#you realise its just nonsense

[mhaynoot]

problems i think a lot of readers (especially young ones) have is taking things at face value, especially if a character is saying it or explaining it - like don't trust them fucks!! and don't trust the narrator either! treat every word like a mystery, a crime scene from the unreliable witness and you're the detective; discover the unwritten, find the innucuous lies and the partial truth, and analyse what isn't spoken.

[call-me-pup2]

Loving the Discord so far, can't wait to see you make a nsfw room for all your cute lewds

That was never my plan but okay? 😅

It's just a place to hang out since I don't answer dms on here so we can all chat together there and talk on voice chat occasionally

[eagle-head-charge]

Wait if onę of Spys kids were hypothetically (i think thats how you spell it) not American? Not saying that im not American or anything just wanna know

OOH, I LOVE HYPOTHETICALS!!!!!!

IF ONE OF SPY'S CHILDREN WEREN'T AMERICAN, THEY'D BE DISOWNED IMMEDIATELY!!!!!!! SPY IS A TRUE PATRIOT JUST LIKE ME, AND HE WOULD HAVE NO TOLERANCE FOR COMMIES IN OUR HOUSEHOLD!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND NEITHER WOULD I!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Of course, if they just speak commielanguage or used to live there but were BORN IN AMERICA, they're still AMERICANS and they still BLEED RED, WHITE AND BLUE JUST LIKE EVERYONE ELSE!!!!!!!!!!!! Spy was BORN IN AMERICA for example, and he just GREW UP IN FRANCE!!!!! BUT THEN HE REALISED IT WAS A COUNTRY FOR HIPPIES, SO HE MOVED BACK TO AMERICA!!!!!!!!!!!!!! MAKING HIM AN AMERICAN HERO!!!!!!!!!!!!! AND NOT A FRENCHIE!!!!!!!!!!!! HE'S AMERICAN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

That was fun!!! YOU DIDN'T NEED TO REMIND ME YOU'RE AN AMERICAN, MOTH CHILD, I KNOW THAT YOU ARE!!!!!!!!!! I LOVE ALL MY PATRIOT CHILDREN!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

[normalest-of-knees]

That.... was an episode. Technically.

Volume 9 Episode 9 discussion below the cut

Tw: mentions and discussions of suicide and how the show and characters were framing it

I may make another post or rb this to discuss the rest of the episode, but this mainly deals with the whole Tea thing

I'm-- I just-- what in the whole entire fuck was that?? Yes I saw somewhere it's supposed to be like a part 1 or 2 but.... Jeepers crappers, man.

So not only does WBY&J not react at all to what happened to Ruby last episode, tea or otherwise, but they just kinda run off, stop and... be sad??

They talk about how shit happens sometimes, then the crystal people show up and it's suddenly hugs and smiles??? Guys?!?!

Yang only reacts to Ruby being gone after she finds the wooden cocoon thing, and even then the others are quick to "It's not that bad. It's what she wanted." Like they haven't been ignoring/not noticing Ruby's severe depression and state of mind for the past few days now and that she didn't just barely blow up at them.

And something I want to address, is the show writers, and characters, and everything framed in the last episode made it quite clear that the tea was suicide. I saw a few takes saying "the tea clearly wasn't supposed to be about suicide. They wouldn't kill her off" etc. Etc.

And I want to say, no. Just, no.

The suicide thing fucking sucks, yes. But the show last episode and this one made it clear that Ruby drinking the tea was her choosing to commit suicide.

Do I think that this should've happened at all? Fuck no. This company has no goddamn clue how to write and talk about sensitive topics such as this, and they need to stop immediately.

But I cannot wrap my head around how anyone could've looked at what happened last episode and think: its just healing tea!

The show has done a terrible job of using an "unreliable narrator" or other such to convey information to the audience.

Ascension is like death, but not, but is! Jaune said its bad, but the Stars say it's good! The Cat said it's normal, but the girls think it's wrong or unnatural. The Stars dying is ok! Then it's even better than ok, because they're "better" now! Herb is new and better! Ruby will be... ?

The show doesn't properly or clearly make any information given to us make sense, and even with the knowledge that the Cat is supposed to be bad, we still don't actually know what's ok and what isn't when we look back.

Yes, Ruby is clearly going to be ok from what we saw this episode. But she still very clearly was not ok mentally, and was actually literally pushed towards taking her own life.

She said "I just don't want to be me, anymore." And then drank the tea, knowing at the very least, that she'd be remade and lose her memories, at best. At worst, it would outright kill her.

Even Neo, who likely knew less about Ascension than the rest of them, still was framing it to Ruby as suicide.

Then, when Ruby did it, Neo was distraught. Regardless of what happens to Ruby next, she's gone. And Neo now has nothing. To Neo, one way or another, Ruby is dead.

But that's the thing.

Regardless of what happens to Ruby, she viewed it as dying or not being herself anymore.

Doesn't matter if the audience knows better or thinks they know better. CRWBY, the show, the characters, everything, framed this as Ruby Rose taking her own life.

And what happens immediately after such a thing? Her friends and family run back to safety, in which I assume they're trying to head for the tree perhaps, and then they just stop and Jaune is sad.

Not even Yang or Weiss or Blake seem to really have a reaction, only until after they hug it out and see Ruby encased in wood at the tree. Suddenly it's real now. Suddenly it's different. And Yang does have a good reaction! She's panicked, crying, angry, desperate. That's her sister in there! Dunno where this reaction was before but ok, at least we got there!

But the others are quick to tell her that it's not that bad and it's up to Ruby now. Which, if they had conveyed Ascension to us in any other way, could be fun and interesting! But because it's this world's closest equivalent to death that we as an audience and the characters can compare it to, it makes it seem like suicide is a good thing.

Like it's just a caterpillar becoming a butterfly.

No matter what happens next episode, and what becomes of Ruby, the framing was still that for her and the Paper Stars, suicide is good and gives you the power up/strength you need, and your loved ones just have to accept that and move on.

And that's disgusting.

[michameinmicha]

You know the meme of the two soldiers dying and one tells the other about a beautiful future they may have once the battle is over? Anyway so this story ive been thinking about has peter and justus locked in some sort of basement (for story reasons) and peter is scared, so to distract him justus comes up with a beautiful future where they get fake married for uhm... taxe benefits or smth and peter is no longer scared cause he is so so in love with justus and their wonderful (totally not gay) future together and im normal yeah im doing well actually thanks for asking

Also in the meantime bob was kidnapped but manages to free himself and call cotta to get the others out of the basement and solve the case or whatever (he will find out about this night and the fake future marriage story decades later after peter and justus have been actually gay married and he will never let them live this down)

[note-boom]

Thinking about all the women I ship dazai with while You shake and shit and cry. ❤️❤️

I'm -

Anon, please, I love you.

But also, wrong blog. Do you not understand how annoyingly I've tag spammed other posts "i dont do ships buuuut..."?

Wait wait wait wait....i just realised after typing in my tags but - but WHAT women?? There's only like....4 viable women to ship Dazai with in this manga....what women??

[araminthe]

I think happiness is being neutral most of the time.

Like feeling a little and just appreciating the everyday mundane.

For me, this neutrality; or lack of negative emotions, is peaceful. It is and has always been the key to my happiness.

just remembered that happiness is only an emotion and not something i can ever achieve as a permanent state no matter how many milestones reached or goals achieved it is only ever going to be an emotion that comes and goes ! No matter WHAT!

[aroaessidhe]

2024 reads / storygraph

Thanks For Listening

YA contemporary

a girl who’s the stage manager in her high school theater club is tired of nobody listening to her advice, so she makes an anonymous social media account that people might actually listen to

while also dating her first girlfriend and struggling with her relationship with her best friends

ace MC

[gilverrwrites]

I love imaging Dick, Tim, and Damian sneaking around trying to meet Jasons new gf because they just wanna be involved in his life and they know if they they leave it to Jay they wont meet her u til they're married with kids 😭

AND ‘omg us meeting Jason’s siblings when’

AN: Ngl I love this idea too, its so shitty of them but they have the best of intentions.

Damian

A boy no older than 14 with eyes that pierce the soul was not what you'd expected to find on Jason's couch the very first time he'd left you alone there. Jason had to dip out unexpectedly early, and had promised you run of the place until he got back so you'd slept in as long as you could and were on your way to make breakfast when you're greeted by the hell-child.

Once your initial fright wears off you realise you recognize him from a photo Jay had showed you which makes you feel slightly more at ease.

“Good morning? Damian right?” You offer as you pass him, be-lining for the coffee machine, you're gonna need caffeine if you're meeting any member of Jay's family for the first time. “Can I get you anything?”

“Alfred says it's unbecoming to sleep past 9.” Besides the initial glare he'd graced you with as you emerged from the bedroom, he doesn't even look up at you, his eyes glued to the pages of a book. Like brother like brother, you guess.

“Oh, well. Good thing Alfreds not here then.” You add a small laugh, trying to inject some humour to the situation. Damian does not respond in kind. “Is that a no? I think there's some chocolate cereal around here somewhere.”

“What do you do for work that allows you to be in my brother's home in the middle of the day?”

Jeez this kid is no-nonsense. “Or I could make pancakes, I make really good pancakes.”

“And tell me what exactly are your intentions with my baby brother?” Baby?

“I think there's some chocolate chips around here somewhere. Jason says you like chocolate. Chocolate pancakes?”

“Do you always avoid questions?”

“Are you always so intense?”

He slams the book closed and you nearly jump on the spot. He finally looks at you, really looks at you and as you stare back his features begin to soften slightly.

“I’ll have a coffee.”

You're certain from the sly look on his face that he's probably not allowed coffee. He certainly doesn't need any. But screw it, he's not your kid and if it gets him to like a little, you'll take the risk.

So you pour two coffees and join him on the couch. His questions do not cease until Jason returns about an hour later. He couldn't care less about the coffee, but he does care about Damian breaking in to interrogate his partner and immediately kicks Damian out.

Dick

Dick finds out about your existence from one of Damian’s letters, and he's subtle but pushy about meeting you. Not that you're aware. He keeps ‘dropping by’ Jason's apartment ‘just to see his lil brother’, no other reason but is told to get lost or downright ignored anytime you're there, until he decides to cut out the middle man and turn up at your home instead.

“Let me tell you, you are a hard person to get a hold of.” He informs as he invites himself through your front door.

“Um, hello Dick?” As you stare at his lush hair and sculpted abs you wonder what Alfred feeds these boys.

“Yep! I can't stay so I’ve gotta make this quick.” he gestures for you to come closer, speaking in a playful, conspiratorial whisper. “Jay doesn't know I'm here.”

That would be why he can't stay, Jason is due at your door any minute now.

“But you two seem to be getting pretty serious and I think it's important that we all get to know each other. You following?”

You nod, and he gives you the perkiest, most genuine smile. That or he has that exact look practised to a T. From what Jay tells you, either is possible.

“So, Barbara and I, that's my wife” You nod once more, you're aware of Barbara also. “have booked a table at Casa Gotica for Thursday night. We need you to get Jason there without letting on that it's a double date.”

“I don’t know.” you finally give your nodding head a break. “Jay and I don’t lie to each other.”

“Right. I can't begrudge that. Very glad to hear he's picked an honest one.” He takes a moment to straighten his thoughts, but his moment is cut short but the echo of Jason’s combat boots approaching your door. Dick’s eyes rapidly scan the room for a secondary exit before he settles on an open window. “Don't think of it as lying, think of it as omitting the truth. Whatever you have to do just be there for 6.30. Oh, and it's great to meet you!”

“You too.”

“Thursday, 6.30!”

Before you can agree he’s gone, presumably scaling the side of your building as Jay steps inside.

Tim

Tim was actually the first to be aware of you and your relationship with his brother, however, the very real possibility of being gutted by Jason for snooping in his personal life was too high for him to make a move.

But you seeking him out is a different story; or rather, you being the first to say hi when you bump into each other in line at the grocery store is different. It would be rude not to respond to your attempts at initiating a conversation.

“Hello, hi, are you Tim? You don't know me but I’m Jasons partner. Its so great to meet you.”

“I know who you are.” He states rather ominously, eyes darting around behind you. “Is he here?”

“No, but he's picking me up after.” His shoulders visibly ease.

“Cool cool cool.” He’s suddenly much more personable. “So, I hear you're into…”

That chatting doesn't dry or lul at all as the queue dwindles and both buy your groceries. He waits with you until you get confirmation from Jay that he's on his way. He's easily the chillest sibling you've met thus far.

When Jason arrives he gets out of the car to open the boot and passenger door for you as always, but not before he thrusts his phone in your face. “Where is he?”

Displayed on the screen is a selfie of Tim with you in the background, you absolutely do not remember it being taken.

[clubdionysus]

[BAD DECISION #61] Jinxing It

warnings: (1) mention of toe socks, chess talk, showers, a lil bit of titty luvin, lots of kisses, oral (f&m), fingering, ass play (m), whimpery koo <3, a lil cum swapping, the starluvrs are v cute!!! lots of lil clues and hints about upcoming chapters!!

a/n: there's an authors note over on a03 so I'll you spare you my nonsense! but hi, welcome back!! sorry for the wait on this one <33 if you're only just discovering bd, hello---this is part of an on-going story and includes an established relationship, to be read in context with the rest of the story, it's not a oneshot ^^. for kofi subs, there'll be a BD 62 teaser in a few hours!

wc: 13.7K

bd total wc: 560k (ongoing)

AO3 | MASTERLIST | MINORS DNI

Life dissolves with Jeongguk. Days merge into one. 

Like a tablet in water, or stardust into the atmosphere, time melts.

So does Jeongguk, though. He sinks into the bliss with you. Crumbles. Collapses. You’d go as far to say he turns into a supernova, like stars often do when they collapse. 

He lets himself merge into a shared identity that he’s certain isn’t normal of such a fledgling relationship.

Two weeks from the auction, and days have rolled on by without much fuss. Deals have been finalised on winning bids, and Jeongguk’s had meetings with realtors, Yoongi by his side every step of the way. Everything has happened without much thought. Life has just been accepted; new plans and opportunities integrated into the trajectory you’re on. No meteors to throw you off course nor cosmic calamities to falter your future.

Your name is on the interview list for Shinwon’s position, and Jeongguk’s due to be accepting the keys for the building tomorrow. Everything is as it should be.

It’s terrifying, in a way. 

You spent so long fearing the rug being swept from beneath your feet, but with Jeongguk’s help, carpets have been laid. They’re not budging.

And nor is he as he sits across from you, legs crossed, his chessboard keeping you apart. It’s a rarity to be on his bed not wrapped up in one another—but he’s almost as serious about chess as he is about you. Almost .

“You know what to do,” he grins, adamant that his crash course in the game was easy to follow. In reality, he’d moved a few pieces, said a few words, and promised with a smile that you’d be able to beat him. 

His belief in you is sweet, but entirely misplaced. You’ve not made a single move without his gentle encouragement, most times resulting in you giving the match up on a silver platter. 

The correct terminology evades you, and so do the rules. An app sits on your phone unused, a subscription running up a small fortune from a membership never used. It was set up back in the early days of knowing Jeongguk. You swore one day you’d be able to beat him—but life got busy, and quite frankly, chess is not your chosen way to unwind.

But spending time with Jeongguk is, and so you’ll take him in any capacity you can have him.

“Which one should I move?” You pout, utterly transfixed on the chess pieces. There’s a bewildered panic to your expression, brows furrowed over your glittery eyes, hand hovering to and fro over your side of the board.

You single in on the bishop. Look his way with hopeful, wide eyes. He shakes his head.

“Diagonals only,” he reminds you of how bishops move, at which point you realise it’s blocked in by pawns. Your hand moves to one of them, and he shrugs. “I mean… you can .”

“But should I?”

“You wanna capture the king,” he says, reaching across to dictate your movements. He secures your grip on the pawn, and gently pushes it up a single square to free the bishop’s pathway. “Shift this one up, just one space. Clear the diagonal if you want to move the bishop.”

