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#can. can you guess which prompt this one is for
alphabetboyluvr · 4 hours
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habits of a clandestine nature | jjk
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pairing: collegejk x female oc (angst, smut)
warnings: college!jk, rich!jk, he's a college nepo baby!!!, waitress!oc, flashbacks to summer, (mild) enemies to lovers, oc lives with tae (they're besties), jk is besties with jimin, mentions of parents infidelity, mentions of oc's virginity (lost prior to the story starting), a little angsty, jk is nawt a fuckboi, but he is stewpid, unprotected sex, bathroom escapades, multiple positions, oral (f), mentions of blowjobs, house parties, jackson wang!!!!!!!, yoongi has no lines but is also one of my fave characters lmao
wordcount: 16k
note from holly: this was written as a commission over on ko-fi!! it went through soooo many changes and edits - at one point it was over 24k lmao. i have so much lore and backstory for this couple, but I'll save it for a rainy day!! one of the main prompts was the 2004 classic a cinderella story, and there are little nods to it throughout the story, including the diner name!! a commenter on wattpad said the pairing reminded them of danny and sandy from grease and like... i see it lmao. anywaysss enjoy!! <33
minors dni // cross posted to wattpad
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It's a well-trained habit, your fleeting glance towards the door of Montgomery's Diner when the bell rings.
Though the clatter of cheap porcelain being stacked on a tray almost manages to drown out the chiming metal, it's never quite enough. Softening your hardened expression, you continue on with your work, careful to not let your contempt show too much.
You already know who it is—or at least, who it could be. Only saw the girl leading the pack, but know that where Claudia goes, the rest of The Untouchables will surely follow.
Gorgeous in a way that money can't buy, and careless in a way that money makes up for, she's never taken personal issue with you. Barely even registers your existence.
From your quick look, you know that it's not just the girls today. It's the guys, too.
All with parents on the college board, they're regarded as campus royalty. Are aptly known as The Untouchables, 'cause the rules that apply to you don't apply to them. They'll likely continue with their lives in a similar manner for years to come, and will pass these attributes off to their offspring, whom they'll name after countries or distant relatives who were once regarded to be regal.
Gathering up the last of the discarded napkins on the table, you take one final, fleeting look just to see if a familiar face is with them.
It's not that you actively want to see him.
You just haven't seen him in the best part of a fortnight, which is odd.
He's been in your section of the Diner near enough every single night of the past three months—but school is starting up again, and he's got appearances to keep.
God-forbid Jeon Jungkook—son of the Admissions Director and heir-apparent to an unholy amount of real estate tied to the university—ever associates with the lowly scholarship kids like you.
The only reason The Untouchables ever come to this Diner is because it's the last remaining place close to the university that hasn't been snapped up and integrated into the campus. You guess it must feel like freedom to them, in a way.
In fact, you know this is the case. Jungkook has told you himself.
Has told you a lot.
Told you far too much.
Such candid honesty from him, shared during the lonely heat of a sweltering summer, is what makes it so jarring when he looks away as soon as his dark eyes meet yours.
Tall, broad, handsome; he's everything the gossip magazines you read during your downtime swoon over, but also everything they warn against. Too pretty for his own good, the resident agony aunt would call him if she were ever to see him. Would assume his ego is far larger than his shoe size; superiority complex embedded into his skin like the ink of his tattoos.
And while you think that perhaps those assumptions could be true, you also know the reality of him; how gentle his hands can be. Helpful, too. Delicate. Ornate, almost, when they fold bills into five petal flowers. Strong, when they grip the back of your neck. Commanding, when they're wrapped around his leather steering wheel.
You shouldn't know the way his car smells. Shouldn't know how he presses the heel of his palm against the wheel when he's reversing, or just how easy it is to clamber into the backseats over the centre console.
But you do, and it rests on your tongue like a dirty little secret desperate to escape: I know you.
You're not sure if you know him better than The Untouchables, but you know him independent of them. Not many people do.
It's rare to find him without Jimin cracking a joke by his side, or Claudia making a slightly mean remark masked as innocent ignorance as she leads him astray.
But summer happened, and so did Jungkook. With his friends away at their holiday homes, and his father's infidelity ripping his family apart at the seams, he'd needed something to stitch himself back together. Let you thread yourself through his very being, and once you'd tied yourself in a pretty little bow around his heart, he'd cut you off.
Is that not what all craftsmen do, though? Discard what no longer serves a purpose?
Memories of him, in all the places you never should have let him in, ravage your thoughts.
The scent of his aftershave lingers on the childhood plushie he used to tease you for having on your bed, but would also automatically hug into his chest every single time he entered your room.
The things he did—and the things he didn't do—corrupt your dreams and leave you restless when you wake.
The smudged mascara under your eyes hides the bags from your lack of sleep, and your only respite is that the little puffs beneath his eyes are extra prominent today. He's tried, too.
For a minute, you feel vindicated.
It doesn't last.
For the past few months, if he's been sleeping badly, you've known about it. Kept him company in this very Diner, or in the basement of a party house he was dumb enough to take you to, forgetting he'd have to return there after summer finished, too.
The walls might not talk, but Jackson Wang certainly does. Jungkook knows it's only a matter of time until his dirty little secrets—no matter how pure they actually are—become the talk of the town.
He always slept well in your bedroom, though.
Funny, that.
He's dressed simply, today: white t-shirt, black jeans, chunky black boots on his feet. It's still warm out, even if the sun does begin to set a little earlier than it had been during the hotter months. He's got no need for a jacket, and you despise how undeniably gorgeous his arms are in the dewy humidity. Tattoos trailing up and down his skin, you'd be forgiven for thinking he was a man of complexities.
Turns out he's just like every other good-for-nothing fuck boy who wasn't worth your time.
The Untouchables sit towards the front of the Diner. Your section is at the back, and there's no way in hell you're deviating from your set section. Not today. Not when he's with them.
"I thought we were free," your colleague, Maria, grumbles as you bring your tray to the counter.
Like you, she's a scholarship kid. Is the one who got you the job at the Diner after you both moved into the shared house you live in off-campus. Three of you live there—you, Maria, and Taehyung—and you all share the same disdain for The Untouchables.
"It never ends," you tease in reply. Glance over your shoulder, back at the table.
They're laughing and joking about something you can't quite decipher. All of them, except Jungkook.
There's a sternness to him. One of which you'd forgotten about. With one hand on the table, the other in his lap, his thumb fidgets over his tense knuckles. Sunglasses rest on the crown of his head, pushed up into his hair to hold it back off his face. Staring at nothing much, he's chewing up his bottom lip until he feels the familiar burn of your eyes on him. Looks your way.
It's curious, how looking at you halts his body from its self-soothing actions. He no longer nibbles on his lip. His tightly balled first eases.
"What do you think, Kookie?" Claudia drawls, drawing his attention back to the group. "You coming tonight?"
"Hm?" He questions, eyes pulling away from you. He begins to rub his thumb over his knuckles again. "Sorry, was just looking at the menu board. What are we talking about?"
"Party at the Conservatory," Jimin says from across the table. Though he's the one sitting beside Claudia, everyone knows Jungkook is the one that she's really interested in. Has been since their first day of college. "First of the semester. It's one of their birthdays. Reckon it'll be a big one."
On campus, but close enough to the boundaries that it's never infringed upon by security or university officials, the Conservatory isn't what it seems. A boarding house for the creme-de-la-creme of the Botany and Conservation PhD students, it's surrounded by land. Has rows upon rows of greenhouses for their projects.
Of the few times you've been there, you've always thought it was like a maze. The perfect place to get lost. The perfect place to get found, too.
Unfortunately for the PhD students, the house custodian took on the role for one thing and one thing only: to throw the biggest ragers on campus. Knows fuck all about growing anything that isn't illegal. Only managed to get the role, 'cause like the rest of The Untouchables, his dad works high up in the college. He's a few years older than them. Belongs to a different generation of campus royalty, but is keen on making sure his legacy remains.
After all, there ain't no party like a Jackson Wang party.
Namjoon—one of the Botanists and the birthday boy himself—has started padlocking the greenhouses.
Another one of them—Yoongi—minored in mechanical engineering. Has a coin-operated lock on his bathroom door. Makes enough money from a single Jackson Wang party to sustain himself for an entire month.
Hoseok and Jin, the remaining two, are just as messy as Jackson. Have only started PhDs because they don't know what else to do and don't want their youth to abruptly end. Live for the parties; survive for the studying.
"Now, who's told you that?" Jungkook smiles, as if the prospect of showing up at the Conservatory doesn't make him feel a little bit sick. "Jackson?"
"Obviously."
"Well, of course he's gonna tell you it'll be big," Jungkook laughs. "Wants to rope as many of you fuckers in as he can."
"And it works every time," Jimin smirks back. "If everyone thinks it'll be a rager, everyone will want to go. He's a marketing genius, if you ask me."
Jungkook rolls his eyes. Is fond in how he interacts with his friends. Has grown up with most of them. Whether or not they're everyones cup of tea is debatable, but they're his people.
And yet he finds himself glancing back over to the counter. You're not there anymore. Are out back, he assumes. Knows the layout, now. Where the walk-in freezer is. The little nook that you sit in during your break. He doubts any of his friends have ever been in a commercial kitchen, let alone one at a place like this.
While yes, his friends have only ever been good to him, he knows that it isn't the case for everyone they interact with. Is well aware that his friends would be confused beyond belief if they ever found out he knows how to click through the Diner's cash register and find the discount section. Would be even more perplexed if they were to see his initials hidden in one of the codes.
But summer was lonely.
Or at least it was.
Lonely, until it wasn't. Isolating, until he sought solace in someone he can't even bring himself to speak to in front of his friends.
Casting his eyes back down to the table, well aware that he's got no reason to feel as cut up as he does, he fakes a laugh. Looks up again at his friends with a grin so sincere that they'd never guess the way it feels like his heart is in his throat. "Alright. You're on. What time?"
The conversation dissolves into plans—what to wear, what drink to take.
After a summer apart, Jungkook thought it would be nice to be with his friends again. Thought he'd be excited; that he'd welcome them all back with open arms. Ask them about their summers, and lament his time spent here.
When Jimin asks him why he didn't go to the Italian villa his parents normally insist they spend the summer at, Jungkook shrugs.
"Dad has some stuff to sort out, so it was better to stay here," he says, minimising the reality of what really happened. Even you don't know for certain. All you know is that his father did something incredibly immoral, to the point where Jungkook can't even stand to look at him.
Is why he spent all those nights in the diner.
Was confusing at first. He was always angry. Always frowning. Always ordering black coffees and nothing else, huddled up in the corner booth, away from the world.
But with summer comes monsoons, and with monsoons come terrible conditions for walking home.
He expected you to say no when he offered you a ride. You expected to say no, too—but then a please and thank you had escaped your lips.
A routine grew. Habits formed.
Curious little thing, habits are. 21 days. That's all the time they take to develop.
Jungkook spent 63 days of summer with you in varying capacities. Enough time to learn a habit three times over.
The one that haunts him most is how it felt to have your hand beneath his on his gear stick. Finds the absence of you when he drives unbearable. Knows he's got no one to blame but himself; not just for creating distance, but also for minimising it in the first place.
He's the one who offered you a lift. He's the one who messaged you on your days off to see if you fancied going for a drive. He's the one who didn't turn the AC on just to get you shaking your jacket off your shoulders.
And he's the one that drove you out to the coast one evening for no other reason than wanting to hear the waves. He's the one who opened up to you about his family. He's the one that made things more than what they were.
Had walked along the shore with you, too scared to hold your hand beneath the lunar light. Opted for playful banter instead, nudging you into the lapping waves.
But the waves got bigger, and Jungkook's unbridled desire to have you close did just the same. Like always, he took things too far. Drenched in sea water, you'd laughed with him for the entire ride home.
Invited him in. Said, "The salt will ruin your clothes. We should wash them."
"Hand wash only," he'd said, pinging his damp t-shirt against his chest. It stuck to him in such a way you learned all of his edges before you ever saw him naked—not like there was much time between these two instances. Ended up in your shower with him, clothes beneath your feet, the excuse of hand washing disregarded the second he had you naked.
You learned three things about Jungkook in that shower.
The first is that he giggles. Lips on yours, hands clutching your jaw, whenever the water was a little too intrusive, he'd separate with a laugh. Would kiss you again, a smile still on his face. Would pretend as if he wasn't giggling.
But he was, and it was lovely.
The second was that he's the type to lean his head forward, not tip it back. With his hands pressed to the shower tiles behind you as your fingers wrapped around his thick shaft, he let his head dip to his chest. Gave him ample opportunity to press kisses to the top of your head—or at least it did until you got to your knees and started taking his hard cock in your mouth.
"Shit," he had husked. Whined. Praised. "Fuck. You're so fuckin' good at that."
It was around then that you became aware he was a head pusher, too.
Almost as if he was saving the best until last, the third thing you learned was how he likes to cum; in your sheets, cock buried in your pussy, your hands clasped above your head. Missionary, 'cause he likes to kiss you through it. In your bed, 'cause he likes losing himself in everything you are. Prefers finishing inside you, but you refuse to fuck him without a condom so he never gets exactly what he wants. It's close enough, though.
Spent weeks—months—laying unfair claim to your body, and now he can't bring himself to look in your direction. It infuriates you.
But more than anything else, it embarrasses you.
Even your reflection laughs at you. Cackles 'told you so' every time you look in the mirror.
You always wondered why you never heard much about Jungkook's hook ups around campus. Everyone knows about Jimin and how his cock has been perpetually wet since the first day of freshers week, but there's always been a secrecy when it comes to Jungkook.
It's something you've teased him about; in your sheets, bodies clammy, his heart beating so fast in his chest you'd been forgiven for thinking he'd just run a marathon.
"When do I have to sign it?" You had giggled.
"Sign what?" He'd husked, voice all wispy and fucked out.
"The NDA," you'd replied as if it was obvious. "It's been, like, what? A month? Surely it's about time you made sure I kept my mouth shut like all your other girls do?"
On your front, your arms were folded over his chest, and he was gently rearranging the pretty little updo he'd made a mess of. Though he was looking at his hands as he replied, you kept your eyes on his. Studied his sincerity.
"Reason you don't hear about other girls is 'cause there aren't any."
A smile twitched at the corner of your lips, but you didn't let it shine for him.
"Sure."
There was a small jerk to his torso as a breathy smirk formed on his face.
"You think I can't be trusted?"
"I think it's foolish to trust any man."
His deep, dark eyes sank down to focus on yours. Offered you all the sincerity you'd be searching for, and more.
"That's all I am, huh?" He'd challenged you. "Just another one of your men?"
"One of the many," you'd teased just to rile him up a little.
"Ah," he'd played along. "So that's why I always have to wear a condom?"
With a saccharine smirk on your lips, you'd gotten back in position, legs straddled over his hips. Had kissed him. Whispered, "No. That's just because I know it annoys you."
"You annoy me all the time," he'd mumbled into your lips, hands gripping your waist to get you grinding against his still sensitive cock. Barely fifteen minutes since he'd last finished, there was no way he was ready to go again.
"Hm?" You'd hummed against his kisses, then began to work your way down his neck in a way that always got him a little moany. "If I'm so annoying, why are you getting hard again, baby?"
"You can be annoying and hot," he told you as he desperately tried to not let his insatiable need for you show.
"Is that how you like your girls?" You'd ribbed once more, just to piss him off a little. It was never serious. Never something you would actually fret over.
Perhaps you should have done, but then he told you with a little too much candour, "No. It's how I like my girl. Singular."
Loose lips sink ships, and Jungkook was one iceberg away from greeting the ocean floor. Closing his lips back down on yours, he was making sure you were just as insatiable for him as he was for you. He didn't cum again that evening, even if you did more times than you cared to count.
A greedy lover, is Jeon Jungkook. Edacious.
And so you understand, now, why the girls he gets entangled with stay silent; how the hoaxes he plays leave them utterly hysterical. They're subject to silence, because who would possibly believe all those sweet little lies he tells? How mad would they be considered if they tried to convince anyone he has a heart?
His brazen lack of humanity is proven when he comes to pay for the table. Any of them could have done it. Yet he elects to stand in front of your till and wait for you to serve him.
Have you not served him enough?
You refuse to utter a single word in his direction. Don't look at him, don't give him any satisfaction. He can read it for himself, he can pay, and he can fuck off.
"Keep the change," he mumbles tossing down the bills—but like fuck are you gonna keep anything he gives you.
He begins to walk away, a little shrunken in his stature.
"Excuse me, sir."
Stopping dead in his tracks, Jungkook is perplexed to hear you address him so coldly.
"Your change," you say, holding a closed hand out for him to hold his own hand beneath. He doesn't want to cause a scene. Obliges. Is surprised when notes, not coins, fall into his palm.
More specifically, notes folded into the shape of flowers. His handiwork, he's certain. Was something he used to do in the early hours of your late night diner shifts. If he said something a little mean, or bickered with you a little too hard, he'd fold his notes up like posies and give them to you as a remedy.
