Victims can be villainous too! Soft power. Rarely in the Medieval world do we see women wield a hard power in their own name. Of course we have outliers, but in the end most medieval women wielded a soft power---gaining influence and power through manipulating their relationships with men (their husbands, fathers, brothers, sons, etc.). Did real Medieval women know they were oppressed? Perhaps they did, and perhaps they accepted it. Did real Medieval women make efforts to change it? I wouldn't say so. Many women upheld the status quo of men being dominant.

For example, in keeping with British history that Martin is so inspired by, going off of blood-ties alone, Lady Margaret Beaufort had a stronger claim to the English throne via her Lancastrian blood than her own son Henry VII, and yet she advocated for her son not herself to be the next ruler of England. Queen Elizabeth Woodville had three daughters (Elizabeth, Cecily, and Mary) before she had her son Edward V. Like any medieval woman with three daughters alone there was growing pressure to secure her husband's line and her own position by producing a male heir. She never tried to name any of her elder daughters over her son once she had him nor did she ever try to advocate to her husband King Edward IV that he didn't need a male heir, he had his eldest daughter Elizabeth of York.

Rhaenyra Targaryen as well is presented almost like she's pursuing power to make Westeros better and that she has more altruistic and kind intentions behind her actions. I mean this weird "Aegon Prophecy" contributes to it. I think we should have seen a more realistic medieval and Westerosi character by having Rhaenyra, just like Alicent or Aegon II, pursue power because she can! Pursue power and queenship for the sake of having it and because she believes herself entitled to it versus these more "virtuous reasons." I mean in the book she never considered accepting the peace terms despite how generous they were because she refused to renounce her claim and back down! She wanted power because felt entitled to it and because every character in Westeros wants power to some degree. Ambition is a theme and characteristic that unites every character in Martin's world.

**My Takeaway? The Writers are Biased and Fail to Understand the Medieval Context of Westeros and Martin's Female Characters. Don't implement modern politics and biases into a medieval show**

I love that Martin tries to write his women the way he writes his men. He has explicitly stated that he writes his women the way he writes his men. He states that women are people too. They can be driven by the same things men are in Westeros and/or the real world: love, anger, hatred, a desire for power, vengeance, grief, guilt, bringing glory to their name and themselves, a desire to protect their family, etc.

Most of all: **Westeros is a realistic medieval world with realistic medieval characters in an unrealistic fantasy setting.** So you have to look at it from primarily a medieval lens in order to fully understand it and its character. While its okay to analyze using some modern concepts and lenses (ex - analyze how Daemon is a pedophile) you have to couple it with a lot of grace and understanding of their medieval context and morals that impacts the way the characters behave as we are products of our own historical context (ex - remembering that pedophilia and child grooming isn't much of a concept in the medieval world. The moment a girl has her first period, they are a consenting woman in his context).

So I find it disingenuous to write off all of Rhaenyra Targaryen's negative traits as just nothing but maester propaganda and due to sexism. I disliked how they downplayed her ambition, arrogance, rage, and cruelties to make her appear more modern and peaceful and the most virtuous character on the show. Yes, perhaps sexism could have had some tie into how Rhaenyra was viewed in Westeros. However, historians in the real world can't just dismiss reports about what a medieval woman was like simply because of the sexist world they were living in. By that standard, perhaps a woman like Queen Anne of Brittany wasn't all that bad or Margaret of Anjou. By that standard anything that was negative about the personalities of any medieval woman in power is all just rubbish and not true.

I felt we should have seen more of the kind of women that Martin writes. The kind of women that fit with his medieval-fantasy narrative that showcases how pursuing power at all costs leads to nothing but ruin. We should have seen layered women. We should have seen a more book-accurate Rhaenyra. We shouldn't have to settle for a lackluster story where Rhaenyra is nowhere close to her book counterpart.

**And most of all, the HOTD team shouldn't subtly or outwardly bash the original source material as nothing but sexist propaganda to excuse the lackluster writing of the female characters being nothing like their book counterparts or subtly or outwardly write off critics and fans like myself as toxic for pointing it out.**

**If you like this analysis, read on my profile my part 1 when I delve into the issues with HOTD’s Alicent.** "

[modern-day-bard]

Masterlist

Other Duties As Assigned: A Joel Miller Fanfiction

Summary:

Guinevere Russell is the sole heir to the multimedia conglomerate, Russell Corp. After obtaining her MBA and moving home to New York City, she’s been forced to return to a tumultuous relationship with her father and the rest of the board. Gwen would prefer to run off with her friends and see just how far she can take a distraction, and she’s perfectly happy doing so. That is, until her father hires a bodyguard to keep a watchful eye on her. She just can’t figure out if he was hired for her safety, or to uncover the secrets no one else knows she possesses…

Joel Miller is a personal security officer on leave from his last assignment, where he worked abroad for a U.S. embassy. He has avoided private security detail for years after a life-changing accident, but when he gets this call, the money is too good to pass up. But Joel has never met a client with such an aversion to being protected. Regardless of the paycheck, Joel will soon realize this is his biggest challenge yet, but not for the reason he thinks…

When their secrets, both past and present, collide in a mixture of tension and new-found feelings, the results can be catastrophic. Now, Gwen’s safety is put at risk more than ever before, and the two of them have to get to the bottom of the mystery, and what they mean to each other, before it’s too late.

Content Warning: 18+ This story includes mature themes such as drinking, stalking, violence, and explicit smut. Minors, do not interact.

a/n: This is a WIP! I’m writing more chapters while editing before I post. I hope to post on a consistent basis. I’m also posting this story on ao3 and Wattpad. Tumblr tends to take me the longest to post from, but I’m determined to make it happen!

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Worth The Feeling: A Javi Gutierrez Fanfiction

Summary: Ava Cohen is a 26-year-old production assistant working tirelessly to achieve her dream of one day becoming a film director. As hiatus from her last project comes to a close, she returns to set with Norwick Productions, whom she has worked with for the past four years. After a major fo paux on the first day of work, Ava is worried she has offended the star of this next production: Javi Gutierrez. She will soon come to realize, this couldn’t be further from the truth. When the cast and crew travel to Italy to film on location, the seriousness of what Ava is feeling becomes all too real, just as a new career opportunity lands in her lap. As tensions run high, watchful eyes set in, and her career is put at stake, can all of this be worth it in the end?

Content Warning: 18+

This story includes explicit smut, intimidation, and an age gap relationship (MC is 26, Javi is in his 40s). Minors, do not interact.

a/n: The full story is available on AO3 and on Wattpad as well for anyone who is interested. Thank you to anyone who reads my story! 🤍

Total word count: 93,547

Pairing: javi gutierrez x f!reader. No physical descriptors of the MC, except for her being shorter than Javi.

Pairing Disclaimer: the original pairing was Pedro x reader but after everything was released I felt very uncomfortable with that. If I was a celebrity, I wouldn’t want people to write that about me. I was creating a character as I wrote this story that was separate to Pedro, and after posting, I regretted my choice. I have edited all chapters to reflect this, as Javi’s love of movies and cheerful disposition makes sense for the character I created. Reblogged posts may still have the original pairing, as I’m unable to update them. Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3 Chapter 4 Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

Chapter 9

Chapter 10

Chapter 11

Chapter 12

Chapter 13

Chapter 14

Chapter 15

Chapter 16

Chapter 17

Chapter 18

Chapter 19

Chapter 20

Chapter 21

Chapter 22

Chapter 23

Chapter 24

Chapter 25

Chapter 26

Chapter 27

Chapter 28

Chapter 29

Chapter 30

Chapter 31

Chapter 32

Epilogue

[tnbc-thoughtsandheadcanons]

Sally's Lament Review

Here is my complete review of the newly-released Disney Twisted Tales book, Sally's Lament. I will be making some comparisons to the TNBC sequel novel, Long Live the Pumpkin Queen, as well as other Nightmare adaptations and Twisted Tales books I've read thus far. This book, however, will be treated as it is - a 'Twisted' Alternate-Universe take to the movie's storyline.

Spoilers below!

Overall, I loved this book, and had such a blast reading it that I ended up binging it all in one day. It is an interesting Alternate take to the question - What if Sally was the one who discovered Christmas Town? I'm so glad Nightmare was chosen to be in the Disney Twisted Tale Series, as I've always adored AU takes to my favorite film of all time - Sally's Lament being no exception.

As I usually do in my reviews, I'll be breaking it into segments, starting with:

The Writing

Mari is a wonderful writer, and I enjoyed the dialogue and characterizations in here. There is a lot of playful/friendly banter between Jack & Sally, and I actually laughed at a few scenes in this book! The comedy is on-point and the Halloween Town-like dialect from Jack and Sally is nailed to a tee. There is a great comparison you can grasp between their world and customs versus Christmas Town's.

This book does follow something similar to Shea Ernshaw's Long Live the Pumpkin Queen, where the text describes Jack Skellington having 'dark eyes' rather than eye sockets...which is a valid literary choice and all I guess, but one that still catches me off guard, nonetheless.

I've been reading a few other Disney Twisted Tales books, and the three I have read were all around 500 pages. Sally's Lament, however, only came to 352. And I think it could've benefited from another hundred or so pages - as I feel like there could've been more exploration and drama at the end to give a much more satisfying conclusion to the conflict. (More on this later, under 'Story')

Characters

Sally's Lament introduces some new characters from Christmas Town, a few minor, but here are the new major ones - Abigail, Mr. Jingles, and Sootfang.

Abigail is a porcelain doll Sally meets during her first visit to Christmas Town, one of the Christmas toys who competes in a talent show in hopes of winning a spot on Santa's sleigh to be delivered to a child. (A little bit of referencing to Rudolph with the whole 'misfit toys', I imagine!) She quickly becomes Sally's friend and aids her throughout the story.

--While reading the Twisted Tales books, it's a common trope for a new side character to come in the picture who aids our protagonist in the story. Abigail fulfills this role, even relating to Sally as a fellow doll who has an imperfection. I honestly did not think much of Abigail, but she gets an absolutely-sweet ending in the Epilogue thanks to Santa, and I thought that was nice.

Mr. Jingles is the antagonist, who serves as the Supreme Court Judge and Executioner of Christmas Town, appointed by Santa Claus himself, to sort the 'nice' and 'naughty' residents of Christmas Town. Honestly? He's not as good of a villain as Oogie Boogie is (i mean, who COULD be?), but he does serve his purpose on hunting Sally down and enforcing order in the Town. The ending to his story is pretty quick, as he is exiled from Christmas Town, and I can't really say much about his character beyond that he served his job enforcing the 'Naughty VS Nice' enforcement on the Town.

And, finally, there's Sootfang, who is a large, 'scary' charcoal creature who holds the naughty prisoners for Mr. Jingles. His true character gets revealed pretty quickly, as he is an outcast in Christmas Town for being too 'scary' and was mistreated/judged for his looks and behaviors. He relates to Jack and Sally, as well as Halloween Town, where he ends up going to and living in after the story's events. (An ending Mr. Myzer in Zero's Journey COULD HAVE gotten, but I digress..!!! *Frustrated grumbling*)

...I now realize, writing this review, that none of these characters particularly latched onto me and I almost quickly forgot two of their names after reading the book. But they serve their purpose for the story, and I'm glad to see Sally meeting and getting a new friend like Abigail. And, as always, I'm sooo open to seeing new villains in the TNBC unvierse that aren't a resurrected-Oogie Boogie.

Story

The beginning, of course, follows the movie's events up until the scene where Jack Laments in the graveyard. Here, we finally see the drastic moment that changes everything and sets in-motion this alternate-universe:

Sally leans too far against a tombstone, and reveals herself while Jack is lamenting. He sees her. She tells him she knows he feels. They have an honest conversation on the Spiral Hill, and the story ensues..! Because Sally talks with him and gets to know Jack's feelings, he doesn't end up wandering into the Hinterlands - and instead retreats back into Town. Instead, Sally gets a different premonition, and gets pulled into a game with Zero, who lures her into the Hinterlands Forest and brings her to the circle of trees.

(AKA, Zero is the catalyst of the story! You devil dog, you! <3)

We learn that the 'twisted' take on the story is during Sally's first visit into Christmas town, where the residents are forced to be 'nice' to each other at all times no matter how they feel, as they are constantly being watched/monitored/listened to. They punish any residents who make it on the naughty list, where they are taken into a bag and never heard from again.

--We later learn they are being sent to a prison to be kept under watch by the charcoal monster, Sootfang. And here's where my key criticism comes into play:

When Jack & Sally eventually make it to the cave they are trapped in, near the ending of the book, they find the place...completely bland, where everything is painted white and there is nothing there but the prisoners. They explain that the bleakness is the 'point' of the prison, to lower the Christmas spirit of the elves/creatures in there, but this just seems like...a missed opportunity to me..? Considering that -

(i.e. in the Beauty & the Beast Twisted Tale, Belle is imprisoned at some point and finds other prisoners who are being physically beaten/tortured and brutally tested on. If something like THAT can make it into the Twisted Tale Series, then I think there could've been a much bigger punishment for the 'Naughty' prisoners..?)

I feel like there wasn't much 'Twisted' or dark content in this book like there are in others of this Series. Not a single swear-word they could've slipped in. Now, before this released, I and other fans were speculating that Krampus was going to be part of the 'dark' take of this story, physically punishing the bad children and serving as the antagonist. And, honestly, he could've easily replaced Mr. Jingles in here - enforcing their expectations of the children onto their own people, and getting carried away with it. I don't know if Mari wasn't allowed to use Krampus or something -- but I think, as a known Christmas legend, he would've fit perfectly into this role, and introduced some true 'twisted' physical punishments of these people..!

(Abigail could've gotten off waaaaay worse than a crack in her leg...just think of the twisted opportunities!)

Another thing that took me out of the story was how quickly Sootfang's true character is revealed and how he immediately becomes an ally to Jack & Sally. He has very little time to serve as an actual threat to the prisoners + our protagonists, and instead he's offered an immediate redemption and shelter in Halloween Town. Mr. Jingles' ending comes pretty quickly, too, as their revolt is Sally climbing to a tree and encouraging the Christmas Town residents to free themselves. I just feel like all of this...Jack & Sally's exploration of the prison, finding some difficulty in freeing the prisoners + fighting Sootfang, bringing Mr. Jingles out of power...could've been way more detailed and twisted than it was. This is where I think an extra 100 pages could've brought us more to this conflict.

Otherwise, the story was delightful, and I will go into an explanation as to why below:

Jack X Sally

Alright. Yes. Here we go.

I have both positive and negative criticism here - but mostly good things, as this book gives us more scenes and time spent between Jack Skellington and Sally as they go on an adventure to Christmas Town together. Their friendship + chemistry develops more, they share WAY more conversations, and there is some implied mutual crushing in here.

Let me get some of my issues out of the way here first - Sally's characterization in here is quite...different, and therefore makes her interactions with Jack a little different, too. She doesn't appear to be as shy in here as we see in the movie, where Sally struggles to be around him for very long without hiding or running away from him. In here, she apparently gets super comfortable enough to start joking with Jack right away, saying things like "What makes you think I think highly of you, Jack Skellington?", etc. etc.

Now, see, I wouldn't have a problem with this if the book establishes that Jack and Sally are already good friends and have some history together. But this is kind of cancelled out when Sally meets Abigail in Christmas Town, who she says is her "very first friend". And not Jack Skellington? Who she shared a deeply personal talk and joked around with? It just doesn't seem in-character to me that Sally would be so open with someone without already knowing and feeling comfortable enough around them. This would make a lot of sense with Jack, if the book just...treated them as prior friends before they adventure out to Christmas Town together. I don't see her being this flirtatious and jokey with someone she doesn't know very well. It makes this interaction feel a little OOC to me.

I've made a post early comparing a certain line in the book to the movie, where Sally initially denies any feelings for Jack and insists she doesn't want to be with him when Abigail brings it up. Yes, she's lying to Abigail because Jack is within earshot and in the conversation she confesses she think she's in love with him, but I should reiterate that I've always seen Sally as a dreamer and a romantic, who sings about her feelings for Jack and picks forget-me-nots to see if he loves her back. She's come to terms with her love for him by the point of the movie, so for her initial reaction to be a STRONG denial of feelings for him reads a bit OOC to me. I think she would be shy about it, but not something she'd deny right away, because Jack is arguably a big part of her daydreaming and the driving force behind some of her actions. She yearns for him to reciprocate her feelings! But this is probably just a personal nitpick of mine.