You do as he says, putting the pawn back in its original position so that you can be the one to place it. Slowly, you repeat his instructions, pushing the pawn up the board while Jeongguk nods. 

And then he grins in such a way that you just know you're about to curse him out.

He lifts his strategically placed knight. Knocks your freshly moved pawn. Claims the tile as his own.

“Rule number one,” He smirks, lip ring flipping in the corner of his pretty little mouth. “Never trust your opponent.”

“Dude, what the fuck,” you whine, looking at him with a faux sense of hurt and a very believable pout. “You’re my boyfriend . You’re supposed to help .”

“No moaning,” he dismisses your stropping, knowing he’s lost brownie points for his deception. He also knows he’ll earn your favour back soon enough, so whatever. “Now, what's your next move, baby? Go on.”

You study the board, and assess how different the opposing sides look. 

This time, he’s going easy on you. Kind of. You’ve almost exclusively been guided by him for the last half an hour, over a string of short games, all of which have ended with your very quick and immediate defeat. 

Jeongguk is too competitive for his own good. Jimin never wants to play against him, ‘cause he knows he’ll lose, too.

This is an indulgence for Jeongguk. He ought not to waste the opportunity—or worse yet, convince you never to play against him again.

He likes the idea of chess being an heirloom; the kind of skill he’ll teach his kids in the future. It’s integral to the very depths of his brain—how he works, and how his logical mind can jump and switch sometimes at the flick of a button—yet he rarely shares it with anyone else.

It’s only apt that you’d get an all-access pass.

Hovering over your now-free bishop, you narrow your eyes as you glance towards him. 

He nods. 

And so you move a pawn instead.

“I don’t trust you,” you tell him, because he told you not to. In a way, you are trusting him—just trusting that he’s a bullshitter. 

What you don’t realise is that you’ve just moved the very pawn that’s been protecting your King, and preventing Jeongguk from getting an easy win.

“B,” he sighs, looking helplessly at the move you just made. 

He couldn’t love you any more if he tried, but— fuck —he’ll never understand your brain.

“What?!”

He picks up his queen. Places it diagonally across from your exposed King. There’s nowhere for your King to go, other than in the direct line of his queen. He’s gone and fuckin’ done it again.

Check. 

Mate .

Groaning, you realise what's happening and flop down onto your back. Your brain is fried. There's no way Jeongguk actually enjoys this. 

"Not again," you whine, pretending to sob a little as you look up at Jeongguk's ceiling. It's without birds these days, but there are a few rogue strips of tape that remind you of your history within these four walls.

"B," Jeongguk laughs, clambering around the board to flop down with you. His arm rests over your tummy as his face aligns with yours. Might not have any birds above you, but the way you melt into his touch is just as deadly as it was the first time. You'll scorch a hole through his sheets with even the most innocent of encounters. His lips are a little pouty, smirk prevailing as he teases, "What did I tell you, huh? Protect your king."

"I tried!" You insist, your over-dramatic, distressed expression far too cute for him to care about playing anymore. He enjoys chess, but he enjoys you more.

"You left him wide open for me to take!"

"You could have gone easy on me!"

"I was!" He defends with a laugh, adamant that he could have taken you out in, like, two moves if he really wanted. "I swear you didn't listen to a single thing I told you—"

"I did! Listening to you is how you got that stupid pawn in the first place," you huff, putting your hand against the bottom of his throat to stop him from getting any closer. He doesn't deserve niceties in times like this.

He'd argue that the feeling of your sharp nails against his throat is incredibly nice.

He ignores your moaning. "I'll make you a deal."

"Go on."

"Strip chess."

"Pervert."

"For every move you make, I'll take an item of clothing off," he suggests with a glint in those starry eyes of his, ignoring your remark.

You assess the situation. Mentally make a checklist of his clothes. Sweats, a shirt, a (toe)sock on either foot, and underwear — that's only five moves, but then again, Jeongguk normally has your king trapped by that point.

"I think you're just trying to get me naked."

"I'm always trying to get you naked, B," he shrugs into his sheets, before tearing himself away and getting back into position on the opposite side of the board. "So are you gonna make it a challenge or not?"

"What happens if I take out one of your pieces?"

"If you do that," he hums, as if he's contemplating it. "I'll let you do that goddamn paper plane you wanna try out so bad."

Instantly, you sit up, like a puppy with a treat being teased in front of its snout. Your eyes are wide, smile incredulous. 

It's been a while since Jeongguk made those paper planes in your bedroom. Only one has ever been done, and quite frankly, you think it might have been the catalyst to your friendship's demise, because how you could ever go back to 'just friends' afterwards was beyond you. 

It's not like you didn't try to remain totally neutral about cock warming with him, but the way your heart swells whenever you do it now just goes to show how your bodies were made for one another. Like a turning of tides, or the cyclical rising and falling of the sun to make way for the moon, it's just as nature intended. He was made for you, and you him.

With a glint in your eye, you lean over to the chess board and swipe up one of his pawns at random. With a gasp, and a smile twitching at your lips, you exclaim, "Oh look! I won!"

"B," he laughs, but your expression remains entirely serious despite the light nature of it all.

"Lemme fuck your ass," You grin now, pleading ever so softly. "A deal is a deal."

"You didn't win."

"Says who?"

"Anyone who has ever played chess?"

"I've played, and I think I won. C'mon," you grin, positioning yourself on his lap. The chess piece is still in your hands as you lean down to nudge your nose up against his. "Face down, ass up for me, baby."

"You're in my way," he says.

"You could throw me across the room if you wanted to. I'm not stopping you."

"And I'm not throwing you across the room."

"Please," you pathetically beg.

"You really it want it, don't you?" He grins against your lips. "Huh?"

"Just wanna make you feel good."

"You always make me feel good," Jeongguk whispers, quietly deflecting the real reason why he hasn't let you do it yet. 

Truth be told, Jeongguk is a little scared. 

While yes, he's always been curious about pegging, he's never taken it that far before. Has never had the tools, shall we say, to explore by himself, and none of his exes or flings ever seemed too interested in it.

He wants it. Wants it with you. Just doesn't know how he'll react. Doesn't know what his body will do. Worries that things will take a turn for the worse and that you'll be so repulsed by him that you'll never want to have sex with him again, or that maybe he'll like it too much and that it'll be all he ever wants and it'd ruin just how good things are at the moment. 

His thoughts distract him as your lips press feathery kisses against the thick column of his neck. Something about you, and how delicate you can be, just makes him melt into your touch. His hands come to clutch your hair, a pretty little smile forming on his lips. 

"You don't have to do this," he quietly says, nails lightly scratching at your scalp. Your lips graze against his skin, before he gently pulls you back by the root of your hair. The sensation makes you want him even more than you already do. There's a love-drunk look of lust to your darling eyes, all glittery like they so often are as you look at him. 

Reaching to cup his jaw, you marvel at how a man who looks like him can be as tender as he is. The world would give him permission to break hearts, if he wanted it, but he doesn't. All he seems to want is to adore, and be adored in return—and how lucky you are to be on the receiving end of it.

A slight guilt settles in your stomach. You know he'd give you the world if you asked for it, but he isn't giving you this. 

"I'm only teasing," you tell him, which isn't strictly true. You do wanna do it, but your incessant begging is what you're joking about. It's not like you'll die if you can't fuck his ass (maybe). "I'll respectfully stay out of your ass unless requested otherwise."

He shakes his head. Laughs. Kisses you, 'cause he just can't help himself, then pulls you down into the sheets with him. "I give it a day until you're asking again."

Secretly, he wants you to ask again. It doesn't feel like pressure. Feels like validation; as if you want this even more than he does.

The thing is, you can't say no to a challenge. "Wanna bet?"

No. 

But he can't resist either. "You're on."

Yoongi stands with his shoulders pressed to glass front door, keys looped on his fingers. The streets in this area are always quiet until the evening, minor hustle and bustle from delivery drivers dropping off stock to businesses down the alley disturbing the peace. 

A small hotteok stall sits lopsided, supported by the building's exterior wall, red tarpaulin covering it from the weather and any inquisitive eyes. An elderly man runs it during the weekends, but for the rest of the week, it sits derelict. It's an eyesore, to say the least. Not the kind of thing that screams 'hot new restaurant' to anyone walking by.

It's as Yoongi's contemplating how to solve this problem, figuring the stallhand probably had an agreement with the previous owners, when Jeongguk comes into his line of vision. He tweaks a brow in Jeongguk's direction, almost as if to ask: what time do you call this?

Jeongguk's right on time. It's not a minute past twelve, which is exactly the time Yoongi told him to arrive. 

Sale finalised, paperwork complete, Yoongi got given the keys this morning. It's a done deal. The building is his, and in turn, the restaurant is Jeongguk’s. 

Despite his nonchalance, when Yoongi sees Jeongguk grin, he can't help but smile too.

"Shut up," Yoongi tells him. "We're serious businessmen. Don't get giggly with me."

"I'm not!" Jeongguk laughs, hands up in defence, until Yoongi puts his own hand out for Jeongguk to shake. Naturally, Jeongguk uses Yoongi's hand to pull him in for a hug instead. Patting his back, Jeongguk is almost fighting the urge to cry. He's waited so long for this. Worked so hard. Doesn't think any of it would be possible without Yoongi, but Yoongi would disagree.

"You better make the best fuckin' samgyeopsal this city has ever seen," Yoongi threatens with all the love in the world, breaking from the hug. Passing over the keys, he nods towards the doors. "Do us the honours."

Yoongi is fatherly in the way he never takes the glory for himself. Will be the kind of dad to build a lego castle and let his kid put the flag in place at the end of his labour. 

Jeongguk doesn't mention it, but he's noticed the way Seoyeon has been the designated driver for the past few weeks; how she didn't drink at auction, and how Yoongi's been even more attentive than he usually is. 

Could be nothing at all. Could just be a change in the weather.

But it could mean everything, and Jeongguk knows better than to intrude before being welcomed in on the news. 

Pushing the key into the lock, Jeongguk is quietly enamoured with the fact the premises has a lock and key instead of the typical keypad locks that are usually in place. The metal grates against itself as he twists the lock open, and pushes the door open. 

There's a separate side entrance for access to the upper floors. 

The floors Jeongguk intends to be the restaurant already have a connecting staircase towards the back of the room, which will make it infinitely easier for staying out of Yoongi's hair whenever he's in the workshop.

In the light of day, the furniture from the previous owners now removed, it's so much easier for Jeongguk to envisage how everything will look; where the signage will hang, where the bar will go, and, most importantly, where the disco balls will hang.

"It's really happening," he exhales, as if he hadn't realised it at any earlier stage in the process.

Yoongi doesn't berate him. Instead, he takes a deep breath, too. Nods. "It's really happening."

Though he smiles, Jeongguk wishes he had a hand to hold as tightly as his lips press together. Wishes you were here. Knows you're busy with work, making up hours to account for the fact you'll have some time off at the end of the week for your interview at the Ryu.

Why you need an interview is beyond him. He thinks they're being ridiculous. Thinks that even entertaining the idea of hiring someone else is an insult. Got so wound up about it, ranting to Jimin while he was making dinner, that he burned his sauce a couple of nights ago. Is now on a talking while cooking ban. Jimin says Jeongguk can't be trusted to multitask. Jeongguk says Jimin is a little prick.

The day is lost to making plans; sketches drawn up on Jeongguk's ipad, discussions with Yoongi about how to go about getting liscences for the premises, and back and forth over what should be done with the top two floors.

The idea of Taehyung using the fourth floor as a studio is considered, but both of them know how much he adores his current place. 

"Think he'd live there, if he could," Yoongi muses picking up a slice of napjak mandu with his chopsticks, dipping it into the tteokbokki sauce. They'd ordered from the place near his current workshop, and it makes him lament the idea of leaving it behind. 

Perhaps he can keep them both. Use the smaller space as his own little sanctuary, and the third floor here as his public-facing premises. Might be a bit of a waste, but if he can afford the rent, then why not?

"Tell you what," Yoongi hums as he swallows down his food. "If you don't add something like this to the menu, I'm kicking you out."

"I'll put it on the secret menu," Jeongguk offers, knowing that it definitely won't be what he offers to punters. He makes a mean tteokbokki, but it doesn't fit the vision of what he wants for this place. "Well, what about Jimin? He could start up his own interior place, if he wants. He's got the money for it, and I know the office he's in at the moment has been stifling him. Lost out on, like, three big commissions in the last quarter because the boss went with some other prick's ideas. Jimin's wasted there."

Yoongi hums in agreement as he swallows down his food. "We could always get him to help out with the design of this place. I reckon he knows all the tricks for good energy."

Nodding, Jeongguk laughs. Picks up another rice cake and chows down on it as he adds, "Should have seen him when we moved into our current place. Man had a compass out to align a sofa with the right energy."

"Sounds about right," Yoongi grins, resting his chopsticks back down against the edge of the bowl. "Well, what about your missus, then? Would she want gallery space? Somewhere for curation?"

Jeongguk chokes on his rice cake, and it's not because of the spice. 

"She's not my missus—" he corrects, but then decides he doesn't want to "—at least, not yet. And she's got a big interview with The Ryu this week. I'm not sure opening her own gallery is on her agenda, but I can put the feelers out—and like… I don't know. Wouldn't it be a bit much? We spend so much time together, already. She'd get sick of me if I was working two floors below."

"Would you get sick of her?"

"Don't be stupid. No."

"Exactly," Yoongi says as if it's obvious—which, in all fairness, he thinks it is. "The pair of you are in a perpetual honeymoon phase."

Jeongguk shakes his head, as if he isn't beaming. "Shut up. Just got a good thing going—and hey, you're hardly one to talk. How's Seoyeon?"

"Good, yeah," Yoongi nods, but doesn't divulge any further. As much as Jeongguk is dying to ask, he holds back. "She wants you all round for dinner soon, so expect an invite in the group chat."

"For any reason?" Jeongguk baits Yoongi, cause he just can't help himself.

Unlucky for him, Yoongi is as stoic as can be. "You know Seo. She loves any excuse for a dinner party. Has started making her own pasta and I think she wants tasters."

"B makes a mean pasta," Jeongguk says, because his thoughts so often wind back to you, and he just can't help himself. "I'm sure she'll be buzzing to try Seoyeons."

A sense of pride washes over Yoongi's features. "Gah, when did you grow up, Jeongguk? Practically married, aren't you?"

Dismissive in how he shakes his head, Jeongguk can't help but let a bashful smile grow on his face. The soft lights overhead glimmer down him, putting those stars Jeongguk adores so much right back in his eyes. He'll never get rid of you. Will eternally carry the evidence of how utterly smitten he is.

Should you ever leave him, Jeongguk thinks he'd simply die of a broken heart. Wouldn't know how to walk if it weren't in the direction of you. Would stumble and fall until he inevitably wound up back at your door like a wounded puppy.

So perahps Yoongi is right. Maybe it would make sense to offer you the space—but you've got your own agenda. Your own dreams. Jeongguk can't just entrap you in his.

The thing is, once your shift is up, and you're heading to the restaurant premises to see Jeongguk, you can't help but feel like this is a dream come true for you. 

His ambition and drive have rubbed off on you; encouraged you up a career path you once thought was overgrown with thorns and rubble. Has shown you that all you need is a little bit of elbow grease and a pair of secateurs to go after what you want. 

It's dark by the time you arrive. Lights from the other establishments flood the streets, but the blinds are closed on the restaurant for a little privacy. A handwritten 'under new management' sign is taped to the front door in Jeongguk's signature penstroke. A little smiley face accents it; a show of how he feels, you presume. 

Pulling your phone from your back pocket, you dial through to him, 'cause you've no idea how to get in, nor if he's even actually there. The building is just on the way home from the art cafe, and you'd left Jeongguk's place that morning to a very smiley boyfriend instead of his usual 'don't go' pout, so you figure he's spent all day busy with exciting plans.

"Sorry, not interested," Jeongguk's voice purrs through the speaker, as if you're some kind of cold-calling saleswoman with nothing half-decent to offer him. 

