#live at sneer hall

[six-core]

Bad news to the Scream Street fandom 💔

Scream Street remains as one of my favourite cartoons, my heart goes to the people behind it and the other shows affected by the liquidation

Of course, the books are still here but the future of the franchise seems uncertain now - with Tommy Donbavand’s passing and now this

#scream street #live at sneer hall

[bucketsofmonsters]

A Diplomatic Error

cw: enemies to lovers, kidnapping, being tied up, manhandling, size difference, non-human genitalia, oral sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex

male orc x fem reader

Word count: 9k

You were headed to another counsel meeting. You never really stopped attending them, despite the fact that they never listened to a word you had to say. 

Your father said it was good for morale. You didn’t understand how watching someone sit around and not help was good for anyone’s morale, but you knew better than to question him. 

The halls of the palace were quieter than you were used to. Almost everyone had been called to the front lines, even your closest guards had gone. You weren’t used to walking alone, nor were you accustomed to the typically lively castle looking like a ghost town. 

So now you walked through the castle halls, more alone than you’d ever been before, no one there to wait on you, to protect you, to watch over you. Something in you said it should have felt freeing. 

It didn’t. It just felt lonely. 

As you walked, moving slowly as you wallowed in self-indulgent pity between war meetings, a pair of hands reached out of nowhere, one snaking around your waist to pull you back into the shadows while the other clamped firmly over your mouth. 

When the guards had been sent away, you’d been assured that you’d be safe. It wouldn’t exactly be easy for a hulking orc to sneak in undetected. At least that's what you'd been told. With a massive hand that dwarfed your face locked over your mouth, suddenly the idea didn’t seem so ridiculous.

You thrashed under the figure's unwavering grip to no avail. He easily held you in place, barely needing to put any effort in to stop your desperate bid for an escape. 

You weren’t one for swooning but suddenly a faintness came over you. You reached up to grab at the only stable thing in reach, hands wrapping around the figure’s arm, trying to keep yourself upright. 

Your knees began to buckle and only then, mind slowed by whatever he’d dosed you with, did you begin to suspect foul play. Maybe something on his skin that humans were weak to, maybe something in the air. Was he holding a cloth? You didn’t think so. But then again, he seemed so far away not, even pressed up against you as he was.

You blinked your heavy eyes and when you opened them, you were thrown over a large shoulder. You watched the road behind you as the creature holding you strode along, still blind to what was ahead. His hand was wrapped around your waist, keeping you firmly in place, jostling you only slightly with each step. 

It took you a second to gather your bearings enough to start struggling. Once you did, you started pounding on his back. It was a futile gesture but you were nothing if not persistent. At the very least, he knew you were awake now. 

His shoulder shook under you as he chuckled. “Good morning, princess,” he said, his gravelly voice carrying across the road.

“Put me down, you brute!” you shouted, trying your best to kick your feet under heavy skirts. If you'd known you'd be getting kidnapped today, you'd have worn something lighter. 

He paused and for a moment you thought maybe he'd listen to you. But you knew better than that, knew you'd have no say in any of this.

“As you wish.”

Your feet were planted on the ground, although he still had a heavy arm on your shoulder, holding you in place. A silent promise: you weren't going anywhere. 

You whipped around, eager to see what was in front of you instead of the increasingly distant road you'd been traveling on. 

You got your first look at the front of your captor, no longer flung over his shoulder. 

Despite it being part of the little information you already knew about him, the first thing you noticed was that he was massive. He towered over you, with a broad frame to match. Tusks stuck out of his mouth as he sneered down at you, marring an almost handsome face. 

You’d never actually seen an orc in person and despite years of being at war with them, it struck you suddenly that they were real. They were real and in front of you, no longer threatening figures discussed in crowded rooms you weren’t supposed to speak in but instead a real man in front of you with his hand on your arm. It radiated warmth, applying a firm pressure that told you if he wanted to he could crush you underhand. 

In front of you, next to your very real captor, was a camp. The sort of camp you imagined soldiers slept in. You had no idea which side of the border you were on, disputed or otherwise. You hoped you were still in your own kingdom, but you had no way to know. It all looked the same from here. 

Amidst the massive canvas tents milled a dozen or so orcs. At your sudden appearance, they’d stopped what they were doing, all peering at their new guest. 

As they all stared at you, you panicked. Your feet started moving before your brain did. You managed to slip out from under your captor's grasp just in time to feel his hand dart forward, pushing you into the mud before you had a chance to get anywhere.

As you lay in the dirt, you heard something that sounded like orders being barked in a foreign tongue. 

And then you were being hauled to your feet. You didn’t have the presence of mind to be upset at the manhandling as you looked down at your body, the front of you almost completely covered in mud.  

You didn’t even have time to protest that before he cut you off. “Come on, m’lady. We have much to discuss.”

You crossed your arms, about to demand more respect from him before you were being lifted again and all you could manage was a surprised little squeak.

You watched helplessly as you were hauled into a nearby tent, all of the towering soldiers staring at you as you went. 

You were deposited less than graciously on the floor of the tent, left to flounder and find your bearing on your own as your captor moved to look at you. 

The tents were incredibly spacious, at least for someone of your size, the roof towering above you. 

He leaned down in front of you, tone condescending as he spoke. “Here’s what's going to happen. You’re a bargaining chip for us. We’ll get you home as soon as your father allows it, princess.” He said your title like an insult, spat it at you in a way that made you flinch. 

“And in the meantime?” you asked, trying your best not to look afraid. You'd make your way out of this with your pride intact. Well, as much of your pride as you could still manage to salvage as you stood there, covered in mud. 

You could barely see the deep red of your dress under the grime. You didn’t even know how much of it was from your fall and how much you’d picked up on the road. 

“In the meantime,” he said, “you will sit around until we need you.”

“Perfect.” You stood, futilely attempting to brush off your skirts as you did and taking a step towards the entrance of the tent. “Well, I should go find a place to rest until I am needed.” It was a long shot but you at least had to try.   

Your captor followed you as you backed slowly out of the tent. “I don’t think you understand what’s going on here.”

“What’s the harm in it? Where do you think I’m going to go?” you shouted, gesturing around you at the thick woods. “If I had a death wish, there are far better ways to satisfy it than getting lost in the forest. Attempting to kill you, perhaps.”

He nodded. “It would be more honorable, to die in combat against me.”

You groaned. “Yeah, sure, that’s what I meant. It’d be so honorable of me. Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m going to go find somewhere to rest, maybe even clean myself.”

You managed to make it about two steps before his arm wrapped around your waist, lifting you as if you were a ragdoll.

“You’re not going anywhere.”

The words were hissed into your ear as he walked. You thrashed in his grip but it didn’t matter, he hauled you along just as easily. 

You were thrown into a new tent next to a massive wooden pole, staked into the ground in the center. 

He leaned down next to you, grabbing your arm, easily resisting your attempt to pull it away from him. As he easily held your wrists in one hand, the other reached back to pull out a length of rope. His hands were surprisingly nimble, threading rope around your wrists and securing you to the pole at the center of the tent with little difficulty. 

When he let his hands get a little too close to your face, you bit them as hard as you could, locking your jaw down on him. There wasn’t any strategy behind it, you couldn’t escape or go anywhere, but the way he hissed and yanked his arm back filled you with a little bit of self-satisfaction. That had to be worth something. 

He didn’t stick around long after. It seemed you had managed to piss him off at some stage in the kidnapping process. You couldn’t imagine when. 