So, with that out of the way, the rest of their interactions are wonderful to read through, they clearly progress more in their relationship and get comfortable with each other. The joking and flirting makes more sense as time goes on, where they share an equal liking for each other and bond over doing things in Christmas Town. I LOVED the scenes in the vents, the chimney, the eggnog quicksand, where they are forced to be close together and Jack cares for Sally and vice versa. I just love reading them adventuring and spending so much time together, as they clearly get along so well and the fact that they both understand what they're going through and could use something new in their lives (to find each other through it) is just the cherry on top of it all.

I would definitely re-read this book just for these interactions again, we aren't gifted enough with stories where Jack and Sally legitimately spend more time together, as friends or a couple. So this was a wonderful gift to receive in that direction - I just wish Sally had her shyness and romantic nature in this book. I think the two of them coming to terms with their feelings for each other and getting together in the middle of their Christmas Town adventure would have probably been good for the story. I've always felt let down with the Disney Twisted Tales books treating romance as a secondary, last-minute thing...we can surely have Jack and Sally being together AND adventuring + taking down Mr. Jingles coexisting at the same time...

I will be releasing a brief post soon elaborating more about my qualms with Sally's characterization in here. So we'll put a hold on that for now.

Summary

Overall, I enjoyed my reading of Sally's Lament. As someone who has chosen to let go of my firm headcanons + beliefs in TNBC, I'm glad I can approach an AU like this with an open mind, knowing that things will be different and authors will make literary choices that I don't agree with. This book just misses the mark on writing Sally true to her character in the movie.

But the story was a fun read and I am just glad to see Jack and Sally together for a full adventure for once, instead of favoring one or the other. Just as I was happy to see them married and being royalty in LLTPQ. Jack was the focus for video games and the movie - and Sally for recent books and comic books, but we've finally gotten something that combines them together, and it's such a wonderful thing that I wonder why most media chooses not to do it.

Ultimately, I recommend reading this if you're looking for exactly what I described above - to read Jack and Sally on an adventure together, and if you don't mind her being different from how you saw her in the movie. I don't hate this book by any means, I enjoyed my read and what it offered to me, but I do wish Sally's Lament had been longer, had a better climax + resolution, and that the lead was written as the shy, romantic dreamer that she is instead of a default Disney Princess.

What did you guys think of the book? Feel free to tell me in my Inbox, or in a reblog/reply below!

[scarlet--wiccan]

Aside from the whitewashing, What esle does the MCU get wrong about Wanda? (Ofc if you haven't answered already)

I want to reiterate that the whitewashing of Wanda, Pietro, and their family in the M C U goes far beyond simple miscasting. I wrote about that at greater length here. I also believe very firmly that the racism surrounding this character supersedes any other adaptational choices.

I'll start off with the obvious, which is that the movie version of Wanda has different powers, a different origin story, and does not wear any version of a Scarlet Witch costume nor call herself "Scarlet Witch" for the vast majority of her time in the M C U. She's not recognizable as the Scarlet Witch until the final episode of Wanda//Vision and the subsequent movie, in which she dies. Even then, the films would rather fabricate an entirely new, and mostly very shallow, mythology around her powers, the Darkhold, and witchcraft-- supported by an equally unrecognizable version of Agatha-- then make any attempt to adapt the source material.

Superhero movies never set out to be a one-to-one translation of comic books, and that's fine, but if they can't preserve the most essential elements of a character or their story, then that is just a bad adaptation. Even without mutants or Magneto, Wanda has a lot of rich lore and history to pull from. None of that is present here. Even if I could set the race issues aside, I do not think I would like this adaptation because to me as a Scarlet Witch fan, this is not a Scarlet Witch story.

And the thing is, the people writing these movies clearly do understand Wanda's history, but they choose to repeatedly spit in its face and betray all of the most important narrative themes. As I mentioned in the linked post, there are allusions to racial tropes and stereotypes that betray a clear awareness of the marginalized people they are erasing. But I find many of the narrative beats troubling as well--

In Age of Ultron, the Avengers first encounter Wanda and Pietro as antagonists, which makes sense, as the characters were originally introduced as villains. In the comics, however, the twins are part of a vulnerable minority group, and they align themselves with a villain-- whose praxis they explicitly disagree with-- for the sake of survival. In the movie, though they are personally disadvantaged, Wanda and Pietro are part of the white European non-mutant majority, and they willingly align themselves with a fascist organization in order to gain power and enact violence. Neither character properly acknowledges or denounces HYDRA's politics.

In Wanda//Vision, Wanda struggles to maintain the facade of an idyllic suburban life. In the comics, she and Vision are equal partners, and the challenges they face as a couple mostly arise from the prejudice of their friends and neighbors. It's a nuanced text that has a lot to do with assimilation and identity, led by two characters who struggle to find acceptance as both literal and metaphorical minorities. Here, it's a story about one white woman taking out her grief on a town of innocent people by violating the mental and bodily autonomy of everyone around her, including her own husband.

Throughout Wanda//Vision and Multiverse of Madness, Wanda's magical powers rapidly develop in response to her grief, ultimately leading her down a path of destruction. In the comics, Wanda is a frequent victim of exploitation and possession, and her powers stem from being violated as an infant. These stories are often problematic, but Wanda typically emerges victorious by reclaiming her autonomy, asserting her morals, and working to make reparations for any harm her powers have caused. In the M C U, Wanda is nobody's victim-- she comes into these powers on her own and willingly gives into their corruptive influence. She is never possessed-- she enacts harm entirely of her own volition, even seeking to prey upon and exploit others. She's agential, but she's also morally bankrupt, and the movies offers her no chance of redemption save for their own loose moral scale and blindingly white feminism.

[mangora]

I’m so tired here are some assorted Disventure Camp headcanons:

•Jake is really into poetry. Some of his poems are bangers, some of them are absolute dogshit. He posts some of them online, mostly the bad ones because he’s not self-aware of how bad they are. He will spend hours on end writing in his notes app. Guy is a big fan of sonnets and free verse but his strong suits are odes and villanelles

•Rosa María, James, Yul, Lake, Riya, Fiore, and Alec are all multilingual. Rosa speaks English and Spanish, James speaks Portuguese and English, Yul speaks Korean and English, Lake speaks German and English as well as some French, Riya speaks Hindi and English, Fiore speaks English and some Italian, and Alec speaks English as well as a variety of other languages (he did a minor in linguistics for his university degree so he knows the basics of multiple major languages).

•Hunter’s a competitive chess player. Ally’s the only person who’s ever beat him fair and square, but even then, that rarely happens

•Lake is great at baking. She’s incredibly exact when it comes to measurements, timing, and technique. Rosa, meanwhile, is a great cook and she doesn’t measure anything

•Aiden can play bass guitar. He started learning as a teenager because he wanted to join an emo band one day. Chase your dreams boy

•Yul used to have braces and he’s really embarrassed about it

•Gabby’s a forager, she loves to forage for wild fruit and mushrooms and greens

•Ellie’s kinda a ghoul in the kitchen. Like she can make good food and drinks but most of the time she’s so tired that she makes evil energy drink-instant coffee potions or like that pistachio & condensed milk concoction from Arthur

•In a better universe I think Ellie and Jake are frenemies instead of fully hating each other and they play Minecraft together and Ellie is constantly stealing Jake’s shit and trying to defeat the Ender Dragon meanwhile he screams every time he sees a Creeper and begs her to turn Keep Inventory on because he keeps dying

•Miriam gets a cat after the show. She’s an older white cat named Snowball and she has the same personality as her. They are best friends and Miriam is so annoyed by her. She made them matching sweaters. Snowball is only fully nice to Jake

•Fiore listens to Thrash Metal. It’s partially just to throw people off when they find out, she thinks it’s funny

•Fiore also enjoys those YouTube prank videos, she knows they’re fake they’re just so stupid that she finds them hilarious. Kristal gives her an iPad for a day one time for entertainment and it pisses the rest of the Magenta team off so bad because she keeps playing these prank videos and watching epic fail compilations at full volume

•Grett loves crocheting. She slowly turns into one of those people who crochets during lectures and while watching movies and shit

•James is really good at Tetris

•Ally is obsessed with Sci-Fi. She, Tess, and Hunter watch Star Trek, Doctor Who, and Star Wars together because they all love the worldbuilding so much. Tess writes fanfiction about almost everything they watch. Hunter has terrible media literacy and misses the themes every time but he has fun watching

•After All Stars, Riya gets really into tattoos. She gets matching ones with Connor

•People antagonize Tom with the cop slide video and every time he clenches his fist and goes, “Stop laughing at him.”

•Kai has a bunch of pet bugs. Maggy’s secretly afraid of them still but she’s getting there. She likes rollie pollies

•Karol used to do roller derby and Lill used to ice skate. Ggirlf,riends,,, I miss them chat. Where is my old woman yuri

•Aiden eats plain yogurt nothing on it and it’s the one thing James doesn’t like about him. Like it’s so upsetting to him. Why does he eat plain yogurt

•Ashley likes hyperpop, don’t tell anyone

•Tom likes crockpot food. He is not invited to potlucks for this reason. He will always bring the crockpot

•Alec doesn’t like splatter films but he really enjoys psychological horror, especially mockumentaries and mondo films

•Lake read creepypasta a lot as a kid and she wouldn’t go into the kitchen after dark because she was afraid of Jeff the Killer appearing at her fridge

[winterrrnight]

could i request something with a fem reader that’s of another cast from a different show of your choice, & she meets drew through madelyn. maybe they hit it off on their first meet and start texting one another almost every night. basically a mutual pine and by the end they admit their feelings. make it real fluffy!!

love your writing btw 🖤

thank you for the request anon!! The idea sparked a huge inspiration in me and I loved writing this! I definitely got carried away while writing so this is longer than most of my stuff. I added a small twist of my own and made the reader gender neutral :)

love affair

PAIRING: drew starkey x actor!gn!reader

SUMMARY: the reader and madelyn cline are co stars on glass onion. on being invited to madelyn's birthday party, the reader meets a certain someone.

WARNINGS: small mentions of anxiety, alcohol consumption, getting sick

EDITH SPEAKS: my first request! this is LONG, and this is GOOD and I LOVE how it came out!! I hope you like it too! I wasn't able to come up with a title so I decided to go with a song based title, love affair is such a good song i definitely recommend listening to it :)

Please like and/or reblog if you enjoy it 💌 feedback is always appreciated!

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It's your co star Madelyn's birthday today, and she is throwing a massive party. She's invited her friends from all the shows or movies she's been casted in before, and it's safe to say you're excited yet nervous at the same time.

You haven't been in the film industry for as long as Madelyn, you did a few minor roles here and there before you landed your major role in Glass Onion alongside Madelyn. That's where you met her for the first time, and you both hit it off really well. Glass Onion is your first project which got you a lot of exposure, so before Glass Onion you hadn't been to many parties thrown by big celebrities. This is the first one you're going to, and you're determined to make it one of the best nights of your life.

You quickly get ready, wearing an outfit which looks absolutely gorgeous on you and gives you loads of self confidence. You prepare yourself to socialise with many new people and to try to make new friends. There are going to be so many other people in the film industry; who knows, you may land a deal in another blockbuster project.

Your cab pulls outside of your house and you get inside it. You direct the driver to Madelyn's house and he takes you there in under 20 minutes. Before you can even reach the party, you can hear the music a distance away from her house, which tends to overpower your nervousness over your excitement.

The cab driver drops you outside her house. You walk up to the closed door and take in a deep breathe before ringing the bell. You can hear the chattering of the people inside. The door opens and you see Madelyn on the other side. You grin widely upon her presence.

"Happy birthday beautiful!" You say ecstatically, hugging her and kissing both her cheeks.

"Thank you darling!" She says laughing. She beckons you to come inside. You walk in to see the biggest crowd of people you've seen together in a house.

You turn to Madelyn and hand her her gift. "Oh my god you didn't have to bring me one!" She says, taking it from you and hugging you again.

"Nonsense! It's your birthday, you definitely deserve to get one."

"Thank you so much. Come on, let's get you some drinks and I'll introduce you to some people." You follow her lead to the kitchen, where she gives you a drink. You thank her and take the cup from her.

"Hey Madison!" She yells out. Madison turns around and sees the both of you. She comes up to you rushing.

"Oh my god hi!" She says, smiling widely as you hug her. "It's so nice to finally meet you!"

"You too!" You say, smiling just as widely as her.

"You were so good in Glass Onion, like, come on. That's some Emmy level acting right there." You feel your cheeks slightly warm up at her compliments.

"Thank you girl, but let's talk about Kiara! She's amazing and you're so talented!"

"Oh stop it," Madison says, laughing. You take a sip of your drink as you make some more small talk with her.

"Look there's everyone else," Madelyn says suddenly, looking across the room. You see she's looking at the group of the cast of Outer Banks. You recognise all of them. Madelyn takes you by your hand and you three make your way to the bigger group.

"Hey guys!" says Madelyn, and everyone replies with a varied version of 'hello'. Madelyn introduces you to everyone, and you hug all of them one by one and make small talk with them.

You and Madelyn now walk to the only person in the group who you haven't met yet: Drew Starkey. You may or may not have found him attractive in the show.

"Hi Drew, it's so nice to meet you!" You smile, and give him a hug.

"You too! I finally got around watching Glass Onion some time ago and you were out of this world," Drew compliments. You feel flattered from all the compliments you've been receiving today.

"Oh my god, thank you! But you as Rafe is just something else. I really cannot imagine anyone else playing him. You embodied his character so well."

"Thank you so much," he smiles. You feel your heart flutter at the small motion. You both join the group, and watch everyone talk and laugh among themselves. You look on your side at Drew, and take in how pretty he looks in the suit he's wearing. You notice the earring dangling from his ear and the rings he's wearing. You feel yourself almost swooning.

Drew whips his head in your direction but before you both can make an eye contact you turn your head away. You feel your cheeks heat up when you hear him chuckle. He totally caught you staring. You down the entire drink in your cup.

"Do you need some more?" Drew asks you. "I've run out of mine too."

"Oh... yeah sure." You both excuse yourself from the group and walk to the kitchen. Drew fills both your cups and you thank him for it. You start to feel your head slightly throbbing from the loud music playing from the speakers which are right next to you and Drew.

"Hey uh Drew?" You call him out. He hums in response. "Would you like to go out in the garden?"

"Are you okay?" He asks, slightly worried.

"Yes, yes I'm fine, it's just, the music is too loud and I'm starting to get a little overwhelmed by the number of people here," you say honestly.

"Yes of course," he says. "You'll feel better if you get some fresh air." You both leave the house and go to the garden. There is a small fountain set up in the centre of the massive garden, so you and Drew sit next to each other on the edge of the fountain.

"Thank you for coming out with me," You say, feeling grateful there's someone with you to help you feel more relaxed.

"You don't have to thank me sweets, it's all fine. I'm guessing big crowds aren't your thing?"

"No, they really aren't. I haven't been around in the industry to be used to such a huge amount of people in one room. It does make me anxious."

"Don't worry about it," Drew says softly. "It takes time to get used to it all, the big crowds of people, the paparazzi on the streets, the overwhelming number of events to attend. Your mind will slowly start to feel relaxed as you spend more time in this industry. Becoming famous comes at a price." He laughs.

"Oh it definitely does," you giggle with him. You both sit in silence, the sound of the music muffled. You have already starting to feel more relaxed, and you think it's because of Drew's presence next to you.

You like this feeling.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

"Okay now I have to try this casserole, you've mentioned it atleast five times already." You laugh. Your and Drew's position has changed from the edge of the fountain to the grass on the ground. You both sit in the grass, your legs crossed as you play 20 questions.

"What can I do, it's just that good," He says proudly. To every food related question you asked him, Drew managed to give "my famous chicken casserole" as the answer.

What you both have not realised is that it's been over two hours since you both have been sitting out here and chatting. The party had started to die down in the last half hour. So many people had left, and the music was now playing at a low volume. You feel your phone vibrate, so you pull it out to see Madelyn calling you.

"Hello?" You say.

"Where are you? Did you leave?" You hear Madelyn on the other end. She sounds frantic.