Never used those notes to buy you real flowers, mind you.
Back when things were still easy, you pulled him up on it. Told him that you'd be far easier to seduce with a little wooing. He'd told you that you were easy to seduce regardless.
You didn't speak to him for the rest of your shift.
Ended it with fourteen folded bills in the shape of a bouquet, and when the backseat windows of his car had a thick veil of condensation coating them that same evening, he'd drawn you flowers on them.
"No point in flowers," he'd told you. "They just wither up and die."
Which is funny, 'cause it kinda looks like Jungkook is doing that very same thing right in this moment. He goes to speak, but nothing comes out.
Disappointing, you think, then realise of course he is. Has done nothing but disappoint you.
You smile. Jungkook looks like he wants to cry. Good.
"Don't let the door hit you on the way out."
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21 repetitions. That's how many times it takes to form a habit. You know this.
You also know that 90 days of this repetition will form a habit to last a lifetime.
As you hook up your apron, and free your hair of the ribbon that had been tightly wrapped around your ponytail, you know these are 'lifetime' habits. Apron, then ponytail. Always.
But when you say goodbye to Maria, and ask if she'll be at home this evening, you find yourself leaning into a recently formed habit. It's not anything particularly noteworthy. Not something anyone would notice.
Well, not anyone who matters. You don't think Jungkook counts as someone who matters, anymore.
But he'd noticed; how you'd started glancing across to his parking spot whenever you clocked out. Had teased you for it. Asked you if it was the highlight of your day, seeing him there, as if it wasn't the highlight of his.
You should have known the playful banter when he told you not to get used to it wasn't really banter at all.
Yet here you are, glancing across to his parking spot only to see it empty.
It's not even like it's his spot. Whenever he's with his friends, they walk. Live right on campus, so don't need to drive, and if they do, they'll park right by the doors.
In the height of summer, when the lot was empty and Jungkook wasn't driving for his sake but for yours, he liked to park in the far corner. Said dumb shit about not wanting any weirdos scratching it. Whined and moaned whenever someone performed the very human act of parking next to the only other car in an empty parking lot.
"So many spaces!" He'd blather on. Would speak with his hands. Get deliberately more animated, 'cause it always made you laugh. "And they choose here?!"
The memories make you smile, until the yellow headlights of another car flood into the parking lot. They reveal what's right in front of you; a crowd of cars and not a single one of them you care for.
It's not like you cared for Jungkook, either. Was just something to pass the time when the streets were quiet and his head was loud. 
In turn, you gave him quiet, and he made your summer feel loud.
But the leaves are turning brown and the water in the roadside puddles is becoming stale. The seasons have changed and so has the nature of your interactions. It's fine. You don't care. Really. Couldn't think of anyone you'd want to hang around less. Would rather die than associate with The Untouchables.
You never needed a lift, not really. Especially not when it always took you an hour to get home 'cause Jungkook just wanted to keep on driving.
Grumbling to yourself just to try and divert your mind from thoughts of him, your heart almost skips a beat when your phone vibrates in your pocket. For a second, you wonder if it could be him.
Where you at? It could read. I'm here.
Or maybe, I miss you.
I can't sleep without you.
This is so stupid. Can I come over?
It won't say of those things and you damn well know it.
Your text thread is dormant. The last message is from you, two weeks prior.
You: you not coming in tonight?
You: you'll be pleased to know my fairy godmother turned a pumpkin into a carriage to make sure i got home safe x
You: ... at least let me know if ur alive?
Rolling your eyes at how mortifying your desperation feels, the scowl that settles into your expression is comical. It's like you're fighting with the wind that's threading itself through your hair.
Pulling your phone out, the scowl only intensifies.
Jackass Wang: party tonight
You: so????
One thing about Jackson is that he's not gonna leave anyone on read, especially when he's trying to drum up attendees for his parties.
Jackass Wang: so i haven't seen you around for a while, montgomery
"Fuckin' Montgomery," you mutter at the nickname.
It's the one that all of Jungkook's friends seem to refer to you as, as if you don't have a personality outside of your job.
Still, at least Jackson is a little bit inventive with it. Calls you Monts. Monty, Monstera Plant, Monte Carlo, and god knows what else. If it starts with 'Mon,' he's found a way to end it with a cheeky smirk and smug anticipatory look in your direction, as he awaits your reaction.
You: i like it better when i don't see you x
Jackass Wang: you know that isn't true. loverboy will be there. come with him. or don't. i don't care. you can bring your little friends with you.
You: they'd rather die :) x
Jackass Wang: y'know, you're replying an awful lot for a girl who's not interested ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
You: you just can't take no for an answer
Jackass Wang: yes i can - but you haven't said no yet. c'mon. loverboy has been moping around all week. i can't be arsed with his mardy ass energy all evening.
You: so don't invite him???? i don't see why it's my problem?????
The fact that you don't need clarification of who Jackson means is proof enough that perhaps Jackson's onto something.
Jackass Wang: conservatory any time after 9. be there or be square montgomery. or don't be. i'm sure loverboy can get his dick wet without you, but it's easier for everyone if he doesn't.
You: charming x
Jackass Wang: it's why the ladies love me.
You: all of them except this one, apparently. have a nice party. stay away from the drugs.
Jackass Wang: can't be tamed, monte carlo. nor can loverboy. come keep him company.
The block button towards the top of your message thread looks incredibly tempting. Just a single click and you'll never have to deal with Jackson Wang and his dumb parties ever again.
Part of you can't believe you've ever been associated with them, as it is.
Summer defied the conventions of the life you've built for yourself. You weren't the person you thought you were.
Kicking off your shoes when you arrive home, the door slams shut behind you. A gentle voice calls through to check if it's you.
"Maria's still working," you say as you walk into the kitchen, tossing your bag down on the floor and your phone on the counter.
Taehyung, your best friend since your first week at college, is cooking himself dinner, but offers you a spoon of the tomato sauce he's making. Humming as you taste it, you're amazed by how he manages to make even the simplest thing delicious.
"S'good. What is that? Cumin?"
Nodding, he smiles. "A little paprika, too. You want some?"
His hair is dishevelled, blonde and sunkissed from the sweltering summer skies. He always looks great with a tan; radiant and full of youth.
Shaking your head, you really don't have an appetite. "Think I'm gonna have an early night."
He's about to reply when your phone buzzes. Both of you glance down. Your skin feels red hot, and when Taehyung almost chokes on the spoonful of sauce he's just tried, he's all sorts of confused.
"Why the fuck is Jackson Wang��messaging you?"
"Hmm?" You hum as if you have no idea what he's talking about. Realise from the look on his face that he doesn't buy it for a second. "Oh! That Jackson Wang. Think he sent a text to his entire contact list. Something about a party."
"No," Taehyung asserts. "Absolutely not. You cannot bullshit out of this one."
"It's not bullshit," you whine as you pretend to look in the fridge for something to drink. Settle on a beer left by one of Taehyung's friends at a party held last semester. It wasn't quite a Jackson Wang level party, but nothing ever is. "He's just trying to drum up numbers for his stupid party tonight."
Taehyung is many things, but stupid he is not. Though he's blonde (thanks to a bottle of bleach and a few too many jack and cokes), he bends all the stereotypes. His tuition is covered by a scholarship for academic excellence.
"Don't give me that bull."
"It's not bull!"
"So you're telling me, out of everyone at our college, the Jackson Wang is texting you to make up numbers for his party?"
"Yes!" you exclaim, partially a little offended at it being such an unfathomable idea. "And he said you can come too, so maybe you're the one he's really after!"
His expression is flat. You are paper thin.
He's known you long enough to know when you're giving him half-truths.
He also knows you spent the summer alone in this house, and that there's a new toothbrush in the bathroom next to yours.
"You're hooking up with him, aren't you?"
"No!"
Out of everyone to be accused of sleeping with, Jackson Wang is, like, the worst of the worst. He's handsome, sure, but he's also slept with pretty much every girl on campus. Is a teenage boy in a grown adult's body. You'd rather not fornicate with a guy who still finds 'your mum' jokes funny.
Taehyung gasps at your immediate denial. "You are!"
"I'm not!"
"All that talk about saving it for someone special, and you mean to tell me you went and lost it to Jackson fuckin' Wang?!"
Everything about this conversation is making you want to punch yourself in the face. The topic of sex, and just why you've never gotten around to it, has dominated many conversations around this dining table. If you have to discuss it again, you might move out.
"Oh my God," you whine, throwing your head back. "We are not having this conversation."
"Yes, we are."
"No, we're not, because I didn't lose my virginity to Jackson Wang!" You stress. The more you think about it, the more offended you are.
"To Jackson Wang," Taehyung echoes, as he begins to join invisible dots. "But you did lose it to someone."
"No," you insist, but Taehyung refuses to buy it. Knows you too damn well.
He always thought he'd know when you lost it. That it'd be a boy you'd been dating. Committed to. Someone good. Someone worthy. Not someone you keep in the shadows.
"There's something you're not telling me," he frowns. "What the fuck happened this summer?"
With a sigh so deep it's a miracle you're still breathing, you relent. Never signed one of those NDA's you're convinced Jungkook must hand out like candy, as if he's some sort of celebrity and not just some college reprobate.
"Jungkook," you feebly admit. Take a sip on your beer. Don't look at Taheyung, 'cause you're afraid to see his reaction. "Wasn't Jackson. Was Jungkook."
You tell Taehyung everything. How Jungkook never knew you were a virgin. How he still doesn't. How you blame yourself for your hurt, but him for not getting you any band aids to help deal with it; for not kissing you better when he was the one to cause you such hurt in the first place.
As you recite you memories, you play a game against yourself: take a sip every time you want to cry.
By the time you've told Taehyung the nitty-gritty truth, the bottle of wine that had been in the fridge is finished, as well as your beer.
"I can't believe this," Taehyung says for what feels like the billionth time.
There's a certain shame that comes with Taehyung's confusion.
Embarrassment, like the way Jungkook would cringe at himself whenever he stumbled on his words, or the way you'd covered your reddening cheeks with your hands when he teased you for looking at him in the way you did.
Remorse of time wasted before him, and time wasted with him.
Regret of the things you did and the things he didn't.
It's all very confusing. Exhausting. If you were to really think about it, you'd spend a week in bed with a box of tissues. Would ask Taehyung why he didn't warn you that a heart could feel this horrid.
But he did, and you damn well know it.
Shrugging, you reach for the bottle and split the final few glugs between your glasses.
"We were just bored," you play it off. "Had nothing better to do. No one better to do."
But Taehyung shakes his head. "You don't have to do that, yanno. Pretend like it didn't matter. It's okay that it did. Even if he is a prick, and even if he's no better than the rest of them. It's okay that it hurts."
You're silent when he says this.
Despite your teasing, you never really thought Jungkook was much of a player.
But his friends are back now, and you've been relegated to the sidelines. Doesn't matter if he spent weeks—months—playing in no field but yours. Greener pastures have presumably sprouted. Your turf is wrecked from his carelessness, and he's left you to heal yourself while he goes and wrecks another.
Whoever he was pretending to be in the summer isn't who he is now that his friends are back—but when they're laughing and joking in the basement of the Conservatory that evening, Jungkook knows which version of himself he prefers.
"You need to get laid," Jimin tells Jungkook with a laugh. "Never seen a man look so bloody miserable at a party."
Of all the things Jungkook needs, getting laid is not one of them. In fact, he thinks it would be a very sensible idea if he never got laid again. Sex is messy. People get all emotional over it.
Or more so, he gets all emotional over it.
Had never been the type to, before. Always thought it was something that just happened to other people. Not to him.
He pushes the thoughts aside. Feels a little sick. Shrugs off Jimin's remark.
"If I wanted to get laid, I would get laid."
"So why don't you? Will do us all a favour. Claudia's been—"
"I couldn't give a fuck," Jungkook interrupts Jimin. "I'm not interested."
He never has been. Wants nothing to do with this university, and the men that run it, and so would never date one of their daughters.
They're all corrupt. Every last one of them. All cheat on their wives. All throw their families under the bus for their own selfish exploits. His own father's affair has proven this to him.
Jungkook pities his friends. Just because their parents haven't fucked up yet, doesn't mean they won't.
"Oi, Loverboy," Jackson calls from across the room, breaking the tension only to replace it with a headache for Jungkook. "Where's your little girlfriend? I told her to come."
"Who?" Jimin chirps.
Jungkook grates his jaw. Is deadly serious when he says, "Leave it, Jackson."
"Trouble in paradise for our lovebirds, huh?"
"I said leave it."
"Who the fuck is he talking about?" Jimin continues to ask, incredibly curious about this turn of events. Leave town for a couple of months, he thinks, and everything changes.
"No one."
"That one from the diner," Jackson just continues fuckin' talking. Jungkook wants to scream. "The one with a stick up her ass—"
"Jackson, cut it out," Jungkook snaps. "She's no one. Just fuckin' leave it."
"You ashamed, huh, Loverboy?" Jackson berates him a little bit. He isn't trying to be a dick, but he thinks Jungkook is acting like a tool. Jackson is no saint, but at least he doesn't ever pretend to be something he's not. "Poor girl. Wear her like your favourite pair of shoes all summer and then throw her to the trash when your friends come back? I thought better of you. So did she, probably. Shame."
Of all the people Jungkook ever expected to receive lessons in morality from, Jackson Wang was not the one. He parades himself around the Conservatory like Hugh Hefner reincarnated, his class attributed to money and not behaviours.
"The fuck have you been doing this summer, Kook?" Jimin laughs, utterly dumbfounded by his reactions.
They've all had their fair share of less than conventional lovers. If Jungkook has been fucking around with a girl from the Diner, then so what? Who cares?
"Nothing," Jungkook snaps.
It's not that he's ashamed. 
It's that you're separate.
When he's with you, all of this—the bullshit of college life and calamity of his family falling apart—dissolves into nothingness. He doesn't have to think. Finds himself at ease.
If you were to ever become a part of his life—his real one, not the one he got so used to living in with you over the summer—then it'd all change.
He doesn't want that.
He wants you to be a safe haven.
A refuge point can't be in the midst of a fire, though. He has to keep you away. At arms length.
But god damn, he wishes you would come and put out his fire. He's struggling. Finds existing without you so fucking hard. Doesn't know at which point he became so dependent, but knows his oxygen is running low.
He's suffocating. Isn't sure how much longer he can keep this up.
"Yeah, sure seems like nothing," Jimin smirks with a shake of his head as Jungkook storms off to get some much needed air. "Oi, Jackson, what was that all about?"
With a shrug, and yet another girl on his arm, Jackson grins. Puts on a pathetic little voice to mimic Jungkook's tantrum. "Fink baby boy has a wittle cwush."
"Girl from the diner?" Jimin implores, still smirking at Jackson's dumb humour. "Which one?"
"You really have to ask?"
For all of his mystery, Jungkook has never been a man of subtleties. His eyes give him away.
They always have done.
When he was looking at the menu board earlier that day? It was obvious.
Before college broke up for summer, and how Jungkook would always cast his eyes down to his hands whenever you, specifically, came to take their order? It was obvious.
How Jungkook would always make sure he was on the side of the booth that gave him ample opportunity to steal glances of you? It was so fucking obvious.
Sometimes he'd laugh at the slightly sarcastic remarks you gave Claudia whenever she would ask irritating questions about the menu.
When they were deciding where to eat, Jungkook would suggest the Montgomery's Diner, always.
So, no, Jimin doesn't really have to ask.
"Stupid prick," he sighs, sipping on his beer. Loves Jungkook to absolute death, but will never understand him. Figures that maybe you do. Worries that Jungkook is about to wreck it all. He calls after Jackson, "She here tonight?"
"Invited her," he calls back. "But she's got an attitude problem to rival his. Fuck knows if she's around. You'll feel her ice before you see her."
Which is funny, because the lingering summer heat sticks to your skin as you nervously meander up a driveway you know all too well.
The Conservatory is decidedly not a conservatory.
It's a complex. A maze of buildings, and greenhouses, and fuck knows what else. You've no interest in gardening, but if excelling at it meant living somewhere like this, maybe you'd consider taking it up as a hobby.
The buildings are mostly redbrick, with large windows, and even larger doors. It's the kind of place you'd imagine a Duke of some far away land prancing about in. Playing croquet, or secretly courting a lowly village girl that his parents will never approve of.
The irony isn't lost on you.
"Wait, how do I look?" Taehyung asks for what feels like the hundredth time. "Not too dressy?"
"You're wearing a waistcoat," you reply, face twisted in affectionate condemnation. He looks great, but he also does look far too dressy. It's his 'look', though, and one that'll get him attention, both good and bad.
If Kim Taehyung walked around with the arrogance his handsome face warranted him with, he'd be the heartthrob of the campus. You think even Claudia would want a slice of him—and given his distaste for the elite yet pining desire to be on their level, it'd be quite the complex pairing.