Your first night in the orc camp was spent restlessly, pulling futilely at your bindings as you sat there on the floor. You tried not to wallow in your misery. This wouldn’t be forever. Your father would get you out of here, one way or another. Until then, you could put on a brave face. 

As the sun began to rise, the orcs’ curiosity in you seemed to reawaken. 

Occasionally a soldier would peek in the entrance of the tent, never for more than a few seconds, or you would see them silhouetted against the canvas, hovering nearby. When you got particularly frustrated you’d shout at them, the snorts of laughter your yelling drew from them only making you angrier. 

But anger was good. At least anger felt productive. 

You’d become accustomed enough to the curiosity of the soldiers that at first, when your captor returned, you didn’t notice it was him. It was only when he strode towards you and began to undo your bindings that you realized who he was. 

The second your bindings were undone, you made a break for it. You didn’t make it far. Your captor held you by your ankle, dangling you upside down, your various muddied skirt layers falling to cover your face as you struggled. 

“This will be easier for you if you behave,” he said, and you could hear a layer of irritation in his voice. 

You would've spat in his face if there weren't layers of fabric hanging in front of you. 

His attempts to right you were thwarted by your thrashing until you figured out what he was trying to do and attempted to still yourself as much as you could, if only to get your feet on the ground again. 

“We’re moving,” he said as you steadied yourself when returned back to solid ground. “I can carry you or you can walk.”

You opted to walk, both to preserve your dignity and to attempt to plan an escape. 

The soldiers were shockingly efficient, completely packing up the camp faster than you’d imagined possible. 

And then you were on the move. 

You had to move swiftly to keep up with them, none of the soldiers willing to slow for you. 

Your captor stayed diligently by your side, occasionally shooting you looks that seemed intended to tell you you had no chance of escape. You ignored him.

After about an hour of moving quietly, out of breath from all the walking, he was the one to break the silence. 

“You’re slow.”

“Your legs are longer than mine. Besides, it's hard to walk when you’re covered in filth” you said, struggling under stiff, heavy skirts. 

“And who is to blame for that?”

You gave him a pointed look. “In fact, I think you’ll find that you are.”

“You shouldn’t have run,” he said with a grunt. 

“You shouldn’t have pushed me!”

He rolled his eyes and then you were being hauled off the ground again. You yelped in protest but were quietly a little grateful as he sat you on his shoulder. If you had to keep moving at their pace all day, dressed as you were, you might’ve passed out. 

It wasn’t your fault you couldn’t keep up with a well-trained group of soliders. If anything, they should be impressed you managed to keep pace as long as you did. 

Your hand rested on his other shoulder as he moved, trying to keep yourself steady, but realistically, you knew he wouldn’t let you fall, his arm holding you easily in place. You were just glad you were being allowed to sit this time instead of being thrown around like a sack of potatoes. 

You spent the rest of the day like that, sitting on his shoulder as they traveled. As the sun began to set and the others began to set up camp, you expected to be set down. 

It seemed you were wrong. 

Instead of placing you on the ground or even tying you up again, he began to pace off in the opposite direction of the rest of the camp. 

Nerves began to take over you. He may have said nothing would happen to you, but you did not relish in the thought of being alone with him, let alone him intentionally dragging you away from the rest of his compatriots. 

You began to squirm again and his arm tightened, holding you in place. “Settle,” he said, his voice low and calm. 

You did not listen. 

Eventually, he did set you down, although you did not think your thrashing encouraged him to do so. 

As he did, you noticed the sound of a swift-moving river just behind you. 

He nudged you towards the river. “Clean. You’re too slow.”

“What?”

“You wanted to be clean,” he said, nudging you again. "You should clean”

“It’s a river.”

He looked at you like he was worried you’d hit your head. “It is.”

“And you expect me to wash in there? It’s full of dirt!”

He chuckled and you considered biting him again. “You’ll survive, princess.”

You groaned but decided that anything was better than the mud you were caked in. It was running water, at the very least. You weren’t certain why, but it did feel a little cleaner that way. 

You considered bathing fully clothed but you’d heard too many stories of women drowning, weighed down by layers of dresses. 

You began to pull at your dress, stripping off some of the upper layers, glaring at your captor as you did. It was too much to ask to be left alone, you knew that much, but it was still humiliating to get undressed in front of him like this. 

You only took off as many layers as you needed to ensure you wouldn’t drown. You were almost fully covered but still, you felt exposed. 

At the very least, he seemed largely disinterested in what you were doing, only sparing you the occasional glance. 

You covered your chest as you moved towards the water. He looked down at you as you did, head cocked to the side. “What are you doing?”

“The skirts are heavy, I can’t wear them in the water or I could drown.”

He scoffed. “Little weakling. That’s not what I asked though, why do you hide? You’re covered.”

“I’m being forced to strip to my underwear, of course I’m covering myself.”

He stared back, clearly still confused, and you realized as you looked at him that the idea of being properly dressed was probably not the same for him. He was covered, but largely in leathers and furs, with far more skin exposed than you would ever have, even now in your underskirts. 

“Listen,” you said, trying not to be too antagonistic, as it seemed he was truly trying to understand. “It’s different for us. Especially for me, I’m supposed to be covered perfectly at all times. Maybe you should give me new clothes.”

“Why would I do that?” he asked dismissively. 

Any patience you’d been trying to put on for him snapped. “Sorry, I forgot you’re a heartless brute, I don’t know why I asked.”

And with that, you stormed off into freezing cold water. 

The mud caking your skin began to wash off as soon as you touched the water and you let out a sigh of relief. The river looked to be snow runoff from a nearby mountain, it certainly felt cold enough for it, but for now all you wanted was to be clean. 

You looked down as you scrubbed at your skin and your skirts and as you did, you realized the whites of your underthings had become translucent in the freezing water. 

You turned and caught him staring, both looking away as soon as your eyes met. You turned your back to him immediately, feeling tears pricking at your eyes, trying to cover it up with the water that was rushing over you. It felt like you had nothing left, like this was the ultimate humiliation.

When you turned back to look at him once more, he was gone, not making so much as a sound as he left. 

You weren’t foolish enough to think he’d truly left you alone, but you appreciated having at least the pretense of privacy. It was shockingly… kind? 

No. You pushed the thought out of your mind as quickly as it occurred to you. You would not start thinking like that, not about the man who had kidnapped you. 

You finished bathing quickly, the chill starting to set into your bones. 

As you waded out of the river, he was still missing. It was evident where he’d been, massive orcs weren’t exactly built for stealth, but still he was nowhere to be found. 

In his stead, you found a pile of clothes lying on the bank of the river. As you lifted them, the first thing you noticed was while they were far too big for you, they were too big by human standards. It was an old shirt, well worn, and a pair of pants you’d have to find some way to tie to keep up properly. They were slightly torn and upon closer inspection, you found speckles of a dark rusty substance splattered across the shirt. 

Someone’s blood. From who’s side, you’d never know. 

You tried not to dwell on what had happened to the owner of these clothes to leave them in the orc’s possession. They were yours now. 

They were far more practical than your fine skirts had been, even if they didn’t quite fit properly. 

As you pulled them on, you hesitated, holding your skirts. You didn’t need them any longer, but it felt like a waste to just leave them here. 

But you had no time for sentimentality right now. You cast them aside, opting to forgo your shoes, despite the lack of new ones. Your shoes from the palace were not exactly built for forests and rough terrain. They’d only slow you down. 