"Oh no I'm outside with Drew, we're in the garden," You reply. There is a silence on the other end of the phone. In a few seconds you are met with the constant beeping, signalling Madelyn ended the call.

You hear the door open and watch Madelyn walk out to you both. "Way to go guys, you could've atleast told me you're here! I was worried when I couldn't find you inside. You aren't the kind of people who leave without saying goodbye so I knew you hadn't left for your homes, which made me a lot more nervous when I couldn't find you inside." She rambles, and then starts to breathe heavily after she finishes.

"We're so sorry Madelyn," you say, getting up from the ground. "Me and Drew got so lost in conversation that we didn't even realise where the time passed."

"Yeah, it's also getting late now, so I think we both will just leave now," adds Drew, as he stands from the ground too. You nod along his words.

"Unless you need any help inside?" You ask.

"Oh no, don't worry about that." Madelyn is quick to connect two and two together. She sees the spark between you two, and starts to feel all giddy upon the possibility of you both getting closer. "I hope you had a fun time." She smiles at you both.

You turn to look at Drew who looks at you back, both of you just softly staring into each other's eyes.

Oh you definitely had fun.

And so did he.

"We did," you say, turning back to look at Madelyn. "We'll just leave now. I'll book a cab."

"Oh no, I'll drop you," Drew pipes in.

"No it's okay, it'll be such a hassle for you. It'll only take me a few seconds to book one."

"No no, I insist. It can be unsafe to be alone with an unknown cab driver this late at night."

"He's right, he can drop you. It's best you don't go home alone." Madelyn adds.

You look at the both of them, and give in. "Okay, thank you Drew."

You both exchange your last goodbyes with Madelyn and wish her a happy birthday again before you leave her house together. Drew's car isn't parked that far from her house. You reach the passenger door but before you can open it for yourself, Drew opens it for you.

"Oh, why thank you kind sir," you say in a posh accent as you sit down. He just giggles at your reply and walks around the car to sit in the driver's seat. He starts the car and begins to drive.

You connect your phone to his Bluetooth speakers to put on some music. After searching around your playlist for a few seconds, you find your favorite song.

"Oh my god I love this one!" Drew says, bobbing his head to the beat.

"You do?" You say happily.

"Yes! Their recent album is just simply a work of art."

"Right! It's my all time favorite album! It's everything." On the drive to your house, you and Drew vibe to music and surprisingly, you both have a lot of common music taste.

Drew drives up to your house, but he just doesn't want you to leave. Not yet. This is too soon. He wants to spend more time with you, get to know you better.

But it's getting late at night. And as much as you don't want to leave either, you know you have to go.

"Drew, could we exchange numbers?" You ask, shyly. He just nods his head with a smile and gives you his phone. You put in your number and ask him to text you so you can get his.

"Thank you for the drive Drew," you say softly. You stare into his eyes yet again. There is so much you have to explore, so much more you need to know about him. He's lived a different life before you came in it, and you want to know about it all. You want to know every single thread that's been woven together to create this beautiful man in front of you.

"You're welcome," his voice just as soft as yours. You want him to stop you. You want him to tell you that he doesn't want you to leave. You want to stay with him and talk some more.

But he doesn't say anything.

You give him another smile and step out of the car and walk to your house.

Drew is controlling himself from calling your name out. Why are you getting distant from him by each passing second? Why aren't you staying? He doesn't want you to leave.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

You freshen up in your washroom and change in some comfortable clothes before lying in your bed. You hear your phone vibrate so you pick it up to see it's a text from an unknown number.

unknown number: hey it's Drew :)

You smile at the text. You quickly save his number and shoot him a text back.

you: hey :)

drew: oh you haven't slept yet?

you: nope, not sure if I'll be able to fall asleep tho, my insomnia keeps on kicking in

drew: ugh same, insomnia gets the best of me

And you both kick it off again. It's almost 3 am at night, but you're up texting Drew. You feel like you are 13 years old, and you are getting to text your first ever crush. The nerves, the skipping of your heartbeat each time Drew uses a heart in his texts all make you feel like a little teenager again.

And you love it.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

It's been almost three weeks since you met Drew, and all you have to say about this is that your life has changed for the better. He's there for you every single moment you need him; when you need someone to celebrate your small successes with, when you need a shoulder to rest your head on when you're sad, when you need someone to just listen about what's been bothering you.

In return, you love to be by Drew's side as much as you can. You try your best to reciprocate every little thing he does for you.

But one of the biggest things Drew has done for you is get in contact with one of the directors he has worked in the past, who now has casted you in his upcoming movie. The script impressed you a lot, and you're super excited to start working on it. And you just don't know how you can thank Drew for it.

"Sweets it's the fifth time today you've thanked me for it and it's only 9 am! I swear, I've done nothing, all I did was just call him up." He smiles at you, as he hands you a plate of the pancakes he made.

"But now I'm getting to act in this big movie Drew! You really don't know how grateful I am for that," you say, digging into the pancakes.

You were over at Drew's home last night to watch some Netflix together. You ended up falling asleep in between the show, so Drew carried you to his room carefully. When you woke up this morning, it took you a few seconds to realise where you are.

"I have to do something for you in return, otherwise I'll just feel guilty." You tell him.

"What? There is nothing to feel guilty about. No more talks about this okay? You and me, we're close friends, we do things for each other without expecting a thank you in return."

Friends. He didn't intend to say that, but what else can he do? He doesn't want to risk what you both have created so lovingly by admitting his feelings for you. What if you don't like him back?

Friends. Why do you feel a pang in your chest upon hearing this word? But, that's what you are right? You haven't told him how you feel about him, so that makes you friends, right?

An awkward silence falls over you two which only involves the sound of the forks and knives scratching against the plate and of you both chewing. Once you're done eating, Drew takes your plates and puts them in the dishwasher. Meanwhile you gather all your stuff and get ready to leave. You say nothing except a simple goodbye and leave his home.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

You're sitting in your room with your script in your hand as you read it and try to memorise your lines along with it. The sound of your phone ringing makes you lift your head up from your script. You see it's Drew calling you. You get slightly worried because he doesn't call you very often, you both usually prefer texting but when he does call you, it's something urgent.

"Hello?" You say after accepting the call.

"Uh... are you free?" You hear Drew's voice on the other end. Except, he doesn't sound the same. He sounds sick.

"Oh my god Drew are you okay?" You ask worriedly, getting up from your bed and finding your shoes and other things you'll need if you have to leave the house.

"Just a little sick," he then coughs, which definitely doesn't indicate to a 'little sickness'.

"I'm coming okay? Just give me a few minutes." You cut the call and quickly pop on your shoes, pick up all your stuff and leave your house.

You reach his place really quickly and rush inside. You realise you didn't ring the bell but then you remembered he's alone and sick so it's best to not disturb him from his bed.

You enter his room to see the lights switched off, the curtains drawn, and Drew's body lying under the covers. You walk up to him and carefully lift the duvet from his head. You softly gasp at how pale he looks. There are loads of scrunched up tissues lying around on his bed.

"Hey," he says, his voice hoarse as he tries to smile at you.

"Drew, bub," you say nothing else. You feel so bad for him, he must be feeling so sick. He notices your frown and lifts one of his hands up to your hand.

"Hey I'll be fine, now that you're here to take care of me," you softly chuckle at his words, as you caress the back of his palm. You lean in to press your forehead against his to see if he has a temperature. At that moment, Drew feels his cheeks heat up, and not only because of the high temperature he has.

When you feel his forehead scorching hot against yours, you quickly rush to his medicine cabinet and find the pills you need. You then get a glass of water for him. You carefully wrap your arms around his body and help him sit up in his bed. You hand him the water and a pill.

He takes the pill and you tell him you're going to make some vegetable soup for him. You go to his kitchen, find all the ingredients you need in his fridge and start to whip up the soup. You work quicker than usual, because you know you need to get this to him as quick as you can. When the soup is simmering away on the stove, you go back to his room. He's still sitting in the same position, his head leaned back against the headboard and his eyes closed.

You drag one of the chairs in Drew's room closer to him and sit down. He opens his eyes and looks at you.

"I'm so sorry for bothering you, I really didn't know who to call." He says.

"You don't have to apologise, I'm here for you always," you say softly, taking his hand in yours again and rubbing his skin just as you did before. He seems a lot more relaxed upon this gesture from you.

"You are sweets, you are always there for me. You're there for me when I need someone to talk to, you're there for me when I need someone to tell my dad jokes to."

"And you are always there for me Drew," you add. "You're there for me when I need someone to listen to my crazy theories about the movies I watch."

Drew gives you a soft smile, and you both look into each other's eyes just the way you always do, and you find yourself getting lost in them again. It's like you've found a home in those striking blue eyes.

"Sweets?" He calls you out. Your heart flutters each time he calls you that. "Can I tell you something?" Maybe it's the high temperature that he has that's making him do this, or maybe he's just tired of being just friends with you. Whatever it is, he is ready to tell it to you.

"Yes?" Your heart starting to beat faster. You have a small hunch of what he might say, but you don't want to get your hopes up just to get hurt.

"I think... I think I've fallen for you." He whispers. You look at him with your eyes wide, his hand still in yours.

You can't believe your ears. He said what you had the slightest hunch he'd say. But you didn't think you would have guessed right.

The person you fell for because he told you he will always be there for you no matter what has also fallen for you.

On the other end, Drew looks at you and tries his best to read your expression. Are you going to tell him the same, or are you about to reject him? He can't tell what's going on in your mind. He breathes deeply as he watches you look at him with wide eyes.

"I'd never thought I'd hear this but Drew, I fell for you too, so fast, so hard." You whisper back. He lets out a sigh of relief.

The person he fell for because they told him taking care of him is one of their topmost priorities has fallen for him.

You lean in and press a soft kiss on his forehead and another one on his cheek. "I'll give you a real one when you get well." You say, smiling so widely.

That night, you stay over at his place. You sleep next to Drew, his head resting on your chest as you rake your fingers softly through his hair and occasionally press a kiss to his forehead, his cheek, his temple, his chin, his nose.

He's yours, and you're his.

The world has finally fallen in place.

↶ೃ✧˚. ❃ ↷ ˊˎ-

TAGLIST: @runningfrom2am @ragingsammie

[olderthannetfic]

I have a question. I’m new to the discourse around fanfiction & censorship, so I was curious about what the general consensus regarding fic about underaged characters in live action media was. Underage is my biggest squick, but I feel pretty neutral about how people write/draw smut of cartoon characters, as they barely register as human for me. Characters played by actual child actors though… I guess I’m just wondering what’s going through the heads of people who write that stuff? Or minor rpf for that matter. What is appealing about it? I’m willing suspend my disbelief & accept that they don’t actually want to abuse kids, but like, what is fulfilling about that fantasy? I’m not in favor of censorship or arresting anyone over a fictional story, but I just can’t wrap my head around it.

--

That's quite a failure of imagination there, anon.

Other people are not you, and they don't necessarily have this squick. That's the main answer.

From people who don't try to problematize this, there isn't really any discourse. Fiction is fiction.

Cartoon characters register as people to plenty of viewers. (And moron antis think cartoon characters count just as much as live action ones when it comes to screaming about problematicness.) Actors playing teenagers are often in their 20s. Coming of age novels dealing with sexuality have been normal all over the world since forever.

--

But let's start with some low hanging fruit:

If you're 17 years + 364 days, you're below the age of consent lots of places. Do you, anon, honestly think it's weird to be into someone one day before their 18th birthday but not the day after? What if you live somewhere where the age of consent is 16? Is it still weird to be into 17-year-olds from places where the age of consent is 18?

Most people remember being teenagers. They may feel nostalgic. They may want to imagine the nice teenage experiences they never got to have.

Lots of fic writers are currently teenagers. Not as many as ageist online spaces think, but still quite a lot. Is it weirder for a 15-year-old to have a crush on a 15-year-old than a 40-year-old?

"They looked 18, Your Honor" is a weak-ass excuse for fucking underage people in real life, but that's not the same as finding characters on your tv hot. Not only are the actors usually above 18 because filming underage actors is a fucking nightmare logistically due to work constraints, but a lot of younger actors are often made up in ways that make them look like they could be way older. People also vary widely in how they look at various ages.

If you can accept that lust exists and is valid, you can accept that lots of people will see some teen and think they're hot. There isn't some specific categorical difference in how all teenagers look and how all 20-somethings look.

Doing something about it in real life and doing something about it in fiction are different.

--

Now, as for "child actors", that term is used for a wide variety of ages, but let's assume you mean Stranger Things wank, like most people moaning about underage actor RPF do, so we're talking about tweens who genuinely do look pretty young to grown-ass adults.

The first thing I have to ask you is why the fuck you would imagine that writers identify with some adult fucking these kids? It's far, far more likely that they identify with the characters themselves or the actors.

Why would they identify with them? It could be anything from working through their own trauma at a similar age to just liking the vibe of a character because of how the show is written.

Lots of people's brains barf out dark scenarios 24/7 without them ever having experienced any major trauma and without it meaning anything much. Some people channel that into fiction.

If you are a boring person who has both a vanilla brain and no imagination, this might seem surprising to you, but it shouldn't.

--

Moreover, your ask implies that underage fic is highly sexual or maybe coercive or something, but you haven't actually stated that. Are we talking about rapefic of 5-year-olds or about someone writing the Stranger Things characters holding hands?

Are you just not sexual at all, anon? Personally, I went from zero to MEGA HORNY at thirteen and a half. It was like a switch flipped. Sure, I wasn't getting any action because I was a zit-covered and socially incompetent 13-year-old, but I was definitely interested.

It's not strange that an artist or author of whatever sort would explore puberty in their art. It's not strange that they'd remember their own sexual awakening or that this awakening would be long before age 18.

It's also not strange if people write super dark shit about small children because it being extreme and taboo and horrible is often the point of art.

--

You're "willing to suspend disbelief"? How magnanimous! How generous!

Seriously, anon?!

The way you've phrased this question makes it sound like you have a brain the size of a walnut.

Would you ask such a stupid question in such an offensively loaded manner about all the coming of age novels that are considered Great Literature™? Would you ask why YA exists?

And if you wouldn't, why is it that amateur writing by women and sexual minorities makes you nervous when mainstream-approved things don't?

[runningupthatvecna]

the law of seat partners | part 4

masterlist

a/n: so this is part four, probably the last and final part to bring this little something to an end. it's a bit of a dive into eddie's emotional state and self-esteem issues and it just might sting you a little reading. this whole story has honestly been a wild ride from start to finish and i want to thank every single one of you for giving it so much love! hope you enjoy this last part just as much, if not more. all i can say is that i poured my entire heart into this and it's my first time writing spice, so go easy on me please. my requests are, however, open in case anyone wants me to write more. for this, i'm planning a little sequel part, so keep an eye out for that if you like.

summary: after some intense flower crown binding and a few more intense days at the camp, things are finally getting real between you and eddie. you make him your prince and he makes you his own. read for yourself ;)

word count: 13,5k (lol don't ask i got carried away it seems)

warnings/tags: slow burn, mutual pining, idiots in love kinda, not too detailed description of reader's appearance, very close physical closeness, sharing a bed, eddie being touch starved and a very wholesome and caring bean, mentions of eddie's dad being a piece of shit, lots of petnames, shitlots of fluff, a tad bit of angst, abandonment issues & performance anxiety, smut (minors go away!), softdom!eddie, kissing, oral (m and f receiving), fingering, a bit of edging if you squint, dirty talk, unprotected p in v, pulling out, basically just hot and steamy lovemaking filth. ok BYE

-----

Roses, magnolias, tulips, daisies, sunflowers, yarrows, peonies and lots of twigs with green leaves. For the base. To balance out the colours.

The day had finally come.

You placed the crown of flowers which you had spent an hour assembling and braiding and binding together on your head, intending to wear it with a sense of pride.

A sunflower as the yellow centerpiece, two light purple peonies on each side, some yarrow and white roses here and there.

You guessed that Jonathan would shoot another roll of film full today, measured by the enthusiasm he was displaying just now while directing the postures of the four of you, assigning you poses and giving you instructions on which way to turn so you would be lit in the best way possible.

Robin, Nancy, Max and you were stood in one line, and if it weren't for the fact that you found yourselves on the path leading from the cabins to the little square of the fireplace, surrounded by trees, the view of the lake in the background and framed by a row of tall pines, you would think you were posing for graduation photos.

It was a nice rehearsal, at least.