All of the other men here are in t-shirts, but Taehyung has never been like other men. It's part of the reason you like him so much.
One thing, however, you don't like about Taehyung is his domineering need to 'fix' things. It comes from a place of love, and he only ever does it because he cares, but it's not always in your best interest.
When he told you to go and get changed out of your work uniform, you thought he was planning on taking you to a bar. That you'd be drowning your sorrows over wine you can't afford.
You would never agree to go to the Conservatory. Not now.
Which is why he didn't tell you of his plan.
Instead, he ordered a cab and didn't give you the chance to protest. You were already halfway there by the time you realised.
"Why don't we just go home?" You whine, tugging on his arm as you stand by the gate that leads through the gardens—the same ones you used to traipse around in with Jungkook. "We don't need to be here."
"Uh-uh," he shakes his head, firmly standing his ground. "I've avoided this place for two years, and the second my back is turned it becomes your new home. The least you could do is invite me round for dinner."
"It's not my new home—"
"MONTGOMERY!"
The voice of Jackson Wang yelling across the front lawn makes you want to shrivel up and die. Sink down into the ground. You'd make great compost for the botanists.
"Y'know, you and Loverboy really need to stop lying so much," he says with an incredibly intoxicated grin as he lumbers towards you. You'll never admit it, but part of you is pleased to see him. "First you saying you weren't coming, then him telling everyone nothing happened between you. Both as bad as one another."
Nothing happened between you.
It doesn't surprise you, but it does sting. And it also confuses you. Why on earth would you be a topic of conversation? The people here know you as Montgomery. The girl from the diner. You're nothing but a background character to them.
"What did he say?" You ask, disregarding everything else, not even bothering to introduce Taehyung. He's finding all of this incredibly bewildering.
"Oh, Jimin was grilling him," Jackson waves his hands around, disregarding it. "Kept saying you were no one. Refused to admit that he'd practically tied his laces with yours for the whole summer. Don't you worry, though, Monte Carlo. I had your back. Set the record straight."
Jackson Wang having your back isn't something you ever expected to happen.
Jeon Jungkook's absolute denial of your clandestine affaire de cœur is, disappointingly, something you expected.
It doesn't mean that it comes without hurt. If anything, it's far more visceral, for you only have yourself to blame. These wounds are self-inflicted, even if they're carved with a knife Jungkook crafted out of silly affirmations he never should have made.
"Where is he?" You ask, cold in your tone.
Jackson shrugs. "Try the basement. S'where I last saw him."
As Jackson saunters off to find another poor partygoer to mildly offend, you're left with a bad taste in your mouth. You've been irritated since you saw Jungkook earlier that day.
How he can just show up at the diner and act like he doesn't even know you, let alone knows what it's like to wake up next to you, is beyond insulting.
"C'mon," Taehyung urges you along. "I need a drink, and you could use three."
Conversely, you think you need an entire bottle.
A bottle of what, you don't care. Just something strong. Anything other than the shitty, overpriced whisky Jungkook always insisted on drinking.
"Fine. But we're not going to the basement."
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It's perplexing to walk the halls of the Conservatory without Jungkook; to pass by strangers who have no idea who you are, but who know and admire him as if he's some sort of Hollywood celebrity.
They don't know him like you do. Don't know what it feels like to have his hand around their throat, or his fingers gently intertwined with theirs. They've never heard him laugh like you have.
And yet when you're a few drinks deep, and on the verge of calling a cab to go home, you hear that laugh again and wonder how he can bear to be happy right now.
Glancing up, his face is unreadable. The lights are dim, and the shadows obscure the painful furrowing of his brows. He looks just the same as he did back in the diner earlier that day. Perplexed. In pain. Somehow perfectly fine, too.
The group he's in is small. Some of them you know, some of them you don't.
Claudia sits across from him on the lap of some other guy, yet she doesn't take her eyes off Jungkook. She laughs a little harder at his jokes. Directs questions to him. Flirts with other people in front of him to no avail. 
Not even now, after summer when her skin is sunkissed and her radiance is rejuvenated, can she keep his attention.
In fact, none of them can once he spots you from across the room. The big lights are off, fairy lights strung up, and a sunset lamp pours a clementine hue over you.
Summer becomes you, he thinks—adores—from afar.
The year is a body, and you're eternally condemned to its heart. That's where he'll keep you. Where you belong.
Had it been spring—the brain of the year—when he'd been hauled up in that diner, he never would have let things get as far as they did.
Had it been winter—the cunt of the year, for lack of a better term—he would have let it get that far, and he wouldn't have felt bad about it, either.
But Autumn is drawing close. The gut. The time to trust his intuition, and he damn well knows it.
A hand wraps itself around your wrist, dragging you away from his car crash eyes. Jungkook slips into the dull shadows of the room, right where he belongs. Was foolish of you to ever think otherwise.
"Do you mind?" you snap, but let yourself be dragged away regardless. Part of you hopes it'll make Jungkook do something. You're not sure what. Just something.
The man who is leading you astray is familiar. Recognisable. Park Jimin.
Though he's not aggressive, he definitely isn't gentle as he leads you out to the gardens. Lets go of your wrist by an overgrown shrub just beyond the benches that are made for drunken DMC's. He isn't after one of them. Wants the facts.
"Cut the bullshit," he says.
"No hello?" You chirp. "Nice to see you? Or better yet, an introduction?"
"You know who I am," Jimin tells you, expression flat. You hate that the arrogant fucker is right. "But I know fuck all about you, and apparently you're the reason Jungkook is walking around like death warmed up. So cut the bull. What happened?"
Frankly it's none of Jimin's business. Even if he's done you wrong, Jungkook trusted you. You're not gonna throw that back in his face and air his dirty laundry—especially not considering that Jimin is Jungkook's friend. If Jungkook wanted him to know, he'd have told him.
"Nothing," you tell him. "Barely even know him."
Jimin sighs. Jackson was right. There's a reason why you and Jungkook got along so well. Are both insufferable.
Glancing behind you, Jimin raises his brows.
You turn to face his line of vision, and fail to hide your surprise when you see Jungkook by the back door. Like a deer in headlights, he's frozen in place, his darling bambi eyes so startled he almost looks scared.
"So if you barely know him," Jimin continues as you and Jungkook stare one another out. "Why the fuck is he looking at you like he's seen a ghost?"
It takes a second or so, but you manage to pull your gaze away. Turn back to face Jimin. Shrug. Play dumb.
"Mistaken identity."
"Oh, I get it," Jimin smirks, knowing you aren't gonna give him an easy way out. Needs to bamboozle answers out of you. "You both went to the same bullshitting classes over summer? Is that it?"
You're surprised to find yourself smiling. Surprised that you find humour in Jimin's words. Surprised that you aren't rolling your eyes.
He's always been the Untouchable that has annoyed you the most. Is too loud. Laughs at the most obnoxious things.
"Top of the class," you reply because it somehow feels okay to joke with him. Perhaps spending so much time with Jungkook has lowered you Park Jimin-related intolerance. Not cured it, by any means, but definitely made it easier to manage.
"Academic rivals," Jimin supposes, realising that maybe there's a little more to you than he's ever given you credit for. "That's pretty hot."
"He seemed to think so," you lament, knowing that you're revealing a far more truthful rendition of your time spent with Jungkook. Or at least, admitting that time was spent together.
With a sigh, you walk a little further into the garden. Cross your arms. Look back over your shoulder to the door, only to find Jungkook is gone. It shouldn't upset you like it does, but you find your lips pressing together in a small pout.
"Look," Jimin says, exhaling a breath so deep you're sure his lungs must be empty. He comes to stand beside you, looking across the vast expanse of the gardens. "I'm not asking for your life story. If you don't give a shit about Kook, then that's fine, I'll leave you alone. But he's my best friend, and I've never seen him like this."
Glancing at Jimin, there's a taut discomfort on your face. Guilt, almost—but you've not done anything wrong. It's on him. He's the one who chose for things to be this way.
"I give a shit," you quietly admit as you look back out towards the garden, then sigh out a pitiful laugh. "You know him. You know what he's like. Of course I give a shit."
Quite honestly you think it's impossible to not fall for Jungkook. He's everything you're hardwired to appreciate: hardworking, charming, incredibly funny. You lost count of how many nights dissolved into laughter with him. Had never known your cheeks to hurt so much.
He was gentle, too. Stroked his thumbs against your cheeks just as often as he made them ache.
It's your heart that's aching now, and he's not around to soothe your woes.
Back inside, Jungkook feels so viscerally unwell that he thinks he might be sick. Or maybe he's actually dying. One of the two.
This is everything he didn't want. You were supposed to be separate. Supposed to be a sanctuary away from this all.
You're in the thick of it, now. Jimin is grilling you, and Jungkook doesn't know what to do. It's too much. All of it. The party, the people, the fact that you look at him with ice in your eyes when he knows damn well they used to harbour the warmest of fires.
Beelining for the basement, he kind of hopes the ground will swallow him up. Stop him from making the bad decisions he seems to find so god damn irresistible.
As he yanks open the small fridge at the back of the basement, Jungkook doesn't care what he drinks. Just needs something to help soothe his fragile mine; to make him feel better, 'cause lord knows you won't.
Reaching for a beer, he doesn't ask around to see if it belongs to anyone. Finders keepers. He's an Untouchable. This place is basically his by birthright. No one is gonna argue against him.
But Kim Taehyung isn't just anyone.
"So, when you apologise for being a gargantuan pillock, are you planning on also trying to win her over? Or will you just clean your conscience and wipe yourself clean of her, too?"
Jungkook's jaw tenses as his teeth grit together. "Don't know what you're on about."
"Had a girl in tears at my dinner table earlier tonight," Taehyung exaggerates. Just wants Jungkook to feel as awful as he knows you do. "Your friends might not give a shit about your well-being, but I give a shit about mine."
And for some reason, this irks Jungkook. He gives a shit about you. Cares so much he's been torturing himself by staying away. Thinks it's better for you both.
If it truly was, neither of you would be feeling so gut-wrenchingly awful.
He knows you're angry. You've made that perfectly clear.
But he also knows you do cry when you're frustrated. Was a lesson learned when you were stressed over the diner roof leaking one night during the monsoons when no one else was in to help you fix it.
It was the first night he offered you a lift home. Had taken pity on you. Had also liaised with the college maintenance guy to check it out the next day, even if the diner wasn't technically part of campus.
Because Jungkook does give a shit about your well-being, and he refutes the claim that he doesn't.
"So what? You here to tell me to stay away?" Jungkook scoffs as he prizes off the cap of the bottle. Swigs down a sip. Then another, 'cause he's not wankered enough for this.
"I'm here to tell you that you're an asshole," Taehyung asserts. "She didn't deserve to be used by you for the summer and then tossed to the trash just because semesters starting up again."
The roll of Jungkook's eyes is so weighted that it almost feels as if they'll get lodged in the back of his skull. The last time they'd rolled that deep was in bed with you. Back then it was because his body was so divinely out of sync that his muscles couldn't keep up with his actions. This time, pleasure is the furthest thing away from how he's feeling.
"You want me nowhere near her, but the fact I'm staying away makes me an asshole?" Jungkook petulantly laughs. "Can't ever fuckin' win, can I?"
"This isn't about winning or losing," Taehyung argues back. "She trusted you."
Jungkook doesn't understand what that has to do with anything. He's not betrayed your trust. Has kept all your secrets. Tried his best to keep you secret, too.
"What was she to you, huh? Some project? A virginity to get under your belt? Something to pass the time—"
"I don't know who you think I am," Jungkook snaps, fed up being accused of something he's not. "But not once did I ever treat her badly, okay? I—" He cuts himself off. Doesn't know how to articulate himself. "We— Look, you just don't get it. You don't know me. I was nothing but fuckin' nice. Okay? And she was nice. And it was nice. And we..." He trails off. Realises what Taehyung said. "The fuck do you mean, 'virginity to get under your belt'?"
It's about now that Taehyung realises he's said too much.
But every cloud has a silver lining.
"Talk to her," Taehyung shrugs as he begins to walk away. "Not me."
He leaves a scowling Jungkook by the fridge. Heads to the stairs, and once he reaches the top, is yanked away by a small but mighty force.
"You," Jimin asserts. "With me. Now."
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The sound of three knocks on the bathroom door serve as a signal: let me in.
A panicked text from Taehyung had practically begged you to go to the basement bathroom and wait for him there. Said there was drama that he needed to talk with you about.
And you believed him, 'cause you're a few too many drinks deep and honestly could do with the respite.
Perched up on the countertop by the sink, you reach over and unhook the latch, giving Taehyung the all clear to come on in. Your legs languidly swing and your shoulders are slumped, this party well and truly over for you.
The only reason you're still here is because you know Taehyung's secretly been revelling in his first Conservatory party. You fear he'll want to come every weekend, now.
"You better not have your cock out," a playful voice you know all too well jokes, as the door pushes open. Eyes closed as he enters, he shuts the door behind him. Asks, "Am I safe to open my eyes?"
You're gonna kill Taehyung. 
In the most loving but brutal way, you will absolutelymurder him for setting you up like this.
"Safe," you grimace.
Jungkook doesn't open his eyes. In fact, he presses them even tighter together. Frowns. "Jimin isn't in here, is he?"
"We've been bamboozled," you sigh, and as much as he doesn't want to, Jungkook smiles at your choice of words. Tips his head down, and open his eyes. Is a little too scared to look your way, for fear of being greeted with wrath.
"Their days are numbered," Jungkook assures you, quickly glancing across to try and work out how you're feeling.
"My sentiments exactly."
Jungkook goes to speak, but you both notice a grating metallic noise by the door. Immediately, Jungkook presses his hand down on the door handle, but there's absolutely no give. It won't budge
"Jimin," he calls, voice strong and domineering through the wooden panels. Hastily painted white, they're chipped and tarnished; covered in numbers and Instagram handles, rumours and declarations of love. It's not your first time locked in this bathroom with Jungkook, but the last was of your own choice. Had been you turning the lock with a smile and glint in your eyes that had promised him trouble. "Open it up."
"No can do," Jimins smugly sings from beyond the door. "Sort your shit out."
Hopping off the counter, you nudge in front of Jungkook to pound against the door with an open fist. Though he steps back, it's still the closest you've been with him since he left your bedroom a couple weeks ago. Part of you laments the fact he moved away from you. Part of him does, too.
"Tae," you try calling instead, hand banging on the door, but you're met with the exact same response.
"Figure it out," he calls back, but also adds, "And if he's still an insufferable asshole in five minutes time, I'll come let you out."
Despite everything, you laugh at this. Not so much because of Taehyung's words, but because Jungkook's face screws up like an old newspaper.
"What is it with him and calling me an asshole?" Jungkook mutters under his breath with a shake of his head.
The bathroom is small—just a toilet and sink built into a cabinet. There's a mirror covering the back wall over it, and another cabinet above it that you assume is filled with empty bottles and misplaced lipglosses. There's barely even enough room to breathe, although there is enough room to make Jeon Jungkook come undone in the least dignified of ways. You should know.
You wish you didn't.
"He calls you one because you are one," you assure him.
"Excuse me?" 
"What?" You scoff, hopping back up on the counter, your eyes on his 'cause you want to watch the way he gets nasty. Wanna remind yourself of how horrible he can be. Replace the memories of him in this bathroom, 'cause in all reality, they're actually really lovely. Nice, even. Warm. Everything you're trying to convince yourself he's not. "Gone deaf as well as turned into a massive prick?"
"Jesus Christ," he says, rolling his eyes, turning back to face the door. Shakes at the handle. "Give it a rest."
"Why?" You ask as if butter wouldn't melt on your tongue. "Would it make life easier for you if I just wasn't around?"
Jungkook knows what you're doing. Has bickered with you enough times to understand your tricks. This is how you start; put words in his mouth that he can't defend against.
And so he doesn't try.
"Yep," he declares, turning to face you. "Way easier. Can you tell your friend I'm an asshole, still? Get us out of this place?"
You recline in defiance. Perched up on the counter next to the basin, your back is against a mirror. Legs crossed, you're in the same white summer dress you wore to your first party at the Conservatory.
Nearly everyone had been away for the summer.
You had spent the evening tucked up together on an armchair meant for one, him in the seat, you perched on the armrest, feet in his lap.
"People will talk, y'know," you'd assured him, elbows on your knees, chin in your palms.
"So let them talk," he'd smirked. "What's there to say? We're just sitting?"
It was strange for him to be seen with you. Even Jackson has been confused, but let it slide 'cause another partygoer is another partygoer. He cared for numbers, not names.
"Dunno," you had teased. "Might start talking about the way you look at me."
"Yeah?" He'd husked as his long fingers wrapped around your wrist. Gently pulled you closer.
"Yeah," you'd whispered, the sound of the music keeping your conversation obscure. "How long has it been that you've been looking at me for? A minute, already? Only one more until you fall in love, according to science."
"You tryna make me fall in love with you, Montgomery?"
"No," you'd innocently chirped, then pulled back. "Why? Were you?"