As you finished dressing, situating yourself in the unfamiliar clothes as best you could, you looked around nervously. You could find no sign of your captor amidst the unfamiliar foliage, but you had more than enough reason to doubt yourself. You felt lost amidst the thick trees surrounding you, it was hard to tell where you stood. You didn’t know what to look for or how to orient yourself, trapped in a foreign landscape. 

You did what you could, checking for any onlookers, peeking through the trees, and once you’d made your decision, taking off. 

You had no idea where you were, or where you were running to, but anywhere was better than here. There were surely search parties looking for you and even if you were on the other side of the border, orc civilians or soldiers who were unfamiliar with your status were a better bet than your current captors. 

As your bare feet pounded down on a floor of sticks and rocks, you tried to ignore how cut up they were getting. 

You were faster this way. That was what counted. 

You focused on moving as fast as you could, the determination drowning out the pain until suddenly, the sharp rocks and twigs were underfoot no longer. Your brain took a second to catch up, feet still moving down to try and push off of a ground that was being pulled further and further away.

“Predictable little thing,” said a familiar voice beside you. “What happened to attempting to best me in combat? I didn’t take you for a coward, princess.”

A frustrated scream escaped you, cutting through the peaceful quiet of the forest. 

Despite your protests, he continued to haul you back towards the camp, tying you up as soon as you reached your tent, a practiced routine for the two of you by now. 

You had the night to sleep off your anger before morning came and you were on the move again. 

Your captor did not wait before lifting you onto his shoulder and this time, you did not fight him. It was preferable to running to keep up with them, especially on newly damaged feet. 

It felt strange to sit there, without struggling or screaming, just moving in silence. So instead, you spoke. 

“Do you have a name?”

“Drakar,” he said. His voice was low but with your position atop his shoulder, it was easy to hear him, even over the bustle of moving soldiers. 

“Thank you for the clothes,” you tried again, wanting to start up any sort of conversation to break the silence.

He didn’t even grace you with words this time, giving you a simple acknowledging grunt in return. 

His answers remained brief, with no apparent interest in engaging in conversation. Eventually, you stopped trying. 

When you came to a stop and the soldiers began to set up camp around you, you waited for your chance. 

The second Drakar turned his back to you, you were off. 

Another orc caught you in a heartbeat, hoisting you off the ground until Drakar could come fetch you. 

He dragged you off with a huff, scowling at you as he set you down. “Why do you continue to fight and run? I’ve told you of our plans to trade you, you’ll fare better with us than on your own in the wilds.”

“I have no desire to be a bargaining chip against my own people. Besides, I’m no fool. I know good things don’t often happen to soldier’s prisoners.”

He scoffed. “Your soldiers, maybe. We have honor, unlike them. And you call us the monsters.”

“Monsters? Maybe. Uncivilized at the very least.”

“I assure you, your soldiers in my country are living in no more luxury than we are here.”

So you were still in your country, not yet over the border. If you could just get away, your chances were good. “Well, then they’re uncivilized dogs just like you,” you spat. 

He never seemed to find your outbursts anything other than vaguely annoying or passively amusing. Right now, he seemed inclined towards amusement, despite your latest escape attempt. It was for the best, that tended to work out better for you. It was irritating nonetheless. “Perhaps.”

Your enlightening conversation was cut short as a horn sounded, a familiar announcing horn. The sound of one of your people. Drakar’s head perked up and before you understood what was happening, your legs were being bound together, untethered but severely limiting your movement. You might be able to move like this, but you couldn’t get far. 

He did not feel the need to explain this to you or threaten you with hunting you down, trusting you to come to your own conclusions as he strode off in the direction of the horn. 

You might not be able to run, but that didn’t mean you couldn’t do anything. The least you could do was try to gather information, so you could be useful when you were saved.

If you were saved.  

You managed to scoot your way towards the back of the tent Drakar had retreated to, out of sight of any of the soldiers, just close enough that you could peek under the thick fabric of the walls. 

Drakar’s back was to you. You could barely see the messenger from your spot on the floor, his body blocking your vision. You could just see the tip of a feather, presumably stuck in a hat, bobbing as the messenger spoke. 

As you got close enough to listen in, you caught Drakar mid-sentence. “- does your king think about our terms for his precious daughter?”

You held your breath, trying not to get your hopes up. This was a war. They couldn’t just be giving in to the first demands given. This could be a long, arduous process. You understood that, would never blame him for it. The country came first. 

“The king rejects your terms.” You tried not to let it get to you. You knew this would probably happen, could understand exactly where your father was coming from. The messenger continued on, unaware of your quiet heartbreak. “Furthermore, he would like to close negotiations on this matter.”

You could not hold in the gasp that came at his words. You saw Drakar stiffen and knew he’d heard you, knew he’d figured out exactly what you’d been doing. A moment passed and he untensed his shoulders and continued on. You silently thanked him. You were in no state to face anyone right now. 

“What do you mean close negotiations?” he asked, and you choked back tears. 

You cursed yourself for putting yourself in such a tight spot. You didn’t think you could manage a quiet escape, at least not without being noticed, not in your current state, so instead you sat, a captive audience to a discussion of why your family had given up on you. 

The messenger cleared his throat. “We do not negotiate with beasts.”

“So he chooses instead to abandon his daughter with them?”

The messenger disregarded his words entirely, his voice squeaking as he cried out, “You creatures will pay for the loss of his daughter.”

“She is not lost yet. He is choosing that fate for her, not I,” he hissed out.

“I have said all I was bidden to say. Do you have a message for the king?”

“Tell him if I see him or any of his scrawny little messengers again, I’ll rip them in two.”

With a little yelp, the messenger retreated. Drakar stood for a moment, the sound of his heavy breathing filling the tent. 

After a moment, the canvas of the tent was lifted and your hiding place was revealed. You sat, crumpled, on the ground, bile rising in your throat. 

That was it. There was no one coming. 

He hauled you to your feet, undoing your bindings. 

“What did you ask for me?” you asked as he undid the ropes, keeping you propped up on him as he worked. 

“It doesn’t matter.”

“It does!” you snapped. You needed to know what was so much more important than you, what you’d been given up for. “You will tell me. I’ve earned that much.”

“A full retreat. It never would have been taken, it was just supposed to be a start to the negotiations.”

“Hmm.” It was a ridiculous ask, obviously so. But to dismiss you completely? To not even try?

Drakar pulled you out of your thoughts with a question. “Would you even want to go back now? If I let you go?”

Your brows furrowed. “You can’t let me go. It would show weakness, show you’ll roll over if your terms aren’t met.”

“I know, it was just a question. So what do I do with you now?”

You shrugged. “You could kill me.”

“No. We won’t be doing that. I should have killed him, though. The audacity of them sending a little snot-nosed fool to tell me negotiations were over. I should’ve gutted him.”

“Why didn’t you?”

He spared you a look that said more than you were sure he wanted it to, rage and concern both written across his face. “I had other things on my mind.”

He tried to speak to you again but you’d begun to shut down. It was all too much, you could do no more. 

It didn’t seem too unreasonable a reaction. Your life had just ended, severed by your father without even a real rescue attempt. 

But even if you’d shut down, the world had not. 

And so it continued. Drakar seemed to have decided you were still useful somehow because every day you were hauled along with his troops, and every day you were given your own little tent. 