Anyone else except Will, Eddie and the photographer himself were busy occupying themselves elsewhere.

The younger Byers boy enthusiastically fumbling around with flowers for his own crown – the artist in his element –, Jonathan capturing your precious moments and Eddie, ... well Eddie was honestly just watching the four of you, admiring the scene and being grateful that no one had shoo'ed him away yet, because that meant he'd certainly have to get involved in the yoga-slash-stretching workshop Steve Harrington was trying to attend in the meantime.

Also he was wondering where you took the patience for your magnificent wonder of floral composition from, when he unsuccessfully tried to merely string a bunch of leafy twigs and yarrow together himself.

The teachers had made you all spent the majority of the day in the next bigger town, admiring the contents and exhibits of the local museum, dedicated to bring the regional history, geography specifics and culture closer to its visitors. And the only time the longhaired metalhead had left your side (under protest) was those two times you needed to use the women's restroom.

The younger middle school kids had been an absolute menace to the nerves of Mr Clarke all day, their lack of patience and ability to stay focused on the exhibits getting the best of him.

Eddie's presence made everything better though (for you at least) and the obnoxious children forgotten. You know that feeling when you're on a trip with your friends and your crush is there too and that fact just lifts your entire mood and whatever you guys are doing doesn't matter because they are there with you because their presence is solely enough to make your heart blossom?

Yeah. That.

"Come here", you sat down next to Eddie on the tree trunk that was laid flat to act as a bench, taking and trying to fix whatever attempt of a flower crown he was occupying his fingers with. You would guess that he'd be quite skilled with them as a guitarist, but seeing him drop stuff here and there with his tongue stuck out – a telltale sign that he was focussing super hard – also had you guessing that the skill of binding flower crowns and playing guitar were two different pairs of shoes.

Legs touching, you felt Eddie's gaze wander from the top of your knee over the skin on the plushness of your bare thighs up to the hem of your white flowy linen dress.

Oh, what they would feel like under his gentle touch.

His eyes paused their little journey on your hands, the softness of your skin, how you (just like him) always wore your rings, thin golden bands delicately adorning your index and middle fingers plus the one on your right thumb. He took in the tiny wrinkles stretched over your knuckles, the way your fingertips were readjusting the wire he sloppily had bound the twigs and stems together with, lightly brushing over the even softer petals of the flowers.

Secretly he wished they would lightly brush over his own hands too.

Brush over his neck, his hair, his cheeks, telling him that there was absolutely nothing wrong with him and that he could and would be accepted – and maybe even loved – just the way he was in his truest form.

As if you could be someone with the capability to show him just that. Convince his silly brain that he wasn't the fuck up his father made him believe to be. The unlovable freak his hometown condemned him as.

A feeling he was so desperately yearning for, deep down below the surface where usually no ray of light would ever reach the bottom.

Mainly because he wouldn't let the light through. The waves were and had just always been too high.

Gaze continuing its journey further up, lingering on your chest for a fleeting second, before scanning over the expanse of your neck.

Eddie mentally thanked Nancy for braiding your hair out of the way today.

He took in your jawline, the way your small and delicate earrings decorated the lobes of your ears, a small strand of hair on the side of your head separating your ear from your face, your nose which Eddie found to be very cute, a few freckles spread over the apples of your cheeks, eyes as deep as the ocean, currently focused on not cutting yourself on the garden scissors as clumsy as you could be, and then the pinkish red plushness of your rounded lips.

Eddie was certain they would feel like lying on a cloud in heaven against his own. Giving him a glimpse of something big and meaningful, and very very dear to him, something crawling through every vein of his body making the goosebumps erupt on his bare arms, something he craved to his core.

He wanted to touch. Needed to. More of you.

And he felt an all too familiar warmth spread through his abdomen, just like yesterday after the swimming, when his goodnight hug had ended up a bit too tightly for his own good, and he'd had to excuse himself awkwardly in order to take care of the semi slowly causing his damp shorts to become painfully tight.

He took in the way your eyes lit up and the corners of your mouth curled upwards at your successful fix of his poor attempt to impress you, watched you getting up and moving in front of him in a twirl, making the hem of your dress bounce a little.

Of course he noticed that. You were the pretty much only thing occupying the space in his brain.

The light was you.

"Now here you go, Prince of Metal", you chuckled as you placed the crown on his head softly, him blinking up at you through his thick black lashes with a wide smile that was forming on his face slowly at your affectionate gesture and – especially – the title.

It was very modest, just white yarrow and the green of the leaves, an analogy to Eddie's mindset of cherishing simplicity.

A "thank you, darling" escaped his chest in a low, soft tone right before he stood up, still grinning at you as if you had just told him you'd won the lottery. Or he'd won it.

He was certainly feeling like he had. You had done this, something nice, for him. It made his cheeks flush pink. A delightful addition to the white and green.

Jonathan had just finished taking a few close-ups of Max' half-heartedly composed circle of tulips and daisies, and when he noticed you and Eddie in the middle of half empty buckets of leftover flowers and the splutter of twigs and fallen petals, he wasted no time in calling you over to his makeshift photo set.

-----

For the rest of the trip, you couldn't help but think of Eddie's newfound interest in flower arrangements, the way he had selflessly fought with the stubborn wire and unruly twigs just to spend more time with you (and selflessly escape yoga with Steve).

The time at camp was almost coming to an end already. You had two nights left before the bus would roll up again, forcing you to leave the little serene oasis to take you home.

A whole bunch of polaroids was stacked up on your little nightstand by now, one of them showing you alongside the Prince of Metal, proudly posing with flower crown heads held high, and if you didn't know better you would say that the pose you both had taken made the impression of one of a royal couple. Eddie had put his hands on his hips, facing the camera diagonally, your back towards his chest in the same direction as him. Serious expressions, since you were royalty.

Another showed you in between Steve, Robin and Eddie on another hike, all of you well-lit by the bright sun, blue sky and vast lake with the deep green of trees in the background, on top of the hill you had attempted to climb on the first day. Robin was pulling a silly face, while Eddie poked his index finger into the dimple that always formed on Steve's cheek whenever he put on his toothy grin. And you? You were just looking, smiling, gazing at your seat partner.

More of them had been taken during further swimming activities, recreations of the acrobatic performance which Eddie and Max had displayed that first time in the lake, and since Jonathan knew how obsessed with photos you really were, he thought he might as well give you all the others he had taken.

For safekeeping.

Not to mention the one of Eddie and you on the bus.

And then, your personal favourite you had decided, showed Eddie in the white framed rectangle with closed eyes, his crown of flowers decorating the top of his head, the widest grin spread across his face.

He looked angelic.

You wished you could make a thousand copies of it and tape it to every single lamp post and throw it into every single mail box in all of Hawkins.

You wanted to look at it forever.

As you were lying there in the darkness of your shared cabin, you made a mental note to yourself to definitely pay Jonathan back for the film.

Eyes closed, you let your mind wander through all the memories you'd been making these past days. Not just with Prince Metal, but also with everyone else. It was nice and wholesome getting to spend time with the gang outside of Hawkins.

The very vivid memories of the past days flooded your brain. It was easy getting lost in them. So lost, that you audibly gasped as a light knock on the glass of the window pulled you out of conscious dreamland.

Practically shooting up from the mattress, you turned your head towards the window.

The more than familiar wild mane of your favourite Hawkins local satanist stood out from between the ends of the bushes growing beneath that window, and the person it belonged to was intently gesturing towards the wooden door of your cabin.

Eddie was wearing his signature grin when you rolled your eyes at him and the idea of sneaking around in the waking hour that was two in the night.

You mouthed a "fine" at him, nodding towards the door, before you silently tried to get up without triggering an avalanche of your roommates awaking.

The sight that offered itself to you as you crook open the cabin door was something you were certain you were going to burn into the core memories of your life.

Eddie Munson on the first of two steps in front of your door, the pathway with the other cabins in the background, in a black tank top, from the darkness you made the colours of his boxers out to be dark blue, his white sneakers but no socks. The scene in your periphery lit only by the low glow of the moon casting its reflection down onto him and his surroundings through the crowns of the pine trees.

A bunch of tattoos were visibly spread over his arms, guitar pick on a chain around his neck, curtained by his luscious curls. A messy bunch of random forest flowers and grass in his tight fist.

What on earth was he thinking he was doing out here? At this hour?

His expression told you.

"Hi", he almost whispered, a sly smile playing on his lips, eyes searching yours, stretching his arm straight and holding the makeshift flower bouquet out under your nose.

As if it was the most normal thing, showing up at someone's cabin in the middle of the night. In the woods. With random flowers he must have picked on the way here?

You snorted at his gesture and the incredible sweetness of it, it was making you blush hard and your heart combust in your ribcage at the thought of him even thinking of bringing you something. At him even being here right now. The innocence of it juxtaposing with his reputation back at home.

"Jesus Christ, what on earth are you doing out here?", you whispered back in the same tone, leaning in the doorframe in your usual sleep shirt and – of course, since you were surrounded by girls and you all were comfortable enough with each other – panties only.

Eddie took the next logical step, the one above the one he was currently standing on, getting closer to where you were leaning and recreating the usual height difference between you two.

"I can't fall asleep with Steve snoring", still in a hushed tone, and he paused before a small smile formed on his lips again, "and a bird just told me that the extension of the law, remember when I told you about that? Yeah, well, it got approved, so", he paused again, finding your eyes again with his best impression of a puppy, "could I maybe, you know uh, come in and be rescued from my eternal misery?"

You were very well aware that you'd be sent home immediately if anyone caught sight of you letting a male breathing creature past your doorstep, but since it was 2 am, it was also Eddie Munson gazing at you in the moonlight as if you were the most beautiful thing he ever had laid his eyes on, and you couldn't deny that you most definitely wanted this, the possible consequences of your little spontaneous rendezvous, nagging at your brain like alarm bells, were thrown overboard in an instant.

Grabbing one of Eddie's wrists, you pulled him towards you and inside, trying to close and lock the cabin door as silently as possible.

His presence alone and familiar warmth radiating from his body was already soothing the light rush of adrenaline in your veins from doing something that could get the both of you into quite the trouble, and it didn't take him long to take a step forward, moving his arm that you were still holding on to around you, so you were forced to turn your back towards him while his other snuck around your waist, pulling you flush against his chest.

He squeezed you to himself for a brief second, acting as a silent thank you, before he let go of you with a wide grin that you were only able to see thanks to the dim light of the moon flooding through the one window between the two bunks.

There was a small sparkle in his eye, a glint of serenity, comfort and endless affection. And relief. So much relief from how you were letting him in, weren't rejecting him like he was used to.

Peaceful breathing was filling the room, a light snore coming from the top bunk that wasn't above yours, and Eddie followed you.

You couldn't believe that you were about to share your small mattress and covers with the one guy you'd been harbouring feelings for over the time span of several months.

Eddie couldn't believe it either.

Mere seconds later, you found yourself caged in by the wall, the bed frame and Eddie's body.

It was the most natural thing. Everything fell into place, the way the two of you were lying there, facing each other, inhaling each others breaths from the close proximity, the covers draped over your bodies, hiding the details of Eddie sneaking an arm around your waist again to pull you impossibly closer, his hand carefully exploring more of the territory he already had started to discover on the bus, calloused yet somewhat soft fingertips almost ghosting up the warm skin over your bare spine.

"You're so pretty."

An inaudible whisper of admission.

You heard it.

An invasion of goosebumps spread over every inch of your skin like a wildfire.

Eddie felt it.

"So are you."

The arm you weren't lying on found its way up, tucking a wisp of his curls that had fallen over his now beet red cheek away behind his ear.

Neither of you wanted to ever stop smiling.

He moved his entire being down a little so his eyes were the same level with your jawline, a low hum escaping his throat at the tip of his nose brushing over the skin on your neck in an upward motion, just like that time in the lake.

It was beyond overwhelming to feel him this close. In your bed.

And for Eddie, feeling you this close was so much better than the countless times he had imagined this happening. He'd imagined what it would feel like, your light illuminating all of him.

You let him use your arm as a pillow, before he nuzzled his forehead against the same spot on your neck, his cheek lightly pressed against your clavicle.

And just when you thought you couldn't get physically closer to him than in this moment, bellies touching, legs wordlessly intertwined and all, he pulled you against him some more. Squeezed you tightly and tenderly, letting you know that this was right where he wanted to be. Where he needed to be.

And yeah, it felt quite right to you as well.

Your other arm that wasn't occupied by Eddie's head found its way around his torso, hand rubbing softly over the expanse of his back, and you wondered how much of muscle and softness your fingertips would be encountering if your hand would just cheekily sneak its way underneath his tank top.

Resting your cheek on Eddie's forehead, the warmth, the comfort of wrapping your arms around something to hold onto at night, his steady and satisfied breathing against your own, made you easily drift off into a deep slumber.

Eddie had already passed out the minute you had allowed him to rest his head in the crook of your neck and had draped your arm over him, encasing him in the embrace he so badly needed in order to find his own sleep.

You'd known him long enough to know that he cared about the few people in his life who hadn't let him down, he took care of people that took care of him.

And you wanted to take care of him. In every way you could and in every way he would let you.

Silence filled the single room, steady breaths being in- and exhaled, and you hoped no one had yet woken up to notice your charming little intruder existing in the sacred four walls of the flower cabin.

-----

A ray of sunlight made the shadows of tree leaves dance over the landscape of your face through the window.

You woke up from it, eyelids slowly blinking and then squinting shut again from the sudden invasion of too much light at once.

It took you a few seconds to realize where you were, namely in the small cabin that you were to call home for the week, with Max still snoozing in the bunk above you, a light snore still coming from Robin's side of the room, and Nancy having probably already left to go for her daily morning jog.

The weight of a semi-tattooed arm was resting on your torso diagonally like a seat belt, indicating that Eddie was even in his sleep very concerned for your safety. He had moved upwards, now a head above yours on your actual pillow and on his side, making his chest slowly rise and fall against your head.

It was peaceful, so peaceful waking up next to him, and it felt like the most natural thing. A very easy morning. As if this wasn't the first time ever.

You rubbed the back of your hand over your eye, the movement causing Eddie's hand to give the exposed skin over your waist, until where your shirt had ridden up, another gentle squeeze, making it known to you that he was, in fact, awake as well.

Craning your head towards the head of the bed, your still sleepy eyes found the warm brown of his for a moment, along with a wide stretched smile playing on his lips, dark stubble running down his cheeks and chin and neck before stopping halfway down, since he had forgotten to shave.

Eyelids fell shut again, but the smile stayed. Just for a moment longer, before he relaxed every muscle in his stupidly beautiful face, allowing your eyes to start their own journey of curious wandering.

You took in the way his nostrils flared a little whenever he exhaled, the tiny wrinkles on the outsides of his big doe eyes, a bunch of light freckles scattered over the bridge of his nose and the apples of his cheeks, the way they were being pushed up by the corners of his mouth whenever he gave you that smile, the slightly glowing softness of his skin generally, the way his wild unruly dark mane framed his face so perfectly, the way his cupid's bow sat on the plushness of his pink lips, ...

And oh, you were certain they would feel like lying on a cloud in heaven against your own.

You were also certain you were still dreaming, that this entire moment of Eddie knocking on your window and letting him into your bed and him lightly fanning your face with his breath right now was just a dream and you were about to wake up any second to the sound of pesky middle schoolers screaming their way from their cabins to the pergola where you'd usually have breakfast.

But no. This was real. Eddie was real. And he was just so pretty, lying there peacefully snoozing, the expanses of soft bellies still touching, and that wasn't because your mattress didn't stretch wide enough.

"Are you watching me sleeping?", Eddie mumbled, lightly flexing his jaw, eyes staying shut, the smile returning slowly.

If there wasn't a fire in your lower belly burning from all his touches and sweetness already, it damn certainly was now, ignited by the rasp in his low morning voice.

Oh Jesus Christ.

The absolute heat was spreading into two directions, using your heart as its origin. Once again your cheeks heated up, and you felt your thighs clench together involuntarily at the way in which he said those words.

"What if I was?", you mumbled back in a similar tone, trying your best to not let on too much about the effect he was having on you.

Eddie's eyebrows disappeared behind his frizzy bangs. Still refusing to open his eyes.

"Then I'd say you're being a little creep."