He'd shrugged. Sipped on his beer. "Guess we'll never know."
Looking at him now, you find it hard to believe he's the same person as he was back then.
"Why would I do that?" You feign naivety. "You're not an asshole?"
He doesn't reply. Knows you're going somewhere with this. Leans his back against the wall opposite you and folds his arms as if to say, go on.
"Assholes fuck people over," you state. "You'd never do that. And you'd definitely never spend your summer in some poor girls sheets and then pretend like she doesn't exist in front of your friends—"
"There is it," he confirms. Knew it was coming. Didn't expect you to actually try and speak about things like adults. So fuckin' childish.
"Oh?" You chirp. "So you're well aware of the fact you're an asshole? Good. Glad we have that one sorted out."
"Yep," he confirms, mouth drawing to a thin line.
The fact he isn't engaging in the fight infuriates you. Just proves he doesn't care. That he fucked you over for sport.
"I'm an asshole," he says, voice full of snark. "You know it, I know it. There's no reason why you should want to be around me. No reason why you should waste your time."
"It's so funny," you gasp in fake surprise. "I was thinking the exact same thing! Isn't it so great that you came to this conclusion after you already wasted months of my life?"
He's silent, now. Cowardly.
"Y'know I always knew you were an obnoxious prick," you say, voice now soberly quiet. "But I didn't think you were this cruel, Kook."
"You know that's not—"
"What?" You interrupt, voice growing louder with each question. "Not true? You woke up in my bed one morning, and then never spoke to me again. Who does that? What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"I don't know!" He shouts, and it surprises you both.
Raking his hand through his hair as he turns away from you, Jungkook wishes he had an answer. Wishes he could explain himself in a way that made sense to you both. Instead, he harshly swallows down his anger. Turns to face you again. Looks like he might cry.
Feels like it, too. 
"Why didn't you tell me, huh?" He quietly asks.
"Tell you wha—"
"That you were a virgin."
Your previous thoughts about murdering Taehyung return. Of all the things he could have divulged to Jungkook, and that's what he chose?!
Men, you internally scoff. All fuckin' idiots.
"Hardly relevant, is it?"
"Of course it is," he snaps, turning back to face you. "If I'd have known—"
"You'd have what? Ghosted me sooner? Made it into a fun little competition?"
"I didn't ghost you."
"Gaslighting, too, now are we?" You scoff. "Hold on, let me go and get my bingo card. Things Jungkook does that are absolutely fucking infuriating. Wanna cross it off the list. It's right next to how fast you drive your car, and how much I hate your stupid fucking alarm tone."
"Well good job you never have to hear it again, isn't it?"
"Why not? 'Cause you are ghosting me?"
"No, because this is fuckin' stupid," he says, yanking on the door handle, on the off chance it will finally budge. It doesn't. "You think I'm the devil reincarnated. You don't want me, so why bother with this? This is done. Us. Whatever the fuck it was. You never trusted me in the first place. Would have told me if you did. So just call your friend, tell him I'm an asshole. We're done."
"Oh, well you're two weeks too late for this conversation, don't you think?" you argue back with a cold laugh. "But has it ever occurred to you that my life doesn't revolve around you? That you aren't the reason I'm here? Jackson invited me."
"Ah, so that's what it is?" Jungkook sarcastically exclaims, your insatiable need to fight finally sinking into his skin. "You were just using me, huh? Getting those V-plates off, so you could be ready for him? Is that why you didn't tell me? Huh?"
The mere thought of hooking up with the college's very own Hugh Hefner makes you wanna gag—but if it'll piss off Jungkook, maybe you'll consider it.
"Why would you care if I let him fuck me?" You ask with such pointed anger Jungkook can't help but feel like you're driving knives into his chest. "Do that thing you like with my tongue? You think he'd like my pussy, huh? Maybe I'd let him fuck me raw."
You never let Jungkook go unprotected. Insisted on it each and every time, and he complied even if he was a little pouty about it after you'd been fucking for a while. The trust was there. You were on the pill. He knew he was clean and had told you as such, but it made no difference.
To even suggest you'd let Jackson fuck you raw is laughable.
With a smirk on his lips, Jungkook edges towards you.
Put his hands on your crossed knees. Waits for you to jerk him away—but you don't. Instead, you watch on with salacious confusion. Say nothing. Not even when he uncrosses them, nor when he spreads them apart.
With a hand either side of your head against the mirror, Jungkook stands between your legs.
Looks down at you.
Is so close you can smell his aftershave.
A month ago, in a position like this, you'd have kissed him.
"Hm?" You cock your head. Repeat your question. "You think he'd like my pussy? How long do you think he'd take to cum? Longer than you, I hope."
Jaw tense, Jungkook swallows down the way he wants to curse you out. Closes his eyes. Lets his head dip further, his forehead now resting against the top of your head.
The contact is minimal, but God, you've missed it. Trapped in position by him, you'd forgotten how lovely it was to lose yourself to Jungkook.
"You're not being fair," he whispers. Whines, even.
"Fair?" You laugh, but it's gentle. Matches his tone. "You can hardly take the high ground on fairness, Jungkook."
He nods. Takes a second, and then pathetically begs: "Don't fuck him. Please."
"Why shouldn't I?"
"You know why," he says. Stands straighter, now. Rakes a hand through his hair. Looks down on you with such pained desperation you almost feel bad. He tries to speak, but struggles with his words again. Takes him a few attempts to get anything out. "I didn't like you because I was fucking you. I fucked you because I liked you. You know that. You know it wasn't...Fuck. You know what it was."
The past tense he speaks in cuts you up inside.
Jungkook shrugs in defeat when he's met with silence. Purses his lips. Eyes on yours, they're glassy. Watery, almost.
Yours are just as bad, because what the fuck are you supposed to say to that? He's the one that cut you out. He did this.
"What did I do?" You ask, voice meagre and pathetic. Your vulnerability is mortifying, and yet you just can't help yourself as a tear streaks down your cheek. "What the fuck did I do that was so wrong, Kook?"
The heat of his hand scalds your skin as his thumb wipes away your tears. After his cold shoulder for the past two weeks, your body doesn't know how to respond. Should you be angry? Hurt? Comforted?
All you know is that you're more confused now than you ever were when you first started hooking up with him.
"Nothing," he quietly promises. Holds your cheeks in his hands. Rests his nose beside yours. Is far too close for a man who's been trying to stay away from you. Is beginning to realise that maybe his self-preservation was thinly veiled self-sabotage instead. "I thought I was doing the right thing, but it's been so fuckin' miserable, and then I didn't know how to fix things, and then it was all such a mess and—"
The words Jungkook is yet to speak are lost in the soft press of your lips against his.
Brows furrowed, Jungkook's grip on your face tightens. Keeps you close, 'cause he feels the pressure of your lips waning but doesn't want you to pull away.
And so you don't. Instead you apply more pressure. Harder. Deeper.
It's not like kissing Jungkook is a new experience. You've done it upwards of a thousand times, now. You know his lips and his tongue, and how it likes to flick against yours; his piercings, and the frequency of his moans that vibrate into your mouth.
Kissing Jungkook is just as easy as it is hard. Easy, in the way he takes not a single considered thought. Hard, in how it becomes your only tangible thought for minutes, hours, days afterwards.
An eternity and a millisecond is lost in the kiss, just like the summer that lasted an age and yet was gone with the wind.
When your lips finally part, there's silence. Forehead resting on yours, Jungkook shakes his head ever so gently. Doesn't know how to articulate his thoughts. How to say sorry, or how to fix his mess.
While his logic was flawed, and his execution careless, his intentions had been good. As much as he had a life to go back to, and friends that wouldn't get it, so did you.
He knows they hate him—isn't ignorant to the roll of Maria's eyes every time they walk into Montgomery's, and has experienced Taehyung's disdain first-hand this evening.
He'd spent his summer getting out of the house to avoid the fall-out of his father's infidelity. Knows how much his family is suffering all because of a man who just couldn't control himself. Was trying to be better. Trying not to wreck both of your lives.
As he stands in the dingy bathroom of a party house, the lingering burn of your lips on his still smouldering, he knows that he wrecked you both regardless.
And so it's up to him to put you back together again.
"I'm sorry," you say as you break the kiss, mortified at how stupid of an impulse it had been. You don't that. Not anymore. A month ago, sure, kissing Jungkook in a dingy bathroom at a party house would have been exciting. Now, it just feels embarrassing. "I shouldn't have—"
His lips are on yours again, stealing your words from you. He doesn't want to hear you apologise. Knows that you don't need to.  Also knows that he does need to.
"Don't," he quickly says between kisses. "Please, don't say sorry."
"But I—"
"Shut up," he smiles against your lips, shaking his head ever so slightly. He kisses you again, and this time it's soft. Pretty. Poetic, almost in how it makes you feel. And then he speaks, and you're reminded of just how easy it is to adore him, even when you know you shouldn't. "You know how much I've missed this? God, I've missed you so much. Please don't say sorry. I'm sorry. It's on me. I made a mistake, alright? I fucked up." 
He pulls back. Has your cheeks in his hands as he makes sure your eyes are on his. They're dark, now, in the dim light of the bathroom you're in, but they've never been warmer.
"I mean it. I'm so fucking sorry," he whispers. Brows furrowed, lips pouty, he's got the kind of face you're hardwired to trust. To adore. Or maybe, it's just him, in general, that you're inclined to feel this way about. "Okay?"
His large hard hands are still holding your cheeks, as yours wrap around his wrists. With a shake of your head, you shrug. Pout, too.
An apology is appreciated, but it's just words. It's his actions that have been upsetting you. Not his words (or lack thereof).
"We're gonna leave this bathroom and you're gonna pretend like I don't exist again," you tell him.
The frown on his face deepens. "That's not true. And that's not what I was trying to do in the first place, either. I just thought—"
"What? That it was a good idea to kiss me on my doorstep and promise you'd pick me up from work, only to never show? To ignore my texts? To—"
"No," he quietly admits, dropping his head between his shoulders. "I made the wrong calls—but I can make it up to you. I want to make it up to you." He rests his forehead against yours. Quietly begs, "Please."
Slowly, Jungkook nudges his nose up against yours. Waits for permission.
Beyond the door, loud music thuds through the room. It obscures the conversation you've been having, keeping you just as secret as you always have been.
It's not like you told any of your friends, either, and when it came to telling Taehyung, you weren't exactly forthcoming. Perhaps you would have been the one to pretend like he didn't exist, had he not done it first.
"I want you," he husks against your lips. 
"You wanna fuck me," you correct him, lips tantalisingly brushing his with every word.
"True," he admits. "But I also wanna send you dumb memes again, and go for drives after work, and wake up in your bed. I wanna go for breakfast, and I still need to cook you my world-famous makguksu. I want to have not been a dick for the past two weeks, but I can't change that. I just wanna be what I once was to you again."
"And what was that?" You encourage.
There was never any label. Realistically, there's no right answer. 
Or at least there isn't, until Jungkook just simply says, "Yours."
And what else can you do when confronted by such a pathetic, yearnful admittance from him, except to give into how you're feeling, too?
Frantic in the way your hands are on his body—his arms, his waist, around his throat—there's a neediness to you. One he's missed. One he reciprocates, as his large palms stroke up your spread thighs, then get your legs wrapped around his hips.
The movements of your bodies are so well nurtured by now that you know what comes next; how the bulge in his trousers will press against your covered pussy, and how you'll whine at the contact no matter how minimal.
"Fuck," you whine as his hands slip under the skirt of your dress. It's an old routine at this point. He knows exactly where to go, what to do. His fingers press against the wet fabric of your underwear, just gently enough to make you moan a little harder into his mouth.
"Oh?" He smirks when he realises just how needy you are, his fingers stroking against your slick panties. "Missed me, too?"
"You're an asshole," you tell him with a smile. As his fingers get firmer, you can't help but whine. "You know I have."
He pulls back to look down at your body. Pushes the fabric of your dress out of the way. Curses when he realises the underwear you're wearing. Is his favourite pair. Red and lacy, there's a suspender belt to match it. While you're not wearing it right now, he's got pictures of you in it that belong in a fuckin' museum.
"Did you wanna fuck me tonight, huh?" He mumbles into your lips.
"Not everything is about you," you say with a smile, wrapping your arms around his neck.
Except it is. They're your favourite pair too, simply for how insanely he reacted to seeing you in them. Sure you're not in the full set up, but it was enough to have you feeling ever so confident as you left the house with Taehyung.
As his lips press against yours, his finger hooks beneath your underwear. Tugs them to the side. Gets you exposed for him.
"No?" He husks, as his fingers begin to sink between your soaked folds. "So this isn't about me, huh?"
You shake your head. Lie. "Never been less turned on."
He plays into your little theatrics. Has always enjoyed them.
"So you don't want me to do this?" He asks as his middle finger sinks into your entrance.
"Can't even feel it," you pretend, as if his thick knuckles aren't stroking against you in just the right way.
"No?" He grits. Sinks a second finger inside you. Gets you whining again, nails gripping onto his arms. His fingers slowly pump into you, easing you into the way it feels for him to be inside you.
There's something electric about Jungkook. Sends shivers through your spine. Always knew exactly how to manipulate your pussy into doing whatever he wanted, and now is no different. As you clench around him, he's overcome with satisfaction.
"This is just my fingers," he reminds you. "I don't think you can handle my cock."
Scoffing, you're desperately trying to pretend you aren't melting for him. "Please, I can handle it just fine."
"Sure you can, baby," he teases with so much arrogance you kinda wanna fight him again—but it's also why you like him. He challenges you. Gets your brain in overdrive.
And when he crouches in front of the counter, eyes aligned with your exposed cunt, you think you might actually lose it entirely.
His hands are on your thighs, spreading you further, getting a good look at the mess between your legs. When he sighs, the shallow breath that escapes his lips feels like absolute sin against your wetness.
"Oh, you really haven't been fucked since me, have you?" He teases again. "Look at how fucking keen you are. Been missing my cock, huh?"
"My vibrator's been doing the job just fine," you assure him, but it has him pulling back to cock a brow in your direction. He knows many things about you that other people don't, but he was not aware you owned any sex toys. Finds that his cock only throbs even harder in his pants at this revelation.
"Maybe so," he husks, leaning closer just so he drags his flat tongue up your folds. Has to stop himself from moaning, 'cause the taste of you is somehow even better than his memories. "But it's not better than me."
With a point to prove, and a desperation to reclaim you as his own, Jungkook doesn't entertain chitchat any longer. He dives back in, tongue lapping against your lips as his fingers push back inside you. The way he curls them just right as his tongue flicks against your clit is enough to make anyone lose their head.
Hands tangling in his hair, you find your body responding to him in the way it always does; pathetically, needily, hungrily. There's no dignity to be found.
His tongue works against you like a well trained craft, until his lips latch around your swollen bud and begin to lightly suck on it. When he hums in satisfaction—which he does often—the suction only grows stronger.
Gets you whimpering, "Like that. Fuck. Like that."
The build is just as undignified as you are. Your grip on his hair gets tighter, and the shake of your legs grows stronger. Dragging his tongue up and down your folds, he settles back on your clit. Flicks his pointed tongue against you until he knows you can't take it any longer and begins to suck again. Curves his fingers just right. Strokes you so gently that orgasm pours out of you like liquid gold. Guilds him into the most gorgeous aureate glow.
He doesn't ease. Keeps his lips wrapped around your clit. Makes sure you're spent.
When he finally releases you, he's breathing just as heavily as you are. Gets to his feet, fingers still plugged in your tight pussy. Is pleased to find you're just as insatiable as he is, pulling him in for the messiest of kisses as soon as you can. There's no care given for the fact he's covered in your arousal. You just want that tongue of his in your mouth—and when it is, you find yourself moaning from the withdrawal of his fingers.
Your hands reach to the waistband of his jeans to unhook his button. Get his zipper down. Your hands down the front of his trousers, when his thick cock is restricted by his tight boxer briefs. By the tip of his cock, a small wet patch resides; his desperation for you obvious. Gently rubbing your thumb across the pre-cum, all you can think about is his slit, and how you wanna kitten lick across it.
But it's been two weeks of near-constant pining, and all Jungkook wants is to bury himself inside you.
"Let me fuck you," he begs. "Please, baby."
If the girl who had first seen Jungkook in a shared lecture hall two years ago would have known she'd end up in a shitty bathroom with him begging for her, she'd have laughed. Wouldn't have believed it for a second.
Fresh-faced and so out of your comfort zone, the first few days at university were full of potential. It was before you had wised up to your place in the pecking order; when Jungkook was just a boy in your orientation class.
Skin kissed by European sun, there had been a radiance to him that seemed to captivate just about everyone. You weren't the only girl who had been sneaking glances his way.
You'd thought about him a lot in those first few weeks. Came to learn of his family ties around the same time you befriended Taehyung. Stopped seeing him around campus so much, and rarely ever thought of him.
But on those rare occasions you crossed paths, your gaze would always linger.