He didn’t keep you tied up anymore. It wasn’t because you’d become docile, you’d attempted many escapes and he’d found you and brought you back every time. You weren’t entirely sure why you were no longer being tied up. Maybe it was because you weren’t valuable anymore. 

You didn’t fully understand why you hadn’t been killed yet. What more could you do for them? 

As days passed, the grief lessened to more practical thoughts, thoughts about your future. What was there for you now? Why were you still here? What else could they want from you?

You wanted answers. 

You stood and stormed off. Several of the soldiers around you went to grab you until they realized that you were not headed out, but instead towards Drakar’s tent, letting you continue on your warpath. 

You started to shout as soon as you entered the tent and he whipped around to face you. “You should kill me. Why won’t you kill me? What do you want from me? Whatever it is, I won’t give it. I have nothing to give. I don’t understand what’s wrong with you.”

He watched your outburst with a level of amusement on his face that made you want to attack him. “Are you done?”

You ran at him, trying to claw at him, bite him, anything. He restrained you easily, pinning you against him, but still, it fed something in you, trying to do something.

You felt him chuckle behind you and if you weren’t pinned down, you would have attacked him again. 

“See,” he asked, and you felt the rumble of his voice through his chest. “You’ll be fine. You’re a fighter.”

“I will not fight for you,” you spat.

“I don’t expect you to. But you will fight for you. Nothing is over.”

He released you from his grip and before you could decide what to do with your newfound freedom, someone came crashing into the tent, armor shining a bright silver. He stood, ready to attack, sword in hand, but the second he saw you he froze. “You’re dead,” he choked out, words muffled through the metal of the armor. 

You didn’t have a chance to respond before Drakar had thrown him halfway across the camp, orc soldiers rushing over to finish him off. He didn't stand a chance.  

You stared at the spot he had just been in, processing his words, before slowly turning to Drakar. 

“What was that?”

“An attacker. A foolish little man.”

You shook your head. “No not… why did he think I was dead?’

“Princess, the whole world thinks you’re dead.”

You head snapped up to look at him. “Why?”

“Because I told them.”

You reeled back. “Why would you do that? I didn’t ask you to say that.”

“Your people didn’t seem to care.”

“Oh, thank you so much then. As long as they didn’t care, then it’s fine. You speak of honor and then do this. Why? To torture me? Make sure I have nowhere to go and ensure that I know I am not loved?”

You’d had enough of this conversation, turning heel and storming off without another word, set on putting as much distance as possible between you and them. 

You vaguely heard orders being barked to follow you, but that didn't stop you from running. 

It didn’t change anything. No matter how far you ran, you had nowhere to go. 

Drakar didn’t follow you himself, instead sending someone else to do his dirty work. A few orcs stood behind you, easily able to keep track of you and match your pace. 

You weren’t even given a full hour of feigned freedom before one of them had picked you up and started pulling you back towards camp. You fought them the whole way. 

You were set down in front of him, the whole process embarrassing. You straightened your ill-fitted pants as you desperately tried to regain any ounce of dignity. 

Despite your appearance, he didn’t seem amused. “You shouldn’t run.”

“So you saw fit to have me kidnapped? Again?”

“I had to tell them you were dead,” he said, pushing past your outburst.

You scoffed. “You didn’t have to do anything.”

“I have orders to kill you. The negotiations failed, my people wanted you dead. It was the only way out of this for you.”

Oh. There was no reprieve for you on either side. You’d known your father had signed your death warrant with his refusal to negotiate but now the orders had been given. 

“Then why am I still here?” you asked, your voice smaller than you would’ve liked. 

“It is not just. I will not kill you.”

“So what now?”

“No one knows what you look like,” he said, his voice soft and low. “It doesn’t have to be over.”

It didn’t matter. Both sides had condemned you. You had your life, but nowhere you could live it. “I have nowhere to go,” you said, sounding braver than you felt.  

“You’ll find somewhere. Until then, there’s always room for you in my camp. I displaced you, the burden of this wrong falls to me.”

You rolled your eyes. “And none of your men will send word that you’ve kept me here?”

“As long as they get to keep staring at you, I can’t imagine they’d mind.”

Your nose wrinkled at his words. “These are your honorable men? Letting me stay for the right to keep ogling me?”

“It’s not so odd. They’re fascinated by you, such a strange little thing.”

You supposed you were strange and foreign to them, as they were to you. But surely you weren’t the first, not with the combat they must’ve seen. “You’ve seen humans before.”

“Some of them haven’t. At least, not living ones that aren’t trying to kill us.”

“Who said I’m not trying to kill you.”

He snorted. “Well, you’re doing a piss poor job of it.”

“And if I stay? I won’t fight my own people, even if I was trained in combat. You’ll just carry around dead weight?”

“You’re hardly dead weight. I don’t even notice you up on my shoulder half the time.”

“You know that’d not what I mean.”

“I do. There are towns over the border where you could stay.”

You looked up, curiosity gleaming in your eyes. “They’ll take me? A random human?”

He nodded solemnly. “They will, if you wish to depart. If not… I am the reason your people forsook you. I do not regret it, I did what needed to be done, but I regret what has come to pass to you because of it. You’ve faced this better than I ever thought a human would. They’re cowards to have cast you out, I will not follow in their steps. It may not be what you’re used to, I am no prince and we are no humans, but you’re welcome to stay at my home. You will never be a princess again, that was taken from you. I took that from you. It is only fair to give what I can in return. It is not much, but it is what I have.”

You smiled, swallowing down the lump in your throat and willing away the misty feeling in your eyes. “Thank you. I’d love to stay, if you’ll have me.”

It was no great concession from you, you weren’t exactly drowning in options, but it felt like choosing it all the same. It was no less of a choice than your last home had been, born into it and forbidden to ever really leave. 

This was being offered to you. You were being given the opportunity to say no. To run. 

As much as Drakar had angered and frustrated you in the past week or so, you weren’t sure you’d ever been given this much respect. Real respect, not the fake respect of being placed in war rooms and told to be silent. 

You gave him a final nod and a smile, adding a curtsy that you pulled yourself out of halfway through when you thought better of it, tripping over your feet a little as you did. 

His eyes crinkled as he smiled at you and you wondered how you’d never noticed it before. 

You went to bed that night feeling lighter, freer than you were used to. 

As you left your tent the next morning, you almost tripped over a deer carcass left in your doorway. 

You backed away slowly, rushing over to Drakar’s tent. 

He was barely dressed for the day, the sun having only half risen past the horizon, and gave you a smile and a nod as he saw you rush into his tent. “Good morning, princess.”

You barely let him finish his sentence before you blurted out, “Someone left a dead animal outside my tent.”

He froze, his shoulders tensing.

You watched, waiting for a response and getting none, before adding, “Should I be concerned? It felt like a threat. Maybe they don’t like that you lied for me, that you're protecting me. Maybe they don’t like me like you think they do.”

“It’s not a threat,” he said with a swift shake of his head. 

“How could you know?”

He explained it through barred teeth. “It’s an orchish courting gift. You’ve caught someone’s interest.”

Your breath caught in your chest. “Oh.”

“Oh indeed.” None of the tension had left him and he made no attempt to hide his irritation. “It’s odd, an orc taking an interest in such a frail little thing.”

You rolled your eyes. He was clearly upset that one of his soldiers had become distracted with you, maybe even disgusted at the prospect of one of them taking interest in a human of all things. Clearly your bonding the day before hadn’t taken you that far. 