"What if I told you I'm outside the restaurant and that I'm naked under my clothes?"

"Aren't we all naked under our clothes?"

"Just open the door," you grin down the phone as he comes into view through the glass doors. 

He's got the kind of look on his face that you'd expect: pouty lips with heavy-lidded eyes. Softening ever so slightly when he notices the bunch of wildflowers poking out from the tote bag you've got hooked over your shoulder, his eyes are incapable of ever hiding his true feelings. 

Mild confusion ( did someone get you flowers?) dismissed with easy understanding—they're from the stall he always buys you flowers from, so he knows you got them yourself.

It's very conflicting to adore you and to also want to fuck you into next Tuesday, but it garners you a gaze nobody else is ever lucky enough to receive from him. You cherish it. Think about it near-constantly whenever he's not by your side.

"You're a terrible saleswoman," he scolds so softly it feels like praise.

"And yet here you are, answering the door for me," you shrug with a knowing smile, sure that'd he take whatever you sold him. Would buy sand, water, air from you. Would let you swindle him. 

"And yet here I am."

Hanging up, you mouth 'open it' through the door, and he does as he's told—kind of.

Blocking the now half-open door, he childishly asks, "What's the password?"

"I love you?"

"Ew. Gross. Get a room. No."

"Fuck you.”

"Not the password either, but I'm more than willing."

"Ew. Gross," you imitate him, gagging a little for an extra immaturity. "Hmm… Byeol is the best?"

"Ddaeng."

"Jimin sucks?"

"Ddaeng… but I approve. Good guess."

"Gimme a hint."

"It's the name of the restaurant."

The confidence that comes with the restaurant being his now is nothing short of a miracle. He's so certain of everything these days, in a way he never was before—but why shouldn't he? He got the girl. Got the dream. There's nothing he can't do. Statistically, he's two for two. A winner by all counts. A gold medalist in his very own Olympics.

"You've never told me what you want to name it!" You protest with a whine, thinking he's being entirely unfair.

It's not like you haven't asked a million times over. He's just been keeping it underwraps. Was scared that speaking it into existence would jinx it. Would refuse with a coy grin, and assurance that he'd reveal it soon enough.

Truth be told, Jeongguk's gone back and forth over names. It's probably changed ten times since he's known you, but then you said something at the fundraising auction, and everything sort of clicked into place. 

A name was coined and it wouldn't stop embossing itself into Jeongguk's dreams; the branding, the signage, everything. A new vision of what he wanted spawned like lava onto a mountainside. You sparked a volcano he didn't even realise existed, and it's solidified into molten rock. 

"I'll cut you a deal," you offer, knowing that you'll never get it and he'll never ease. Shrugging your shoulder to gesture towards the bag, you begin your enticement. "I've got cold beer and hot burgers from that place you like down the road. They're all yours in you let me in—if not, I'm going home and Danbi will—"

"Say no more," Jeongguk pushes the door open and grabs your hand, pulling you into the vacant restaurant with him. The door clicks close behind you, and Jeongguk spins you around so that you're stood infront of him, facing the large room. Arms wrapping around your waist, Jeongguk rests his chin on your shoulder, gently pressing a kiss to your neck. "Welcome in."

It's a lot to take in all at once. The room stands empty, save for the camping chairs and table Yoongi and Jeongguk had coversed around earlier, Jeongguk's ipad resting on the table with a low battery warning on the dimly lit screen. There's paperwork scattered on the surface—old utilities letters that they were using to sort out the new bills—and a bag of trash tied up on the floor from their lunch.

"I don't smell burgers," Jeongguk mumbles against your neck.

"I was lying."

"You've no shame."

Turning your head, you let him raise his nose to yours, a feathery kiss greeting your lips. 

Whenever your doe-eyed boy greets you like this, you always feel a bit like snow white; as if a dozen tiny creatures will flock to you and bestow their love upon you.

It'd be fruitless, mind you, for none of them could even come close to how deeply Jeongguk adores you. He'd sit in the corner, jealous and bratty as they fawned over you. Would hate not being the object of your affection. Would strop until your focus was back on him.

"I'll order some," you promise, but Jeongguk shakes his head. 

"Won't be here much longer. We can pick some up on the way home."

"Sure?"

"Yeah, baby," he tenderly whispers, punctuating himself with a slightly firmer kiss, before pulling away from you. Walking into the middle of the room, he holds out his arms. Grins. "Welcome."

"It's a pleasure," you grin, freely stepping into the space now, looking around with awestruck eyes knowing that this is his . "Holy shit, Gguk."

"Yeah," he agrees with your sentiment. "Mad, innit?"

"Just a little."

When you think back to the Jeongguk you first met—the one who spent hours upon hours studying for his exams, all the while working at the bar of an admittedly shitty club—you can't help but feel overwhelmed with pride. He worked himself to the bone for his dreams. 

The space is large enough for Jeongguk to go wild with it. There's no end to his possibilities. He's got an arsenal of weapons in his back pocket in the form of his friends—Yoongi can fit the place out, Jimin can help with the design work, Taehyung can make a central art piece, and Namjoon can get it featured in the paper. Of course, he won't take advantage of his access to them, but knowing how willing his friends always are to help out, it's kind of like a no-brainer. He's got all the tools needed for success.

"And right here," he points up, standing in the middle of a square marked out with tape on the floor. It's large and in the centre of the room—the intended space for a central bar and banchan preparation spot, flipping the conventions of traditional barbecue places on their heads. Wants the food to quite literally be at the heart of the restaurant. "Is where the disco balls will be."

For a second, you think you miss-hear him, but the way his smiles grows when confronted with your confusion only proves you heard perfectly fine.

Sitting on one of the camping chairs Yoongi and Jeongguk had set up earlier, you've been watching him talk you through his vision for the place. It sounds incredible—just like him, but in restaurant version. 

"Is that not a health and safety hazard?" You giggle, desperate to get up and stand with him, but feeling the need to maintain distance. He's having his moment. He doesn't need a shared stage—and yet here he is, announcing that the very embodiment of you will be centre stage for the foreseeable. 

Jeongguk shrugs. "Haven't thought that far ahead. There's gonna be disco balls here whether they like it or not, though."

Realistically, if the health and safety inspectors tell him no disco balls, there'll be no disco balls—but he won't be happy about it. Will be pouty. You both know he's just being facetious, and that he'll comply with whatever is asked of him. 

"It's my restaurant, baby," he reminds you, holding out his hands, cause he wants you closer. Naturally, you do ass requested, and join him in his square. His arm slips around your waist, a kiss firmly being pressed to your forehead before your chin leans on his chest. Looking up at him, it's a wonder that you're able to have conversations that last more than a single back and forth. A miracle, even. "I can do what I want."

There's something so incredibly sexy about this cocksure arrogance. He's not the same guy you met back in the confines of Dionysus, and while you adored him back then, you adore him even more now.

"You're sexy when you talk business," you hum, as his hand dip a little further south to squeeze your ass. "Home?"

He nods, a pretty smile hanging off his lips. "Mine or yours?"

"Yours is closer," you tell him, pulling away, linking your fingers with his as you do so, dragging him with you. Hooking your bag up over your shoulder, you're reminded of the flowers. "Oh—these are for you, by the way."

Passing them over, you're not surprised by his confusion.

"For me?"

The bunch of wildflowers looked pretty big in your hands, but remarkably small in his. You have to make a considered effort to not groan. 

"Mhmm," you nod with a sweet smile. "A congratulations."

Jeongguk's head pushes back a little into his neck, shoulders broadening as his smile forms. He quickly tilts his head to the side and then back again in the way he often does whenever his brain is processing something new. 

"Never had flowers before."

"Nice, isn't it?" You grin, knowing that nothing beats fresh flowers when it comes to small pockets of expressed admiration. 

With a bashful nod, Jeongguk feels like he should feel emasculated, but can't quite work out the way he actually does feel. All he knows is that he likes it. And that he wants to get home. And that he wants you in his bed. Naked, preferably. 

His thoughts dart back and forth to the last time you were in his room. Gets him hot. Blushing. 

Thankfully, you don't seem to notice—or if you do, you don't mention it. Why would you? It's cute. 

"What time is your interview tomorrow?" Jeongguk asks as he makes sure the door is locked behind you both. 

"One in the afternoon," you reply with a certain nonchalance, as if you're unphased, which Jeongguk knows is absolute bullshit. "Hobes said he'll work my shift if I buy him a month's supply of Sprite, so I've got, like, 48 cans arriving tomorrow."

He would have done it for free, but he's a tough bargainer and you're just an easy sell when it comes to making the people you care about happy.

"His blood will turn into sprite," Jeongguk laughs, linking his hand with yours once more as you head down the road to the nearest subway entrance. "How are you feeling about it? We can practise interview questions later, if you like."

Shaking your head, you smile. "It'll just make me nervous, and at the moment, I'm pretty calm about things. Thank you, though."

"Well, if you change your mind," Jeongguk reinforces the offer, before you redirect the conversation and get him babbling about the restaurant—projected timelines, contractors, suppliers. There's so much to do, and yet it doesn't feel overwhelming in the slightest. Not yet, at least.

With a pit stop at the burger place as promised, the journey home is effortless. Intrinsic by this point. 

Shoes off by the door, Jimin is out for a company dinner, so it's just the pair of you.

"Has he spoken with you about Nabi, yet?" You ask as you grab some condiments from the kitchen, while Jeongguk fills a vase with water.

"God, no," Jeongguk laughs. "He used to tease me all the time about you, but now he can't even look me in the eyes 'cause he's worried I'll ask about it. Idiot."

"He used to tease you? About me?" You hum, a little smug at this little snippet of information. 

"You know what he's like," Jeongguk reminds you, 'cause it's not like you've ever been spared from Jimin's teasing. "Doesn't know how to not be irritating. Character flaw. Think he was born that way."

Despite his annoying tendencies, Jimin is adored by pretty much everyone he meets. Jeongguk doesn't say such things to be mean, but rather because he views him like a sibling. 

"If anyone knows how to handle him, it's Nabi," you muse, thinking back to Pohang. "He'd have driven me insane organising the Jilympics."

"Don't call it that," Jeongguk smiles at how ridiculous his best friend is. Delicately arranging the flowers, Jeongguk's sense of perfectionism comes out once more. "He's a little narcissist. He'll sense his ego being inflated from miles away, and then his head won't be able to fit through doors." Tweaking a yellow flower to move it more centrally, Jeongguk shakes his head. "And to think the first time you were in this apartment—"

"Shut up," you groan, not wanting to be reminded of it. "Everybody makes mistakes."

"Alright, Hannah Montana," Jeongguk teases you. "It's just kinda wild, isn't it? How everything has just worked itself out?"

"Don't," you say with a glint in your eye. "You'll jinx it."

Perhaps it's foolish—naive, even—but he doesn't think it's possible. Thinks that this is all set in stone. That your names have been etched on a cliffside somewhere, and that's where you'll remain forever more. 

He forgets that cliffs erode. That the weather is unpredictable, and life even more so. 

He's always been cautious. Reluctant of counting eggs.

But he’s hungry. Ravenous. The first at the dinner table, and the last to leave. Bites off more than he can chew. Chokes and splutters in the wake of it all, every single damn time.

It’s a flaw he’ll admit to having, but why can’t vices be virtues? Why can’t he be optimistic? Why shouldn’t he hope for the best? He spent so long living in a perpetual state of fear, and it never did him any good. Wasn’t until he started opening himself to the idea of things working out okay that they actually started heading in that direction.

“I’ll do no such thing,” he assures you, reaching for a pan to start with his second course. Again, he’s hungry in all aspects of the word. Hasn’t even had his burgers yet, but he’s a growing boy, or so he’d have you believe. Better to just get it cooked first, and save him the hassle of getting up again later. “You want some?”

He nods towards the empty saucepan, but doesn’t need to explain what he’s making. You know it’ll be instant bibimyeon.

“A little,” you nod, knowing that this relationship is gonna be terrible for your waistline. Opening up his fridge, you pull a can of soda from the fridge. Jeongguk doesn’t really ever buy soda, unlike you and your minor peach soda addiction, but take-out places always chuck a complimentary can of something in with your orders, so he’s got quite a stockpile now.

“You want a beer or something instead?” He asks, as he begins to prepare the instant noodles in the most embellished way he possibly can. Spices, sauces, you name it, he’s always adding something—and it’s always delicious. 

Cracking the can open, you set it down and swipe the camera of your phone up to snap a picture of him; to document him in his element. “Nah, it’s okay. Want a clear head for tomorrow.”

Jeongguk smiles, hearing the synthetic shutter of your phone clicking. “Obsessed.”

“So?” You grin, immediately swiping across to open up Instagram and preserve the moment on your story. “You love it.”

Though he doesn’t reply, he does look in your direction with a smile that would only confirm your words.

Together, you fall into a casual rhythm, you perched up on a barstool while he cooks. Conversation darts from A to B, Y to Z. There’s no topic of conversation too obscure nor taboo for you to realm into the depths of, but there’s also something comforting about how you can just natter about the weather, how he should get his hair cut, what’s on at the cinema. 

By the time he’s eaten and cleaned up the kitchen, you’re already in the shower. It’ll be an early night. You’ve both been working today, and both have important things to get done the next day. 

There’s no objection from you as he taps on the door and asks to come in. You hadn’t locked it deliberately. Jimin’s out, and even if he’d have come home, he’d have heard the shower going—or Jeongguk would have told him. There’s no real worry there.

“Been looking forward to this all day,” Jeongguk admits as he grabs his shirt by the nape of his neck, pulling it over his head in that boyish way he so often does. Neither of you really care about being naked—it’s a daily occurrence at this point—but seeing him get undressed makes your heart feel all jelly-like and void of structure. The chambers melt, and so do you. 

It’s not just attraction, but affection. Acknowledgement that he doesn’t mind being vulnerable with you. That the things humans do to renew themselves — eat, shower, sleep — are things he wants to do with you. He doesn’t want to be full if you’re hungry, sleep while you’re starved of rest, nor wash away the traces of you. Renewal without you just doesn’t make sense to him. 

“Me too,” you quietly say as he joins you. The water pitter-patters down on you both, his hair wetting before laying flat against his forehead. When his deft hands push it away, it always falls back. 

Instinctively, your arms wrap around his waist, his around your shoulders, the embrace akin to coming home. 

“We should both just quit our jobs and do this forever,” Jeongguk muses, almost sleepy in how he mumbles his words against the top of your head. 

“Someone’s gotta pay the water bill,” you smile against his bare chest.

“That’s why I live with Jimin,” Jeongguk replies, tone cheeky and warm. 

The smile on your face sweetly settles into something a little more neutral as you outwardly consider your own living situation. “Lease is up soon, yanno. Mine and Dans.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you nod, wet hair tangling over itself against his skin. He holds you just as tightly. “Haven’t started looking for new places, yet.”

“I’ve still got a few months left on mine,” Jeongguk says, pulling back to reposition the shower head. Just wants to hear you a little more clearly. “My bed is basically yours anyways.”

It doesn’t take a genius to work out what he’s insinuating—but it also doesn’t take a genius to know that it wouldn’t be the right thing for you both, yet. 

Your eyes are soft as you shake your head. “I’ve a whole apartment's worth of stuff, Gguk. I can’t just move into your room. Need my own space.”

He frowns, reaching for the shampoo. “You can. And I’ll even move my statues.”

“You mean your action figures?”

“Oh my god,” he groans, and then you’re giggling, and any negative thoughts Jeongguk could have about you saying ‘no’ dissolve into nothingness, like water running down the drain. He passes you over the shampoo once he’s gotten himself some, and adds, “People pay good money for a collection like mine.”

“You mean you spent a fuck ton of money on them?”

“We’ve all got our weaknesses,” he protests. “You’ve got so many clothes. I don’t think I’ve ever been into your room when there hasn’t been an avalanche of clothes on the chair, wardrobe and dressers bursting at seams—”

“Exactly,” You laugh. “Now imagine all of that in your room.”