He let out a low chuckle while pulling you into his embrace, savouring the moment of having you this close once more and letting you know for certain that he was just joking.

"Pfff, says the guy who literally creeps around my cabin at two in the night."

You could not for the life of you recall a time when his face ever was closer to yours than it was right now, noses almost touching.

"Hey, that was a necessity. We only obeyed the law and I am eternally grateful for your gracious salvation from me meeting my impending doom."

The underlying layer of heaviness of his words was disregarded for now, since you wanted to desperately keep the bliss that came with being so close around him for just a moment longer.

Eddie made you feel like you were the most important person in the entire world, mainly due to his ever prominent abandonment issues. Meaning he never once had really left your side during the entirety of this trip (except for when you had to use the bathroom and, well, sleep – until now), always making sure you were taken care of.

It melted you.

And you didn't mind his clinginess at all. Male validation wasn't something you had to run from in order to save yourself from drowning in it. The opposite was more of the case, you were soaking it up like the roots of a flower that hadn't seen rain in years.

Oh wait, flowers decay at some point if they don't get watered? Well, yeah. You'd almost been there at some point in the past.

"You're such a dork", you remarked his theatrics with a chuckle, before burying your face in the crook of his neck, cheek pressed to his clavicle and nose dipping into the soft skin where neck and shoulder met, "but a very cute one."

A hint of shyness overcame you.

Awaiting his reaction was unbearable.

Eddie's cheeks flushed a bright red at your admission and the fact that you were so very obviously trying to hide your fluster between his shoulder and neck? You going all sweetly shy on him simply made his brain short circuit.

Did you just call him cute?

While your – your – lips (!!!) were so close to his skin, barely brushing over one of his sensitive spots?

No, Eddie Munson was almost certain he was still in dreamland.

Only now he dared to open his eyes, just to make sure he hadn't dreamt the sneaking-into-your-cabin-last-night part either, and let out a sigh at the conscious feeling of your skin that had collided with his palm, your nose at his pulse point, hair tickling his chin.

Then, the realization of that meaning behind your latest words kicked in.

Meanwhile, you didn't dare to lift your head to see his reaction for yourself.

He made you feel it though, when a boost of confidence helped one of his hands find a home on one of your butt cheeks, the arm which your head was still resting on wrapping around your shoulder so his arms were fully engulfing your figure, and his own head dipped down to where your neck was slightly craned.

Tip of the nose brushing up along the expanse of your neck in a singular swift motion of his head, since he already had found out a while ago that you didn't dislike that one, and then?

Then he buried his nose in the hair coming down behind your ear, while his lips slowly, almost carefully placed a peck to where your jaw met your neck, followed by another low hum at the feeling of you not backing away. Of you staying with him.

At first you weren't so sure if you had registered that correctly, but at the same time, judging from the way you could feel a familiar warmth pool between your legs, you were pretty sure he'd just kissed your neck.

Neckneckneck.

Thank fuck he couldn't see the way your eyes were rolling into the back of your skull at the sensation of his warm lips on your warmer skin.

Months over months of yearning for him, for this, for lying in his tight embrace, against the warmth of his body, longing glances you had directed at him, his innocent arm around your shoulder practically burning through whatever shirt you were wearing on those days, the now occurring realization that his sly remarks and jokes had literally been his way of subtly flirting with you, painting all his glances that had been thrown back at you in a similarly wistful light.

It was all so much at once, yet you already couldn't possibly get enough of him.

You nuzzled closer (if that was even physically possible), your arm squished between your bodies, the arm you weren't lying on wrapped around his torso, hand still underneath his tank top, running your fingertips along the smooth skin over his spine.

Giving back.

A nice concept.

A little less shy now, still cautious though, your lips pressed against the slightly stubbly side of his neck as you craned your head further up.

Eddie couldn't believe his fucking luck.

"Mhm, baby."

His almost whispering voice didn't have to travel far from how close his lips were to your ear. Because they still were lingering on your neck, where he countered your admission with another chaste kiss, trying not to overwhelm you.

It was too much. You couldn't take it any longer.

Lifting your head away from his skin, the warmth radiating from his neck engulfing your face, you softly dropped the weight back on Eddie's arm.

A wide smile decorated his face, letting you know that everything was alright with you and him in his book, and in his big brown chocolate orbs you only found affection.

You hoped he could spot the same in yours.

Oh, a surge of confidence erupted inside of you.

"Would it be okay if I kissed you?"

Eddie's fingers occupied themselves with a soft dig into the plushy flesh of your ass, while the smile dancing on his lips slowly turned into a cheeky grin, dimples denting his skin adorably, and his other hand craned around your head, thumb bending far enough to run the length of it down your cheek.

"Mhm, darling. Why do you think I've been touching you this entire time?"

Without another moment of hesitation you closed the distance between your faces, lips colliding with his own in the softest way.

You both were now lying on a cloud in heaven.

It was passionate from the beginning, yet not too wild, a fuzzy feeling of warmth spreading through your entire system at the sensation.

The low hums that Eddie let out at the feeling of your lips softly moving against his own was sending your sense of time and space into the void, and the fact that you initiated this was making his head spin like the ceiling fans in Hawkins High's cafeteria.

Slow slow slow movements, your hands wandered up to cup his cheeks, while he pulled your hips impossibly closer to his own, humming against the endless softness of your lips dancing over his.

Each kiss lasted for a few seconds, it was like you were both trying so hard to feel every line and ridge and texture of each other, and also neither of you seem to waste a single care in the world about hurrying up.

"Oh lord Jesus Christ!", Robin's loud voice ripped you out of your little trance as it went echoing through the room.

Right, you almost forgot you weren't existing in your cabin all by your twosomeness.

Despite being caught in the act by just a mutual friend of yours (and not Ms Kelley), the metalhead and you still broke apart hastily.

A hint of panic overcame Eddie at the sudden intrusion, making him let go of you, grabbing the pillow underneath his head and shoving it into the now existent gap in between your bodies, since you had discarded the sheets a while ago. Why need a blanket if you have a perfectly functioning Eddie Munson to keep you warm at night?

It surprised you that he didn't fall off the bed entirely with how close to the edge of it he now was.

A relieved sigh escaped his lungs when he realised who really caught him stealing affectionate gestures from you.

Ms Robin Buckley had no problem with the both of you, she just wasn't expecting to find Eddie lying in your bed (slowly kissing you into oblivion) in her periphery while she was digging for her bathroom utensils so she could make sure she'd look less like a corpse for breakfast.

With "whatever this is, I didn't see it" and a loud open and close of the door, she excused herself, leaving you in your solitude.

With Max Mayfield. In the top bunk above you two, which she loudly made you remember as soon as Eddie got up to follow Robin's trace outside with a quick "uh, see you in a bit, sweetness", still clutching your pillow over his front while waddling his way over to the safety of his own cabin in which Dustin was probably still snoring into the next millenium.

"Soooo, what did I just wake up to? Hm?", you heard Max say with the most curious undertone after the door closed behind Eddie, as you rolled onto your back, already finding the emptiness and lack of warmth caused by Prince Metal's exit rather unpleasant.

Your only response was a groan as you pulled the sheets up and all the way over your head.

The pathetic attempt to hide wasn't meant as a long-term solution since your lungs unfortunately started craving oxygen at some point.

"Go away!"

It came out more as a mumble than a yell, mainly due to the muffling effect of the layer of fabric between your head and Max' ears, and as you pulled your head out from under the blanket covering your entire figure only to see Max' head poking out from the bunk above you, her long red mane dangling down towards the ground, you felt the heat rushing to your cheeks.

You had kinda seen it coming already, the struggle with having to explain yourself in the morning when your roommates would find Eddie snoozing peacefully in your arms.

But now it really hit.

You had just slept next to him. Literally kissed your crush. Who wasn't really a crush anymore. To you, Eddie was a lot more than that already.

Max just giggled at your response, jumping out of her bunk and continuing her teasing for the rest of the morning.

Well, at least until you joined the rest of the gang for breakfast.

Today was your last full day, and that meant going on another sweaty (yet beautiful) hike, a heated and intense capture the flag session in which Eddie didn't leave your side once, claiming that as your seat partner he also had the obligation to protect you from potentially evil forest spirits, and you also filled out the day by attending a cooking workshop, pairing up with Nancy.

Eddie – having to detach his everlingering hand on some part of your body throughout the day now – spent time with Max, Dustin and Steve, still successfully avoiding being dragged to the yoga session by the latter.

You guessed they were attending a class about forest herbs and survival tipps, an absolute necessity should they ever get lost in the vastness of a random national park one day.

Peeling potatoes at the counter of the outdoor kitchen, you peered over to the pathway as the group of students including your friends walked past, trying to spot your favourite out of them.

Eddie found your longing glance and returned it, along with the widest grin and a little bashful wave of his ringed hand.

You felt your heart jump at the vision, absentmindedly waving back with the hand that held the potato by two fingers, smiling like the most lovedrunk idiot.

The moment was fleeting, because he collided mere milliseconds later with Dustin's backside, giving the kid a gentle slap on the back of his head for stopping unexpectedly just to inspect the shape of a leaf from the tree next to him, making him look silly and like a total dork in front of you.

Your smile turned into a full on giggle when Eddie gave you a sheepishly yearning last look before the little gathering lead by Mr Clarke continued on the pathway, leading further into the forest and out of your periphery.

God, you loved him.

The day in its entirety was peaceful despite the doom of having to pack up and make sure not to forget anything that might have slipped underneath the beds. You were supposed to leave early in the morning just to be back in Hawkins before nightfall.

Even though you were growing tired of mosquito bites and flies viewing your meals as theirs, you couldn't be bothered to come up with feelings of homesickness. Not when you were surrounded by your loving friend group, Prince Metal and the serene oasis in the forest.

-----

The sun was about to set, casting a golden glow over the crowns of the pine trees swallowing the camp, light breezes of wind making the arms and twigs of the more leafy trees rustle softly every now and then.

Eddie got up from the couch he was lounging on, taking a semi nap in the presence of Dustin, Max and Jonathan after the intense workshop and stuffing himself at the surprisingly rich buffet your teachers had organised for your last evening.

He'd been subtly eyeing you from underneath the tall pergola, chatting and laughing with Steve and Robin by the bonfire which was already rising tall into the sky in the clearing of trees between pergola and pathway to the cabins.

The perfect way your clothes hugged your curves, the thin fabric of your shirt and adding its absolute nothing to hide the hardness of your nipples (also maybe due to you not finding it necessary to wear a bra), the stunning way your hair was shining in the start of golden hour, face illuminated by the fire in front of you, the enchanting way you curled your lips at a joke Steve had made (he even felt a tinge of jealousy creep into the center of his stomach), the entirely dazzling way your shirt had ridden up a little, showing skin between the waistband of your shorts and the hem of it.

And it was giving him ideas.

To anyone else these little things and details didn't seem too worthy to pay attention to, but Eddie noticed. He noticed you stealing wistful glances, making their way over to him here and there (and after the night he had, he was sure they weren't meant for Dustin), he noticed every inch of your skin that would unintentionally reveal itself to him from the ways in which you moved, he noticed the way your smile changed into something so astonishing when directed at him. Special.

You never looked at Steve like that. Or anyone else, for that matter.

Being as chronically touch starved as a metalhead outcast town freak could be, Eddie decided that it was too much. He couldn't not be near you any longer.

Your breath hitched in your throat just as you saw him get up and make his way over to you, a mix of confidence and shyness combined in his strut, before he came to a stop at the end of the log you were seated on, right next to your side.

"M'lady? May I ask her grace to walk with me?", you heard his voice say softly, a distinctly hopeful tone, warm and filled with the bashfulness from earlier in the day. Eddie met your smile with one equally wide.

A hand with ringed fingers was held out to you and you took it.

He lead you away from the group, away from everyone else, down the path towards the cabins where no one was at this hour, after he had intertwined your fingers with his own, the metal of his rings giving your fingers a little extra squeeze.

"It's nice to be sitting with the others and all, and I really enjoyed Dustin's ideas for Hellfire's next campaign, but", Eddie paused as he came to a still in his walk down to where your sleeping quarters were located, turning around to face you as his hand refused to let go of yours, right before continuing in the softest voice, barely audible, "I was hoping we could just leave them for a bit and enjoy the last evening a little more .. in private?"

Eddie leaned in a little closer with every word jumping over his lips.

Until he was inches away from yours, finding your eyes and you noticed the slight change of tone in the warm brown ocean of his. It had turned a shade or two darker as you reciprocated his beguiling gaze.

Oh, how easy it was for you to get entirely lost in it.

"I think that's an intriguing idea, Eddie", you replied with a smile, hoping he'd see and sense the same thing in your own eyes that was so clearly reflected in his. For you and for this reason, it was never difficult to look into them for long. Especially when he was so intently watching you.

A hand snuck around your waist, pulling you closer so your bellies would touch, the hand previously attached to yours now cupping your cheek, thumb softly running over the apple of it, head leaning in even further. Eddie's gaze flicked from your eyes to your lips and back in a matter of seconds, letting you know exactly what he was about to do.

Your hands found the little hairs at the nape of his neck, curling around the sides of it, lightly pulling as the plushness of his lips reunited with yours.

He hummed at the feeling, the moment filled with so much familiarity already. Without breaking contact, he gently cupped the other side of your face with his other hand, holding you there, needing you there.

Ever so softly, your lips moved against his, a moment you wished would last forever.

"I've been thinking about you all day", he nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck as he wrapped his arms around you, lips landing on your pulse point. Breathing warmly against the skin there as he mumbled something along the lines of "they kept me away from my cute seat partner for way too long" before letting out a warm chuckle.

You felt your cheeks heat up at his words, still getting flustered by the directness of his flirting attempts. They were effective though, because you couldn't help but squeeze the back of his neck lightly with one hand while your other sneaked around his waist and underneath the hem of his shirt, reconnecting with its favourite place, the warmth and softness of skin on Eddie's back.

"It is an incredible atrocity indeed", you said with a giggle, making him raise his head back to face you, and the spark in his eyes gave you enough of a confidence rush, "I think we should make up for lost time then."

Waisting not a second longer, Eddie grabbed your hand again, and before you knew it, he had you affectionately pressed between the inside of his cabin's door and his body in a whimpering mess.

His kisses were getting hungrier, more demanding, yet there was a gentleness to it that let you know that you could stop this any second if you didn't want it.

"Is this okay, baby? We don't have to do anything if you don't want–", he asked in between sloppy pecks over your cheeks, jaw, down your neck that made you giggle lightly at his manners. It's not like his hands were all over you already, yet he was wondering if anything he was doing was alright with you.

"I can't get enough of you if I'm honest", you cut him off quietly, feeling the heat pooling in your underwear from the sensation of just about everything right now.

You were very well aware of the thing you were about to do. Crossing a line that could never be uncrossed, letting Eddie see you for all that you were, and giving him the freedom to choose.

Spoiler – he chose you.

Had done so since the moment you stepped onto the bus on that parking lot back home.

"Fuck, sweetness, you can't just say stuff like that", Eddie's voice came out huskily, he clearly was getting worked up over your response to his actions since he had you pinned to the door by the hips, his thigh in between yours, while his fingertips explored the skin of your waist underneath your shirt, lips still hovering over the expanse of your neck, brushing his nose upwards along the column of it, but this time a lot more slowly than the previous times.

He seemed to want to savour every single second he was granted access to your body like this, dragging each movement out as far as possible.

His wide, dark brown doe eyes returned to yours as he exhaled, "and expect me to be normal about it."

You didn't waste another second without your lips on his, pulling him back towards you by the chain which was holding his favourite guitar pick around his neck, eliciting a moan against your mouth out of him.

The only thing on Eddie's mind was you you you, the warmth of your perfect skin under his palms, the feeling of your pretty pink lips against his own, even the smell of you alluring him to no end.

Breaking away to catch your breath with eyes still closed, your lips curled into a smile when Eddie's hands wandered higher and higher while leaving goosebumps on the way, thumbs softly catching the underside of your tits, making you let out a content little sigh, as if his hands had just found their home, belonging right there.

His lips reunited with the skin on your neck, a moan escaping them as his thumbs reached your hard nipples, your neck vibrating lightly against his mouth when a moan of your own forced itself out of your lungs and your back arched away from the door for a second.

It had been a long time since anyone had touched you there, never in this way before though, which amplified every little touch Eddie practically worshipped you with.