“I don’t know, I’ve heard I can be quite charming.”

He ignored your statement completely, shifting closer to you as he spoke. “You should stay close to me until I can find out who left it and tell them off.” He was being strangely protective almost, the disgust you’d assumed would be there instead entirely absent. 

“Why would you tell off my suitor? Surely I should do that myself. Besides, why do you even ca-”

Oh. 

The reality of why someone courting you would make him protective set in and you looked up at him with wide eyes

You couldn’t help the shit-eating grin that plastered itself across your face. “Well, maybe I’ll accept it. I’ve got no future now, it couldn’t hurt to have a big, strong orc husband.” 

He stood a little straighter as he understood the implication. “You seek protection?”

“Hm, I do, thank goodness I’ve finally found a suitable option, I was really starting to worry.”

Frustration flashed through his eyes as he realized what you were doing. “Fine, we should go find this suitor so we can tell him how graciously you’re accepting this courtship. I, for one, will be glad to be rid of you. Now you’ll be someone else’s problem.” 

“We should. Unless there’s something you’d like to say?”

His nostrils flared as he glared down at you. “Nothing.”

“Are you sure? Nothing on your mind? Nothing like, I don’t know, having feelings for the, what is it you keep calling me? The weakling you kidnapped?”

He avoided meeting your eyes as he spoke. “Your force of will is admirable. The odds were against you but still you fought.”

You fought the urge to coo at him, at how flustered he looked and how it seemed like he was forcing out every word. You had no doubt he would rather have left you an animal carcass. You preferred it this way. 

“I’m going to need you to be more direct than that.” Your voice was patient and kind and you could tell it was making things a hundred times worse for him. 

“I had intentions to look into human courting, to find something familiar for you amidst so many new things you’ve been forced into. But given the situation, I suppose I can just tell you.”

“Tell me what?” you asked. You were going to make him say it, you didn’t care how long it took.

“About my intention to court you.” 

You giggled at his pained face and he relaxed a little, looking down at you with fondness in his eyes. You wondered when that had begun. You wished you’d been paying attention enough to notice. 

“What now?” he asked. “How do your human courtships go? I will do what I must.”

You thought about it, amusement flickering through you at the thought of Drakar trying to uphold the proper etiquette required while courting a princess. But the courting process was long and strained and if you were being honest, you preferred the brutal honesty you’d been given here at camp. “Frankly, I’ve had just about enough of how humans do it. What about you? We can skip the dead animal bit, but what comes next?”

He looked you up and down, some gears turning in his head that you were not privy to.

“I will have to be gentle,” he said, before hauling you over his shoulder and bringing you over to his bed of furs on the floor. 

Your eyes widened as the implication set in. You’d been far from the perfect princess, having your fair share of trysts with guards and servants over the years, but this was a different beast. 

And then he kissed you and you stopped thinking altogether. 

It was desperate and urgent, his lips figuring out how to move against your smaller ones and you reached up, pulling his face closer as he set you below him on his makeshift bed. 

He ground down on you, clothed hips moving to meet yours. Your disparate sizes meant to do so while kissing you he was contorted at a strange angle but he certainly wasn’t complaining. 

He stopped kissing you, rushing to pull off his off pants, and his cock slapped against your stomach, thick and hard and hot and you wanted him inside you now.

But when it fell against you, it hit just above your belly button and you thought that perhaps your eyes were a bit bigger than your stomach.

He seemed to realize the impracticality of it at the same time you did, a hearty laugh escaping him. “Don't worry, princess, I'll get you nice and stretched out.”

You chuckled nervously. “I don’t know if stretching will be enough.”

He slid down, hitching your shirt up and pressing a gentle kiss on your stomach. “I won’t hurt you. If you’re not ready, that’s fine. There are other things we can do.”

He shifted both of you with ease, pulling you to sit on his chest as he laid back on his bed. You looked down at him, brows furrowed. “What about your traditional orc courtship.”

That pulled another laugh from him. “What part of this do you think has been traditional? The closest we got to traditional was when you bit me.”

You flushed red, recontextualizing the memory and wondering how many of the things you’d been doing to anger him had also been part of traditional orc courtship. 

While you were busy blushing, he’d set to work on your pants, wrestling them off of you as he easily manhandled you. You barely helped, halfheartedly kicking them off. You remembered how much you hated being picked up by him when this had begun and how much that had changed. You were loathe to admit it but every time he lifted and moved you so easily, something stirred inside you. 

As soon as he got your pants off you were pulled roughly forward, his hands wrapping around your thighs as he pulled you onto his mouth. 

He ate you out with just as much urgency as he kissed you with, wasting no time before sliding his tongue through your folds. 

His grip was unforgiving, pulling you down so all of your weight was on him. 

His tusks dug into your inner thighs and he seemed to pull you impossibly closer as his tongue thrusted up inside of you. 

Even his tongue was almost too thick, you walls stretching to accommodate it. You hands grasped at his hair, needing something to hold onto. 

His mouth locked over your clit, sucking hard before moving back to thrust inside of you again, hands rising to play with your sensitive bud of nerves as he did. 

As you began to fall apart above him, writhing against the onslaught of sensation, he only doubled his efforts. 

You arched your back, your thighs clamping down on either side of his head, hips shifting with the waves of your orgasm that suddenly overcame you. He was content to let you ride it out, grip loosening to let you have your control as you moans filled the tent. 

You came down slowly and it took a few moments to realize you were still sitting on his face. 

You moved to sit beside him on the furs as soon as you did, your face warming. 

You shifted your head to rest against him, staring down at his cock as you did. It was impossibly hard and practically pulsing with need, and you made a decision you hoped you wouldn’t regret. 

“You know, it can’t hurt to try.”

He sat up immediately, eagerness evident in his face. “You’ll stop me if it’s too much.” It wasn’t a question but a statement. 

You gave him a knowing look. “Of course I will.”

He shifted you, lifting you over him and you were happy to give over control. You trusted him.

It felt even bigger pressed up against your entrance than it had on your stomach and you took a deep breath. You waited but as nothing happened, you realized that Drakar was waiting for your signal. 

No nodded and he began to lower you, incredibly slowly. As it pushed inside, you knew the girth was more than anything you’d taken before, but it was manageable. The stretch bordered on painful but it was slow and careful enough that you had time to adjust. 

And then, as it went further and further, it became too much, 

You winced long before he’d bottomed out, about half of it inside you. It was bordering on too painful and you pressed your hands against his chest, shaking your head. “No more,” you said quietly, already weak from your last orgasm. 

He didn’t seem to mind, holding you steady as he pressed you close to him, muttering quiet praises to you. 

You slowly adjusted, not ready to take more but more than happy with what was already inside of you. 

You shifted your hips a little, pushing it against a perfect spot inside of you, letting out a quiet moan as you did. 

He put a stop to it fairly quickly, holding you still. “I think I’ll just keep you there. You’re perfect, taking me so well.”

You writhed, trying to get the stimulation you were becoming desperate for but he held you steady easily. 

So you tried a new tactic. “Want more,” you said, voice soft and sweet. If that didn’t work you’d try yelling at him, see how that fared. 

“Careful, I promised I wouldn’t hurt you. You damn humans, so fragile.”

“I’m not fragile, you’re just too big.”

“Excuses, excuses.” Despite his words, he began to slowly move, shifting out of you before pushing in again, careful to not push past the point where you’d stopped him. 