He takes a second. Visualises it as he lathers up the foamy shampoo in his hair and almost hisses. “Yeah. You’re right. I take it back. Get your own place.”

Rolling your eyes, you flick a little water in his direction, as if it makes a difference. 

He grins, teeth on show, lip ring doing the thing that just makes you melt. 

“See,” you grin right back. “I’m always right.”

The rest of your shower is littered with dumb conversations and stolen kisses between shampoo rinses. In fact, it’s how the rest of the evening continues. Some dumb action film plays on the tv, and then Jeongguk finds a dumb youtube quiz, and you giggle into the early hours over some other dumb shit. Dumb, dumb, dumb and oh so totally in love. 

The apartment issue lingers in the back of Jeongguk’s mind, though, and questions dance on the tip of his tongue. He tries to brush them away, but the mint of his toothpaste isn’t enough to erase them. They taste sour, and he knows the only way to rid the sensation is to speak them into existence.

Gone midnight, the city is still alive. His curtains are open, because you’ve started to get used to the way he likes to sleep, and find it far easier to wake up early when the sun is giving you a warm welcome to the day. Funny, how things change. How willing he was to change his habits for you, and how seamlessly yours have changed to fit him. You’re better for knowing one another, or so it feels. 

The light pollution gives his bedroom a soft glow, and with every change of advertisement on the billboards across the street, the hue changes. Like his own personal mood lamp, it’s become a staple of his home. It’s blue, now, and so is he when he considers the fact that you haven’t yet reached the stage of sharing a home.

Your arm is looped over his waist, ‘cause he’d decided that the role of the little spoon would be going to him. Fingers interlocked with yours, he has no interest in ever letting go. 

“B?”

“Mhmm?”

“Is Dan definitely moving in with Tae?”

“Think so.”

Jeongguk doesn’t immediately reply, but you leave space open for him. A question like that didn’t come out of the blue. It’s something he’s been ruminating on, no doubt.

When he finally does speak, the weight of his soft, if not somewhat pouty, words crush down on your chest in a way that you can’t quite explain. Hell, in a way you don’t want to explain, because it would mean admitting that a man has such power over you (even if said man is Jeon Jeongguk).

“They’ve always been one step ahead of us,” he laments.

And then he leaves silence for you. Knows that you always have a response of some kind that will settle his woes. Feels guilty that you’re always cleaning up the messes of his loose lips, but would be a liar if he said he didn’t crave the sweet nothings you soothe him with.

“They’re on an entirely different path, baby,” you gently press a kiss into his shoulder. He’s so warm and powder-fresh from his shower that you can’t help but want to cling to him like a koala bear. Most importantly, though, you don’t want him to move away. Space to talk is fine, but physical space? God, no. “There's no use comparing.”

But Jeongguk is a glutton for punishment. Will continue making himself feel small for the sake of his perceived flaws.

“Loved you before Taehyung even knew who Danbi was,” Jeongguk pouts, ‘cause he’s in his head again, going round in circles when he really needn’t be. You know he does this, though. It doesn’t surprise nor concern you. If anything, it reassures you, because his willingness to share these thoughts just signposts how far you’ve both come. He used to stew and sour over things like this. Now, he shares his burdens “But they’re doing all these big milestones first. They were a couple, went on vacation, and now moving in together. All before us.”

“It’s not a competition,” you sweetly laugh. “Their relationship couldn’t be more different to ours. Plus I hardly consider a weekend in Jeju a big vacation—we can literally do that this weekend, if you want.”

You’re not sure why you’ve never been away together. Busan is always lovely, but it’s a short drive, and is somewhere Jeongguk still considers to be home. It’s not a holiday. Perhaps you should rectify that. It's better spoken about during the daylight hours, but always a little nicer to dream at night. Make silly, fantastical plans that you could always turn into reality, if you really wanted. 

“Gguk,” you softly continue. “As much as I love them both, we’re literally so different from them. Our relationship was never gonna be like theirs.”

“You think?”

“Mhmm,” you nod, lips brushing against the bare skin of his shoulder. “Well, I mean, he lets her peg him for starters—”

Jeongguk turns so quickly it’s a miracle he doesn’t fall out of bed. Even in the darkness of his room at night, the open curtains mean his shock is easy to make out. “Does he actually?!”

Giggling, you roll onto your back, thoroughly enjoying his reaction. Truth is, you’ve no idea. Just said it to be a dick. 

“Probably,” you say, admitting that you don’t know. You just knew it would cause a reaction. Ease the tension, somewhat. “He’s like, obsessed with her. Would let her do anything she wants.”

Sinking back down into the sheets with you, Jeongguk wraps his arm over your body now. Pulls you close. Presses a kiss to your neck, and says, “You lost the bet, y’know? Can’t even go 24 hours without thinking about fucking my ass, can you?”

It sounds like a complaint, but the way his lips seem unable to stop pressing wet kisses against your throat would prove otherwise. Your hand tangles in his hair, scratching his scalp in approval. 

“Cute that you think I haven’t been thinking about it all day,” you tease, biting back the small murmur of a moan that’s just begging to escape from his touch. 

You often have thoughts about him throughout the day, both pure and impure. It’s not like you mean to—it’s just that there’s something about Jeongguk that is impossible to forget. Like a class-A drug, you linger from high to high, using thoughts about him to sustain your comedown until you can see him again. 

He is your boyfriend, though. Would be weirder if you weren’t a little obsessed.

“Liar,” he scolds. “I picked your clothes up after our shower. Your underwear were dry.”

“You were inspecting my underwear? Freak,” you tease, because quite honestly the idea of him studying your underwear in the hopes of finding arousal is kinda hot, even if a little perverted. “And maybe it’s because you don’t get me excited.”

Rolling his eyes, Jeongguk ignores your insult. Instead, his hand creeps down the mound of your pussy, pausing before he sinks his fingers between your thighs. “So you’ll be dry right now, then?”

“I’ll be just like the Gobi,” you assure him with that tone of defiance he's grown to adore. “Try me.”

You don’t know why you’re offering yourself up like this, ‘cause you know it’s only gonna end up one way.

“You’re such a fuckin’ liar,” he smirks—and then is proven correct as his fingers slide between your slick folds with ease. A gasp escapes from your lips as he casually brushes past your clit, paying it no attention whatsoever. “And even if you weren’t, there’s like, five bigger deserts than the Gobi. Sounds like it’s a pretty easy drought to rectify—but fuckin’ hell, B. My pretty girl and her filthy mouth. Full of lies, isn’t it? You’re fuckin’ soaked.”

“No,” you purr, hips languidly rolling to intensify the sensation he’s facilitating. After all, he’s right. There’s nothing dry about the situation between your legs. “Never told a lie in my life.”

His teeth nip at your neck as his body presses up against your side, the thick ridge of his cock letting you know that you most certainly get him excited. 

“You’re so full of shit, B,” he quietly says, lips from a pretty little kiss against the edge of your jaw. “Told so many lies, haven’t you, hm? Like when you used to tell people we were just friends?”

The desperate sigh that escapes your mouth only fuels him on even more.

“You remember the first time I touched you like this, huh?” He husks against your ear. “Those pretty eyes of yours watching us in the mirror. You can see us now, can’t you?”

Nudging his head against yours, he encourages you to look in the direction of his mirror. You always sleep on the side of the bed closest to it, but you rarely pay it any attention these days. The pair of you are obscured��bed sheets and shadows hiding what he’s doing to you—but the eroticism is just as potent as it always was.

“Gguk,” you rasp, back arching when he strokes against your clit just right.

Restraint is something that you wish you had been gifted with, but alas—you are just a girl, and he is just the sexiest man you’ve ever had the pleasure of sharing a bed with. Of course you melt with every little thing he does.

“What is it, baby?” His index finger pushes into the seeping entrance of your cunt, just once, twice, to really get you moaning. “You like it when your boyfriend touches you?”

Something about Jeongguk referring to himself like that always gets you hot, but it’s partially because of the way he almost growls when he does it. You know it’s a turn-on for him. Know that his cock is throbbing. Know he loves calling himself yours.

Tugging on his arm, you encourage him to move on top of you. It’s late, and you should both be getting a good night's rest, but whatever. In half an hour, you’ll both be away with the fairies. If anything, this will help you fall asleep quicker.

“Thought you wanted an early night?” he husks against your lips, finishing his question with a kiss that lasts far longer than any words spoken. His firm lips part yours as your legs wrap around his hips as they grind up against yours.

“And I thought you said whoever speaks about fucking your ass next loses?” You smile against his lips, knowing that he definitely must have a twisted idea of what punishment is. “How is this losing?”

“We never set out terms,” he reminds you, unable to stop himself from kissing you between sentences. “But maybe it's not about losing. Maybe it’s about winning.”

“Okay?” You entertain his flirt, giggling between those kisses he just can’t seem to stop giving you. “So what are you winning?”

He pretends to give it thoughtful consideration. Squints his eyes and looks away as if contemplating one of life's great questions. Why are we here? What is the point of life? How do I want my girlfriend to make me cum tonight?

Jeongguk presses a kiss to your neck, nose nudging against your skin. He’s feline-like. Purry. Pathetic. Just how you like him.

“You haven’t sucked me off in a while,” he whispers, teeth nipping at your earlobe. Your hand laces in his hair, a soft moan humming from your lips. There’s a softness to the slow movements of your bodies. A comfort. A desperation. Unadulterated devotion. “So maybe that?”

You laugh at his shamelessness. Press a kiss to his temple, still scratching at his scalp. “I gave you a blowjob, like, two days ago, baby.”

“I know,” he whines like a wounded puppy, all docile and dejected. “It’s been so long I might die.”

“Hmm?” You hum in response, pushing on his waist ever so slightly until he gets the message to roll onto his back. He does as he's told, because he really is just a puppy dog beneath it all. Well-trained and desperate for a treat.

Following the movements of his body, you naturally ease into position on top of him. Legs straddled either side of his waist, you raise yourself up into a seated position, earning you a grunt of approval from Jeongguk. 

The way his hands immediately reach up to play with your chest is curious, considering he still plays himself off as an ass guy. Strong with his movements, he grips the softness of your tits, his hips gently pulsing up against you.

“These might help prolong my life expectancy,” he says. “Best stress balls known to man.”

He seems quite content like this. Eyes closed, a smile hangs off his lips like he’s in a serene state of bliss. You cock your brow, unable to fight a smile, too. 

“Did you just call my tits… balls?”

One of his eyes cracks open. “No?”

“You definitely did.”

“Didn’t.”

“Did—”

“Byeol,” he reprimands your diversion of the topic. “C’mon. Business, baby.”

“Is that all I am to you, huh?” You say, reaching for his wrist so that you can pull your hairband from it. He lets you do so and looks on with salacious curiosity as you begin to tie your hair up in a ponytail. “Just a transaction?”

“Mhmm,” he nods, his own hair tangling against his pillow as he does so. “A bird for a bird, remember?”

“Are we not past the point of the birds?”

“Well, yeah,” he says as if it’s totally obvious. “Thought we were gonna do a plane?”

Jeongguk’s reference back to the paper planes that he crafted in your bedroom makes your heart seize. You know what he means by that. Knows that it’s permission, in a way. That he wants what you want, even if he doesn’t outwardly say it.

“Are we?”

“Well we’re not gonna do anything if you keep up with the small talk,” he fondly teases you, pulling you back down so your chest is against his. One of his hands wraps itself in your ponytail and tugs ever so gently. A soft moan escapes your lips, much to his enjoyment. “I like your hair like this.”

In all honesty, he just likes being able to pull on it. Loves your hair no matter how it’s done. 

“You’ll like it even more in a few minutes.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah,” you say, pressing a kiss to the corner of his jaw before you embark on your journey south. 

It’s intrinsic, how you work his body. A routine so well learned it’s not even given a second thought anymore. You know how to make him tick. The way he groans when you press pretty kisses down his collarbones and the way his hips roll when you drag the pink of your tongue over his pebbled nipples.

His hand clutches in your hair, keeping you in that position, encouraging you to pay a little extra attention to his nipples for a change. It’s not often that he wants too much focus on his chest, but he’s so turned on that even the slightest touch is making him go feral. 

“Shit,” he hisses when your teeth gently press down around his nipple before you suck it ever so gently. “You’re so fuckin’ good at that.”

He’s never cared for it before. In all honestly, he actively didn’t like it when previous partners did it. There’s something about you that subverts all his desires. You’ve changed him. Altered his understanding of his body. Opened him up to so much more than he’d ever considered before.

Still, you’ve got an agenda, and unfortunately for him, it doesn’t involve his chest. He lets you move down, one hand lazily hanging by your head, the other resting over his chest. His thumb strokes over his pebbled nipple, still wet from your tongue, the pleasure of your touch sending him into a state of ecstasy.

Your body shuffles down, and you both reposition yourselves. No longer are you straddling, but rather you’re between his legs. His thighs are dappled in kisses from you, before your palms rest flat to his inner thighs, spreading him just right.

Alternating between slow kisses and languid drags of your tongue, you teeter ever so close to his thick, solid cock, but never quite touch it. Every time you get close, he whines, cock twitching.

There’s a satisfaction to be found in the way his body responds to your touch. His desperation is painful. Visceral. All he wants is you. 

And because you can’t bear to see him in pain (whether or not because he’s so turned on he might just die), you concede. Give him what he wants. 

Hands on his thighs, you let a little spit pool on your tongue before slowly dragging the tip of your tongue up his shaft.

“Fucking hell,” he curses, writhing from the contact.

You smile, and the lightness of your breath against the wet streak of your tongue makes him shiver. 

The tip of his cock is already leaky with precum, his eagerness to be inside you so pathetically obvious. You avoid it, instead opting to repeat your previous moves. Slowly, you lick up his fat length, tongue flat as can be. You want him to feel as much of you as he can. Want him whining— begging —for your pussy.

If the precum seeping from his tip is a sign of desperation, then heaven only knows what the fuckin’ mess between your legs is. Every stroke of your tongue against him only serves to make you want him just as badly as he wants you.

Your hand reaches to wrap around his shaft, gently stroking his foreskin. Your tongue flicks against the base of his tip, right where you know he’s the most sensitive. 

It’s no surprise when his grip on your ponytail tightens. 

But it is a surprise when he lets go. 

“Hm?” You chirp, looking up, just to make sure he’s all good.

He is—he just isn’t looking at you to confirm it. Instead, his upper body twists ever so slightly as he reaches for his bedside drawer. 

You know it’s got a host of indecent artifacts—his sex toys, condoms, polaroids of you that are for his eyes only—but don’t give it much thought. Figure maybe he’s after a condom to make himself last longer, until you feel him tapping at your shoulder with the side of a small plastic bottle. 

He doesn’t say anything. 

Not immediately, at least. 

What he wants is something he can’t really bring himself to ask for. Hopes that you’ll work it out for yourself. 

As you take the bottle from him, a small chirp echoes from your throat, as if you’re asking for clarification. Again, Jeongguk hopes you’ll work it out. That he won’t have to shamelessly tell you what he desperately wants, cock twitching and leaking precum on his stomach.

The way you pause as you study the bottle, trying to read the text in the dim light of Jeongguk’s room, only adds to his apprehension—until he hears a soft smile exhaling from your lips when you realise exactly what it is: lube .

Never usually required, thanks to the fact Jeongguk makes you resemble a waterfall from just a look in your direction, you know the lube isn’t for you. It’s for him. 

And given the state of conversations around sex over the past week or so, you know what he’s asking for.

After all, he’s the one who wrote that damn airplane in the first place. Told you straight up that he liked ass play way back in the days of the sticky notes (some of which remain on his wall, yet to be conquered).

His drawer only really has his things in it, though. You’ve not got any of your toys at his place. This is a preliminary. A follow-up, almost, to the night spent in the Min’s garden, doing things that probably scared a few dozen nocturnal animals.

“Yeah?” You encourage, lips pressing to his upper thigh. His body adjusts ever so slightly, as if he’s shy. Your hand wraps around his shaft, slowly rolling his foreskin up and down his length in just the right way to get his hands gripping his sheets. 