A shudder ripped through you at the overwhelming sensation, it made you dizzy with want.

"It's so fucking hot when you twitch under my touch", Eddie almost whispered against your neck, and you were certain his voice couldn't drop any lower as he slowly rolled one of your nipples between his thumb and index finger, before raising his head just to watch your reaction even more closely.

"Yeah?"

His actions made you swallow hard, well aware of being at his mercy at the moment.

And yes, Eddie Munson continued the torture he was teasing you with.

"Yeah baby", he lightly poked his nose into your cheek for a second, "so what if I told you", he paused again, then kissed the corner of your mouth, "that I actually felt those little twitches", he tenderly kissed his way down over your cheek to your jaw, "throughout the whole week?"

One of his hands now left your chest, only to drop south.

He made it his mission to find out exactly what you liked. Find out what did it for you, what you wanted from him. What you needed from him.

"I'm curious to know what would happen if I touched you", he paused, lips millimeters away from the skin right beneath your ear, "here?"

A hand snaked around your figure, cupping one of your buttcheeks, the need for you heavily evident in the urgency of the touch.

You responded with another moan through closed lips, eyes closed, your hands finding the back of Eddie's neck again, lightly caressing his skin and tugging at the baby hairs there.

"Yeah, you like that baby, don't you? When I touch you here?"

A light spank.

Taking a deep breath, you nodded with a hum and another moan, cheek rubbing slowly and gently against his scruffy own as your hips involuntarily bucked up against his thigh.

Every movement was slow and gentle right now, yet heavy with hunger for each other.

Eddie noticed. Yet, he decided to take his sweeeeet time and drive you insane just a little longer.

"What about", he paused again, and you felt him smile against your neck as his hand still cupping your chest started kneading a little, rolling the nipple harder just to make sure you actually felt it, "here?"

The back of your head landed against the door with a thud as you moaned and whimpered a little louder this time, the shiteating grin on Eddie's face widening even more, obviously taking pride in his effects on you.

"You're making such pretty sounds for me, sweetheart. Would you maybe also like me to touch you", another pause, in which he moved his hand around your hips, boldly cupping the space between your legs through the thinness of your shorts, "here?"

His breath was tickling the skin on your neck, the last word nothing more than an almost inaudible whisper, traveling all the way down from your jaw to your collarbone.

"Fuck, Eddie", you whimpered out his name, completely lost in him, moving your own hands downtown to where his hellfire shirt was tucked into the waistband of his light blue jeans, just when you suddenly remembered you had a pair of your own.

Hearing you say his name made Eddie shamelessly buck his hips into yours, failing pathetically at hiding the fact that what he was doing to you was also more than enjoyable for him, since you could clearly make out the heavy bulge straining against his pants, pressed against your hip.

"Mhm yeah, such a good girl for me", Eddie chuckled watching you for another second before reuniting your lips with his own, this time with a force of need, almost greedily taking your lower lip between his own for a second, swiping his tongue along, causing your breath to hitch in your throat.

From slow and gentle to a feverish fumble of hands everywhere, it didn't take the both of you long to start freeing each other from the confines of your clothes.

Eddie had lifted your shirt off of you, finally freeing what he'd been dying to get his eyes (and hands) on, and you'd done the same to him, only to take a second to admire the few more tattoos that had until now been hiding from your gaze.

You noticed he was holding his breath, wild mane falling into the sides of his face from your ruffling during heated kisses, and the room suddenly felt a lot warmer.

The only thought in your mind was Eddie in front of you, just a small step away, now in nothing but his boxers, looking at you with an intensity you'd never seen before in him, and your fingers twitched with the desire to just touch.

You had run your hand just over the buckle of his handcuff belt, the movement of his pants against his erection already making him hiss a little. You'd run it over the fabric of the black jeans he was wearing, right where he wanted you most.

Because yeah, you could do that, too.

Eddie had found the pace in which you'd opened his belt to be way too slow, but he'd let you go with it anyway, being so lost in you and so lovedrunk (and straight up horny) that he hadn't dared to intervene.

Your slowness-slash-hesitation had a reason. The anxiety and intrusive thoughts of not being good enough, being too inexperienced decided to jump out of its dark corner inside your brain in just the right moment, causing you to back away from him, giving him a second to have his gaze wander over you.

It wasn't that you'd never done this before, there had been a guy you'd more or less been with, but this right here and now was just so different. More serious? Eddie wasn't just a guy. He was your Eddie at this point.

And however this trip would end, things would inevitably be changed between the two of you. And ultimately affect the dynamics of your friend group.

Eddie was a sensitive person. He was able to read the room, sense your hesitation. He closed the gap between you, his hand landing on your hip, bellies touching, hardness pressing against your thigh.

"Everything alright, darling?"

Cupping your cheek with his free hand, he tilted his head to find your eyes, the look in his filled with concern now, wondering if this was still okay for you.

Your arms snaked around his torso, fingertips lingering on his waist. He felt them burn through his skin.

A train of seemingly endless thoughts ran through your head, not knowing how to proceed from your lack of having done this enough times to just know, paired with the expectations you believed Eddie to have of this situation, and therefore, of you.

"Yeah, yeah", you assured him. The last thing you wanted was for him to believe he'd done anything wrong.

"It's just that", you paused, struggling to find the words to explain yourself and the rise of your performance anxiety while trying your best to avoid his puppy doe eye gaze, "I haven't really–"

A warm thumb on your lips cut you off, its hand directing your face towards his, the hand on your hip now lightly digging into the flesh there.

"I know baby, I know", Eddie said, referring to his wisdom with unknown origin to you, exhaling deeply before pressing an open mouthed kiss to your plush cheek, the gesture intending to let you know that you could be utterly honest and vulnerable with him. "Would you like me to show you", another pause, his gaze back on your face, thumb now lightly pulling down your lower lip, "what I like?"

Opening your mouth as a response, the tip of your tongue was briefly met with the tip of Eddie's thumb, causing him to twitch lightly and let out a groan through closed lips.

Everything you did and everything you were in your essence was driving him to the edge of insanity, not surprising after the months and months of thirsting after you in his desperate silence.

And his gentleness with you was making the dark imposter syndrome clouds in your head melt away like Lindor chocolate in mild temperatures.

His eyes bored into yours intently as you stuck your tongue out to meet the base of his thumb, just to drag it all the way up to the tip, before closing your lips around it and suck lightly.

"Mhhm, fuck", you heard him mutter, the effect your actions seemed to have on him giving you enough confidence to let his thumb go with a small pop, your hands still lingering on his waist pushing him a step away from you so you'd have enough space to drop to your knees, hooking your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, slowly pulling them towards gravity to finally free him.

With precum leaking from the tip, you took a second to admire Eddie's girth and length with wide eyes, and it made your mouth water and your panties even more soaked than they already were.

Taking him in your hand, you smeared the precum down to the base where a light thatch of dark curls sat, leading up to his happy trail which you'd already gotten to lay sight on on the bus, and that time frankly hadn't been the first of you imagining what the place to where that trail was leading looked like.

Leaning upwards, you kept ahold of him, kissing the soft skin of his lower belly right above his curls as his hand buried itself in your hair at the back of your head, letting out a guttural moan when you let your tongue run through the tiny hairs leading up to his navel, just to kiss your way back down again, slowly, gently, all the way over the soft expanse, taking another second to bury your nose in his skin, inhaling everything he was willing to offer you.

He was about to ask you if you could pinch him just to make sure this was reality happening right in front of him, you kneeling all pretty with your hand wrapped around his cock, now slowly lifting it and flattening your tongue at the base to lick a broad stripe up along the underside, making you feel each little vein on the way to his pink tip.

"Jesus, fuuuck, that's it baby", you just heard him encourage you, indeed letting you know what he liked, his grip on your hair tightening lightly.

The fact that you could feel him throb and twitch and hear him whimper slurred renditions of your name alongside small curses gave you a significant ego boost, causing you to find enough confidence to lock eyes with him from underneath your lashes.

"Fuck, and you were worried that you wouldn't be good at this?", Eddie chuckled as he looked down at you in disbelief, his free hand not tangled up in the strands of hair cupping your cheek to affectionately brush his thumb over it, unable to ever get the image in front of him out of his brain.

"Fucking hell, you're being soooo good for me baby, oh my god, yeah, just like that", he mumbled when you started swirling your tongue around the head, softly rubbing the tip of it over the underside every now and then, until you decided to close your lips around him, letting him feel your wet warmth.

It gave Eddie a great idea of a similar place he was dying to discover. Itching.

And it took every little ounce of willpower in him to keep his hips away from giving into the urge to thrust his entire length into the confines of your mouth, so out of respect for you, he channelled his impulses into a symphony of soft moans, quiet mutters of oh, fuck and oh my god, and whimpers of your name as you took him deeper with every bob of your head.

Every little sound escaping him only turned you on even more. You couldn't possibly get enough of seeing him all blissed out and soft for you like this, causing the vibrations of your own moans to make Eddie shudder.

However, he didn't give himself too much time to enjoy the feeling of your mouth taking him, since he was already bending down a little to lift you back up to your feet, before capturing your lips in a hot and heavy kiss while pulling you tightly into his embrace, both of his hands sliding down from your lower back and underneath the fabric of your panties, just to end their journey on your ass and roughly pull you against him.

"I'm gonna cum on the spot if you keep doing that", he'd declared, sinking his teeth into the flesh of your neck, nibbling softly at the skin, making your cheeks flush with heat.

No one had ever said that to you.

You winced at the roller coaster he put you on, his back and forth between rough and demanding and gentle and soft, but you were eating it up.

He was hypnotizing you with every touch and every grunt and every move you felt against your lips.

Not even when the backs of your knees hit the bed frame did he let go of you, resulting in him burying you into his mattress under his weight, commented with a giggle from the both of you.

Moving to your side, he reconnected his lips to your neck and you craned your head up, giving him better access while one of his hands slowly moved around to your front, cupping you through your panties, his middle finger lightly pressing into that very damp spot in the fabric, eliciting a moan out of you.

It was his turn now.

"Wanna make you feel good too, sweetness. Gonna let me, yeah?", his sultry voice didn't even wait for a response, impatient fingers moving the lace to the side before running the middle through your folds, tip of it catching your clit briefly.

"Oh fuck yes!" There it was. You breathed the words out in a whiny tone, your hand reaching down to give his still rock hard cock a few sloppy strokes in return, earning another soft moan against the junction of your jaw meeting your throat.

If the situation wasn't this hot, if Eddie's finger didn't make the room spin, you think you'd be embarrassed to no end with how pathetic your moans were sounding, but the pleasure you were experiencing and the metalhead's tender endearments you were receiving just didn't leave any space for any other feeling.

You just couldn't bring yourself to care.

Eddie didn't care either. In fact, he was bathing in your responsiveness, feeling every single one of your touches in the endings of his tiniest nerve branches. Being the touch starved, crucified town freak and all.

Your neediness for him made his insides turn and his head spin, he was still having a hard time wrapping his head around the fact that you'd let him come this close and do this to you, and your cute little whimpers made him want to give you everything you'd ever silently (or not so silently) request from him.

He felt this entire moment after moment to be a haze, a fever dream he'd wake up from at some point, and for this reason, he didn't waste a single thought on anything else but you.

How infatuated with you he was.

"Mhhm fuck, so needy for me baby, aren't you?", he remarked the way you were bucking your hips against his hand, "drives me fucking nuts."

He lifted his head just so he could watch the way your face crinkled with every slow up-and-down stroke of his finger, gathering your evident arousal on the way before gently pushing it in, indulging the way your eyes rolled into the back of your head for just a second before they opened and found the warm deep dark brown of his own.

"Mhh yes Eddie, need you so bad", you managed to get out as he added his ring finger, stretching you open a bit more under slick sounds of his hand against your cunt.

His face was so close. So close that if you turned your head just a little, your kiss swollen lips could be back on his, giving him one more confirmation that the way his fingers were curling inside of you were doing just the right job. In fact, he was finding spots you could only dream to reach on your own.

You felt more precum leak from the tip of his cock which was resting against your thigh, the slow rut of his hips against yours smearing it between your bodies, causing your brain to short-circuit at the realisation that it was you being the reason for him to act this way.

Only making you spread your legs wider.

"God baby, you're so fucking wet", he trailed off, continuing to slowly fuck his two fingers into your tight entrance, completely enticed with the way you were giving yourself to him, "is that all because of me?"

He just needed to hear you say it.

"Mhh fuck yes Eddie, all for you. For you only."

No idea how you got that out, with the way his fingers felt and the way he was looking at you, all lovedrunk and ready to give you the world.

"You gonna let me have a taste?"

Pulling his hand away and leaving you empty under a protesting whimper, he sucked the two fingers into his mouth, moaning against them without breaking eye contact and it was driving you mad. You nodded with a dazed smile.

He got up just to drop his weight between your legs, spreading them by planting his palms on the backs of your thighs firmly and pushing them up, panties still to the side.

You held your legs there when he moved his hands down, taking both thumbs to open you up for him, taking just a second to get his first actual look at your pussy and watch it glisten in the dim light of the sun casting its last rays of the day through the denseness of trees and into the room.

Eddie had fantasized plenty for literal months about the way you'd possibly look, but nothing prepared him for the actual sight in front of him.

It made you feel the most vulnerable you'd ever felt, letting him see and touch you this way, yet there was a naturalness to it that made it just so easy to give yourself to him.

Building trust with him seemed to be the easiest thing for you. Surprising yourself there, aren't ya?

And when his tongue shyly took its first swirl around your clit? Nothing was ever easier than Eddie.

Waves of pleasure took over your brain with every lap of his mouth, taking you between his lips, licking, sucking, swirling, slurping, making your thighs twitch with every single one of his moves, and he was (quite literally) eating your responsiveness up, each of his moans against the most sensitive part of your body becoming deeper in sound.

He noticed he could cum just from tasting you as he found his hips inconsistently humping the mattress, hearing your sweet chants as one of your hands found its way back into his unruly mane, encouraging him further in his actions.

"Fuuuck baby, I need you. Need all of you, please?", you whimpered just when the heat in your lower stomach was about to reach its peak, raising your head as your eyes encountered the way he was watching you from underneath his bangs sticking to his forehead, the hand not entangled in his hair busy fisting his bedsheets.

That was the only thing he needed to hear.

You could feel him smile, continuing to do so as he pushed himself up on his knees and crawling a few inches forward to be eye to eye hovering over you, chin, lips and tip of his nose glistening with your juices, the ends of his dark curls tickling your cheeks. He helped you wriggle out of your panties swiftly, discarding them on the cabin floor to join the rest of your clothes, hands resting on the softness of your thighs as he knelt back to sit on his heels.

He felt his dick twitch between his legs, seeing you lying and spread out underneath in front of him, in all your glory, ready to let him take you where you wanted to be most.

The vision tugging at his heartstrings, knowing how much trust you were instilling in him in order for you to let him go this far with you.

"Eddie, please."

You pushed yourself up to meet his lips, planting one hand on the back of his neck, the other hooked a finger into the chain dangling down like a collar, and without breaking away you pulled him back down with you.

"Yeah? Wanna feel me fill your pretty little pussy?", he breathed out, hands back on your thighs, digging into their plushness.

You believed to hear Eddie's voice to drop an octave, now leaning back again to let the underside of his cock slowly glide through your soaked folds, the head catching on your clit deliciously, making your head spin from having him do this to you.

"God, yes", you moaned out, watching him through heavy eyelids.

Eddie smiled his dimpled smile down at your face, reveling in the sight as he let the tip breach your sopping entrance, giving him an idea of how tightly his cock would be sitting inside of you.

His eyes were fixated on the spot where your bodies were now joined, slowly pushing another inch in as you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, wanting him closer.

"Eyes on me, baby", Eddie mouthed at your jawline as he leaned back down to place a quick kiss there, right when he noticed you zoning out, focusing on taking him as best as you possibly could.

Once again your eyes found the warm gaze he was observing your every move with, and soon you felt his lips back on your own, kissing you softly as he slowly pushed all the way in, forcing a gasp out of your lungs at the feeling of utter fullness.

For a moment, the world stopped.

Eddie blinked at you through half-lidded eyes now, nudging his nose against your own before capturing your lips in another heated kiss, sending both of your tongues dancing and a moan from the pit of his lungs vibrated through your system.