As he frees himself of his boxers, trousers suspended midway down his thighs, he gently rubs the tip of his cock between your folds and husks, "Always thought you were so pretty, y'know?"
Looking up at you for just a second, he smirks. Looks back down. Continues to rub himself against you, prepping himself with your slickness.
"Freshers week," he continues. "You never came to any of the parties."
The tip of his cock kisses your entrance, but doesn't penetrate. You stay in limbo just shy of what you both want.
"Had a stupid fuckin' crush on you," he admits. Has never acknowledged it before, but has always known. Kept it hidden. Safe. Secret.
"No, you didn't," you smile. He didn't even give you a second glance. Was always you seeking him out in lecture halls.
"I did," he says with absolute certainty. "You wore that little black sundress on our first day. Had ruffles on the shoulders."
It hangs in your wardrobe, a little out of style but still sweet in the right setting. You know the exact one he's talking about, because he's right. You did wear it on that very first day.
His cock nudges a little deeper. Enough to make you gasp, but not moan. Not yet. Gripping his arms, brows furrowed, you nod. He sinks himself just a little bit further. The feeling is overwhelming; fire on ice.
"Would have fucked you in that lecture hall, if you'd have let me," he smirks.
"You didn't even know my name," you counter, but he cuts your questioning off as he edges a little deeper, still. His hand dips to gently rub languid circles on your clit. He's not pushing himself any further, not yet. Wants to ease into how this feels.
"I did," he admits. "Listened extra hard during the roll call."
"So this has all been some big elaborate scheme to get into my pants, huh?"
"Is it working?" he jokes, leaning over to yank the cabinet above the sink open. A few random bottles and packets clatter into the sink, but he doesn't care.
He's looking on the top shelf, rifling through old boxes, sending more miscellaneous objects to their untimely demise. Spotting what he's after, he's assertive as he knocks the cabinet shut. Passes you the box.
"S'all there is. They alright?"
"Sure," you say, pulling one of the foil packets from the box. You check the date stamped on the front—only to see it's a year out of date. Some protection would be better than none, regardless of the date, but fuck it. You're on the pill. "You haven't fucked anyone else? In the last couple weeks?"
"What?" His brows contort in confusion. "No."
His expression softens, but is still laced with confusion when you toss the box of condoms down into the sink.
"I don't care. I don't want them—"
You're cut off by the way Jungkook clasps your jaw, keeping your eyes locked on his. There's a seriousness to him now; the same demeanour he holds himself with when he was taking photographs. He's intentional. Assertive.
"Promise me," he says with stern certainty. "You want this?"
When he's got you like this—legs spread, body his to claim, your soul to take—it's impossible to do anything but comply. See, things with Jungkook are reciprocal. Your feelings, your tortured misunderstanding of how a relationship could ever work, and his seriousness, now, too.
"I promise," you swear.
As a chaste kiss is pressed to your lips, his hands stroke down your spread thighs, pushing you a little further open for him.
"Can't unfuck me," he softly reminds you. Is taking his time not for the anticipation, but because he's scared. "If you fuck me raw—"
"Then I fuck you raw," you simply repeat, knowing that it's up to you to ease his woes. If anyone should be scared, it's you—yet there's a safety that comes with being with Jungkook. Smirk, then say, "Trust me. I know I can't unfuck you. I've been trying to forget—"
"Ouch," he laughs, nudging his nose up against yours.
"—but you're just..." you tailed off, not wanting to compliment him too highly. He's still in the dog house. "Memorable."
With a sardonic smile that he knows only means trouble, you reach down to grip his incredibly pert ass cheeks. Squeezing, just because you can, you encourage him to push even deeper into you—and he's the one who whines, now.
"God, you're so fuckin' tight," he praises with such pained desperation it almost sounds like he'll cry. He won't. It's just that he can't quite believe that he's raw inside you right now, and that you feel just as good as he always imagined. Better, even.
"Yeah?" You question, as you pull his hips closer, gasping as he finally sinks his full length into you once more. His fingers were thick, but they've got nothing on his cock. Like he's taken all the air from your lungs, your voice is all light and airy. Makes Jungkook even more insane.
"Yeah," he mumbles as he nods into a kiss that is just as feverant as his need to pulse his hips. He doesn't dare do it yet. Is waiting for you. "Feels so fuckin' good."
"So just fuck me," you hungrily moan into his lips.
You're challenging him deliberately, and it works a fucking treat when he pulls back with a grin. He doesn't withdraw himself, but he does pulse his hips ever so slightly. Keeps you plugged. Is just nudging even deeper into you as he keeps a hold on your thighs, keeping them spread nice and wide.
"Say please," he grunts as his pulsing becomes a singular deep thrust.
Your argumentative streak wants to fight.
You'll berate yourself later for the way you whimper, "Please."
His thick cock withdraws just a little to push back into you. He groans. Curses. Builds momentum. Speed.
The sound of his skin slapping against yours as he pounds himself into you is impossible to ignore. Your moans build. Double. Treble. He's grunting too, and then his lips are on your neck. It's a mess, quite frankly.
In the sordid shadows of this bathroom, your bodies become acquainted with an intimacy not yet bridged before. You can pretend to ignore each other in the hallways of your shared lecture buildings, but you'll never be able to ignore the desperation you have for one another. Jungkook was right. You can't unfuck him. And now he's fucking you raw, it only make it even more potent.
Harshly pulling himself out of you, Jungkook almost fuckin' cums on the spot when he realises how soaked he is from your arousal. It's not like it's a new thing, but skin on skin, it's so much more intense. Gasping from the sudden loss of pressure, you're a little unsteady. Lurch forward as if your body could stop him from withdrawing.
Holding the base of his thick shaft, Jungkook spanks against your pussy with his cock. Rubs your slick wetness around with his tip. Hooks his elbows under your thighs. Pulls you closer. Instructs, "Arms around my neck."
Wrapping an arm around your back, the other one tucks under your ass as he lifts you.
He turns. Presses your back to the wall, and lines himself up.
"Legs around me," he tells you, and as soon as you do, his cock pushes up into you again. He keeps you pinned against the wall as he begins to fuck himself into you, his lips pressing wet kisses to the curve of your neck.
The sight in the mirror behind him is lethal; his broad back covered by his shirt, but it doesn't matter. You know what he looks like. Know his muscles, and the valley of his spine, like the back of your own damn hand.
You wanna see it though. Give it a tug. Send him the right message. Get him tearing his shirt off and dropping it to the floor for you. Victory is so damn sweet.
"Kook," you whine as he really begins to get deep. "You're gonna make me cum."
"All over my cock, huh?" He grunts. "Gonna cum on cock, are you?"
His taunting only makes you whimper even more. "I'm so close."
And because he just likes to get you all whiney and needy, Jungkook stops. Puts you down. Gets you facing the mirror as you protest his unfair stealing of an orgasm.
But then he's lining himself up again, getting ready to take you from behind. Spanks your ass ever so quickly.
Sinking into you again, Jungkook curses. "Tighter like this."
"Good?" You pathetically check, and Jungkook can't help but think it's sweet.
"Yeah, babe," he promises, and pretends as if it's completely usual for him to speak to you so tenderly. "Feels so fuckin' good. Missed you so much, gorgeous. You and this tight cunt."
"Romance," you joke through your needy whines. He smirks at this, and delivers a curt little spank to your ass.
"I can be romantic," he assures you, as if you aren't being soundtracked by the sound of your skin slapping together, his thick cock fucking itself into your soaked hole. 
His eyes rise from the steady gaze he'd had on your ass to your eyes. 
Slowing himself, Jungkook holds his cock inside you without thrusting. Says, "I made that photo you took of us in your room my fuckin' phone wallpaper. I listen to that asmr guy you like before bed, every single fuckin' night. I keep one of your ribbons tied around my gearstick. That romantic enough for you?"
There's an incredibly bashful smile on your pretty face, which contradicts the way in which your pussy is tightening around him in the most lewd of ways. You're giggling when you say, "Shut up and fuck me."
But then he's giggling too, just how you like him to be. Says, "I missed your body, but I missed you more. Stupid."
"You're stupid."
"You're stupider."
"Kook," you laugh, as he's completely forgotten the task at hand. The way that he looks at you, you'd be forgiven for thinking he has. Truthfully, the connection he has with you is so much more than what sex has ever been for him before. 
His hips lightly pulse, as he says, "Sorry. Where were we?"
"Think you were gonna make me cum."
"Ah, yeah. That. My bad."
His gentle thrusts begin to build pace once more. The grin on his face drops a little as he begins to concentrate on you. Watching him in the mirror, you're perplexed to be reminded of just how ethereal Jungkook looks when he fucks.
The deep ridge between his brows intensifies, as his mouth hands slack. His cheeks hollow a little, and his eyes remain entirely focused. Dark. Deep. Brooding.
As his hand dips around to gently stroke against your clit, Jungkook is just as taken away by the way you look. He isn't sure what it is that gets his heart so heavy in his chest, but he knows that he wants you to cum. Doesn't give a fuck about himself.
The walls of your cunt begin to tighten around his length as your moans deepen. You whine his name and he encourages a response, but neither of you can really talk. A numbness is washing over you, your balance unsteady.
"I'm gonna..." you begin, but find it impossible to finish.
"I know, baby," he nods all out of breath and desperately fucked out. "Give me what I want. Cum for me."
You trust and keep your eyes on him, but the nudging on his cock against your g-spot and the slow rubbing of your clit is just enough to tip you over.
"Kook," you whimper as your walls begin to tighten around him, but it's fruitless. There's a shake to your legs, and he's the only thing keeping you supported.
"Oh, fuck," he curses from the strength of your pussy around him. He's shaking just as much as you are. "Cream on this cock, baby. Oh, fuck. Yeah.Just like that. You're gonna make me cum, too. Gonna make me cum so fuckin' hard. All in your pussy. You want that, huh?"
It's as you're desperately whining, cumming all around his thick shaft that Jungkook feels his body lose control. There's a tightness to his balls, and a shudder to his sternum, that he hasn't felt since the last time he was in your bedroom. Last time he was in you, more specifically.
"Kook," you whimper his name, and that's when Jungkook really can't hold back.
"Yeah, babe," he rasps, as his hard thrusts become pathetic stutters. "I'm cumming."
The announcement isn't needed, for you swear you can almost feel it as his thick cum begins to fill you. The lack of a condom makes it all the more primal, the way his body shudders indicative of just how much cum he's filling you up with. 
His body collapses on yours a little, his clammy torso pressed to your back. The dress you're wearing is barely on properly, and the feeling of his skin against yours is catastrophic. As intimate as sex is, it's this right now, the beat of his heart thrumming against your spine that is the real disaster. How you can ever look him in the eye again is beyond you.
But then his lips are pressing chaste kisses to the curve of your neck, and his hands are squeezing at your hips. He doesn't pull out. Keeps himself warm inside you. Says, "How the fuck am I ever supposed to give you up, huh?"
That's the thing.
He isn't supposed to, and you damn well know it.
Reaching back for some tissue to help you out, Jungkook slowly withdraws. Holds his hand beneath your pussy, then replaces it with tissue. Turns you around and lets you take over.
"Here's a radical idea," you offer, not looking at him as you quickly make sure you're decent. Stay standing with your legs crossed, just in case. "Don't."
Pulling his shirt back over his head, Jungkook presses his back to the wall. There's a distance between you, yes, but you don't really feel it, 'cause it's purely physical.
And it's not like it lasts for very long either, 'cause Jungkook decides he needs to kiss you all over again.
"Alright," he whispers against your lips. "Say we don't. Say I wanna be yours. What the fuck do we do now?"
You shrug. The answers aren't yours to decide. It's up to you both.
"Well, firstly I'm gonna text Tae," you hum. "Tell him you're still an asshole and that I need to be let out immediately."
It's been half an hour.
He came to check on things about ten minutes ago.
The music might be loud, but not loud enough to drown out the way you guys fuck. 
Summer had been quiet. In his car, in your empty house, you've never had to keep it down before. Didn't even realise quite how loud you were being.
Which is why Jimin is the one who unlocks the outside bolt with a smirk a few minutes later, Taehyung watching on with a little disgusted grimace a metre or so back.
"Gross," he whisper shouts at you, but then he's smiling, too. Notices how Jungkook touches you—the hand he has on the small of your back, and the way he clasps your hand as you begin to walk ahead of him—and finds it impossible to be mad.
"C'mon," Jimin calls behind himself, leading you up and out of the basement. "We're going to the diner."
"We?" You question, incredibly confused.
"We." He simply says. Doesn't leave it up for debate. Gathers up the rest of the Untouchables (though Claudia is noticeably absent), and tells them the same thing he told you. Drags Taehyung along as well.
Jungkook was scared of integrating you into his life, but there's no other way to do it. Has to rip the band aid off.
As you walk into Montgomery's, hand in hand with the boy who had spent his summer wasting away with you in here, both of you realise that maybe it isn't such a huge deal.
Or at least, you do until Maria clocks you. Eyes darting from you, to Jungkook, and then to your gently clasped hands, she's in a state of absolute shock. Almost drops her tray.
"Sorry, what the fuck?!"
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leonw4nter · 2 days
Text
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Silver Screen
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RE2R!Leon x F!Reader modern AU (The 300 followers special!)
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You walk into the room, an iPad opened to the latest installment of the fanfiction series you’ve been following for quite some time carried in the nook of your arm and salted caramel boba tea in the other. Setting the sugary drink on the table beside your spot on the couch, you temporarily put your iPad down to get into a comfortable position in the small pillow and blanket nest you’ve made for yourself. With a pleased sigh and an excited grin, you take a long sip of the beverage before finally picking the iPad up and have the coziest time of your life.
You were having a solid few hours of the coziest time of your life until you heard some soft sniffling coming from somewhere in the living room along with the faint pads of feet against the wooden floorboards. You look up, your eyes finally focused on something else other than pixels that formed words on a bright screen. There, you see him: your roommate Leon whose face is in his hands, ears red, and what seems to be muffled crying– no, sobbing as he walks around in circles.
Concerned for your friend and roommate, you get up from your place and walk up to him. “Hey, what’s wrong?”
You place a hand on his broad back, patting and gently stroking it back and forth. Leon finally lifts his head up, wiping off his tears with the sleeve of his dark green sweatshirt.
“This author was not playing around, ended up crying.” is all he said which prompted you to try and hold back a giggle. So he’s been reading fics too, you think to yourself.
“Can I read it?” you ask, to which he nods and fishes his phone out from the pocket of his plaid pajama pants.
“Lemme find it real quick,” he responds. He’s still sniffling, the waterline of his eyes occasionally brimming with a new batch of salty tears before he blinks them away. He finally finds the fic he’s been reading, handing you his phone while he walks over to the kitchen to grab himself a glass of water to stop hiccuping.
“You sure you’re fine?” you call out before you read.
“Yeah! Fic was just really… it was just something!”
You start reading the fic, your eyes trailing on the words on the screen. The words seemed familiar so you guessed that Leon had stumbled on a fic you’ve read before. Wrong! It was your fic, a fic you finished updating around last night. No wonder it was too familiar. You stared at the phone in your hand with wide eyes like a deer in headlights, a child caught with a jar of sweets in her hands when she shouldn’t have been eating sugary things. Your gaze drifted to Leon in the kitchen, who was still somehow trying to control his breathing while chugging down water like his life depended on it. He didn’t seem to notice the sudden drain of color in your face so you continue to scroll down, checking if he left any likes or reblogs or comments on your work. Another bombshell dropped: he’s the top reader of your work and the one that’s been keyboard smashing in the comments, along with the… soulful, emotional reblogs. His account is the one that’s religiously kept up with whatever you post, whether it be new fics or just random vents. BiohazardBard, the sweet account who comments nice stuff like “Don’t worry about us, take some time for yourself! U got this!!” and reblogs with tags like “UEIXGOFQWV CRIED SO HARD U DONT EVEN KNOW IEWBRXXR”on angst fanfiction is your roommate and also your crush.
You stand there in silence, mouth ajar as you continue to stare blankly into his phone, unable to process the fact that he’s aware of your online persona but he doesn’t know that it’s you. You exit the app and turn his phone off, walking over to him in the kitchen and give him pats to his shoulder to really make sure that he’s okay. If he’s calmed down then you’re not– internally, that is.
“That fic uh… it truly was something,” you sympathetically say. “Guessed that the part where uh- she leaves him was the one that got the water works going.”
“Oh um nope, it’s the part where things were slowly spiraling down. Got anxious for them then just full-on bawled when shit hit the fan,” he explains with a sheepish smile. “This fic is just bars, I love it so much actually– Might print a copy of this to take to work when I can’t be on my phone.”
To have your fics reblogged and your account be compared to the unburned version of the Library of Alexandria is one thing but to hear your number one dedicated reader say that to your face? After a breakdown? Nothing will ever top that and he doesn’t even know he just ugly-cried in front of the author he keeps up with.