“Don’t wanna talk about it,” he rasps through the pleasure of having you touch him. “Just want you to do it.”

“Talk about what?” You tease, ‘cause there’s no way he’ll actually enjoy what he’s asking for if he keeps being this uptight about it all. Relaxation is key.

“B,” he groans, this time out of frustration—and so you know you need to be the one to take the lead.

It just doesn’t feel right to take the lead, knowing he’s a little bit tense. You’ve always been so clear and consistent with each other when it comes to consent, and while you know what he wants, you wanna hear him say it first. 

So you leave the bottle of lube next to his thigh and clamber up his body. Legs straddling his waist, you’re pleased that his hands come to stroke your thighs without a second thought. Conversely, your hands softly hold his cheeks, bringing him in for half a dozen pretty little kisses.

“Words are important. I’m not gonna be crude about it,” you tell him, ‘cause it makes a change to the way you joke around with one another. “I just love you, and I want to make you feel good.”

Jeongguks nose nudges back up against yours, as if to plead for more kisses (of which you give him, willingly).

“I love you more,” he argues into your lips, earning a giggle from you that somehow melts all of his worries away. 

“Chess is always an option,” you remind him, but he shakes his head.

“Just… Fucking hell,” he groans as if it’s some sort of laborious task he really can’t be bothered to see through, which couldn’t be further from the truth. He’s just embarrassed. It’s all rather cute. Or at least it is until he continues. “Just finger my ass.” 

He bashfully half whimpers, half laughs, and then adds a pouty, “Please.”

A smile sinks into your lips, and the way he seems almost shy makes your tummy feel all funny. He’s disastrously cute like this. 

“I’ll make you feel so good,” you promise, lips brushing against his ear.

He nods. Knows you will. Lets his hands stroke up and down your back, bringing them around to cup your boobs. Squeezes. Smiles. Can’t resist himself when he questions, “Yeah?”

“Mhmm,” You nod, pulling back to sit upright just for his viewing pleasure. His hands are still holding your tits, gently caressing. He’ll never not love the sight of this. Of you. Of the way you respond to his touch. 

“C’mere,” he grunts, pulling you back down, ‘cause he can’t let you go just yet. Your hands grip onto his bedframe as his lips eagerly latch onto one of your nipples. One of your hands drops to tangle in his smooth hair, a pretty little moan escaping your lips.

He takes it as a sign he’s doing something right. Switches up his sucking motion to flick his tongue against your hardened bud. Get you moaning all over again, the position of your legs spread over his waist, letting him know just how pleased you are to have him like this.

And while Jeongguk might have been asking you for favours, all he can think about is returning them.

Tapping on your ass, he’s a little breathless as he lets go of his latch on your nipple, and husks, “Up, baby. On my face. You before me.”

“Hm?” you languidly hum—not because you don’t know what he means, but because it goes against what he was asking for just minutes earlier.

Still, Jeongguk doesn’t care to explain his thought process (mainly because he doesn’t have one (he just likes having you in his mouth in any and all capacities)). Instead, he just continues tapping your ass until you get the message.

“You’re so impatient,” you lightly scold him while you do as he requests, but barely have time to position yourself before his arms are hooking over your legs, pulling your pussy to his mouth. “Oh fuck.”

He wastes no time suctioning his lips around your clit. He doesn’t care to be quiet about it. Eats you like it’s his last fuckin’ supper. Laps up against you. 

It’s not just his tongue, though. It’s like he wants his whole fuckin’ face in your cunt. His nose rubs up against your clit, while his tongue greedily licks your entrance. There’s no such thing as perfect, but the way he’s proportioned is as close as it gets, you think. Your hips grind, a hand tangled in his hair, the way you both move entirely primal. 

Hands squeezing at your ass, he encourages your movements. Wants you all over his face. Loves nothing more than being coated in you. 

His tongue begins to focus now, though. He positions himself just right. Flicks against your clit at such a speed it’s hard to comprehend—and then he’s moaning. Vibrating against you. Delivering a sensation that could never be replicated.

“I’m close,” you rasp. Whine. Moan. “Don’t wanna cum. Not yet.”

And while he wants you to, Jeongguk knows why. Knows you wanna fuck him. Knows you wanna cum around his cock instead of on his face. Multiple orgasms have never been an issue, but it is late. You do need a somewhat early night. 

He nods, easing up his tongue, slowly sucking on your clit. The movements of his head as he sucks only serve to make you feel like you might cum regardless, so you shakily (and regretfully) pull away. 

When you reposition yourself, he pulls you against his lips for the messiest, most obscene kiss possible. It’s all tongue, and little else. The taste of your cunt. The sweetness of his whines. The filth of how much he loves sinning with you. 

There's nobody else he could be like this with. Only you. Only ever you.

Straddled over his hips, you grind gently, his thick cock perfectly snug between your lips. Wet and swollen, they feel like silk against him. Jeongguk knows, given the chance, that he’d be able to cum like this. Easy.

That’s not what he wants, though, so you retrace your steps. Sink back down. Don’t fuck around this time. Instead, you take him in your mouth without hesitation. Return the favour he’s just bestowed upon you.

Head bobbing up and down his fat length, your hand wraps around the base of his cock. Pulling back, you spit against him, using your hand to spread it, gaining momentum. Loose with your grip, you focus on the tip of his sensitive cock, jerking him until he’s whining. Whimpering.

And then, you let your tongue stroke against his balls. 

“Oh, fuck,” he whines, his hips pulsing beneath you.

It’s all the approval you need for your hand to get a little tighter, and for your lips to take one of his balls in your mouth. It’s a sensation Jeongguk fuckin’ loves, if done right—and of course, you know how to do it perfectly for him. 

You take his ecstasy as a chance to move things along. Know he’s feeling good. Know he wants more. 

Pulling back, you sit on your heels. Neither of you speak, but Jeongguk does slowly nod when he sees you reaching for the bottle of lube next to his body. Trepidation hangs in the air. This territory is uncharted, and it’s been a little while since you last ventured so far south—but you’ve got a roadmap. Know the way. Even if you didn’t, you like to think intuition would guide you, regardless.

Warming it a little bit in your hands, you’re slow. Cautious. Careful, knowing that he’s probably feeling a little more vulnerable than usual.

Hands slick with the gel, you wrap a palm around his shaft. Ease him into the feeling. It’s not like it’s a new sensation, but the pair of you rarely ever use lube. You’re always wet enough. He nods. Lets his eyes close as your other hand gently massages against his balls.

A little further south, you venture. He’s not a stranger to your tongue against his taint, but your fingers are less frequent. He's not as well acquainted with the sensation, but he likes it. Legs spreading a little further, Jeongguk makes himself available for you. 

Smiling at just how cute he looks, you’re a curious mix of enamoured and outrageously turned on. Just like nobody could ever make him feel the way you do, nobody could ever make you feel the way he does. 

“You’re so hot,” you tell him, gently wanking his cock as two of your fingers stroke up and down his taint. You apply a little more pressure. Replace his bashful smile with a wanting gasp.

Slick with lube, you let your middle finger go lower. Slowly, you press against his rim. Watch him closely as his brows furrow. There’s that look of desperation once more, and the assurance that yes, he wants this. Wants you. 

You count in your head. 1, 2, 3… make sure he doesn’t stop moving his hips. If anything, he’s edging himself down. Encouraging you to apply more pressure. 

And so you do. Slowly, eyes trained on his pretty, pathetic face, you push your middle finger against his tight hole, until the muscle eases.

“Fuck,” he whimpers, the penetration of a single finger overwhelmingly pleasurable for him. His eyes flicker open, landing on yours as your finger begins to curl ever so gently. Just a little. Just enough.

Chest heaving, Jeongguk looks beautiful in a way that’s hard to put into words—and when you slowly pull out, he looks ruined in a way that’s also hard to comprehend.

His lips hang slack, chest heaving as his eyes burn into you like the heat of a thousand stars. Face dewy with sweat, hair sticks to his forehead, the storminess of his gaze quickly triggers a whirlpool within your stomach. There’s a neediness to him as he swallows back a breath, lips coming together so that he can lick them, before his pout forms that pretty little o-shape once more.

Breathless as he speaks, Jeongguk rasps, “Again.”

The corner of your lips twitch into a smirk. “Yeah, babe?”

“Yeah,” he pathetically nods, fucked out but somehow still painfully desperate for more. Of course he is, though. It’s you. No one gets him like this. No one ever will. His brows furrow together, his tongue flicking against the silver hoops in the corner of his mouth, as his eyes drop to his pathetically weeping cock. He’s so hard. So keen. So needy—and what he needs right now is you. “Please, B. More.”

You tease against his entrance, applying just enough pressure to make him gasp. It’s like a reward, to hear him like this. As if you’ve done something truly remarkable.

Your other hand wraps around the base of his cock, adding to the electricity surging through him. He reaches down. Wraps his hand around yours. Encourages you. Wants more. Needs more. And so you give him more.

Finger pushing into his tight entrance, you’re slow. Painfully so, though you aren’t causing any actual pain. Jeongguk just wants you to hit that spot. 

“Yeah?” You check in.

Breathless, nodding his head even though his eyes are closed, he says, “Yeah.”

Your finger curls. Strokes. Searches. Finds.

And Jeongguk moans in a way you don’t think you’ve ever heard before. It’s a whimper, almost. A plea. Or rather, a confession, maybe.

Your hands work in tandem, your finger stroking right against the spot that makes him whine, while your other hand strokes him in tempo. He’s stimulated in a way he isn’t used to. In a way he never really thought was possible. 

There’s a vulnerability that comes with penetration. Far easier to fuck someone than it is to get fucked.

When he looks down towards you, it's like looking through a telescope; galaxies in his big brown eyes. Wide and wanting, he'll give you all the stars in his eyes, no questions asked, no fee charged.

It’s when your head dips to press wet kisses against his taint that his whines really begin to get desperate. Has always loved your mouth. Loves it when it does things it shouldn’t. 

A girl like you shouldn’t have your nose pressed to a ballsack or her tongue mere millimetres away from an asshole, but the way you focus on delivering him pleasure would suggest otherwise. You’re made for this. Made for him. 

It’s when you whine, though, obsessed with his body's response to you, that he really begins to get twitchy. His hips pulse ever so gently, encouraging the movements of both hands.

“Yeah?” you breathlessly whisper, smirking at how a man so strong is just absolute putty in your hands. “You fucking yourself with my hands, huh?”

Jeongguk is beyond the point of pride. Has no need for dignity. Just wants to feel good.

“Yeah,” he admits between desperate breaths. “Gonna make me cum so fuckin’ hard.” 

Everything is moving in the same chaotic rhythm: his chest, his beating heart, his pulsing hips. Jeongguk’s cock is twitching, the sensation of you massaging his prostate taking him closer and closer to the point of release. He isn’t gonna last, and you don't want him to. 

Your hand grips even tighter around the base of his cock, the stimulation impossible to fight against. There’s only so much he can take.

“B,” he whines. “Oh, fuck.”

“Cum for me,” you tell him, not even caring for your lost orgasm from earlier. He can make it up to you later. You keep the pace of your finger consistent, but wank him off faster. He whimpers and he writhes, but he doesn’t ease up. “C’mon, baby. Show me how good I make you feel, yeah?”

If there’s one thing that drives him wild, it’s when you call him sweet little names. 

“Please, baby,” you beg, because you know just the right buttons to press. His hands grip his bed sheets, eyes struggling to stay open. He’s seconds away from death, or so it feels. A little death, at least. His legs begin to twitch. The onslaught of what is about to happen is unmistakable. “That’s it, baby,” you coo. “Show me how good it feels.”

“B,” he tries to speak, but can’t. All he can do it succumb to the pleasure. Whine. Mewl. Moan.

And then it’s happening; the evidence of how fucking good you are for him painting his abdomen. His cock is pathetic as it spurts ropes of thick, hot cum onto his belly. White and wet, it’s never-ending. He cums and he cums; gasps and gasps. 

It’s not until he begins to twitch, chest heaving, cock spent, that you withdraw from him. Immediately, you gently begin to trail your tongue across his hard abs, cleaning up the evidence of how much he likes having you in his ass. You're keeping his secrets. Promising you'll never tell a soul.

“Shit,” he curses, all breathless and fucked out, one arm over his chest, while his other hand reaches down to stroke the side of your head. “Fuck.”

Giggling now, you clamber up to join him, and Jeongguk cares not for the fact your cum is still on your tongue. In fact, he deliberately stokes his against yours, swapping the evidence of his pleasure between you both. Moaning into your lips, he’s spent in a way he never has been before. 

“God, I love you,” he whines into your mouth. Gets needy all over again. “You know that, huh? You know how much I love you?”

With a bashful nod, you find yourself giggling. “You know I know.”

“Good,” he nods, pulling away to face the ceiling, eyes closed, trying to get a little breath back. You snuggle into him, all rather sweetly considering what you’ve just done. “‘Cause I do. And I mean it. You’re literally, like, the love of my life.”

“Who knew all it would take was a little ass play to get your saying such soppy shit,” you tease him, pressing a kiss against his chest. “Should have done this months ago.”

He laughs now, too. “Just cause I didn’t say it back then doesn’t mean I didn’t think it.”

The pair of you descend into a comfortable warmth, giggling and joking, until you get up to wash yourself up a little. Jeongguk protests. Says he needs to return the favour—but ultimately agrees to wait until the morning. 

“Need to sleep at some point, babe,” you tell him as you both meander to the bathroom. Jeongguk makes a mental note to get a place with an en-suite when he moves out. In a pair of boxers, he watches you fondly as you wash your hands in the bathroom sink, all love drunk and bleary-eyed.

You’re in one of his shirts, and it drapes over your body in a way that it would never drape over him. He likes it better on you. In fact, he likes most things in his life better with the addition of you.  Thinks life would be impossible, if he were ever to lose you. 

“I think I’d die, yanno,” he mindlessly says, watching you plait your hair to stop it from tangling in the night. “If we ever broke up or weren’t together, I’d think I’d just die.”

You laugh, because it’s absurd. Both the concept of dying of a broken heart, and the idea that you would ever break up. 

“Don’t speak it into existence, then,” you tease. “It’s a full moon, Gguk. Can’t be manifesting things like that on a night like this.”

“I’m not,” he assures you, because if anything, he’s trying to do the opposite. Not once does he think to tell you that the full moon has nothing to do with it, or some other belittling remark about believing in the stars, like you know most guys would. Why would he though? A star is the closest thing he knows to religion, and he’s looking at it right now.

“Well, good,” you hum, turning to face him, hair now secure. “Let's just agree to not break up, and that way you won’t die.”

“Sounds good,” he sleepily smiles, tugging on your hand, guiding you back to his bedroom. 

It’s a ridiculous conversation for a ridiculous concept. 

Or at least, in the warmth of lust-drunk night, it is.

In the cold light of day, stark and sterile, everything has the potential to change. 

After all, bad decisions are your forte, are they not?

[beeseverywhen]

I think we should be able to add comments. Like you do with a word doc. Fair enough don't bring back editing. But every reblog should show a little thing to click on saying that I've had ideas since so I can be like. 'PS. I wrote this when I was drunk'

I think tumblr should have a feature where if a post gets over 1000 notes it automatically adds a banner to the bottom reading: Stop! Before responding, have you considered that this post may have been written for the audience of the blogger's immediate followers and they did not carefully calibrate each sentence to eliminate all potential misunderstandings like they were bargaining with a particularly literal-minded demonic entity? Ok thanks :)

[saerins]

°୨୧ INEVICABLY, UNDENIABLY

+ gojo satoru x f!reader | wc 3.3k | content: fluff, modern au, friends to roommates to lovers, timeskip thing; from high school -> adulthood, alcohol, implied sex, children, marriage, gojo is mostly clingy and annoying and we love him for it, the years and age correspond to his actual birthdate, take this as my birthday fic for him <3

summary: despite seemingly having it all, gojo satoru’s goal has always been the same all these years you’ve known him—all he wants in life is you, and only you. during his birthday this year, gojo counts his blessings.