Your hands moved up to cup his face, holding him close to you as his trailed up the underside of your thighs, before pushing your knees towards your chest, practically bending you in half and slowly starting to move his hips against your own when he felt you adjust to him.

"Oh fuck, fuuuck you're so tight", Eddie sighed, eyes falling shut at the feeling of your cunt sucking him in like that, and his words ringing through your ears, and hearing him admit to you what you were making him feel? It made you clench around him briefly, goosebumps spread over every inch of your body at the words forming on his tongue.

You were just so warm and wet and soft and so so tight, completely fucked out for him and him only.

"Eyes on me, baby", you repeated his own words back to him with a smile and glassy eyes, completely stunned to feel him like this, slowly filling and leaving you again.

Opening his eyes again to meet your gaze, his lips curled into a wide smile at your sentiment, "gonna be soft with you, unless you want me not to be, yeah?", he leaned down to plant a kiss on the corner of your mouth, forearms now resting on each side of your head, before his last words were nuzzled against your ear, "just tell me, sweetnose."

With his announcement he gave you a few more slow and gentle thrusts, getting both of you used to the feeling, before he moved back up again, holding your thighs spread out against your chest, his eyes glued to where his heavy cock slid in and out of your sopping slick hole.

Heat was spreading through his body, an excessive amount of endorphines circulating through his veins, transporting the desire and hunger for you into the tiniest endings of his nerves, causing his entire system to be in the moment with you.

Same thing applied to you.

It didn't take long for him to pick up the pace, right after he moved a pillow under your hips, with the aim to hit your sweet spot at just the right angle, slide his entire length in even deeper, making the tip kiss your cervix repeatedly.

Moans and whimpers and grunts and groans from both your mouths where conjuring a whole opera of beautiful sounds you both were reveling in equally as you moved your hips to meet his repeated thrusting, tip of his cock brushing over that spot inside of you each time he moved in to fill the space between your drenched walls.

His entire weight was on you, since he wanted to sink his teeth back into the soft flesh of your neck, nibbling and sucking at the skin there. Your hands found a home in his hair, gently scratching his scalp, sending his eyes rolling into the back of his head, and you felt a puddle slowly take its form on the cover of the pillow tucked underneath your ass.

He was so deep, so so deep inside of you, his eyes bored themselves through yours straight into your soul, foreheads touching.

"Fuck, fuck, Eddie, feels so good", you babbled and moaned against his stubbly cheek, your heavy breath tickling down his own neck, "need more."

The knot in your lower abdomen was already tightening, getting ready to snap from just his feral thrusts and the beguiling way he was eyeing you.

"Yeah baby? Wanna cum for me?"

Your neediness made him chuckle, raising himself up and back on his heels, a strong arm wrapping around your torso and pulling you up with him, into his lap, letting one of his hands rest on and dig into your plush thigh.

He let himself drop on his butt, the hand on your thigh slowly trailing up up up, fingertips and palm climbing softly all the way over your back to come and stay on the back of your neck, encasing you fully and pressing you against his chest, letting you know he needed you just as close as you needed him.

Without even thinking about it your hips started moving against his as you straddled him, your kiss swollen lips finding his own again, panting into each others mouths, and soon enough the knot between your legs came close to snapping, from the change of position, the length of his cock now gliding smoothly against your clit with each rock of your hips, creating the delicious friction you so desperately craved.

"Yes baby, that's it, lose it for me, oh god fuck!", Eddie panted as he felt your hips starting to stutter, his words sending you over the edge, cunt spasming and clenching around him, your frantic breaths hitting his face as your head was thrown back.

He was soaking you up with all the sweet sounds you were making for him, helping you ride out your high, hands moving down to your ass to lift you, just after announcing his own release through a sickeningly deep moan and mumbles of "oh fuck baby, so close, gonna make me– oh shit", hot and sticky saltiness joining your sweet juices, landing in the tight space between your bellies, painting undefinable patterns onto the heated skin.

For another eternity you held each other close, felt his breathing against your shoulder and collarbone as he dipped his head to place a kiss to your throat, moving his hands away from your back to cup your face, pressing his lips to yours, not wanting to let the moment go just yet.

And then, he dropped the bomb.

"Say that you're mine", he still panted, forehead leaning against yours, noses touching as your hands cupped his on top of your cheeks.

It made you chuckle, the fact he was asking this now after fucking you into another dimension, and it made your thumbs brush over the backs of his palms.

You sensed the tension still present in every fiber of his being with the way he was holding onto your face, still needing you close, and since you knew about his abandonment issues to some extent, seeing him all vulnerable like this was tugging at your heartstrings to no end.

None of his usual slightly cocky tone, just pure softness and an open heart was what presented itself to you.

Say that you're mine.

Of course you were his.

Your facial expression softened endlessly, you felt all your insides melt into one big puddle, mouth forming into a small pout, one hand coming down to rest on his own cheek, closing the gap and slotting your lower lip in between his.

You wanted him to feel the amount of affection you had for him, in your eyes, in your kiss, in your touch.

He was supposed to feel loved. Like he should always have felt that he was loved.

"I'm all yours, Eddie. But only if you're all mine."

The look in your eyes said it all. The one in his, too.

Yeah. He was your Eddie. Your seat partner. Your magnet.

Eddie pulled you into him, as if hearing the words come out of your mouth and the way you were looking at him all soft and gooey made all his angst about being dropped and left again slowly vanish.

"I'll need some time to get used to this", he paused, not daring to meet your eye, "I mean, to someone that doesn't just leave after a while."

Since being this close to someone emotionally was about equally far away from any routine for you as well, you met him with utmost understanding.

"That's okay. We're in no rush, right?", you kissed the corner of his mouth, small pecks over the stubbly cheek opposite of where your hand was placed.

You were able to watch him get too much into his head as you spoke.

"You sure about that? I don't think the law of seat partners extends to–"

Your lips pressed to his own cut him off, "you don't need a silly law to make me wanna spend time with you, Munson."

A quick journey of your eyes over his beautiful face, his eyes widened, eyebrows raised, lips curled into a pretty smile, cheeks all rosy and forehead bangs sticking to his forehead from your most recent activities.

"Actually, I've been dreaming of you – and this – since I met you at Steve's for the first time and Dustin introduced you to me as his ultra handsome dungeon master, you remember?", you continued, hoping it would give him an idea how how much you'd been wistfully pining after him, an idea about how wanted he was.

Of course Eddie remembered.

It was the night he had left way earlier than usual because he just couldn't stand being around you without making a colossal fool out of himself for already wanting to be close to you after just thirty minutes of being in the same room, afraid to be coming on way too strong for his reputation and, speaking from experience, ultimately scare you away.

His hands dropped from your face, two strong arms wrapping themselves back around your figure as he breathed in your sweat-sticky scent, desperately trying one more time to glue this memory into the long-term department of his brain.

"Wait, does that mean I could have .. could've had you .. all this time?"

A chuckle escaped your lips, before leaning into him once more, planting another sweet kiss to his mouth.

"Yeah silly, ... all this time."

-----

Home was calling you back into the bleak reality of trying to graduate high school, and you were far from missing it.

Nancy using her famous organizational talents had made sure that Robin wouldn't leave her special pillow behind, and instructed you to look extra carefully for any items that might have flown behind the bedframe.

And she was correct. You'd blindly reached for a little white framed polaroid, only to discover that it was the one of Eddie with his flower crown, eyes squeezed shut, grinning like an absolute idiot.

He still, maybe even more so now, looked angelic.

You'd never forgive yourself if you'd leave that one here.

The ride home was spent with your head on Prince Metal's shoulder for the most part, your back practically lying on his chest, huddled up against him.

And it did take all the strength in the both of you to not constantly be all over each other, especially under the scrutinizing eyes of your teachers.

A few pecks were stolen here and there, the feeling of being entirely lovedrunk making it hard to separate. Thankfully, for the foreseeable future, you didn't have to.

The group had just shot you knowing looks at breakfast, Max, Robin and the older guys who had seen you wrapped (and very covered up, Eddie had made sure of that) in Eddie's sheets in the morning responsible for not being able to keep their beaks shut.

For the long hours you'd be spending on the road, Eddie had organized a restock of snacks at the only supermarket in the first town you'd stopped at on the way.

"As your designated seat partner, it is so hard to keep my hands to myself", you mumbled into the fabric of the dark and washed out Metallica shirt covering his shoulder with a sheepish grin, as your hand slowly disappeared into the bag on his lap, pulling out whatever box of cookies he'd chosen.

Eddie couldn't help but snort at your innuendo and the way you were using his own joke on him in return.

Lowering his head, planting his cheek against your temple, whispers.

"Oh baby, just wait until we're home."

-----

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[adidastain]

just like heaven

college matt stone x fem reader

warnings: smut (vaginal penetration)

notes: first person perspective (I, me, my, etc.), i really wanted to write something fluffy and kinda vanilla so sorry if it’s boring but i love it a lot i think it’s sweet

word count: 5240

—

Nothing was more relieving than getting in bed after a long day of classes and running errands. I’d been busting my ass the entire day, making sure everyone around me was happy and calm. It was what I did best, to be completely honest. I liked taking over. Sure, it made me kind of a bad collaborator, but I preferred to stay positive and think of it as one of my best qualities. Productive, stern, and leaderly. 

One of my classmates had a dorm to himself and had been letting me stay there for a while, since I lived off campus on paper, but didn’t have a car. We both majored in film; he double majored in math as well, and I was minoring in psychology. 

He was cool and funny. Sometimes he’d even say stuff that earned him a clock to the jaw, but regardless, I thought he was funny. And smart. He double majored; of course he was smart.

I sighed heavily, opening the heavy steel door to his dorm, labeled ‘MATT’ with a cute paper cutout of a kid wearing a ushanka and glasses showing a peace sign. It made me smile every time I saw it. His mind was so interesting.

To my surprise, the lights were on inside. He’d told me he was going to a little party in our other classmate’s building a few blocks away, so I didn’t think he’d be home.

“Oh, you’re here,” I said, taking my jacket off. 

“Unfortunately,” he said, grinning. His voice was deep and slightly nasally as always, with just a hint of raspiness. He sounded really tired. 

“What happened? I thought you were going to Trey’s party,” I said softly. I looked in the mirror on the back of the door, removing my hair clip and earrings. I didn’t want to waste any time getting to bed. 

“I just…” Matt swallowed, shifting in his seat in the beanbag on the floor. “I dunno. I changed my mind. Kinda exhausted.”

“I hear that,” I laughed, raising my eyebrows. There was some sort of old comedy movie on the little TV next to Matt’s bed. His whole dresser was covered in empty cans, dirty shot glasses with sticky syrup at the bottom, wrappers, deodorant, shit like that. I guess someone had been over and Matt was too tired to clean up the mess. “I’m gonna change real quick, don’t look.”

“Aw man,” he said, teasing me. I rolled my eyes and turned my back to him, pulling my sweater and tank top over my head all at once. I’d been wearing a sports bra all day and the elastic was starting to dig into my skin. I looked behind me, just to make sure he wasn’t trying to sneak any glances. Not that there was much to see. 

Lo and behold, as soon as I turned my head, I caught his turning too, back towards the TV. 

I grabbed a discarded T-shirt off the floor and swung it at him, hitting him a lot more violently than I really intended to. “You are such a pervert!” I laughed.

“I wasn’t trying to look at you!” he shrieked. I hit him again. “I thought I heard someone at the door!”

“A pervert and a liar!” I accused. Matt stood up, trying to defend himself from my wrath as I exacted my revenge. He yelped and grabbed my wrists, pushing back against me. 

We play-fought like this often. He was a lot stronger than me. He may not have looked like it, being so slim, but he was fit underneath all that fabric he was drowning in. Especially his arms. We’d go on and on, until it felt awkward and drawn out. 

Of course, by doing this, I’d ended up giving him a free show anyway. He’d definitely seen me changing before. Matt had walked in on me on several occasions, but it was mostly my fault, since I would come and go in his dorm without saying anything. He didn’t seem to have a problem, though. 

I bit my lip, pushing against his weight with all my might. He pretty much towered over me and my hands were engulfed in his large ones. He probably wasn’t even using half of his strength on me. 

Suddenly, he let go of my hands, causing me to fall forward slightly. I lost my balance until I felt his arms wrap tightly around my torso, before he lifted me up and pushed me onto his bed and walked away. 

He giggled to himself as he stepped towards his little mini refrigerator to grab a can of soda. I felt slightly warm inside; something about the way he was able to just lift me up and throw me down so easily made my face burn up. 

Of course, Matt acted like it was nothing and sat back down in his beanbag, one of his hands idly rubbing the fuzzy fabric cover with his thumb and index finger. 

I scoffed loudly and stood back up, blocking his view of the TV. My hand politely took the soda can out of his hand, watching his eyes follow it as I brought it to my lips and took a long, long sip. He just stared up at me, but he didn’t look in any way offended. He just looked completely awestruck, a puppy-eyed look ever present in his face. 

I put the soda down on the dresser so that he’d have to get up to get it, and went back to changing. I faced the TV so I could keep a hawk’s eye on him as I peeled off my jeans, rendering me in just my bra and panties which didn’t match at all. 

I heard him grunt slightly as he stood up to grab his soda off of the dresser. He turned around to face me, until he stopped dead in his tracks and his smirk was wiped clean off his face. 

After a second or two of him taking in as much of the sight as he could, his hand flew over his eyes. 

“Sorry,” he whined. “I was gonna play a prank on you. Didn’t know you were changing again. ‘M sorry.” 

“I don’t care, Matt,” I sighed in defeat. “I practically live here now. You were gonna see me half-naked at some point anyhow.”

Hesitantly, he lowered his hand, keeping his gaze on the floor. It was strange; he didn’t sit back down. 

“Just don’t let me find any of my clothes in your bed or I’ll punch you hard enough to turn your teeth into bullets,” I said. I shifted my weight from one foot to the other, focusing on my task at hand once more. I dug through my big duffel bag to look for a clean shirt to sleep in, only finding a bunch of dress clothes that I hadn’t yet needed to wear. Right. I sighed. They’re in the wash. 

“Could I borrow a shirt?” I asked. Matt was sitting once more, rubbing the back of his neck and gently tugging on some of his curls. 

“Mhm,” he hummed, glancing at me again. That ‘glance’ turned into more of a ‘good look’. My back was turned to him again and I pretty much had my ass on full display. 

I don’t know when he looked away. I don’t actually know if he looked away at all. I just dug through his closet, trying to find the biggest T-shirt he had. 

It wasn’t uncommon for me to borrow his clothes. My duffel bag had initially only had enough clothes for 2 weeks, so I did laundry quite often and sometimes had to wear the same pants multiple days in a row. When I felt extra lazy and put off doing laundry, he let me borrow shirts, hoodies, sweatpants, pajama pants, the whole shabang. 

I picked out one of his Primus tees that had some fucked up linework drawing of a prostitute smoking a hooka. It was a sick shirt but it definitely wasn’t something you could wear to class. 

It fit me like a dress, which I loved. It was big enough that the hem covered most of my ass, which was good, because I didn’t have any clean shorts to sleep in unless I stole a pair of his. 

Lastly, I pulled my bra off from under my shirt and tossed it towards the door, where I threw most of my dirty clothes. Once I was finished, I turned back around and stood next to where Matt was sitting. 

“Scoot over,” I said. He quickly obliged. It was a pretty big beanbag, so we could both fit as long as we were shoulder to shoulder and hip to hip. I must admit that there had been a night or two where we would end up entangled in some way due to the lack of space. My legs in his lap, my head on his shoulder, his arm resting up behind me. 

There was nothing I didn’t like about being close to him. He made me feel safe and he smell good and was warm. Some nights I hoped he’d be in the mood for having me real close. I hoped really hard now, especially after what just happened. 

“What are we watching?” I asked, making myself nice and comfortable and curling up next to him. 

“Groundhog Day,” he said, tilting his head back slightly so he could speak through the soda in his mouth. I looked at him for a moment, watching the muscles in his neck move as he swallowed the liquid. Then I turned my attention to the screen. “You missed the beginning, but basically he’s stuck living the same day over and over again. It’s like, a big allegory or whatever for Buddhism. Pretty good, though”

I nodded, watching as the Bill Murray character talked to a woman and asked her out on a date. A few seconds later, there was a smash cut to them on the verge of having sex. Matt awkwardly laughed next to me.