He moved you up and down like it was nothing, careful even as he began to speed up, hips shifting a little to meet you, chasing after your warm cunt as he pulled you back up.

His breathing grew shaky as he did and despite feeling overwhelmed with sensation, you fought to keep your eyes open, to watch him come undone. 

As his grunts became more and more unruly, your walls clenched around him at the sight. 

He immediately pulled you up, leaving just the head of his cock inside of you as he filled you with thick ropes of come. 

His breathing was ragged and his grip on you tightened slightly, pulling you even closer to him. 

He looked down at you, eyes softer than you’d ever seen them, before pulling you off of him and settling back with you resting on his chest. 

You made an absolute mess of him as he did, with no chance of keeping the frankly absurd amount of come inside of you. 

He didn’t seem to care at all.

“We’re making a mess,” you said, despite suspecting the objection would fall on uncaring ears. 

“You said you wanted an orcish courting, the mess is traditional.”

You weren’t sure if you were cut out for a traditional orc courting, already squirming as your thighs were coated in his spend. 

But his chest was warm and his breathing steady and you couldn’t help but settle into the comfort of it. 

“I'm gonna fit all of it someday,” you said, meaning it fully.

He laughed. “Brave little thing, aren’t you? Dreaming big.”

You snorted. 

“What happens now?” you asked as you snuggled further into him. 

“You reject that fool's advances.”

You hummed happily. “I will. I guess I’m lucky I caught your eye, don’t know if I would've survived this if I hadn’t”

“I meant what I said. I wouldn’t have let them kill you. It wouldn't be right. And you would’ve managed even without me. You wouldn't be the first human to sneak away to our side.”

That surprised you. “I wouldn't?”

He chucked, hands running through your hair. “You wouldn't. We're a more accepting group, I've found. Although you are a weak little species, we don’t have much use for you. You’re lucky you're pretty or I don't know if we'd put up with you.”

You scrunched up your nose. “You didn’t decide to court me because you thought I was pretty though.”

“No,” he said, like you both already knew the answer. “I decided to court you because no matter how many times we stopped you, you never stopped trying to run, to fight.”

You sat up with a sudden urgency. “If I said I wanted to go home, to my father, would you let me?” 

You watched the panic flash across his face and some selfish part of you hoped it was panic over losing you and not panic over the consequences that could come if you showed up alive after his order to kill you.

He sat with it for a while and you let him, in no rush to pull an answer from him.

Finally, he seemed to find whatever he'd been searching for. “I would.”

“Good,” you said, a smug feeling welling up in your chest, right beside the warmth that had begun to fill you at his answer. “Then I'll stay.”

He tried and failed to hide his smile. “Good. Does that mean you’re done running from me?”

You grinned, knowing full well it didn’t. What would be the fun in that? “We’ll see.”

“I’m sure,” he said as he shifted the two of you, wrapping you up in furs to protect your modesty before picking you up once more, with one arm under your knees and the other below your back, keeping you close to his chest. “Now, let’s get you cleaned up, princess.”

#orc x reader #orc #terato #monster bf #monster x human #monster boyfriend #monster x reader #orc boyfriend #orc romance #Bridal carries are also called princess carries and I think it’s so cute that that’s how he picks her up at the end #This wasn’t even the prompt that won the orc poll lol #This is not a democracy apparently

[dreamingonfilm]

✧˖*°࿐ Love Letters | d.m

Draco Malfoy x f!reader, fluff

Summary: In which Draco tries to find the girl who sends him love letters, unaware to the fact that it’s you.

W/C: 1.5k

Draco’s fingers traced over the writing on the pink envelope once again. His mind was not able to rest as he tried to piece together who left the note on his bedside in the middle of the night. Delicately opening it once more, he reread the words inside;

Draco, 

I hope you can learn to see yourself the way that I see you, with love and acceptance. You are what makes everyday worth it. Constellations are named after you, and each day I can’t help but to be thankful for the sun breathing on you once more. You are my light.

He carefully closed the envelope and placed it inside his bag. ‘They like me.’ the boy thought to himself, ‘someone actually likes me.’ 

It’s not that the boy was a stranger when it comes to love, but never once has he been perceived as something more than what he truly is. He’s always been Draco Malfoy, heir to the Malfoy throne, son of Lucius, and most importantly a Slytherin. For this reason, he constantly rejected any advances that came from the female students around him. While his rejections came off as rude and cold-hearted, the other students failed to see that Draco, just like everyone else around him, was human too. He was scared of being hurt by the one feeling that he craved the most. 

The walk to class was almost unbearable, he couldn’t stop thinking about the letter. He wanted to know the poet behind those beautiful words, the ones that kept repeating over and over in his head as he tried stirring potions or taking notes. You are what makes everyday worth it. He became hyper aware of his surroundings, assuming that he would know when he sees her, but he failed to realize that she was not someone that could be so easily spotted. She came exactly when you needed her to, not by desire alone.

—-

“Draco,” his friend Blaise called to him, “focus.”

“Oh, right.” Draco replied, trying to get his thoughts together as he walked back to his seat. It was the middle of the school week and his mind was only getting more crowded with the thoughts of her. As he sat back down, his friends swarmed him with questions as to what it was that he smelled in his amortentia, assuming that this would be the first step to finding her.

“I can’t describe it.” He sighed, running a hand through his platinum hair in defeat. “She has me going crazy and I don’t even know her.” 

“Well,” Pansy spoke up, “I suggest maybe moving on? I mean, if she wants to be anonymous it may be for a reason. Plus, you have hundreds of other girls that would kill to be with you, Draco. Maybe try your luck somewhere else.” She flashed him a sincere smile before going in to hold his hand, but her efforts were cut short as the boy suddenly stood up. 

“I don’t want to be with anyone unless it’s her.” He sneered, shaking his head as he turned around and started heading straight to the door. He said a hushed goodbye to his friends before exiting into the crowded hall.

Why couldn’t his friends see that he didn’t want anyone else? He didn’t care about her wealth, status, or looks, all that he wanted was someone that could love him in full. Love him in a way that can’t be tamed, a love that lives long after they do. This was something that he knew he wasn’t going to find any time soon, for as long as he was at Hogwarts he could only be Draco Malfoy.

His hopes were on her.

He walked through the hall, pushing through students that stood in his way as he asserted dominance with a ray of confidence and high ego. Students glared at him but none had the guts to say anything, this fear that Draco instilled was not one that was going to go away any time soon. It was one that he brought upon himself and now had to live with. Somewhere in between his daydreams and the crowded corridor, he felt someone bump into him. Their shoulders collided as his books fell to the floor. The stranger mumbled a quick apology before running off.

In the midst of his anger, he froze. He smelt it. That same scent that clouded him only a few minutes before. There it was, it was her, but just as quickly as he smelled it, she was gone. Only seeing her hair as she turned at the corner of the hallway. 

He quickly got up and chased after her, pushing and shoving anyone that got in his way. This was his chance, he was finally going to meet the girl that’s been making him mad, the one that he’s been dreaming of. His heart was pounding as he ran faster and faster down the hall, students staring at him in confusion as he was passing them by, quills and journals flying out of his bag –  but he didn't care, he couldn’t let her get away.

Once he turned the corner, he couldn’t help but feel an overwhelming sensation of defeat. His heart crushed as he stared into the empty hallway.