2006; seventeen.

the day you agreed to be satoru’s partner in homeroom class is the day you signed away your sanity. not because satoru’s hard to get along with or that he’s rude or slacks off, but because it’s hard not to fall for a boy with such pretty eyes and even prettier lips who likes to say the most beautiful things.

getting to know satoru is like taking a deep in the clearest, coldest ocean after an entire lifetime of being dipped in molten lava. he’s annoying, refreshing and eye-opening all in one.

satoru shows promise in the first lesson, doing fairly well at cooking and sowing, although afterwards he just falls off because you end up having to teach him how to properly use alcohol in his cooking so he doesn’t burn himself or that you’d end up patching his fingers up since he accidentally pokes himself a lot more than the average human would.

still, it’s not his fault he isn’t naturally talented in the home economics department. he is in sports, you find out, after a few months of being in the same class as him.

“hey, y/n.” he’s leaning back on his chair, depending on its hind two legs for support. it’s become his habit during class to bother you whenever the teachers aren’t in.

you were assigned the seat diagonally behind him, and it’s become a habit for you to ignore him—mostly because most of the time, it’s nonsense that falls out of those lips, especially after you’d gotten close. it’s his sign of affection, you realise.

“hey y/n, i’m being serious this time, i need to talk to you,” satoru whines, pouting and sighing in that over dramatic way that only he can.

that’s also not the first time he’s tricked you into acknowledging him so all you do is look at him, a smile appearing that you failed to suppress, and bring a finger to your lips, signalling for him to hush.

unperturbed, satoru smirks and gets to scribbling on a piece of paper, folding it (annoyingly and quickly) into a swan before handing it to you. he winks at you, and you’re immediately driven not to give him satisfaction by reading it. instead, you bow slightly and stuff it in your pencil case, making satoru pout again and giving yourself the sweet taste of victory.

the rest of your sophomore year in high school, you find yourself growing closer to satoru, an unfamiliar feeling growing inside of you. you find that you like knowing what makes him tick, and even the way he says your name, or even watching him ace every kind of sport and then having him blow a teasing kiss to you after each win.

“y/n, i’m so jealous of you, how’d you manage to get gojo satoru of all people?” one of your classmates whine, swooning endlessly over him.

you only laugh it off, deigning to think too much of it.

it’s weird; he’s most of the schoolgirls’ crushes, but you’ve never considered him to be yours. maybe it’s just a fleeting feeling that will go away with the test of time.

yeah, that should be all that is.

2007; eighteen.

“why not? we’re practically going to the same college.”

with time, you thought that maybe satoru would become a little more sane. like how growing into adults, you slowly shed the ridiculous dreams you had as a child. but he’s not, if not—he’s even more insane.

“we haven’t got the results yet, satoru.”

“i’m pretty sure we’ll get in though.”

“and what’s your basis for that?”

“i’m never wrong about these.”

as always, satoru lives in his own little bubble and you can’t help but to sigh. in his head, both of you will get into that same college you applied for and he has it all planned out: “we get into college, sign up for whatever classes, and then rent an apartment together—genius right?”

that was satoru just moments ago, elbows leaned over the grocery cart as he grins at you, beaming like a dog waiting for their owner’s approval. now he’s still doing the same, except you’ve flicked him on the forehead before turning your attention to the aisles because apparently, he says he hates the food at home and would rather have what you’re cooking.

he’s made it his life mission to invade your meals over the weekend, squeezing himself into your family, bonding with your sibling and your parents and only then did you realise what you forgot in the first place: satoru is one of the most charming people to ever walk the earth. your siblings constantly ask about the next time he’s coming over, and your parents are just waiting for you to announce that he’s your boyfriend—which he’s not, but he sure likes to make it seem that way.

another thing you notice about satoru thanks to your now-weekly grocery runs: he likes to wander around way too much, and complains afterwards when he finds you after losing you.

“y/n!”

it’s like routine by now; the way satoru rushes over to you, putting his arm around your shoulder and sticking his cheek against yours, telling you how he almost died because he thought he lost you—like the drama queen he is. by now, all you can offer him is a ruffle of his hair before you carry on like normal, as though your heart isn’t beating right out of your chest from that simple proximity.

because satoru, despite his generally icy look, is always warm; his body heat, his cheeks, the way he looks into your eyes all the time, even his fingertips when they brush against you.

you think he’s especially warm when he falls asleep beside you after watching a late night movie, his head nuzzled in your neck, hands somehow rested over your own. your favourite thing about the friendship, though, try as you might to deny it, is how satoru’s hands always find yours when he walks you home, fingers lacing around your own as if it’s second nature.

ever since then, these routines have become a staple, and perhaps even does your growing feelings. the inexplicable one.

2008; nineteen.

satoru was right.

both of you did get into the same university, and the same course, with different minors so at least there’s some differences. so of course, satoru did not let the shared apartment idea go. though, of course, thanks to your initial hesitance on the matter, the only available apartment is a 4-bedroom, entirely too big and hence you’d convinced satoru to just rent the other bedrooms out for extra change.

and no, satoru does not need extra change because his family’s loaded (which you realised you didn’t even know before this) but at least this would allow you to not dwell on whatever you’re feeling too much. university is going to be stressful enough without the added consideration of your possible feelings towards satoru.

then enters geto suguru—your new roommate who, thankfully, steals enough of satoru’s attention so you have some breathing room. turns out, they’re like two peas in a pod. but while you and satoru major in business, suguru majors in psych. so that still means satoru’s around just you most of the time.

some routines change; like how movie nights are shared amongst the three of you in the living room instead of just you and satoru in your room. or how during grocery runs satoru still runs up to you when he finds you again except this time, an exasperated suguru is beside you sighing at him, always a “how do you stand this guy?” rolling off his tongue. the most surprising one for you might be how meals include suguru now and satoru’s the one who does the cooking now, and funnily enough, he’s absolutely great at it. no ounce of hesitation as he flips the pancakes, or stirs the fried rice—no whining about how it’s too hard because he’ll get burns on his fingertips and has to ask you to tend to his wounds.

but some change in a different way. they leave no room for someone else, like how satoru always finds your hands to hold on to, keeping you within a reach too close to pass as just friends but both of you refusing to label it anything else anyways. it leaves no room for other people to butt in and whisk either of you away.

and for now, at least, both of you are okay with just that.

2009; twenty.

participating in different activities and clubs inevitably mean that you and satoru wouldn’t be attached at the hip most of the time. and of course, while that leads to satoru becoming even clingier when you’re both home (not that you’re complaining when it’s nice to feel wanted from the very guy you’re completely not having a crush on), both of you are in separate social circles.

satoru occasionally has his friends over, the ones you don’t really know that well. the one where you can only remember names like haibara because he’s extra friendly and yuki because she’s one of the prettiest people you’d ever seen and nori because she’s a mix of the two. you’re nice, and cordial to all of them, although you can’t really say the same for satoru.

occasionally you and suguru invite your friends over, because nicely enough, you both have the same interests. it’s mostly shoko and nanami, a med student and law student respectively, but both of which satoru loves to annoy to no end. lucky for you, shoko is strangely naturally tolerant of his antics and nanami shrugs it off as white noise.

“y/n, surely you’d rather spend time with me rather than that blondie?” satoru always asks, pouting as he looks at you over his shoulder during breakfast—a constant whenever you have plans that involve nanami.

it’s kind of cute.

“mmm, that’s a secret,” you’d always tell him, knowing that satoru’s pouts won’t last all day anyway. it’ll relegate to an excited grin whenever you’re back after that.

you’d never really had to face your feelings, then, until all of you gather one night, before the holidays officially start. you should’ve known that something would be different this time, especially when there’s alcohol involved. naturally, in the circle you sit in, satoru asks people to scoot over, purposely sitting beside you, as close as he can, close enough that your arms and knees practically brush.

it’s just for a simple game of truth or dare, and it’s innocent enough until someone asks nanami and he says truth, and his truth is that out of everyone he knows, he’d most likely date you. beside you, while everyone else is whooping at the declaration, satoru clicks his tongue in annoyance, though he says nothing about it. and you’re not really emphatic about it until someone dares nori to kiss the guy she wants to date the most and she kisses satoru, deep and slow, in front of you, haibara letting slip that she’s had a crush on satoru for a while now.

satoru’s five shots in and tipsy and he was imagining that was you and maybe that’s why it lasted for five seconds before he pulls away.

and when it comes to satoru?

as though noticing his dilemma, suguru gives an amused smile as he states his dare, “kiss the girl you most wanna marry.”

he doesn’t waste a single second in pulling you close and kissing you, his alcohol-tainted lips pressing against yours, daring tongue teasingly prying open your lips, chuckling as he feels you kiss him back.

“not most,” satoru corrects right as the both of you pull away, his forehead still pressed against yours and both of your half-lidded pair of eyes still staring at each other.

“what?” you’re almost breathless, forgetting that everyone else is watching.

“the only girl i wanna marry.” and you think he’s never looked more handsome, genuine smile plastered on his face and pretty blue eyes threatening to pull you in.

while everyone moves on, satoru doesn’t—he keeps you there with him, telling you for the first time in four years since he’s known you, “i love you.”

the next week, after you get home for the holidays, the first time being away from satoru in a while, you manage to find your old pencil case, the folded paper swan satoru folded for you all those years ago still inside, somehow forgotten.

curious, you finally open it, finding his message enclosed inside, bringing a smile to your face.

i’m gonna marry you one day.

2010; twenty-one.

dating satoru is like finding a new hobby that you’re effortlessly good at.

despite living under the same roof, instead of finding out the ugly, you find the good in each other. even with suguru in the mix, you all live harmoniously like you have been since the start. except now, satoru likes to sleep in your room, both of you fooling around and occasionally forcing suguru to tell you to pipe down.

satoru is still full of surprises, sometimes pulling up with his car as though both of you don’t sleep under the same roof, telling you that he planned a date and to dress nice. he buys you flowers even if you’re not particularly fancy of them and surprises you by buying things that simply reminded him of you.

dating satoru is like finding out that the right person for you will always think of you and your feelings, no matter the circumstance. the way he makes sure to tell you if he has to hang around nori, or the way he asks if you need anything when he passes by the grocery store alone, or going so far as to memorise your cycle so he knows exactly what to show up back home with.

by the time it’s your one-year anniversary and his birthday comes and you ask him what he wants, all he can answer is “you” and for the first time, you can tell he isn’t trying to be annoying or cheeky or flirty—satoru is surprisingly simple and his answer always has been and somehow always will be just you.

2013; twenty-four.

you still remember the day satoru got down on one knee, his handsome smile even more radiant under the golden hour glow, those still-beautiful blue eyes gleaming even from beneath his bangs.

just an intimate proposal with your closest friends, both shoko and suguru helping to distract you in order to create a successful surprise, while nanami and haibara helped with the decorations and photography.

thanks to them, you’re laughing now, at your wedding reception, looking at all the ways you nearly found them out that day, exactly one year ago, in the form of pictures. and thanks to the best man’s toast, you find out that suguru’s always known about satoru’s feelings, and just how deep his emotions for you ran.

“i won’t forget how much he whined about y/n getting close to nanami. that was probably the one time his whining got so out of control that i wanted to stuff a pillow over his face,” suguru divulges, garnering laughs around the hall, including from you, as your new husband pouts and squeezes your hand.

thanks to that, nanami finds the need to disclose during his speech, “i have never intended to date nor had such thoughts about y/n. my truth during that game of truth or dare was simply the result of a process of elimination—” and haibara cuts him off to give a more fitting speech, fits of laughter all across the room.

that day, you steal glances at satoru, wondering how you got so lucky to be with someone who loves you so much and continuously proves so with every passing day.

“satoru?” you call to him softly that night, as you both find yourselves completely bare in the bedroom of your new apartment, one to yourselves.

his piercing blue eyes flick up to meet yours, relishing how it feels like inside of you, every time as though it’s the first. “yeah?” it’s breathy, because he’s about to lose himself.

“i love you, satoru, and only you, forever and ever,” you tell him, finally knowing that in this life, it will always be gojo satoru for you, and that it’s the same for him too.

he only chuckles, pulling you close, “forever me and you, baby, only us.”

2023; present day.

“wow, more than ten years, i think i need to give you a trophy for that, y/n.”

satoru groans, rolling his eyes. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

beside him, suguru laughs at shoko’s comment. this time, the six of you find yourselves at a round table in a seafood restaurant during satoru’s birthday, talking about how it’s you and satoru’s tenth year together too.

“i’m not too much, am i?” satoru teasingly asks you, although you only shrug in amusement before drinking your glass of water as an excuse not to answer.

you’ve always been like that, but it’s part of what satoru likes about you. scratch that, he’s loved every part of you since he met you. it’s like it was meant to be; or so he likes to think. there’s an undeniable pull that always lulls him back to you. to satoru, there’s never been question that you’re the only one for him, maybe that’s why it’s so clear-cut.

“you’re just so head over heels for me, huh?” you ask him, a smug grin on your face, the conversational context something he’s missing since he’s been zoning out in his thoughts.

since the first time he saw you, he’s been drawn to you every second of every day. maybe that’s why he did all those stupid stuff like pretending not to be able to cook and ‘accidentally’ burning himself to get you to tend to him, or purposely pricking himself with the needle and asking you to put a plaster over it just to feel you close. even those times at the supermarket when he purposely loses you so he can find you again and see your helpless smile and feel the way you rub his head affectionately afterwards.

maybe it’s stupid too, how he had to silently admit he knows how to cook all too well because he didn’t want suguru to taste your cooking when he first moved in. it was something satoru felt he wanted to himself, something he wanted to keep between him and his future wife. or how a wordless stare between him and suguru during that game of truth or dare was all suguru needed to know that satoru wanted to make you his at that very second, afraid that kiss between him and nori would make you hesitant.

he shouldn’t have underestimated you though, because you know him better than most people do. there were never any pointless arguments or unrecoverable friction.

as they sing happy birthday annoyingly loud like best friends do, chanting for him to make a wish—his hands find yours again as they always did, he can honestly say that there’s no other way he’d rather live his life. you’re made for him and he has you and the little mini yous at home so really, there’s nothing that he has to wish for.

except, maybe, one thing, if he could be selfish.

in this life, and every other life, he’ll want to be with you and only you, forever.

[manikas-whims]

request for LADS

what if u have to fake date the guys for some reason but its starts becomin difficult for ur heart cuz you start catching feelings

thank you 🙏

thanks for this request! ♡ i went a lil overboard with this LOL. WARNING ⚠️ long post..

Fake Dating the Love and Deepspace men but you catch feelings pt. 1

ZAYNE

❄️ Tara keeps trying to set you up with one of her colleagues, and no matter how subtle she acts about it, you're getting tired of it. Thus, you come to this decision! You request Zayne to play your fake boyfriend for a while.

❄️ The matter of his own feelings aside, Zayne just thinks that fake dating someone to avoid potential dates is incredibly crazy. “You can simply ask your friend to stop.”

❄️ His suggestion is baffling. You feel like an idiot for ignoring the obvious solution. But only a moment later realize that even asking her to stop won't likely deter Tara. At least not until she sees you with a person better than any of her chosen candidates.

❄️ So you decide to let go of the little self-respect you have and beg Zayne to do this for you. He is amused by this ridiculous proposition but agrees nonetheless since he can never really say no to you.

❄️ It's an amazing experience cause Zayne is the perfect boyfriend anyone could ever ask for— handsome, smart, caring, strict when needed, protective and very accommodating.

❄️ The first time Tara meets him, her eyes literally glow with admiration. And she pats your back like a proud aunt, winking suggestively as she does so.

❄️ However, Zayne has always been great at adapting to the situations at hand and soon your arrangement starts becoming a bit of a problem for your delicate heart.

❄️ It is one thing to show him off to your colleagues. But Zayne has started doing stuff like dropping you home everyday after work, his only explanation being “that's what he would do if he was your REAL boyfriend”.