“Imagine someone coming up to the front desk to be like: “hi someone stole my bike” or something and they call you over and their resident cop is just red as hell and all slobbery,” you joke.
“Shut up! I’ll try not to cry, I’m going to build immunity,” he half-jokes before taking another gulp of water.
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You lay awake at night, staring into the dark nothingness of your room. Your feelings are all convoluted– joy, fear, embarrassment, amusement, excitement– and it’s hard to pinpoint what is ruling over you. Finding out that the man whom you’ve been hinting your feelings for is obsessed with your writing? In complete adoration with the products of your mind and skill? Hopefully he doesn’t suss out on your more romantic and sappy fics, inspired by real-life events you experienced with him (with more romantic and glittery bits). It doesn’t take even a minute to decide that you’ll be keeping this secret from him in order to not make anything weird between you two. Leon already seemed embarrassed after having been caught sobbing like that by a mere set of pixels on screen so you decided that this would be best for both of you. Unable to sleep due to the combined combination of boba tea and adrenaline, you sit up and reach for your phone because reading a fic or two before bed doesn’t hurt, right?
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It’s been a few days after the little “incident” and Leon’s been more open with showing you some fics he enjoys, occasionally giving his own reviews and recommendations for you. He’s still the same guy that keyboards smashes on your comments and on his reblogs, which makes you giggle since you know who’s been sending you that. He finally came home from a long day of work only to do some more work outside of office hours, catching up on reports that some absent cops left behind and was handed over to him. Making himself a cup of coffee, he stretches his arms and hands before typing away on his dingy laptop for the next 3 hours. A few hours later, you hear some giggling coming from him so you bring your head up and spot his head once again buried in his hand, ears red but from giggling this time. He swings his legs, accidentally nudging the leg of a chair so he yelps a bit, which tugs a little chuckle from you. His ears pick up on the jolly noise coming from you, his face glowing when he sees you smile (or are you just seeing things?). He asks for you to come over to him and points at something on the screen of his laptop.
“Thought you wanted uninterrupted time for work,” you ask.
“I’m on a break, I think I deserve it,” he confidently says. “Anyways, take a look at this. Starting from here until here.”
You expected that you’d see another fic of yours but it was from another account’s instead, which disappointed you a slight bit but not that you minded too much. You finished reading the lines, the corners of your lips tugged skyward with a subtle splash of baby pink tinting your cheeks.
“Damn, that’s sweet,” you comment. “Gosh, I want what they have.”
“Me too. Like, hey God I’m still here ya know! I’ve seen what you’ve done for others!” Leon adds on.
Um, hey Leon! I’m literally right here! Do you need glasses? I’m right beside you!
Since you two were having a nice moment sharing fics and fic lines, you decided to show Leon some lines from fics you love.
“Take a look at this one,” you say as you hand him your iPad. “His description of her had me clawing at walls and biting my fist.”
Leon takes the gadget from your hands with care and places them beside his laptop, reading the lines. He reads in silence and it appears that he’s going over the line again and again.
“Who wrote this?” he asks.
“Uh, scottfree.”
“I don’t think I’m getting out of this scot-free,” Leon jokes. “Pun intended.”
“And why is that…?”
“Because I wrote that.”
You look at him in confusion, two neurons in your brain making a very, very, very slow connection in this moment.
“You’re scottfree?! And also BiohazardBard?!,” you exclaim. So he’s also scottfree, the writer whose lines you’ve screenshotted takes up about a third of all images on your phone. Amazing.
“How do you know I’m BiohazardBard?!?!,” he exclaims even louder as he gets up from his seat.
“Because um– the fic you cried over some days ago is mine! And I saw your account name and profile and I found out that you’re one of my loyal readers!”
He looks like he’s ready to wither away into nothing, become dust and probably get sucked in a vacuum cleaner.
“God that’s embarrassing,” he quietly mumbles. “Tell me: is that fic the first fic you’ve read from me? My other account, I mean– the one where I post fics.”
“Scottfree? Um, no… I’ve read like– quite a lot, actually.”
He stares blankly at you, unsure on how to absorb the information dumped on him. He’s only got a half-asleep half of a brain cell now since the rest of them were allocated on getting those papers done with the other half of the remaining brain cell, which he thinks is now gone.
“While we’re at this, um. You must know that the descriptions I write for the love interests are usually what I wished I could say to you or how I’d describe you. When he’s telling her how magical it is to be around her presence? I’ve daydreamed one too many times about really saying that you,” he quietly confides in you. “If I want to write another story, I hope I could write it alongside you.”
They really weren’t playing with slow-burn romance where both of them are too shy to confess their feelings. It’s happening to me right now! I’m in the confession part of the story!
“I guess it’s a writer thing for writers to include parts of someone they like in their works because I did the same thing for my works, actually. If I wanna come up with a real sweet line, I just think about you and I wish that I’d say these to you. Maybe I’ll wish that whatever I write the love interest to say, I’ll hear you say them to me too and uh… manifesting is real I guess, I dunno,” you awkwardly laugh. “Guess the feeling’s mutual, huh.”
“Yeah. Wow, this is… this is amazing. Real amazing,” Leon softly says.
“Mhm.”
“So…”
“So… what now…?”
“I guess this makes as mutuals in terms of accounts and feelings," the blond grins.
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NOTE - Once again, thank you to the lovely 310 people who decided to follow me and keep up with whatever I post :)) I first came up with this while I was washing my cats' bowls and I intended for it to be a drabble but I just decided to make it a fic in the end. Still working on other reqs rn so expect some more posts in the coming days <33 If your usernames are somehow the same as the usernames that I made up for this fic then I didn't mean that and it's just a coincidence 😭🙏 Also y'all gotta hear me out on Francis Mosses from That's Not My Neighbor, he's cute :3 Judging from my mlist, I'm not sure if I love RE2R Leon hmm I'm not too sure 🤔 Anyways, that's all and thank you for reading my fics!!!!!!!!! I <33333 UUUUUU !!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
The dividers are made by @benkeibear , the images are made by me (sourced from Pinterest).
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buckactuallys · 2 days
Note
pia!!! for the writing prompts: 22 cancelling their schedule just to spend time with them, if that sparks anything! <3
hi nina!!! it took a while but then it sparked something indeed, thanks for sending the prompt <3
hearts will hold
3.1k, [read on ao3]
“Hey,” Eddie says when Buck opens the door, casual, like Buck should’ve expected him. Which he did not. 
“Uh, h-hey,” he says. “Didn’t you say you had plans today?”
“Canceled them,” Eddie says easily, pushing past Buck into his loft. “I’d rather be here anyway.”
“Eddie, I–“ Buck closes the door and turns to watch Eddie rummage through his fridge, emerging with two bottles of beer. “What do you mean, you canceled them? Didn’t you have a date?”
Eddie shrugs, opening the balcony door one handed while holding the beers in the other. Buck has no choice but to follow him out there, still confused. 
This morning after work, he asked Eddie if he was busy this afternoon, and Eddie said he was gonna see Marisol. It’s not unusual lately, that Eddie can’t hang out with Buck because he’s got plans with his girlfriend. Which is normal and to be expected, but also fucking sucks because, well – Buck has horrible timing and realized some things too late.
“You can’t cancel on your girlfriend for me,” he says guiltily, but takes the beer Eddie offers him anyway.
“Of course I can, you’re my best friend. It just felt like I’d brushed you off too many times lately, and I don’t wanna do that.”
“It’s fine,” Buck says, but he’s not sure how convincing he sounds. 
“I don’t want you to feel like you’re not a priority,” Eddie continues like Buck didn’t say anything, and Buck has to close his eyes briefly. Being bulldozed by Eddie’s love and care has gotten so much harder since he’s had his realization. “Because you are. So shut up and let me hang out with you, okay?”
Buck laughs a little. “Okay, okay. I’m glad you’re here.”
“So I didn’t interrupt any plans?”
“Nah,” Buck shrugs. “Was gonna go for a run or something later, but that’s it.”
He swallows down the self-deprecating “Don’t have anyone to make plans with,” before he can say it (he knows it’s not entirely true, but Maddie is so preoccupied with her own family, and everyone else has their own thing going on too, he doesn’t want to bother them), but Eddie hears it anyway, of course.
“I’m surprised you’re not at Bobby and Athena’s right now, making sure they’re recuperating.”
“I’m going there tomorrow,” Buck admits sheepishly, but Eddie looks more pleased than anything else.
“Good,” he says. “And you should come over for dinner this week, you know Christopher can’t go a week without seeing you.”
“You don’t have to make sure I’m…entertained, or whatever,” Buck mutters. “I can take care of myself.”
“I know you can,” Eddie says. “It’s just– you seem a little off, lately. Since the cruise thing, or maybe the breakup. I don’t know, but I worry about you.”
“I’m fine,” Buck says again. “You don’t have to cancel on your girlfriend to check on me.”
“That’s not– Buck, I want to hang out with you. I’d like it if you talked to me about what’s going on with you, but I want to spend time with you regardless of that. I didn’t come over here to check on you, or to interrogate you.”
“Okay,” Buck says quietly. “Okay. Sorry, I don’t know why I’m so touchy today.”
But he does know – he’s tired and grouchy and a little bit heartbroken, and it apparently makes him snippy.
“It’s okay,” Eddie says. “Do you wanna talk about the breakup?”
“Not really.” Buck takes a sip of his beer. “There’s not that much to say anyway. It just became obvious eventually that we didn’t have much in common. Besides the death thing, I guess.”
They’re back in comfortable territory after that, talking the same way they always do, and Buck finally relaxes. He worries about seeming anything less than normal lately, scared to be caught out, unsure about what is his normal around Eddie. Looking back, it seems to him like he’s never been really normal about him at all, but it’s different when he knows.
He’s clearly not doing the best job, because Eddie noticed that he’s been acting strange, but not the worst either, because at least he can’t tell why. And Eddie’s acting the same, so everything is fine.
The next time Buck asks Eddie to hang out, he suggests taking Christopher to California Science Center together that weekend, and Eddie says yes after only a second of hesitation.
“They’ve got a special exhibit on Da Vinci right now,” he says. “It’s supposed to be really cool.”
“You had me at ‘California Science Center’,” Eddie says with a smile, and Buck grins back, already excited to tell Christopher.
“This is so much better than going shopping,” Christopher breathes a few days later, staring up at a model of da Vinci’s Flying Bicycle.
“What do you mean?” Buck asks. “Were you supposed to go shopping today?”
“Yeah, Dad said we need to get me new jeans and shoes,” Chris says distractedly. “And I think Marisol was supposed to come for dinner. But we can do that another time, I like you better anyway.”
Buck doesn’t say anything, because he doesn’t know what to say, to any of the things Chris has just told him. Should he encourage him to make more of an effort with his dad’s girlfriend? But Eddie has never mentioned Chris being anything but nice to her, so it sounds like things are fine – and Buck can’t make him like her more than he does.
And– Eddie canceled his plans for him again? It makes warmth spread in his chest, a pleased little creature stretching in there. As a best friend, he should probably tell Eddie to prioritize his girlfriend, but he already knows he won’t do that. Maybe that makes him a terrible person, but it’s not like he’s telling Eddie to pick him over her. Eddie’s doing that all by himself, and Buck is selfish enough to let him.
A week later, Buck wakes up in the bunkroom with a sore throat and a headache at the tail end of their shift.
When he stumbles up to the loft, Hen only gives him one glance before coming over to worriedly press the back of her hand to his forehead.
“Yeah, you’re definitely coming down with something,” she announces, and Bobby steps around the kitchen counter, a frown on his face.
“Don’t worry about finishing up the shift, Buck,” he says. “Should I get someone to drive you home?”
“I’m okay,” Buck mutters. “Well, n-not okay, but– I can drive myself home.”
“What’s going on?” Eddie asks, coming up the stairs. He pauses at the top, taking in the scene, then rushes to Buck’s side. “Buck? What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” Buck says, but his voice sounds a bit croaky. “Just think I’m getting sick.”
Eddie presses his hand to his forehead too, then nods grimly. “I’ll drive you home.”
“No, seriously, I’m okay to drive,” Buck says. “I promise. I’ll drive carefully and text you when I’ve made it home and everything.”
Chimney appears in the loft next and they do the whole spiel again, until finally, the others agree to let him drive home by himself. Buck would never go so far as to endanger anyone else, even to avoid bothering his friends, and they all know it.
“Tell us if you need anything,” Hen says. “Anything at all.”
“Food, entertainment, meds, we’ll bring you anything,” Chimney adds. “And text your sister, she’ll want to know.”
“I’ll take you off the next shift, too,” Bobby says, gently steering him towards the stairs with a hand on his shoulder. “Rest, okay? We don’t want you to overexert yourself. And get well soon.”
Eddie accompanies him all the way to his jeep, his arm steady and warm whenever it brushes against Buck’s, and leans against the car while Buck climbs in.
“I’ll drop by later with some stuff,” he says. It’s not a question, but Buck tries anyway.
“You don’t have to,” he says. “I have food at home, I’ll probably just lay in bed and sleep or watch TV until I feel better. I don’t want you to catch anything.”
Eddie gives him a look. “I’ll see you later, Buck,” he says, and pointedly closes the car door.
Buck grins, helpless against it, and starts the jeep.
At home, he texts the group chat that he made it, Maddie that he’s a little under the weather but that she shouldn’t worry and that he has everything he needs, then changes into sweats and a hoodie and collapses into bed.
When he wakes up, it’s to the smell of food and soft clattering sounds from the kitchen. The red numbers on his alarm clock tell him it’s afternoon already, so he slept a good few hours despite the sleep he already got on shift. He sits up, sneezes three times in a row, and by the time he’s blinked away the sleep, Eddie is standing at the top of the stairs, holding a mug.
“Drink this,” he says, handing Buck the mug. “How’re you feeling?”
Buck makes a noncommittal sound and takes a sip of the tea. The truth is that he’s really feeling sick now, stuffy nose, full body shivers, and still that annoying headache.
“Hm,” Eddie makes, touching Buck’s forehead again. “Sorry, bud, I know this sucks.”
Buck closes his eyes. “Kinda, yeah.”
“Well, if you’re feeling up to it, I’ve got some chicken soup on the stove that should be ready soon. You can eat some of it and rest on the couch?”
“I’ll come downstairs in a bit,” Buck says, breathing in the steam rising up from the mug. “Need to wake up a little.”
“Sure,” Eddie says, his hand twitching towards Buck but falling back to his side before it makes contact. “Take your time.”
Buck drinks the tea in bed, then goes to the bathroom before he slowly heads downstairs. His head is pounding now, and sudden moves make it worse.
Eddie meets him at the foot of the stairs, brow creased.
“Come on, sit down,” he says gently, ushering Buck over to the couch and spreading his fuzzy blanket over his legs once he’s sitting. “Are you warm enough?”
Buck smiles a little. “Yeah, stop fussing. You’re such a dad.”
Eddie shrugs, but he’s smiling too. “Can’t help it.”
He gets Buck a bowl of steaming chicken soup and then sits down next to him with a paper bag full of meds.
Buck gives him a bemused look. “Did you do anything today that wasn’t for me?”
“I had the time,” Eddie shrugs. “Christopher had plans for after school anyway, he’s not gonna be home until after dinner.”
“And you didn’t want to use the time to make plans with Marisol?” Buck asks, focusing on his soup instead of on Eddie. He doesn’t want to keep bringing her up, but he feels like one of them has to, or he’s gonna go crazy.
“She gets it,” Eddie says nonchalantly, like he’s not implying that he canceled on her again.
“But…,” Buck forces himself to keep going, “are things still going well with her?”
“There’s nothing wrong,” Eddie says, a little hesitant now. “I’m just also not sure it’s right? She’s nice, and fun, and I like hanging out with her, but…I guess I just– she’s kind of further down on my list than a girlfriend should be.” He shakes his head, then shakes the paper bag in his hand. “Anyway, time to take these.”
So Buck focuses on taking his meds and finishing the soup, rather than the fact that his heart is beating a staccato rhythm against his sternum.  It probably doesn’t mean anything. Even if Marisol isn’t the one for Eddie, doesn’t mean he’d consider Buck instead.
And he loves being Eddie’s best friend. He’s so fucking lucky that Eddie picked him to be such a big part of his life. If that’s all it’s ever gonna be, Buck’s gonna find a way to live with it.
It’s just also gonna be hard as fuck, because Eddie is the kind of friend who, when Buck gets sleepy, maneuvers him down onto the couch but doesn’t get up to make room, and instead lets Buck rest his head on his lap.
He runs a gentle hand through Buck’s hair, massaging his throbbing head carefully, and Buck feels his eyes sting.
“Thank you,” he whispers, “for being here.”
Eddie smiles down at him, eyes warm. “Anytime.”
Buck holds his gaze for a few long seconds, watching as Eddie’s smile slips a little and he blinks rapidly a few times before he catches himself again.
“You okay?” he asks. “If you have to go–”
“No,” Eddie says, clearing his throat. His fingers resume their movement against Buck’s scalp. “No, I’m good. Right where I’m supposed to be.”