—- 

Two weeks have passed since the day that Draco and her collided. He sat in his bed, holding a brand new letter. The same shade of pink as the one before, with the handwriting that he’s fallen in love with. 

“Draco, 

I’m sorry for not writing to you. I’ve been thinking of you every day, and I just can’t bear to keep dreaming of you without letting you know that I’m sorry for bumping into you in the hallway. The truth is, I’m scared, Draco.

I’m scared you aren’t going to like me for who I am. I’m scared that writing to you was a mistake. I’m scared that the only way you will ever see me is through these letters. I see you every day, why can’t you see me? 

You’re always in my heart, shining above me every night, my constellation. If we remain strangers forever, just know that I’ve never come to love someone like how I love you.”

He was getting restless. Constant possibilities of who it could be running through him, he even considered the possibility that this could be a prank, but no amount of doubt could prevent him from finding her, his hope overpowered all the fear that he had.

Draco sat up once more and started getting ready for dinner. Brushing his hair and straightening out his tie, he needed to look presentable for the off chance that he could be meeting her today. 

He headed down into the Great Hall and that’s when he saw it. A pink envelope in the hands of a girl he’s never talked to, but not just any girl, it was you.

He shouted out into the void, but he wasn’t quick enough. “Hey wait!” he called out, as you quickly grabbed your things and ran off once more. He couldn’t see you like this, it wasn’t the right time. Your face flushed red as you ran, your breathing quickening as your legs started to grow tired, but you could not let him find you. 

Draco chased after you, he was only a few feet behind but with enough determination you knew you could lose him. As you sprinted through the maze of halls, you started to grow light headed, you knew that if you didn’t stop soon you would faint. 

But it’s not the right time 

You stopped in front of a random classroom, rushing to open the door before he could catch up to you, but it was too late. He crashed into you, both of you falling to the ground with a loud thump, his hands landing on either sides of you as you laid in between him.

He finally found you. 

“Who are you?” He asked, not wasting any more time to get to know the girl who stole his heart. You stared into his eyes, feeling a frog in your throat as you mustered up the courage to finally talk to him.

“M-my name is (Y/N).” You whispered, neither of you breaking eye contact. He smiled, grabbing hold of your hands as he went to pick you both up. You were both nervous, too scared of saying the wrong things, but wanting to say them all regardless.

“(Y/N),” he repeated, looking at you with a face full of love and adoration, “I’m Draco.” 

He brushed your hair with his fingers and went to pat the dust off your shoulders. You didn’t know what to say or do, but you didn’t have to.

This was the right time.

 “Come along then (Y/N),” Draco smiled, interlocking his hand in yours before leading you back down to the Great Hall, “we have a lot of catching up to do.”

#draco #draco malfoy #draco malfoy x reader #draco malfoy x you #draco malfoy x y/n #draco x you #draco x reader #draco x y/n #draco malfoy fanfiction #draco fanfiction #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy fanfic #harry potter fanfiction #harry potter x reader #harry potter #harry potter x you #harry potter x y/n #draco fanfic #draco lucius malfoy #draco fic #draco fluff

[alphabetboyluvr]

NIGHT CRAWLERS - JJK

title credit: night crawlers - kids in glass houses

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

synopsis:

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

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

wordcount: 26K

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

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

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

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

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

That, and 'rather be dead than cool.'

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

At least they barely crossed. Past tense. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Again, the rogue look isn't a front.

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

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

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

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

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

"Mhmm?"

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

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

Partners?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

A control freak, you note. Nice.

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

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

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

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

"I'm very much capable of editing-"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

When they were still talking to you, that was.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He doesn't reply.

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

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

Well, no. 

That's not quite right. 

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

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

Given your rejection, he was pleased with his choice.

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

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

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

"Like?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But he's also determined. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

That's the big dream at least.

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

It's his fault, and he knows it.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The lack of a camera proves otherwise.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hold on."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jesus, you think. Who pissed in his cornflakes?

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

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

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

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

"You could have fucking killed me!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Never said I wasn't."

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

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

"Where are we?"

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

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

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

That's a lie.

He doesn't think they're stupid.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Look I-"

"So-"

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

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

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

"At two in the morning?"

You nod.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Tomorrow?"

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

"Oh right. Yeah. See you tomorrow."

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

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

"Thanks, again."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perhaps that should be your project piece.

Secrets of Seoul: The Seedy Underbelly of The City.

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

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

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

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

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

Who the fuck are you?

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

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

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

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

"Once in a blue moon. Gotcha."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook wants what he wants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook wants what he wants.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Curious.

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

"No can do, sugar."

"Oh my god, stop calling me that."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

And he's right. It is worth it.

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

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

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

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

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

"It's good," he promises.

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

"Are you broken?"

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

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

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

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

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

And neither of you really care.

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

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

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

He knows you read them.

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

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

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

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

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

You have been thinking about him.

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

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

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

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

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

You don't ask him to expand.

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

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

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

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

And so you return, every week.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Per hour?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You've gotten good at playing pretend. 

Jungkook only jokes about you being a sugar baby.

He doesn't fathom that you actually are one.

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

The way you hold onto his waist is different tonight.

Physically, it's the same.

But it feels different.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You nod appreciatively. "You sure?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Kook?"

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

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

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

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

"Like what?"

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

"I don't."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

As if he fears the consequences of his claim.

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

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

But you don't.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

x

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

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

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

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

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

Unlike Jimin, apparently.

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

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

"You're being dramatic."

"You're being boring."

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

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

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

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

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

A few months ago, he was a fucking idiot.

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

And you ignore it.

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

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

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

It's all a bit nauseating.

Maybe a party would actually be a good distraction.

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

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

And you were nowhere to be seen on Tuesday.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

No good ever comes from being nice.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

But you are annoyed.

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

You barely know him. Not really.

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

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

It seems like you found your answer.

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

And he's right.

He's not the city.

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

He's not the goddamn city.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Really, Kook?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hey."

"Uh, hey."

"You good?"

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

Ah. You cringe.

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

"Hmm?"

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

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

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

"Good night?"

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

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

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

You don't know what to say either.

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

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

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

"Oh?"

"Yeah..."

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

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

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

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

Oh.

Not a coward. Just cautious.

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

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

"Can you come over?"

THE WAY YOU keep Jungkook hanging on tenterhooks is deliberate.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Except you do. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Can I see?"

"Not yet."

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

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

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

You both feel it.

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

"Some girls like it," he flirts back.

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

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

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

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

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

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

"You look warm," he husks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Do I?"

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

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

Yes.

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

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

Yes.

"Ddaeng."

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

Maybe you do. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Hobi, can I-" 

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

"Hobi will you let me fucking talk!"

Attaboy.

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

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

You try to decipher the conversation, but fail. 

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

You blush. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You don't hang around for much longer.

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

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

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

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

Just a little peek. He'll never know.

Oh, how you loathe your brain.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook thinks he knows who, now.

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

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

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

That had been the plan, at least.

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

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

A punch to the face means very little to Jungkook.

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

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

The dial tone bleeds out, just like his nose.

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

"Wassup, kid?"

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

"I got jumped Yoongs."

Fuck.

"You alright? Sound pretty bad? Where?"

"Daerim-"

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

"Hobi wanted me to drop off my stash."

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

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

"Gone."

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

"No."

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

"Yoong-"

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

"Ple-"

"Kook. Seriously. Trust me with this."

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

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

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

The girl who's now returning his call.

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

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

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

"Can I come over?"