❄️ And this isn't all. He's taking breaks in the afternoon to have lunch with you everyday and make sure you don't miss any meals. He slips your hand inside his coat pocket on particularly colder days. He even focuses on the little things like wiping a coffee stain from your bottom lip or gently pushing the stray strands of hair behind your ear. All this while, his explanation is: it's what he would do if he were your real boyfriend. And you aren't sure your heart will manage long if this goes on.

❄️ The real issue arises when one of your colleagues point out how they've never seen you kiss. And this makes Tara perk-up too.

❄️ In your defense, you spout some nonsense about how Zayne is kinda shy by nature and doesn't believe in PDA much. “When we're alone, he's very passionate.”

❄️ This leads to Tara and a bunch of colleagues secretly tailing you when Zayne comes to pick you up one evening. For they also wanna see this passionate side of him.

❄️ “Um..Zayne, can we kiss?” You whisper, your eyes averted, and fingers fiddling in nervousness. Its not that you are worried about the "kissing" part. Thats easy. You are actually worried about kissing Zayne.

❄️ As for Zayne, he is confused and shocked at first. Even blushes a little. But thanks to his perceptive nature, he quickly spots your colleagues and understands.

❄️ So as you clumsily teeter closer to him and raise yourself on your feet to reach his height, he chuckles at your efforts as well as the pained expression on your face.

❄️ “Relax.” He commands and magically, his words do calm your nerves a little.

❄️ He smiles then, his big arms wrapping smoothly around your waist as he lowers his head and lets his lips gently linger against yours, igniting a desire within you.

❄️ When he finally pulls back moments later, you nearly loose your footing.

❄️ This is it. The last shred of your sanity blown away. It may have only been a few moments but the kiss leaves an impact on you. Your heart can't take it anymore. Because you enjoyed the kiss more than you should have. And its made you realise that you may have actual feelings for Zayne.

XAVIER

⭐ There's this creepy resident at your apartment complex who's been trying to make moves on you but he's just been so nice and subtle about it that you have no idea how to turn him down. Thus, instead of that, you ask Xavier to play your fake boyfriend for a while.

⭐ “This doesn't seem like a good idea.” He says, hesitantly scratching his cheek.

⭐ Xavier also believes beating the shit out of the guy is a better option, and a permanent solution. But again, you can't do that because the guy hasn't actually done anything threatening or concerning. Thus, any sort of unwarranted violence against such a guy will only result in more problems for Xavier and You.

⭐ So Xavier sighs, and nods with a smile. “Fine. What do you need me to do?”

⭐ “Just do things only a boyfriend would do whenever that guy is around.” You tell him and he nods.

⭐ And so it starts with you dragging Xavier out for morning laps and evening walks around the complex, and you always make sure to hold onto Xavier's arm whenever you spot the strange guy.

⭐ But as the days go by, you sense as if Xavier may be a little too good at his new job.

⭐ One evening as you are working out at the gym on the top floor of the apartment complex, the guy walks in and approaches you. To your annoyance, he begins his usual small talk. But he's barely strung two words together when you feel the warmth of a hand gliding along your waist.

⭐ You look up to find Xavier, his clothes sweaty from workout. He tucks his chin on top off your head, his arm around your waist tightening ever so slightly. “Do you know this guy?”

⭐ It takes a moment for you to realise you're gawking! At the same guy you had asked to pretend to be your boyfriend. And it's not just his fingers stroking circles on your belly but also the way his voice sounds more intimate!??

⭐ Quickly, you compose yourself and stammer a response. “N-Not really. He's a resident just like us.”

⭐ And with that said, you're being steered out of the gym, Xavier's arm never leaving your waist.

⭐ Ever since you've known him, he rarely breaches your personal space without permission. A gentleman through and through. It's you who's been messing with his hair, squishing his cheeks and poking his chest to tease him all this time.

⭐ But ever since you asked him to play boyfriend, he's the one initiating skinship at the most unexpected moments. It's as if this fake dating arrangement has given him a free pass to do everything he usually holds back from.

⭐ Now he holds your hand whenever you're walking together, idly plays with your hair strands when hanging out at your place, and ALWAYS makes sure his arms are around your waist or face nuzzling your neck in the presence of that strange guy.

⭐ You may have been the one who requested him to do this but you aren't so sure about this whole thing anymore.

⭐ A few weeks have passed but the guy is persistent. Now he's always trying to find you when he's sure Xavier won't be around.

⭐ “It's not working. We need to do something more convincing.” You say in a deflated tone. You and Xavier are standing in the hallway of your floor, having just returned from a mission.

⭐ And that creep is lurking at the end of the floor by the elevator, waiting for Xavier to leave so he can ask you out yet again.

⭐ Xavier tucks a hand under his chin, his nose scrunching in thought. “Something more you say..”

⭐ Then in the very next moment, he pushes you against your own apartment door, a hand coming to rest upon it to keep you in place; his other hand gently cradles your face, arching it slightly before he presses his lips against your own.

⭐ Only a moment later he pulls away, then kisses you again. This time with more fervor than needed to fake it. And when he breaks the kiss again, his lips gravitate towards your neck.

⭐ “Xa..Xavier..?” You're stunned. You're not even sure how you are meant to react.

⭐ Xavier pushes away from you slightly and turns his head, his gaze directed right at the strange man. “She’s mine.” He asserts.

⭐ The man is as shocked as you are and immediately runs away.

⭐ Xavier looks back at you and flashes his usual soft smile. “This should convince him enough.”

⭐ Seriously!? Who cares about that guy anymore? Your heart is the most convinced that you may possibly be falling for Xavier.

RAFAYEL

🌊 “Miss Bodyguard, would you like to date me?” Rafayel asks one day out of the blue, and you are left feeling equal parts flustered and confused because WHAT THE ACTUAL FUCK!?

🌊 He enjoys watching you trying to act nonchalant when your fidgety movements and flushed cheeks clearly tell him otherwise.

🌊 Finally he explains how he has accumulated quite the fanbase, thanks to not just his art but his gorgeous looks. And now these same loving fans are becoming slightly toxic with how they stalk him around, making it impossible for him to even go out in peace. Aa such, he wants to promote you from the position of his bodyguard to fake girlfriend.

🌊 You don't like the sound of it. You can already smell trouble from afar but you know he'll keep pestering until you relent. So you agree to it in the end.

🌊 Only later you realise what you've actually gotten yourself into.

🌊 Rafayel is already kinda clingy by nature but now that you've agreed to his dating charade, he's fully taking advantage of it.

🌊 Everytime he drags you out to a public spot, he makes sure that the two of you hold hands. And rather than going to places that may inspire him for his paintings, he drags you to expensive fashion brands stores.

🌊 Even as you refuse to let him buy any of it, he makes you try on the outfits for hours, making you turn this way and that, asking you to pose in specific ways as he snaps numerous photographs (which he'll definitely use as reference for his portraits of you). And just when you think it's over with all the fancy clothes, he makes you try on footwear next.

🌊 He's also buying you all these gifts you never asked for. He's basically spoiling you with things you can't otherwise afford.

🌊 He's also posting a lot of cringe yet cutesy couple photos with you on his social media accounts.

🌊 And you may not admit it but you are beginning to enjoy being spoilt like this.

🌊 Weeks pass without you even realising. This arrangement is becoming more and more dangerous for your heart. Because lets be honest Rafayel may be enjoying playing around with you like this but the same can't be said for you. You know that if this goes on any longer, your heart is bound to make space for him.

🌊 “How much longer do we need to keep this up?” You ask one day.

🌊 He merely winks at you. “Just a little longer.”

🌊 You try your best to keep your emotions in check. You just need to endure him and his charm for a little longer. Heck! You kill wanderers for a living so the matters of heart shouldn't be anymore difficult than that. Right? Right?

🌊 Oh how foolish you are.

🌊 It happens during a private gala Rafayel is invited to and of course as his “girlfriend”, you're supposed to go with him.

🌊 That, and the other reason being this crazy musician who will be there. Apparently she's been hitting on Rafayel for a while now, and your appearance may finally make her retreat.

🌊 So there, amidst the crowd of snobbish strangers, Rafayel asks you for a dance. And in the dim glow of the hall, paired with a slow, romantic tune, he feels closer than he is. And it happens..your resolve falters.

🌊 He wiggles a brow towards the corner of the room, and surely enough, you spot the aforementioned crazy musician. Indeed, she doesn't seem very happy with the way Rafayel has his arms around you.

🌊 And to deliberately spur her further, he lowers his head. His breath is ticklish along your skin as he whispers in your ear. “You’ve moved along quite well to my tune. You're a good dancer.”

🌊 For some reason, you don't like those words. Rafayel complimenting you so freely cannot be a good sign.

🌊 “Just endure a little longer, Miss Bodyguard. Tonight will be the last run of this charade.”

🌊 Then he tucks a lose strand of hair behind your ear and leans his face in, his lips gently brushing along yours before pressing harder.

🌊 The kiss is slow and lingering, just like the song being played. But it seems that the moment you begin to give in and truly relish it, the moment ends. He pulls away and smiles.

🌊 Yet you can't muster enough strength to smile back for its happened. Your resolve is broken. Your heart has already reserved the best spot for him. And you aren't ready to let go of this charade any time soon..

here's [PART 2]

i have 4-5 more LADS requests to finish. i'm working on them and will post them soon ✌️😊

THANKS FOR READING ♡

SEND ME REQUESTS FOR LOVE & DEEPSPACE HEADCANONS VIA ASKS.

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[scarlet2007]

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Pairing: Batman x reader / Bruce Wayne x reader.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Summary: After accidentally mistaking Batman as a criminal and spraying him with pepper spray, you both have seemed to form a friendship.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Warnings: Pepper spray, mention of Gotham being dangerous.

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Word count: 1.5k

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

[ Masterlist ]

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

꒷꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒦꒷︶꒷︶꒷꒦꒷︶꒷꒷꒦꒷︶꒦ ͘ ˖ ⊹

Bruce has no idea how he got himself into this situation. Or rather... This habit.

It all started on that faithful night.

Walking alone at night in Gotham was like an one way ticket to heaven. A death wish, as some may say.

You sighed, looking around anxiously as you tried to walk as fast as you could. Every flicker of the night light, every random sound was making you jump in terror. You were half convinced that this was going to be your last day on earth.

You were just about to walk past an alley when you saw a shadowy figure stand menacingly at the entrance. The lights were flickering as the lamp above seemed to be surviving off of the happiness of the citizens of Gotham. Obviously, there wasn't much life left in it.

Red alarms started to go off in your head as the figure slowly started to move towards you. The heavy sound of its boot hitting the ground, the sound of your quickened heartbeat, the sound of the pained hissed that left the shadowy figure- Wait... Pained hiss?

It was only then you realised that you had sprayed the shadowy figure, Batman, with the pepper spray you were clutching while walking.

You gasped, staring at Batman in shock. He was hissing at the sudden attack, one of his eye half opened as he stared directly at you.

'I am so dead.'

Your eyes were wide before you shakingly reached into your purse, pulling out a small water bottle as you handed it to him, "I am so sorry! I thought you were some... Some criminal! Oh my- Splash this in your eyes! I am so sorry!" Half of the words sounded like nonsense due to how fast you were speaking.

He reluctaningly grabbed the water, splashing some water into his eyes as the affect of the spray started to subdue.

For a minute or two, nobody said anything as you both just stared at each other.

"What are you doing outside at this hour?"

"I am so sorry!"

Both of you decided to speak at the same time, which made none of you understand what the other person said.

"Come again?"

"I didn't hear-"

And it happened again.

"Speak."

"I am sorry-"

And again.

Finally, Batman seemed to have enough of it as he just stared at you broodingly, making you shut your mouth from fear.

"Why are you out at such an hour?"

You paused at his question, looking at him sheepishly, "Uh... Nightshift..."

Your answer made him raise an eyebrow which you didn't see because of his mask, "You shouldn't walk alone in the streets of Gotham with only a pepper spray as a weapon."

You nodded, looking at the ground as you suddenly felt like a child getting scolded by your parent.

Batman sighed as he stared at your figure, he can't just let you walk around at such an hour. Especially when it looked like you had the survival skills of a limbless cockroach.

"I will walk you home. Lead the way."

And that's how everything started.

"You haven't been paying attention to what I have been yapping about, have you?" You deadpanned, staring at him as he spaced out.

This made Batman blink, coming out of his chain of thoughts as he stared at the bowl of cereal you passed to him.

"Eat."

He blinked again, glancing at you in slight confusion before he started to eat.

He doesn't remember how this became a... Thing. It started out as occasionally walking you home from your nightshifts, then it shifted to him being injured after a rather brutal fight with a criminal near your apartment complex which made you usher him to your house for some patching up and now it has become a habit of Batman to swing by your window every once in a while, whenever he knew you would be awake or knew you had a day off.

You have come out of your shell fully, and now he knows you as the sassy and playful girl he once saved instead of the scared and timided girl.

"Eat up! You look like you have been starving since the dark ages, Mr. Dark knight." He let out an amused grunt at your words, rolling his eyes as he ate the cereal.

It was a comical scene, having him sit in your kitchen in his Batsuit while you lectured him about his poor eating habits in your pastel night gown.

You were an amusing person, a dramatic display of playfulness and sarcasm was always expected from you. Batman has seemed to grow fond of you and your shared time spent together over the past few months as he found himself looking forward to these meet-ups.

He has heard it all, from how much you dislike your job to how much you loved visiting animal sanctuaries to how you once crashed your friend's bicycle into different objects all under 15 minutes.

All these little stories would make him smile slightly while he worked in his Batcave. Alfred has heard all about you as well, the butler seemed to have grown fond of you as well despite never meeting you.

He glanced at you, watching you move around the kitchen as you washed the dishes. A thought passed through his mind.

He could help you.

Imagining him, Batman, helping you wash the dishes in his Batsuit. That would certainly be something you would die laughing at.

He shook his head slightly at the thought, focusing on eating the cereal you had given him.

"So, when are you going to leave your shitty job?" That made you look at him, slightly taken aback by his sudden question.

"Oh... Um... When I find a job that pays the same or more...?"

There it was again. The same answer you always give him. At first, he used to get irritated by your answer but now he understands your point. He knows the financial struggle you have gone through as a child, which has made you very anxious about having no job. All his attempts to help you fell on deaf ears as you firmly stated that you do not want money from your struggling vigilante friend.

He still has no idea why you think he is a struggling vigilante.

Does he look broke to you?

He sighed, glancing at the clock as he saw what time it was. The sun was about to rise.

"Do you have a day-off tomorrow or another night shift?"

You looked up from the dishes, glancing at him, "I have a day-off."

He nodded, walking up the sink to wash his bowl as you stepped aside to make space for him.

This is starting to feel oddly domestic.

"You should head to bed then." This earned a giggle from you as you looked at him with an amused expression.

"Aww, are you worried about my health?" You cooed jokingly as you leaned against the counter.

"You work at odd hours. From 8 pm till 3:45 am, it has to be one of the most ridiculous work hours I have ever heard of." He mumbled, scrubbing the bowl as he pretended to be annoyed at your playful behaviour.

You hummed, nodding your head in agreement before a small yawn escaped you, making Batman give you a 'I told you so' look behind his mask.

"See? You should head to bed." He grumbled, drying the bowl before putting it in its place.

"Alright, alright, I'll head to bed. Just make sure that whenever you leave, you close the window." He nodded as he watched you walked towards your bedroom, stretching as you glanced back at him.

He still has no idea how this has become something so normal to both of you that you just let him stay in your house while you sleep and he knows exactly where the bowl goes in the cupboard.

Bruce sighed as he flipped through the documents and files of the new Wayne enterprise project, his eyes narrowed as the sunlight from outside was starting to bother him. He could almost feel a headache coming in.

It has been weeks since he last saw you, he has been busy with his duties as a vigilante and the owner of the Wayne enterprise to the point he could barely find the time to visit you. Thankfully, you have left your old job for good so he knows that you are at least not walking around the dangerous streets of Gotham at night.