“Ah, yeah. Buddhism,” I said, mocking him. 

“You’ll like it. It gets better,” he argued. That’s when I felt his arm snake behind me, just a few inches away from laying across my shoulder. Once again, he rubbed the fabric between his fingers, fidgeting. 

Eventually the whole foreplay bit was over and the next scene started. My body subconsciously leaned into Matt’s, sinking my weight into his slim torso and absorbing the warmth that his body generated. I was both extremely comfortable and extremely exhausted. 

The movie went on, and like Matt said, the character was living the same day over and over. It was kind of lulling me to sleep. It was definitely pretty funny; occasionally I would jerk awake at the sound of Matt chuckling softly. I think at some point he pulled a blanket off his bed and wrapped it around me. I swear he ran his hand through my hair for just a moment, pulling me closer to him. 

Now his arm was wrapped around my shoulder, his hand occasionally lifting up to run his fingers through my hair or flatten any stray strands. It felt safe; it felt right. 

I opened my eyes and looked up at him, finding that his gaze was already on me. He looked like a deer in headlights, but exhausted at the same time. I watched Matt’s eyes dart around my face. 

“You ready for bed?” he asked softly, looking at the top of my head as he fixed a strand of my hair. 

One of my favorite parts about him was that he could be harsh and gentle, depending on the occasion. He always had a resting bitch face and was kind of intimidating to a lot of people, but he had such a soft, gentle side to him. 

My hand made its way up to his cheek. Matt had a nice, soft layer of peach fuzz that, paired with the warmth of his face, made my heart beat faster. My thumb tenderly traced back and forth on his cheek bone while my eyes fixated on his lips. 

Eventually, I felt his breath on my face as he closed his lips over my bottom one. I’d been biting the skin off of it all week, so there was a small stinging sensation that quickly faded once he kissed me again. 

I felt so shy all the sudden. Here I was, curled up in his arms, softly making out with him like teenagers with no experience. No second guesses or hesitations, just hearts beating together, breaths melting into each other while we explored. 

How did we get here? The question crossed my mind before I immediately pushed it away. I didn’t give a shit about how we got there, I was just glad that this is where we ended up. 

Without pulling his lips away from me, Matt somehow managed to find the remote and turn off the TV, before caressing my waist and pulling me ever closer. He was hovering over me a little, only making my heart race faster and my desire for him grow stronger. 

Now things were definitely starting to heat up. Matt softly groaned into my mouth, and for the first time since our lips first met, we pulled away. 

His eyes bored into mine, pupils dilated. We sat breathing into each others mouths, catching our breath as we tried to read what the other was thinking. It was almost suspenseful. 

“Can I take your shirt off?” I asked. It wasn’t even a whisper. Nope. I just breathed and moved my mouth to form the words. 

“Uh-huh,” he responded, nodding. He swallowed and I didn’t hesitate to tuck my hands under the hem of his baggy gray-green T-shirt. Matt kissed me again, deepening it. 

In an instant, his lips parted and he gasped softly as soon as my fingertips made contact with the warm skin of his abdomen. I could feel that part of his torso shifting ever so slightly as he breathed. 

I pulled away, making sure to keep eye contact with him while I slowly lifted his shirt up inch by inch. 

“You’re so gorgeous,” he exhaled, catching me off guard. I swallowed, feeling my face flush once again. 

A second or two later, I pulled the fabric over his head, finally rendering him topless in front of me. He had a slender, curvy waist and just the smallest little bit of muscle in his abdomen. His hips were prominent, and his upper body was very broad in contrast to his slim frame. He had little dark beauty spot freckles scattered across his shoulders and body. I would love to sit there all day and just count them. I wanted badly to just map out and explore his body, feeling every inch of his skin and memorizing his shape. 

I snapped out of my trance as soon as he kissed me again, letting out several vocal breaths that I honestly didn’t expect to ever hear him make. He remained gentle in his kisses, but I felt the desire boiling and festering within both of us. It was extremely hard to ignore. 

“Do you wanna stop?” I asked, pulling away suddenly. 

“Do you wanna stop?” he repeated, his voice somewhat nervous. Matt swallowed and scanned my face. 

“No,” I whispered. I wrapped my arms around his neck, taking one of his curls between my fingers. 

Matt licked his lips. I could feel his whole body relax, and he leaned closer, ghosting his lips against mine. 

“Do you wanna have sex with me?” he asked shyly, staring down at my lips. My stomach flipped and felt a strong jumping-like feeling in between my legs. 

“I would like that a lot,” I answered, giggling wide eyes. I was so flustered that I was to the point where I laughed at myself. 

“Fuck yeah,” he laughed, out of breath. Matt leaned in to kiss me again, this time opening his mouth slightly wider. “Should we go up there?” 

He tilted his head towards the bed next us, and I nodded, wrapping my legs around his torso so he could pick me up.

“Mmh… c’mere baby,” he hummed softly, pressing my body against his as he lifted me up and tenderly laid me down beneath him on his bed. 

Matt suddenly felt so much bigger than me now that his body was hovering over me. He was straddling my hips, both of his large hands massaging my waist under my (his) shirt while he started leaving wet kisses down my neck. 

I arched my back at the feeling of his teeth as they pinched a small spot below my ear, his tongue coming quickly to the rescue to warm up the spot and relieve the pain. My hands were entangled in his soft, somewhat messy curls, caressing his entire head and holding it close to me. I stared at the ceiling, letting my eyes flutter shut any time I heard him groan and felt his hips subtly buck above me. 

“How about your shirt, baby?” he asked, nibbling on my ear. I could hear him breathing heavily through his nose, each warm exhale covering my ear and neck. One of his hands slid up my body and grazed the underside crease of my boobs with his fingertips. 

“You mean your shirt,” I giggled, rubbing his warm shoulders.

“Okay, my shirt,” he scoffed. “Can I take it off?”

I nodded, sitting up slightly. As soon as his hands lifted the fabric up and over my nipples, I panicked slightly. In no time the shirt was on the floor and Matt’s eyes were tentatively glued to my bare chest.  

“Oh, baby, I’m gonna fuck you so good…” he mumbled, prying his eyes away from my now nearly naked body. His hands squeezed my hips, lifting them up so he could start grinding against me. 

“Matt-“ I gasped. His hot mouth almost immediately attached to my collarbone, his tongue pressing flat against the skin. Meanwhile, I shivered as one of his hands slowly dragged up my waist and tenderly caressed one of my tits. And on top of that, for the first time, I could feel the tent he’d been pitching press into me as he started grinding against my hips with desperation. 

I ran my fingers through his hair and lifted my hips up, supported by my heels digging into the soft covers below me. My hands slid down over his shoulder blades, tracing each muscle as I moved them towards my panties. Finally, I managed to wriggle out of them and fling them onto the floor while Matt was sitting on his knees, towering over me. His broad chest moved in and out with each heavy breath he took with his lips slightly agape. 

He looked like one of those ancient Greek statues. Each muscle so defined under such smooth, warm skin. Natural posture so relaxed and almost ethereal. I wanted to devour him. 

Matt stared at me, the look in his eyes almost anxious but infinitely flustered and filled with lust. In a flash he yanked his flannel pajama pants down to his knees, kicking them off while he crawled on top of me again.!

“Do you like it fast or hard?” he asked me, his voice faltering slightly. He swallowed, looking down at me from above. Matt’s arms were on either side of me, propping his body up as he then got ready to start pulling his boxers off. 

“Fast,” I exhaled, though it really sounded more like a moan. Even subconsciously I wanted him to know that right now, I wanted him more than anything. 

“‘Course, baby,” he hummed softly, bending his arms like he was doing a pushup so he could peck my lips. I felt him smiling in the kiss. “Do you wanna… get me going?” 

He gestured towards his boxers and the hot, throbbing erection beneath them. Without hesitation, I spit in my palm and slipped my fingers under the waistband of his boxers, first untucking his cock from the side and then gently wrapping my hand around it. 

Matt immediately whimpered, holding in as much of it as he could while screwing his eyes shut. He felt so warm in my hand… and thick. I could feel a vein or two protruding from the soft skin and made sure to pay a little extra attention to them. 

“Fuck,” he hissed, letting his head drop down so he could see what wonders I was working with my hand. He shimmied out of his boxers and now I could see that yes, he was in fact thick. Most definitely thicker than I knew I was used to. 

I knew it was going to hurt like a bitch. It was intimidating, but still, as I tenderly stroked up and down his length, I only kept thinking of it as something that was making him feel insanely good and not as something that was going to hurt me. It would only hurt for a few seconds. 

His breath hitched and he practically threw my hand off him, sitting up again to catch his breath for a moment. 

“Jesus Christ,” he laughed, out of breath. Matt raised his eyebrows and smiled. His cheeks were so flushed and it looked like some sweat pearls had begun forming at his temples. 

I laid back, watching his muscles shift and flex as he took his glasses off and reached inside one of his dresser drawers for a condom. 

As he tore open the package, he looked at me, seemingly getting lost in the sight of me. 

I grabbed the hand of his that held the unopened condom and brought it close to my face so that I could kiss it. Then I pushed his hand back towards him so he could do the same, though he looked thoroughly confused.

“What, is that good luck or something?” he chuckled, looking down at his hands and dick as he opened the condom and slid it onto his length.

“It’s tradition,” I said, shrugging. Matt furrowed his eyebrows. 

“What tradition?” he scoffed, crawling on top of me. 

“Messing with you. I made it up,” I grinned. 

He shook his head, adjusting his position and posture while handling his cock, making sure it would slide in easy. 

Matt looked up at me through his eyebrows. It was the last look of reassurance before anything was really about to happen. Our lives were about to change forever. 

I nodded. I was so desperate for him at this point, I didn’t care if he hurt me at all. 

His large hand spread out on one side of my hips, digging into the flesh ever so slightly and likely leaving faint nail marks in my skin. I kept my eyes on him and found him instructing me to take a deep breath in with him. Before he told me to exhale though, he started pushing in. 

“Hmmn- ahh!” I half-moaned, half-winced. 

“Shh… oh, fuck,” Matt whispered in my ear, letting out a deep moan that’s he’s probably kept inside for a little while. 

I let out a groan of discomfort, trying my best to hold it in but ultimately failing. In response, Matt pulled his lips away from my ear so he could get a good look at my face.

“Does it hurt?” he asked, swallowing. 

“Mhm,” I hummed, biting my lip. I took a deep breath, trying to focus on the feeling of Matt’s fingertips brushing my hair out of my face. “Just give me a minute.” 

Matt lowered himself on top of me, beginning to pepper soft, wet kisses on my jaw and neck. His hand massaged my hip and occasionally inched lower to squeeze the soft flesh of my upper thigh. 

I kissed him and became lost in his lips, wrapping my arms around his neck and holding him close to me. His curls tickled my forehead as we kissed softly. I’d completely forgotten about the fact the he was inside of me; I was so focused on how his lips felt and the fact that I could feel his heart pounding with his chest pressed against mine. Our skin grazed together softly with each breath we took, giving me goosebumps. 

“You can start now,” I whispered against his lips. Matt hummed in response, kissing me a little bit deeper as he adjusted the position of his body. 

We remained with our lips attached as his hips started to roll back and forth. I could hear Matt whimper every couple of seconds and he kept holding his breath, pulling away from the kiss to exhale into my mouth. The warmth in the pit of my stomach really started to boil up once he started moving, slowly drawing himself out and thrusting back in. I listened carefully to each little sound and breath he made as he moved. 

I heard him heavily exhale after swallowing. “S’good…” he whispered, grunting slightly. I moaned, running my fingers in his hair and tugging on it gently. 

A loud groan escaped his throat as I did this, encouraging me to do it again. One of his hands suddenly wrapped tenderly around my throat, carefully squeezing my neck. Matt’s head cocked to the side as he opened his mouth and slid his tongue in between my lips. 

I let out a soft moan as his tongue slid against mine, exploring the inside of my mouth with hunger and desperation. I let my hands travel from his head and neck down to his body, caressing his waist and pulling him into me. Matt’s hand left my hip, instead moving up to grip the top of the headboard of his bed, holding it to keep it from knocking against the wall each time we moved. 

He leaned down to let his forehead rest against mine, staring into my eyes. I stared right back. I’d never seen him without his round silver glasses before, but I knew he had a stunning set of dark green eyes and now I could see each little spec of blue in them as they darted around my face, almost nervously. 

His free hand moved to cup one of my tits, rolling his fingers over my nipple to tease the sensitive area. I gasped slightly, arching my back. 

“You have no idea how perfect you look right now,” he exhaled. 

I couldn’t do or say anything else but smile. I always had that reaction when he complimented me, but I was much more used to him saying something about my clothes or my work. His voice always sounded so deep and smooth; to hear him say my name or something nice about how I looked always sent my blood rushing to my cheeks.

“I’m close,” I whispered, touching his chest. 

“Faster?” he hummed. 

“Yeah,” I laughed slightly. 

Before moving again, he adjusted his position, letting go of the headboard. He propped himself up and licked the thumb of his free hand, before lowering it and using it to massage slow circles around my clit. Matt’s body was hovering above me when he bowed his head to start kissing the crook of my neck. Only then did he start thrusting once more, rolling his hips faster and faster. 

The new sensation along with the added pleasure of his fingers working my clit had me in shambles. I threw my head back and let out a loud moan, succumbing to the electrifying, hot sensation that festered throughout my entire body. The pit of my stomach tightened, my legs trembled, my hands gripped anything they could touch. I dig my fingertips into the sheets, his back and shoulders, his biceps, his waist, his scalp. Several times did I pull on his hair like I was holding on for dear life, earning a groan from him each time. I just hoped I wasn’t hurting him. 

Matt let out a loud moan. I opened my eyes to see him struggling to thrust at a consistent pace, faltering every few seconds with his eyes screwed shut and his mouth agape. I watched him look down to see himself pumping in and out of me, his eyebrows furrowed and bottom lip tucked under his front teeth. 

He whimpered, trying his best to hold his breath. The sight of him rushing toward his own orgasm sent me over the edge. I cried out his name, gasping as every muscle in my body tensed up. The knot in my stomach came undone and I could feel my blood pumping through my body. 

Only a moment or two later did Matt’s body shudder and tense up. His muscles flexed as he leaned forward and tried his hardest to keep his hips moving, but he was ultimately overcome by his orgasm as he came, my name spilling from his mouth in the most beautiful way. 

I huffed, my body melting into his bed as my legs twitched and trembled. Matt collapsed on top of me, allowing his entire weight to sink into me. His arms were shaking, as if he were shivering. We both laid there for a minute, absorbing each other as we caught our breath. 

I think he fell asleep after a minute or two. He was completely relaxed on top of me like a big bag of sand. After a little while, my breaths became forceful, so I had to wake him up.

“Matt,” I hummed, tucking a strand of his hair behind my ear. 

He wasn’t sleeping. Matt lifted himself up, smiling down at me. He kissed me, seeming quite shy all the sudden as he had to hold his weight up while he leaned his head down towards me. 

“Sorry about these bruises,” he hummed, tracing a circle on the side of my neck.

“You’re not sorry,” I grinned, teasing him. 

“I’m not,” he admitted sheepishly. “They look good on you.” 

After a few seconds, we sat up and helped clean each other up a little. I could see small red marks in his skin from where my nails dug into his arms and shoulders. While helping each other get dressed again, Matt and I found ourselves a little distracted once more, kissing each other gently and softly as we pulled shirts over our heads. His lips were like air. I almost needed them to breathe. 

“Do you wanna finish the movie?” I asked him, massaging his waist underneath his shirt. 

“Sure,” he giggled softly. 

With that, we snuggled up under the covers in his bed, turning the TV towards us. Matt had me in his arms with my back pressed to his chest and his hand under my shirt, tracing shapes on my skin. It wasn’t long before I fell asleep. 

However, at one point, I opened my eyes to find that the TV and lights were off, rendering the room completely dark. Matt was no longer next to me, but it wasn’t long before he came back over to the bed and laid down behind me. His lips softly grazed the crook of my neck. “Good night,” he whispered, before kissing my neck one more time. 

“Mm… night,” I mumbled, barely awake. Matt pulled his thick pile of blankets over my shoulder, peppering small pecks of kisses on my neck as I drifted off once again, melting in his warmth.