When Buck wrestles his tired eyes back open a few minutes later, Eddie’s not looking at him anymore. He’s staring off into the middle distance, deep in thought.
Eddie is at Buck’s loft every day for the three days he wrestles his stupid cold. It’s usually just an hour or two, but it makes the entire ordeal much less terrible. After that, Buck returns to work and his regular daily life, spending at least two nights a week at the Diaz house, meeting Maddie for lunch or coffee and helping her and Chim with wedding planning wherever he can.
Everything is completely normal, until it’s not.
On a completely normal Wednesday, on the way back to the station after a completely normal call, Hen turns to Eddie with sparkling eyes and asks, “So how are things with Marisol? You haven’t mentioned her in a while.”
“Um,” Eddie says, looking caught out. He picks at some invisible lint on his pants and says, so quiet they can barely hear it through the headset, “We actually broke up a while back.”
“What?” Hen, Chimney and Bobby ask at the time, covering the fact that Buck can’t say anything at all.
“What happened?” Hen asks.
“I just realized it wasn’t gonna work,” Eddie shrugs. He’s still looking at his knees, alternating with Buck’s like they always do when they’re crammed into the engine, rather than any of them, and his face is getting more and more flushed. “That…I wanted something different.”
He lifts his head just enough to sneak a glance at Buck, who only notices because he’s still staring so intently. Their eyes meet and Buck feels frozen in the moment, caught in his hope and the paralyzing fear that he’s wrong and would ruin everything if he were to ask Eddie.
Then Eddie jerks his head away and Buck sucks in a breath like he’s been suffocating.
“Well, good on you for realizing,” Chimney says, and Eddie looks up to shoot him a crooked grin. His face is still pink.
“I’m sure you’ll find what you’re looking for eventually,” Bobby adds, and Eddie looks down again, but not fast enough that Buck can’t see the little smile that’s on his face now.
“Yeah,” Eddie says. “I think so too.”
His knee presses against Buck’s a little harder, and stays there.
For the rest of the shift, Buck feels jittery and nervous. Eddie doesn’t approach him so he doesn’t either, but he can’t stop staring at him.
Eddie seems pretty normal, just doing his job and shooting the shit with Hen and Chimney like always, but every time he catches Buck staring, he gives him this small smile that’s just different enough from his normal smiles that Buck’s heart keeps skipping beats. This really can’t be healthy.
After the end of their shift, while Buck’s fighting to button his shirt up with shaky fingers, Eddie steps close to him and says, “Come home with me.”
Buck shivers, goosebumps erupting all over his skin, and misses his buttonhole again when he nods jerkily. “Yeah, sure, of course.”
Eddie’s definitely smirking now but his ears and cheeks are pink again, so at least Buck isn’t alone with his flaming face.
They take separate cars so Eddie makes it before Buck, and when Buck finally unlocks the front door, Eddie is nervously pacing the length of his living room.
He spins around to face Buck with slightly wild eyes, then crosses the room in three big strides, coming to a stop right in front of him.
“Tell me if I’m reading this wrong,” he says, and then his hands are on Buck’s face, warm and gentle and safe.
Buck catches on a second before their lips meet, his own hands latching onto the back of Eddie’s shirt. It makes Eddie smile, and that makes their first kiss a slightly off-center, dry press of lips.
But then Buck spreads his hands out on Eddie’s back, pulling him closer, and Eddie uses his hold on his face to tilt his head just so, and suddenly it’s perfect.
“Not reading it wrong,” Buck breathes against Eddie’s lips what could be hours or minutes later, and Eddie laughs a little, tucking his face into Buck’s neck.
“I was really scared,” he admits, and Buck squeezes him, presses a kiss to the shell of his ear and the side of his head.
“Me too, I was so scared I got it wrong. That my hope was, like, making things seem a certain way–”
Eddie runs a hand through his hair, looking up so he can meet Buck’s eye.
“I didn’t even get it,” he says, disbelief coloring his words. “I was already so deep– When you were sick, I told you I was right where I wanted to be. And that was true in a way I didn’t even– I wasn’t aware of just how much I literally always want to be where you are. And then that made me realize some other things, and put them into perspective, so I talked to Marisol–”
“You can tell me about her later,” Buck interrupts, and Eddie laughs.
“Okay. Let me just– I love you. That’s what I realized. I’m in love with you, and have been for god knows how long.”
Buck kisses him, slow and mostly chaste, but he’s still breathless when he pulls back again.
“I love you, too,” he says, touching Eddie’s warm cheek with gentle fingers and watching the way his eyelashes flutter. “I’ll tell you the rest of it later, too. For now, can we just – do this?”
Eddie grins, then tilts his head to press a kiss to Buck’s palm. “Let’s move to the couch first, but then – yeah, we definitely can.”
Buck would follow Eddie anywhere, so the couch is honestly his easiest exercise. And with the prospect of kissing the love of his life on it? He can’t get there fast enough.
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itsjaywalkers · 3 days
Note
for the prompt game: ROSEKILLER 57 WITH BOXER AU IVE BEEN WAITING MY WHOLE LIFE FOR THIS MOMENT……….. (also i hope you’re having a fun day off laurie hi hi 🥺🤍)
HI HI SAINTS BELOVED <333 i actually didn't get the day off bc i'm an idiot and i couldn't say no when my coworker asked me to change shifts.. but at least i got home before 10pm which . is unusual for me lmao . and today's shift was actually kinda fun so !!
anyways, hope you're having a lovely day and that u enjoy this silly lil thing <3 first peek into boxer au rosekiller <3 (i went a bit overboard but they've been plaguing my mind and u don't deserve less)
57. "Teach me to fight."
It's been more than half an hour of hitting the punching bag nonstop when Barty finally decides to take a break. It's not even because he's actually tired, despite the sweat he can already feel dripping down his back and his face. It's because his bad shoulder—the right one—dislocated during the last combination he tried, and after Barty puts it back in place, he's gotta wait a little bit before going back to training.
This happens way too often for comfort, but it's not really painful anymore—it never really was, or maybe Barty has simply dealt with much worse. Besides, the longer he ignores it, the more serious it'll get, which means he'll have an excuse to go get another check-up.
His manager already warned him when he first got the injury after that stupid fight with stupid Potter. Barty began to grow restless during recovery time, and then decided his shoulder was fine when it stopped hurting.
Obviously, he was wrong. Except, it only dislocates when he goes too hard, and he's learnt how to put it back in place without issue, so really, technically, he was sort of right. What does his manager know, anyway? As long as Barty continues winning and putting money in that fucker's pocket, there shouldn't be any complaints.
He pulls up his tank top and dries off some of the sweat on his neck and the side of his face, while rolling his shoulder gently, testing the waters before he goes back to punching, when the hairs at his nape begin to stand up.
There's no noise, no sudden sounds. Barty doesn't hear the door opening, or closing, and yet, when he turns around, smirk already pulling at his lips, he isn't surprised to find someone standing right behind him.
"Hey, Rosie," he greets the other man, who blinks at him, completely deadpan. "I didn't know you were still around. Long shift today?"
"Yes, you did," Evan responds, that cool tone of his sending a pleasing chill down Barty's spine. "Know, that is. I'm pretty sure you've got my schedule memorised."
Barty takes a few moments to drop the hem of his shirt, because he notices the way in which Evan's gaze drops to his stomach and stays there for a handful of seconds. His expression doesn't change, there isn't even a flicker of something in his face, but the attention is more than enough for him.
"Well, you left your email open and your laptop in my near vicinity." Barty shrugs, eyes running up and down Evan's body. He's still wearing that sexy white coat of his, the shirt underneath it perfectly buttoned and tucked inside his jeans.
There's barely any skin showing, because Evan is a little weirdo, but there's some ankle peeking, since the pants are ridiculously tight on him and the legs keep riding up slightly.
Honestly, it's like he's doing it on purpose. Barty can't be blamed if he ends up hard under his sweats. He can already feel some blood rushing south just at the sight of that tiny sliver of soft brown skin.
"And you downloaded my rotas?" Evan guesses, tilting his head to the side.
"Nah," Barty says, crossing his arms over his chest, flexing a little. "Didn't have to. I've got a damn good memory. I read over them for a couple of minutes until they stuck."
Evan nods, not fazed in the slightest.
"That's why you only come in when I'm on shift," Evan states, and it's not a question. He doesn't seem surprised, or freaked out, but then again, he barely shows any emotions. Apart from irritation, that is, and that one's reserved for when Barty is being especially pushy. Or especially horny.
"I don't think I've ever seen any of the other nurses a single time in my life," Barty tells him with a chuckle.
"You have," Evan retorts, and his eyes narrow the tiniest bit. Barty feels a pull in his stomach. "You were talking to Betty three weeks ago, after your match against Black. The bad one. You let her check your shoulder."
Barty lets out an incredulous laugh, not sure on where to focus first, going dizzy with how badly he wants this freak of a man.
He's obsessed with the way in which Evan always seems to get the urge to clarify which Black he's talking about, as if it's not obvious, considering only one of them fights. How he's always so precise, never allowing any ambiguity into his sentences. How almost nothing seems to hold his focus apart from his experiments and medicine and his patients' injuries, and yet, here he is, remembering when Barty talked to someone else momentarily.
"Did I?" Barty asks innocently, biting the inside of his cheek to keep his shit-eating grin at bay.
"Yes," Evan responds, a little furrow appearing between his eyebrows. "She was touching you."
"Was she?" The corners of Barty's mouth are twitching so much he's sure he must look like an absolute maniac.
"Yes," Evan repeats, some exasperation slipping into his voice. "She wasn't even doing it right. She kept kneading the muscle in the same place, instead of checking the ligament, and she did this for more than five minutes, even though it takes seconds to find out about a dislocation—"
"Rosie," Barty cuts him off gently, watching, with no little amount of delight, how Evan's frown worsens. "I didn't even know her fucking name. I couldn't give less of a fuck about stupid Betty, or whatever the hell she's called."
Evan blinks slowly. "But you—"
"I was tired and sore after that match, my shoulder was bothering me, and she was there. My manager told her to check my shoulder, just in case I had fucked it up beyond solution, but if I had known you were around she wouldn't have laid a single finger on me."
There's a beat of silence, Evan's dead eyes searching all over Barty's face, assessing and determined. He smirks at him, which results in Evan huffing and looking away.
"Don't do it again," it's what he ends up mumbling, and if Barty didn't know any better, he'd dare to say Evan is close to pouting. "You're my patient."
Barty raises both eyebrows, a deranged smile splitting his face while he perks up like a goddamn dog. "Is that jealousy I'm hearing, Rosie?"
"No," Evan drawls, straightening up. "It's just the truth. You're not my only patient, you know? But if you're getting treated by me, then you're not allowed to see any other nurses."
"Damn, way to make a man feel special," Barty scoffs, but he does actually kind of mean it. Which he's aware might be a bit pathetic, but, well, he'll be whatever the fuck Evan wants him to. "Wasn't interested in seeing any other nurses, anyway."
"Good." Evan nods, almost to himself, and Barty has to make an active effort not to coo. "Are you done training?"
Barty blinks a couple of times, slightly taken aback, both by the sudden change of topic and by Evan entertaining conversation. Normally, talking to the other boy feels like pulling teeth—oh, man, Rosie would fucking love this comparison—which Barty doesn't mind because he finds it incredibly fun. Unless Evan is going on one of his medical rants, and yeah, Barty shouldn't find it as attractive as he does, but it's not like he's ever worked like he's supposed to.
But this? This is new.
"Not really," Barty answers, still feeling off-kilter. He shakes his head, forcibly pulling himself out of his mind. "Why? You wanna join me, Rosie?"
"As a matter of fact, I do."
Barty snorts, assuming that it's a joke, even though he's more than aware that Evan doesn't do jokes, because his humour is way too dark, and rarely finds funny what others do. But Evan's expression doesn't change, and Barty nearly chokes on his own spit.
"Wait, you're serious?"
"Why wouldn't I be?"
"You've never been interested in boxing," Barty points out.
"That's a lie. I watch every match," Evan argues, lips pursed.
"Because you're job kind of forces you to."
"Also a lie. I need to be there when I'm on shift, in case they call for me, but I'm not required to actually watch."
"Yeah, but you still do, because your pretty little morbid head goes absolutely feral at the prospect of seeing some blood."
Evan scrunches his nose, as if disgusted.
"You're wrong," Evan lies, expression giving absolutely nothing away. Really, if Barty didn't already know the truth, he'd be inclined to believe him. "It's got nothing to do with that. I like boxing."
Barty huffs, the noise filled with amusement. "Sure you do, Rosie."
"I really do," Evan insists, always so ridiculously stubborn.
"I don't know who you're trying to convince, but—"
"Teach me to fight."
Barty sputters, brows almost reaching his hairline, and he gapes at Evan, who's still staring at him. He seems unaffacted by Barty's dramatics, but then again, he's unaffected by almost everything.
"The fuck?" he manages to spit out at some point.
"Teach me to fight," Evan says again, a lot slower, as if Barty is some kind of idiot. God, he wans to fucking devour him.
Barty isn't sure of what's going on right now. Evan barely interacts with him outside of their appointments, it's always him reaching out, so he doesn't understand what prompted this. What Evan is hoping to achieve.
"Why?"
"I told you, I like boxing."
"Yeah, okay. And the real reason?"
Evan's tongue pushes against the inside of his cheek, and it's so, so hard for Barty, not to make a very inappropriate joke.
"I'm testing something," he admits, albeit bedgrugingly.
"Ah, so you want me to be your guinea pig," Barty sighs a bit dreamily. "That sounds more like it."
"Sure," Evan agrees with unsurprising ease. "Will you?"
"All you had to do was ask, Rosie."
They get to work right after that. Barty doesn't even bother with suggesting a change of clothes, because he's aware of how well that'd be received. The fact that Evan chooses to take the white coat off is already more than Barty expected.
He tries to show him how to stand, how to do a basic punch. Evan knows most of the basic theory, mostly due to how often he deals with boxing injuries, but he's absolutely helpless when he has to act it out himself.
It doesn't matter how often Barty corrects him; he keeps slouching, stance all wonky. He lacks strength, and he takes a bit too long to protect his face after doing a jab.
The main issue, though, is his obvious lack of interest.
Evan seems to be distracted by something, too inside his own head, and when Barty is about to point this out, poke some fun at him in hopes of getting Evan to snap, the other man speaks again.
"That's enough," he declares, tone leaving no place for argument. "Let's spar."
Barty chuckles, disbelieving, but then Evan is sending a glare his way, and he raises both hands in mock surrender, giving in immediately.
He'll do pretty much whatever the fuck Evan wants him to, really.
They both get into position, and regardless of how much Barty is holding back, trying to give the other man a chance, is actually kind of laughable, how easily he overcomes him.
One moment they're exchanging soft blows, and the next Barty has Evan pinned to the floor, his legs and arms completely immobilised as Barty grins maniacally from above.
"Happy now, Rosie?" he teases.
Evan presses his mouth in a tight line. "Not quite."
"Oh, really? Because I'm starting to think this was all a ruse to get me on top of you."
Evan rolls his eyes so hard Barty worries they might get stuck inside his skull. "I'm afraid that's more your style. And anyway, I don't think it's wise to understimate your opponent like this."
"It's nothing personal, Rosie, but when victory is already mine, I—"
Barty never gets to finish. Evan raises his head so quickly his brain barely registers it, and then he's sinking his teeth hard where Barty's neck meets his shoulder. Until he breaks skin, until he draws blood, until Barty lets out a pained groan and his body goes slack, more in surprise than actual hurt.
A moment later, their positions are reversed. Evan is straddling him, mouth still attached to his skin, and Barty is lying on the cold ground, dizzy and a little bit breathless.
He doesn't know how long they stay like this—definitely not enough—but after a while, Evan lets go and sits up a little, lips stained red. It's dripping down his chin, and when he parts his mouth a little, panting softly, Barty finds out that his teeth are also crimson with blood. With his blood.
Barty groans again.
"You're hard," Evan comments, painfully nonchalant. It's that same casualness he used the first time Barty had an erection during an appointment, after Evan had pulled at the stitches on his leg and stuck his fingers inside Barty's wound.
"Yeah," he breathes out, half-delirious. "Yeah, no shit."
Evan hums, cocking his head to the side, analytical gaze running up and down Barty's body and making him twitch in his pants. The fact that Evan can feel it right under him, between his legs, forces Barty to swallow down a moan.
Barty is about to say something incredibly stupid to maybe, hopefully, alleviate the tension, when Evan leans down once more; this time, slower, more careful.
He's prepared to feel the sting of a bite again, toes curling in excitement, but it never comes. Instead, there's something wet and tentative and soft lapping at the open wound, gathering all the blood there that is still coming out.
It takes Barty a moment to realise it's Evan's tongue.
The knowledge hits Barty like a motherfucking bus. He can't stop a low moan from coming out now, or his hips from thrusting up, searching for something, anything, that Evan might give him.