But he still can't help but feel worried about your financial state, to the point that he has voiced it out to Alfred a few times.

He sighed again, glancing at the door as he heard a knock.

"Come in!"

His eyes widened as he stared as you walked in, his new secretary.

Suddenly, everything makes sense. Alfred suddenly pestering him to appoint a new secretary, Alfred going out of his way to personal find him a new secretary. Everything is starting to make sense.

'That cunning old man...'

[beenbaanbuun]

Face sitting with Mingi

words - no fucking clue

genre - smut

warnings - chubby!reader, dom!mingi, oral (f!receiving), insecurity, internalised fatphobia, nicknames (baby, princess, mingi calls himself baby boy…), praise, brief discussion of safe words, consensual somnophilia (if you squint - mingi gets off on readers thigh and she falls asleep halfway through), i think that’s it :)

one thing you’d realised about mingi is that although he may be dominant in nature, that man really knows how to beg

long limbs trapping you in place as he looks up at you with puppy eyes and whimpers in your ear until you’re practically a puddle in his lap, ready to give into his every desire

he‘a almost impossible to say no to with his pretty pout, almost being the key word

because there’s just one little thing you always say no to

after the last time you denied his request under the guise of being ‘too tired’ you expect it to be more than two days before he asks you again

but it’s not really a surprise… mingi is insatiable when it comes to you

so you just let it happen, body going almost limp as he holds you against kiss chest and kisses down your neck gently

“mmm, taste so good,” he licks a long stripe up your neck before taking your earlobe into his mouth and suckling gently, “you know what tastes better, though.”

you can’t help but moan as he teases you

“you’ll let me eat you out, right?” he whispers, and you nod.

and then he drops the same bombshell as last time and you freeze

“you’ll sit nice and prettily on my face, hm? let your baby boy devour you?”

you cant deny that you’d like to

fuck, you almost say yes there and then!

but before you can, you take a moment to come to your senses and realise that as hot as it sounds, it just won’t work

it takes a few seconds to give your body a once over with your eyes, picking out all the bits of it that carry just a little more weight than you’d like

too heavy, you decide as you begin to rack your brain for yet another excuse as to why you can’t sit on his face tonight

but just as you’re about to spout some nonsense excuse that makes no sense, mingi cuts you off

“and don’t say you’re too tired this time, baby,” he rubs your thicker waist with his hand, massaging the soft flesh like he’s kneading dough, “you were up for getting your pussy eaten before knowing exactly how i wanted to eat you.”

and again, you freeze

he has you caught, and you begin to realise that he knows you too well

“m’not going to say i’m too tired,” you definitely were, “my legs just ache too much to hold myself up for that long.”

“mhm,” he doesn’t believe you for a second, “well, that’s the good thing about sitting on someone’s face, princess… you sit”

his hand shifts to your bare thigh that poked out from your skirt, and he gropes it, big palm tugging at it until your legs are spread a little

“w-well…” you think for a moment, “my hips ache! i cant spread my legs for that long!”

he chuckles darkly in your ear

again, you know he sees through your bullshit

“if i was eating you out on a normal day, your legs would be spread,” he trails his hand up higher, “so tell me the real reason, baby.”

and you realise there’s no getting out of it

you’ll have to sit and tell him exactly why you can’t before he proves you wrong and shows you exactly why you can

its the same as when you told him you didn’t want to wear lingerie because you thought you were too big

you should’ve known mingi would go out and buy the prettiest sets he could find and get you to give him a show, all why he sat and palmed at his dick, showering you with pretty praises

you sigh, working up the courage to do it

“m’too big to sit on your face,” you mumble, “i’ll just hurt you.”

he hums in response, drawing patterns on your thigh with a finger

“and you think i care that you consider yourself ‘too big,’ do you?”

of course he doesn’t, but that doesn’t mean that you don’t care

you shake your head

“listen, baby,” he readjusts you on his lap so you’re facing him, one leg either side of his lap, “we don’t have to do this if you don’t want to, but your reasoning is fucking stupid. if you want this, then there should be nothing holding you back…”

you try and avoid his gaze

he finds it cute for a few seconds, but he’s soon lifting your chin and making you focus on him once more

“so,” he leans forward to press a chaste kiss to your pouty lips, “you want this or not?”

and you do want it… you want it so bad!

so you nod

“you know the rules, princess,” another kiss, “i need your words…”

it takes a moment for the words to process in your brain, and then another moment for them to form in your mouth

“can i sit on your face?”

“you’re so well behaved for me…”

and just like that, mingi gently pushes you to the side and positions himself so he’s lay on the sofa, legs hanging off one end so he has a enough room for his head to lie flat at the other

and he’s dragging you closer to him by your hips, and pulling one leg over until your wet panties hover just a few inches above his mouth

his jaw is slack in awe as he moves the damp material to the side and lays his eyes on your pretty pussy

it takes a moment to shake himself out of the trance you have him in

“so perfect, hm?” he whispers, “so pretty and perfect, aren’t you?”

you let out a loud whine at his words, nothing but embarrassment filling you up

he gives your hips an experimental tug, pulling your core just a little closer to his waiting mouth

and you resist, just a little bit

a little bit is enough for him to pause

“baby, i’m only doing this if you’re fully on board,” and you are, you’re just a little nervous, “i need you to sit, baby… can you do that for me?”

you whisper out a ‘yes’, but you still make no movement

you’re still a little scared

“okay, how about this,” he says, “you sit down and i tap your thigh if i want you to move, alright? i can guarantee i won’t, but at least the failsafe is there, okay?”

you cant lie, it makes you feel better

a lot better actually

knowing that he has a way to tell you it’s too much makes you feel a whole lot safer

it makes you let out a giggle as you finally understand why mingi is always so insistent on the whole ‘safeword’ thing

if your lips were anywhere near his, you’d kiss him

for now, you’d have to settle for something else

and from that point, it takes just a few seconds for you to lower your cunt to his mouth

the groan he makes when contact is made is borderline sinful and he wastes no time slurping at your wet pussy

tongue tracing patterns up and down your slit before delving deep inside to collect as much nectar as it could

lips circling around your clit, suckling ever so gently before adding more and more pressure

messy, open mouth kisses to your hole as if he’s desperate to make out with it

youre a mess within minutes, and you wholeheartedly blame mingi

you fall forwards at some point, barely holding yourself up with your elbows

your plush tummy rests just a few inches above mingi’s forehead and he can’t help but shift his hands until they’re resting flat against it

they massage the flesh as his tongue massages your clit

and before you know it, you’re crumbling

your hips buck against his open mouth, but mingi drinks up everything you have to offer him, grunting loudly as if it’s the best think he’s ever tasted

he works you through it, barely dipping a toe into overstimulation before pulling you away and shuffling a little so you can lie next to him

he’s rock hard against your hip, but when you try and move you hands to do something about it, he clasps them in his own

“i can use your thigh, baby,” he whispers as he begins to rhythmically rub his crotch against your leg, “almost there anyway… tasted too good.”

and in a weirdly peaceful way, you can’t help but fall into a slumber as your boyfriend ruts against your thigh, kissing your cheek with his sticky lips as he groans in your ear with his deep voice

[pricetagged]

The usual from me, I'm afraid. I'm back at my nonsense, typing up wife-hunter John while I take a break from tidying my apartment (: Here's part iii! (there will be more reader/john in part iv )

Masterlist l Previous

Content: More stalking, manipulation, voyeurism & marital sabotage. John's a bad man and I want him viscerally <3

----------------------

It tears at him, rends flesh from bone with sharp little teeth. Corrugated. Rusty. It poisons his bloodstream, boils blood to madness and burns to feverish pitch.

It's a trap of his own design, and he just had to poke at it. He set it up, jaw wrenched wide and trigger taut and, god, he had to touch it. Had to feel the bruising pleasure bloom then give to something sharper. Sweeter.

In his more reflective moments he wonders if setting up the cameras was a good idea. He's a possessive old bastard and he's torn; not because of any hand-wringing morals, no. No, but rather that he's left himself licking along the knife's edge, close enough for it to cut if he presses hard. He can touch it. It's in his grasp, but he's not fully confident that he's the only one wielding it.

There are too many variables still.

And it's left him here, testing the pressure of the razor-sharp rim and wanting to dig deeper. (He fisted at himself harder than usual that night, flesh aching and engorged and throbbing as the cold metal of your wedding ring bit at the veins and ridges of his length).

The screen is his most hated ally. Pixels and light; the blue sheen. The static blur that raises the hair on his arms as he caresses your image. It's the sweetest torture, watching you boxed in by the four corners of a machine. Gazing on only the impression of you, shadowy and reflective, pacing the monitor. It's peiskos, but wrong. He has you in his home, but can only see and touch you in artificial impotence. It drives him wild, makes his throat ache and his head hot watching you, but not knowing how you taste.

That's not him, he thinks, having something that he can't fully possess. Even the bottle of 1926 Macallan locked in his cellaret has been cracked open, rolled around the palate and savoured before returned to the shelf. Locked safe behind glass, yes, but within reach.

He has to see you again. The trap is tightening, and isn't it funny that it's caught him too?

(His hand moved faster, pleasure simmering as he watched your wide eyes turn glossy and your voice grow thick. 'I don't know where it went! It must have fallen off in the garden, I swear!' Even being unable to taste it, to lick at your tears and feel you tremble-

-it had him tensing his thighs, body clenching in anger and heat as he listened to your apologies. As he listened to your pathetic, half-hearted moans. The way you gave in so sweetly, so eager to please and make good. Your husband's disgusting, breathy grunting. Weak. Unsatisfying-

-But it had his palm tightening around the tacky, swollen flesh at his tip. Slit leaking as the rage boiled his blood and sent it south in a paroxysm of rapture).

He sees Buck before he sees you. It's a necessary evil. No, that's not quite right. It's inevitable; it's reasonable. He needs to lay the bait, shuffle the leaves over it and let nature take its course.

It's a classic pub. A real boozer, where the floor is always slickly sticky and the walls are a cheery, tobacco-stained yellow. The kind of place that serves only pork scratchings and pints.

Your husband didn't expect to see him there. Fox in the henhouse, only he's too stupid to realise that he's the bird.

"System is running well, mate! Thanks. This round's on me," he claps at John's shoulder and does admirably well at hiding his nerves.

It has him smiling into the pint glass, schadenfreude as your husband subtly stretches his aching palm and paints on a wary smile.

(Foot hovering just above the spring; steel teeth ready to -)

"You here alone?" John sips at his drink, eyes scanning the dingy room until - yes, there in the corner he sees a familiar Union Jack cap. Good lad.

"No, no. My mates have just left. Like to linger, you know, for the company," he sends a wink to some pretty thing nursing a G&T by the window.

"Not enough company at home?" he tries to make it light, hoping that the gravel in his tone could be mistaken for interest. And it is, really, if prey drive could count as mere 'interest'.

Buck scoffs, rolling his eyes in a way that looks a lot like rolling belly-up. 'Tell me I'm a real man, look at me! I've got the pick of the flock'. "You know how it is. Gets boring, fishing in the same hole all the time, eh?"

"I wouldn't know," he hums, eyebrows drawn low in faux-consideration. Meets him dead in the eye, lets the mask drop for a just a second. Let's the words come out flat and dangerous. "I've never had a problem reeling in what I want."

The words linger, settling heavy and awkward in a way that has him licking his teeth. Tension so thick he can chew it, feel the fat and gristle rend under the strength of his jaw. It's heady watching the way your husband flounders, not sure how to react until the pack leader backs up and loosens the canines at his nape. Lets him breathe. It's a joke, really. Go on. Laugh. And he follows suit so easily. It's almost boring, he thinks, with eyes cold and muscles frozen under his fake smile as he watches the man chuckle.

"You've gotta stay, Price, that's a good one. One more drink, c'mon." Funny. He thinks that it's his right to give orders. He thinks that John's staying at his command.

John taps twice at the foamy rim of the glass. Catches his sergeant's eye from across the room. "Sure, why not."

It's time.

It's masterful, really, how well Gaz slips over. Greets Buck like an old friend. Drops hints and in-jokes that have the man chuckling along as his eyes flit about with confusion.

"Can't believe I've run into you, here. I thought I'd seen the last of you when you moved house, what, a year ago?" Kyle slides into the barstool on the left. Boxes him in, piggy in the middle. "Still with that finance company?"

"Yeah, yeah it's been a while," he trails off. Too proud to admit that he doesn't know Gaz. Has never met the man. John can feel the way his eyes keep flicking towards the side of his face. Needy. Histrionic.

"You lads catch up, have fun. I'm away for the night," he sets the empty glass at the bar with a soft thud. Makes a show of introducing himself to Gaz and waving the two of them off.

In the cool air of the smoking area he has a moment of fika. Cars roll by on a distant road. The muffled sound of laughter and murmuring filters through frosted pub windows. The rich, heavy smoke of his cigar swirls around and around until he's closing his eyes in the haze. It's slow, calming, and he takes a moment just to appreciate the hand that he's about to play.

He thumbs over the smudged screen of your husband's phone. Only 2 missed calls and 1 text.

>>Sorry to go on at you, but you said you were finishing work at 5 today. It's nearly 8 now. Can you at least let me know where you are? We were going to start that series tonight and I've been getting worried waiting for you :/

Poor, sweet thing. Polite, too. All love and care wasted on the pathetic, juvenile lump slumped over the bar right now. 

(It whets his appetite, seeing how well-trained you are. How you toe the line, defer to the farcical rules set out for you in your relationship. 'Stay at home. Don't blow up my phone.'

Would you come to heel for him? If a weak, useless hand could shape you so well, what could a strong one do?)

<< Sorry, baby. I goty caugtht up at the pub w some friends. HAd a few drInks. Cmome and get me? [LOCATION SHARED]

He flicks the stub of the cigar away as he pockets the phone.

Curtains up; show about to begin.

He settles into his seat, a well-worn booth. Threadbare, stained upholstery and faded coasters. It's shadowy here, tucked away in the corner but offering a perfect line of sight to the door. And right by that very door is Gaz, your husband, and the pretty thing from earlier.

The bell jingles; wind whistles in.

Gaz lets his grip slip, lets your husband slump in the seat until his head is resting against the neck of the woman he was chatting up. Fingers inching up her thighs as she laughs and flirts back.

"What..?" it's too noisy in here to hear you, but he's listened to your voice over and over. He knows just how your pitch is rising. The slight crack on the final consonant.

You stand, face screwed up as you try to make sense of the situation. But two plus two can only ever equal four, and your husband's hands up a skirt can only ever equal- 

"Hi, gorgeous. Here to meet someone?" his sergeant grins up at you. Plays the charmer so well. "Got an empty seat with us, if you fancy it."

There's a little bitterness cutting at the furl of your lips. You're holding it in so well but, god, the words must burn, coming out like bile. "What, sure that I'm not interrupting something?"

"No, no. He said he's just having a little fun. Said he wants something warm before he goes home to his bitch wife," Gaz chuckles, leaning towards you like he wants to whisper a secret. "Bit sick of hearing his complaining, if I'm honest. Makes her sound like a right harpy. But you could take my mind off it."

"Not sure about that," he sees the way your chest hitches. Sees the sob that you swallow down as you steel your expression. "I am the 'bitch wife'."

And it's magnificent. Kyle's played his part so well; stuck to the script like he's performing at The Globe. An ad-lib here, an improvisation there. He hands you a napkin, rubs at your shoulder as he looms over the treacherous tableau he fashioned for an audience of two. You, and John. Ache and Hunger; betrayal and mastery. He maneuvers you, keeps you from causing a bigger scene as he hauls your husband by the scruff of his jacket. Choreographs the steps so that John can see every last microcosm on the universe of your face.

It's his set, his design. He's the architect, director, and audience all in one.

(And that foolish, stupid player of yours tugged at the lure. Found himself swinging, tied up in the string).

--------------------------

Ik reader wasn't really present here, but had to get the ball rolling (: Also I've been stressed and not sleeping so forgive me for this being a bit...

And yes. John stood there and put all the typos in that message on purpose. Unhinged.