Surprisingly, and instead of pulling away, the other man makes an odd noise against his skin, and Barty thinks he's imagining it when Evan presses down on him.
He freezes up after that, but only for a second, Evan's licking never stopping. But then Barty moves again, more purposefully, rubbing his erection against the apex of Evan's thighs.
The response is immediate, although definitely unconscious. Evan grinds back experimentally, with no coordination or finesse, dropping another sound into Barty's bleeding wound.
His eyes widen when his brain finally catches up properly, hands coming up to grab at Evan's hips and halt his movements.
"Rosie, are you..." Barty stops, swallows harshly. "Are you turned on right now?"
Evan laps at the blood a few more times before straightening up again, staring down at Barty with unblinking eyes and red all over his face.
"Fuck, are you—?" A laugh, strained and bordering on hysterical. "Are you wet?" He doesn't even need to check to know the answer.
Evans nods, almost imperceptibly. "Apparently so."
He has half a mind to turn them over and fuck Evan into the floor. Until Evan is a whimpering mess. Until he's crying, begging, unable to do anything but fucking take it. Until he's sore, and hurt, and full, but still asking for more. Until he can't say anything else apart from Barty's name, until he's—
"Bloody hell," Barty whispers, shutting his eyes tight and letting out another cackle.
Oh, he's going to die. He's absolutely going to fucking die.
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teleport-warning · 4 months
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Day 2: Rebirth
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da-proti-toku-grem · 2 months
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Don't mind me, I'm going to make a "masterlist" with the kissing prompts so I don't miss anything (I'll update with the links as I post them)
Edit: okay okay this list is getting interesting 👀
2nd edit: omg thank you sm, I certainly didn't expect this list to get so long, ily all 🥹
Send me a Ship and a Number and I will Write a Kiss
Jance:
9 (in public) & 42 (out of pride) → ao3 | ao3
21 (on a place of insecurity) → ao3
13 (discreetly) → ao3
16 (lazily) & 47 (out of spite) → ao3 | ao3
18 (as encouragement) → ao3
50 (out of love) → ao3
10 (desperately)
1 (good morning) & 2 (goodnight)
Afternoon kiss
17 (to distract)
20 (on a scar)
Bojure:
22 (in a rush of adrenaline) → ao3
1 (good morning) → ao3
8 (in secrecy) → ao3
6 (on a falling tear) + 21 (on a place of insecurity)
15 (passionately) + 44 (out of lust)
Bokris:
7 (to shut them up) → ao3
45 (out of anger) → ao3
10 (desperately)
38 (because they’re running out of time)
26 (as an apology)
Bonace:
4 (where it hurts) → ao3
19 (for luck) & 30 (as comfort) → ao3 | ao3
30 (as comfort)
Bojere:
7 (to shut them up) → ao3
Poly!JO:
48 (out of habit) → ao3
9 (in public)
Bo(Jan)²:
15 (passionately) + 46 (out of envy or jealousy) → ao3
15 (passionately) + 16 (lazily)
45 (out of anger)
25 (as a ‘yes’)
Bojan/Jan/Kris:
8 (in secrecy) + 44 (out of lust)
Jan/Jure:
21 (on a place of insecurity)
44 (out of lust)
Kris/Martin:
23 (…in relief)/...out of fear
NaceKris:
36 (to give up control)
Jure/Mark:
48 (out of habit)
Bojan/Kiki:
18 (as encouragement)
Jure/Martin:
22 (in a rush of adrenaline)
Nace/Martin:
25 (as a ‘yes’)
Bojance:
37 (without a motive)
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laniemae · 2 months
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I am going to take a break from milgramblr
[important please read]
ok now how do I start. Im going to take a break from tumblr for about a week. Things have been absolutely awful for me here since the very beginning of 2024, even if it may not look that way at times.
to retell the situation it happened with the new years gartic phone game, where someone made a prompt about a ship that made me heavily uncomfortable. To put it loosely it reminded me of an extremely bad experience with a fandom a few years ago when I called out a ship for being creepy and having a huge age gap but I was constantly dogpiled and harassed. It was probably the worst experience I’ve had on the internet and to this day I get really scared of people hating on me and I apologise for everything likely stemming back from the situation.
I tried to persist with the game but I got really upset and left. I expressed on my blog how uncomfortable I felt about the whole situation. Then this one person, who’s a prominent figure in the Milgramblr community, I won’t name them but I think you’ll know who, replied on my post saying that “it’s ok because…” in such an awful tone. It’s hard to explain but basically it felt really bad as they completely dismissed my feelings about the situation just to justify their creepy ship. And even worse, they way they responded was EXACTLY the same way that everyone else responded back in to at old fandom. At the point to I’d much prefer hate and harassment over that false positive attitude.
I freaked out and immediately blocked them and basically went into a panic attack. I was freaking out on my blog and just to make things worse I saw a post praising them and things got so bad. It was the start of the new year and I was on holiday and was supposed to do a bunch of things but because of that situation I was bedridden and couldn’t stop crying. I had so many nightmares about everyone here turning on me and the original incident and I still have them.
the way the person reacted to my situation was absolutely awful. After my breakdown they immediately went to their blog and started posting about how the ships good and you should praise it completely disregarding everything that happened. I’ve always been uncomfortable with them but this pushed me over the edge. And later on I got in contact with someone who was (presumably) trying to help me and we decided to see if that person could make an apology. But they took way to long to even think they gave any attention to the situation and the apology itself didn’t feel that genuine.
This person was still posting about it and didn’t change their pfp and title despite how bad it was to me and they did not do anything at all. Again I’m not naming anyone but I highly recommend you do not support them anymore. I said I’m going to be leaving for a while but if you want clarification on who it is you can just ask, I’ll check my stuff tomorrow morning before I completely shut off for the week.
I don’t know who it was but there was even a throwaway account hating on me and saying awful things. I didn’t care that much as things had already gotten so bad for me that I didn’t care about the opinion of an anon. But like I said, the sickly positive response that person gave was way worse than actual hate.
and that’s only one part of the story. Another thing happened much more recently with the person I mentioned who was trying to help me. They were the first person I followed on Milgramblr and the person who inspired me to join and make all these theories, so with this and them helping me I really looked up to them. It was a few days ago I think but they posted something on their account about that person and wanting attention to them. I expressed my uncomfortable feelings about the situation and they didn’t do anything about it. Instead they decided to KEEP POSTING about it, like constantly and me getting more upset at the situation and how they responded made it clear that they didn’t care at all. I blocked them and we were mutuals for a while.
It’s been a month and I’m still suffering very badly. I’m not constantly crying as I was when it first happened but it still pains me. I’ve been feeling incredibly distressed on this sight knowing that the original person hasn’t done anything about it and they’re still very close. No matter how much I block them or blog tags I still see them in reblogs or bought up. I had to exclude anything relating to the earbuds collab from my milgram archives as it gives me back really bad memories to the pfps involved. I just can’t feel safe in this place anymore and especially that no matter how I feel, nothing has changed since when it happened and no one’s even actually trying to help me or change things.
I’ve just been feeling so bad that I’ve been going days without eating. Just because I can’t be bothered to get out of bed. The only solace for me is sleep but even that’s not good enough as I might have nightmares and I often feel much more tired afterwards. Things are changing for me as I actually have to get up and do something now and it’s surprisingly going kinda well, but that has nothing to do with this situation.
just to note I will be continuing my milgram archives series, I’ve scheduled quite a few posts for this week so they’ll keep going. For me I’ll completely cut off all activity for this week, and may return on Wednesday.
it’s just. I hate how nothings changed. I want something to happen but no one’s helping
#I don’t know how many people will see this#i don’t even know if people will care about this#perhaps I just come back and everything’s the fucking same#I’ve been considering leaving the fandom because of this and I guess this would be to see what’s it’s like#If it’s better to stay or to leave#I’ve blocked so many people from this situation it’s hard to believe#people I thought I could trust…#To say it once again#If you know the person I’m referring to please unfollow them and don’t support them#I can tell you if you ask for a while#And just seeing all the praise the fandom got with people saying the fandom is such a nice and wholesome space is sickening#It was right after what happened and it’s just awful seeing people say that like they don’t care about what happened#They even started a minecraft server which I wanted to join#But avoided like the plague when I realised it was the person who started the original prompt#There was also a thing that happened recently where someone drew all their mutuals as cats#I ended up seeing that person in one of the cats and knowing that they followed them I instantly unfollowed#The cat pfps just make me so uncomfortable as it constantly reminds of the situation#It sounds stupid because it is but I’m at the point where any little reminder can set me off#But it’s not as bad as the collab pfps which I just can’t look at anymore#Although it’s only with a few characters that really make me feel that the art style in general just gives bad memories#To what I said earlier I don’t know anything about the person the originally made the prompts stand on this#I don’t know if they’re purposely ignoring me I don’t know if they even have no idea this is happening but I’m worried#I’ve also had experiences with a bunch of people I used to follow blocking me#And I’ve talked about it here but no one pays attention
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theflyingfeeling · 5 months
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fanfic rambling in the tags, nothing interesting really, just me talking to myself lol, okay to ignore or read as you please ✨
#so i've found the perfect prompt list for an olli/allu fic advent calendar sorta thing#but i'm too intimidated by my own expectations and ridiculously high standards to even start writing any of them 😭#honestly these prompts are so insanely cute and fit olli/allu PERFECTLY#like. i'm actually having trouble deciding which ones to use because i want to write them all 🥺💞#but i'm so so scared that i'll just end up writing the same (boring) story over again for 24 times 😔#i wish i could just write without thinking and trying so hard to write a literary masterpiece#when i KNOW it's alright if it's just a silly little story about my blorbos#that's perfectly enough and i know this but my brain's just not having it 😩#also if i were to write 24 independent fics i'd have to keep them short and simple but. that's not how i do fics. unfortunately (for me)#to overcome this i guess one option would be to write just one longer piece with 24 chapters#and somehow try to include the prompt of the day in each chapter 🤔#but i don't want to make this even more complicated to myself lol especially because i'm planning to write AUs for a couple of the prompts#i REALLY want to do prompts (of any kind!!) but i'm just so scared of stressing myself out to another months-long writer's block 😭#fair enough the last time that happened (last winter/spring) i was in a shitty place mentally anyway#and so far i've been happy to be writing on random bursts of inspiration. that's how it's the easiest for me. the words just...flow out#i'm so insanely jealous of anyone who can just create stuff when given any prompt 😭#y'all are super humans to me how do you do it pls spill your secrets#and anyone tempted to comfort me by saying i shouldn't stress myself over this and that i don't have to write anything i don't wanna write:#i knoooooowwww and i appreactiate the sentiment but the thing is i actually DO want to write these prompts 😭#in theory at least. because they really are cute as fuck wth 🥺#the problem is that i can't /force/ myself to write something at the snap of my fingers without a clear idea besides the prompt#and also because i know it can take me days to finish even one story let alone 24 💀#so to even START on this project is a little intimidating 🫣#i just fear i won't have the patience :(#and when i realise i won't be able to finish the project i'll become frustrated with myself#if only i knew how to write shorter one-scenes in order to not tire myself out#but often i find those kind of fics somehow...unsatisfying :(#i'm just a sucker for crafting the context/background for stories. a little flesh around the bones if you will 🤧#okay that's all now i'm gonna go stare at a wall while doing nothing useful for the rest of the weekend byeeee#if you read this far i hope you're having a nice saturday
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gleb-che · 9 months
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Never thought I’d say something like that, but the drama of space robot politics in this show doesn't quite measure up to the drama of those teenage girls’ romance.
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tiredtreebranch1 · 11 months
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Forgiveness
“I forgive you.”
“What? You do?” Villain pulled back from where they had a knife pressed to hero’s throat.
“Yep, I forgive you for this, and for all the other horrible things you’ve done.”
“What? Why?”
Hero shrugged, “I just do.”
“You can’t just forgive me! It doesn’t make sense!”
Hero just shrugged again.
“What about the orphanage?”
“You’re forgiven.”
“The bank?”
“You’re all good.”
“The president?”
“Nothing to worry about.”
“The moon?”
“You haven’t done anything to the moon.”
“Not yet, but I will so that I’ve done something so heinous you wouldn’t forgive me.”
“Well I’d forgive you anyway,” hero said coolly.
Villain let out a small scream, turning away.
“Why does it annoy you so much that I’ve forgiven you?”
“Because I don’t get it!” Villain threw up their hands, “I can’t be cruel if you don’t think I am! My villainy all hinges on the fact that it hurts you an others in unforgivable ways.”
Hero shrugged.
“Stop shrugging!”
“Why? Does it annoy you?” Hero smirked.
Villain brandished the knife at their face, “I could kill you.”
“I’d forgive you. You’re going through a rough patch right now.”
“Would you forgive me if I killed your family?” Villain scrambled for ideas.
“It might take a few days but I think I could get there.”
Villain growled in annoyance than resheathed the knife in a hidden pocket. They started walking away without a word.
“Hey! Where are you going?”
“To start planning.”
Hero was in trouble.
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returnofahsoka · 10 months
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call me basic i don't care but i love "found family. but in space" i love "ragtag crew of misfits. but in space" i love "the power of friendship. but in space" i love "space is a cold and empty place where everyone only ever fends for themselves so trusting you to watch my back is an active choice" i love "the galaxy is vast and full of horrors and also probably forces greater then we can comprehend all out to get us and all we have is each other" i love i love i love when scifi is "here, an act of love. but in space"
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merigoldaround · 10 months
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Wip Wednesday
So here's a little peek of the dragon fic. It might not be that exciting, but there aren't many parts I can share without accidentally revealing the prompt.
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on the one hand if i get myself to write kl*nce for my first bthb fill that is more likely to get readership than a gen fic and like that’s probably the solid move from a “clout” standpoint and like I ship it as much as i ship anything in that fandom. but. my entire comfort zone writing romance is like milves or dilves and especially established relationship like mature people. I cannot wrap my head around taking a teenage romance seriously even tho i vividly remember my own teen romances. and like i was a goofball in those... but that dynamic so antithetical to my writing style it barely computes.... like idk if i could write that and like write angst and hurt/comfort at the same time. i mean that’s part of the whole pushing myself out of my comfort zone
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ringneckedpheasant · 2 years
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I used to go through pretty bad cycles of idolizing people & putting them on pedestals—both people I knew irl and celebrities—and then getting worked up and hating them when they didn’t live up to my expectations, so I sometimes find myself hesitant to learn things about musicians or actors whose work I get into because I don’t want them or their work to be ruined for me. I don’t want to be disappointed. I put off reading Johnny Cash’s autobiography for weeks for that reason, and while my perception of him Has changed, the fact that he did a lot of terrible things has only made me like him more. He was so Complicated and I’ve just been rotating him in my mind and rereading sections of his autobiography because I can’t stop thinking about them/him. I feel like I can’t think about anything else but I’ve never articulated anything coherent in my entire life so I’ve been deleting most of my drafts about him skfjwkdksjdjd
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theophagie-remade · 2 years
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Sometimes I genuinely forget that things like instagram exist. What do you even do there
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autolenaphilia · 3 months
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I talked about the problem of Windows system requirements being too damn high before, and how the windows 10 to 11 jump is especially bad. Like the end of Windows 10 is coming october 2025, and it will be a massive problem. And this article gives us some concrete numbers for how many computers that can't update from win10 to 11.
And it's 240 million. damn. “If these were all folded laptops, stacked one on top of another, they would make a pile 600 km taller than the moon.” the tech analysis company quoted in the article explains.
So many functioning computers that will be wasted. And it's all because people don't wanna switch to a Linux distro with sane system requirements and instead buy a new computer.
Like if you own one of these 240 million windows 10 computers, Just be an environmentally responsible non-wasteful person and switch that computer to Linux instead of just scrapping it because Microsoft says it's not good enough.
Edit: as have been pointed out multiple times in the replies. It's really not "all because people don't wanna switch to a linux distro." It's really Microsoft's fault for this form of planned obsolescence.
My original post was lacking in perspective at best. And of course, people who use computers for work are often made reliant on Windows by their job and employers and can't switch. Or lack time, resources, and information to make the switch. Which is also due to systemic issues, such as lack of education, and the culture of obfuscation about tech that tech companies create.
Edit 2: Making this unrebloggable: now I really know what reddit mods mean when they say "the discussion has run its course" Like there is absolutely no conversation anymore, just repeating of points already made and responded to, just endless repetition
To quote @mlembug
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If you can spend 5-10 minutes writing a reblog clowning on somebody, but you can't:
spend 10s to do a basic courtesy of checking the appropriate pronoun of the person involved
spend 30s checking the reblogs of a post to see if someone also decided to clown on the same person
spend 10s to click on OP's post to see if it was edited in the meantime (and guess what: the edits in OP's post does indeed blame Microsoft for planned obsolescence, which you decided to blame her for not doing in one of your reblogs)
THEN YOU SHOULD NOT BE MAKING A REBLOG. EVER.
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