Fuck. Anything except that.

"Please."

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

But he does.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

This place is just temporary.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Jungkook knows he should stop.

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

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

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

Should repulse you.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

All that matters is what is happening.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wants it all.

Wants you naked.

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

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

Wants it. Wants you. Just wants.

And what Jungkook wants, Jungkook gets.

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

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

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

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

He's utterly obsessed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

He likes this. Likes how you react to him.

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

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

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

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

He's bored of waiting. Wants you now.

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

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

"What?" he toys.

"Nothing," you flirt. "Just wish you'd hurry up. I'm a busy woman."

"Oh yeah?" The sound of his buckle coming undone is enough to make you fucking leak. "Busy doing what?"

You neglect to tell him. Not because you don't have a witty remark lined up, but because he's fucking naked now.

What a sight to behold he is. Body lean, honey skin flawless, muscles defined. You pretend like you're looking at his body, but your eyes are drawn to his cock. You'd expected length, but not the girth - and he has both in abundance. The tip of his cock is blushed and wet, with Jungkook just as aroused as you are.

Noticing your gaze, he rolls his eyes, and toys with your pussy again, lightly running his fingers up and down your slick entrance. When he pulls back, his fingers are still connected by thick clear fluid. His cock throbs.

"You're gonna get me so dirty," he hums, as he crawls onto the bed above you, before holding his fingers to your mouth. "Clean them."

Part of you wants to say no, but the other part of you can see his darkened gaze and the way his cock is twitching. You can't refuse.

His fingers are on the tip of your tongue, the tip of his cock nudging so close to your entrance that he may as well just do it. You raise your hips, encouraging, but he retracts a little just to tease.

The fingers that were in your mouth come to grip at the soft flesh of your cheeks, his thumb on the other side. "Don't you fucking dare."

There's tepid aggression to his movements, and it makes you feel vulnerable - but you like it. You like the way he's gripping your face, the ways he's looking at you with narrow eyes, just like he used to do across the lecture hall. You like being reminded of when you were nothing to one another, because it makes the satisfaction of feeling his stiff cock jump a little against your pussy as you moan so much more worth it.

He used to hate you, now he can't wait to bury his fat cock in you. Victory is yours, even if he's trying to act like he's the one holding all the cards.

You don't correct him, though. You let him think he has the upper hand. You'll play pillow princess just this once if it means you get to see him a little bit mean again.

"Dare what?" you pout, cheeks still squished between his fingers. He grips a little tighter, your chest rising as you gasp. He pulls your face towards his, sinking down into your lips, until he decided he's done with you.

He stands by the edge of your bed, and yanks your ankles towards him, pulling you close enough to the edge for him to fuck you like this.

The loss of his grip is unwelcome by you, a frown forming. He isn't looking at your face now, eyes down on his cock, which he's rubbing between your soaked pussy lips, but he can almost hear you brace yourself to whine. He smirks, one side of his mouth lifting, head knocking to the side slightly.

"Don't you dare try and set the pace," he finally husks, still not glancing up towards you. He's taking his time, making sure the head of his cock kisses every inch of your exposed mess. "Nearly got my nose fucking broken for this pussy-" he spits, hard and fast, right onto your clit, spreading it with his cock. "- so I'm gonna make sure I get what I'm owed."

He spreads your thighs back, his fingers gripping harshly just how you like it. Perhaps you should pretend to be embarrassed by the fact your cunt is leaking for him, begging for him, but the way he hisses at the sight, chest heaving, prevents it.

Jungkook's thought about this before, about how pretty and pristine you'd be, about the mess he'd hoped you'd make. Thought about it so many times. Fingers wrapped around his shaft in the middle of the night when no one can hear him chant your name as he spills over. Yeah, he's thought about it a lot.

His imagination has never done you justice. One look and he's obsessed. Wants to spend hours touching, caressing, licking you.

"Take it," you whisper. "What you're owed, Jungkook. Take it."

He looks up now, brows threaded together. You don't recognise the contemplation his face is laced in, but he doesn't give you the chance to question it, for you begin to feel that burn. The one your fingers can never give you. It's alien, and yet familiar, inherently natural but intrusive nonetheless.

"Shit," is all you can manage to say, eyes locked on his.

He wants to watch himself sink into you, watch as his fat cock forces your slick wetness out of your pussy, but he can't. Not when you're looking at him like that. Not when your chest is heaving and your eyes are watering beneath tense brows. Not when your mouth is hanging open and just begging to be fucked like your tight little pussy.

And then he starts feeling something a little strange. A little unfamiliar. A little bit like his heart has stalled to beat in time with the contractions of your chest. And though he's not in pain anymore, too busy feeling you, he's aware that it hurts. Aware that he can't fuck you like he wanted to, 'cause his chest needs to be against yours. Needs to feel the beating drum beneath your ribs.

He doesn't even realise that he's paused until you whine a meagre, "please."

"That's more like it," he hums, as he pushes into you, the base of his thick cock plugging the weeping mess that he's made. You know that as soon as he pulls out, you'll be whimpering, begging for the tip of his cock to kiss your walls once more. "See how nice things can be when you just behave yourself, huh?"

His hips push just a little deeper, and he knows that it hurts. Knows that the little gasp isn't entirely from pleasure. He's seen his cock. Doesn't take a genius to work out that it can do damage.

"You can take it," he tells you, and like a pathetic, whimpering mess, you fucking nod. He's still inside of you, still deeper than you thought possible, and then his hand is on your stomach. He grabs your hand and places it beneath his. "You feel that?" He retracts just a little, pushing back in just as deep. Beneath your hands, there's a bulge. External or internal, it doesn’t matter. It's him. He does it again. "You feel me taking what's mine?"

Whatever the fuck you moan is incoherent, but he doesn't give a shit, 'cause he's ploughing now. Bucking his hips into you like pneumatic fucking drill. Shit. He's done this before. Got it mastered to a fine art. Momenta worthy of a museum exhibition.

Your tits are pillowed on your chest, nice and round, wobbling as he takes command of your body. He slaps one of them, just to watch it ripple, before that firm grip of his is on it. "Perfect tits," he growls the compliment, not really meaning for it to come out. "Gonna put my cock between them later," he tells you. "Gonna cum all over them."

He doesn't tell you that he'll also clean them with his hungry tongue, before delivering his cum into your mouth. Figures he'll just let you find out. His brain is working at a mile a minute, trying to reign back thoughts of sharing his cum with you in such a filthy manner. God, he wants to do heinous things to you. With you. For you.

But for now, he needs to focus on his cock. It's rubbing inside of you, nuzzling. He knows he's weeping, and that his precum is getting mixed with your slick juices. Knows he won't last long if you keep whining like that. Mewling. Purring.

He stalls his hips, letting go of your tits as they jiggle back into position. Your cheeks are flushed, imprints of his fingers reddening your skin. Lips pouted and resting ajar, Jungkook thinks they've never looked more fuckable. More kissable. More whisper-sweet-nothings-against-able.

"You ever shut the fuck up?" he teases, but is quick to notice confusion flash in your eyes. He didn't mean it as an insult, but it's easy to read the hurt in your perplexed features, and the way you begin to try and push your legs together. It's futile. His cock is keeping you open.

But you feel embarrassed, as if your natural reactions to him are a turn-off. It's silly, because he's quite literally inside of you, fat and solid, using you to milk himself. Of course, he's not turned off, but you're hyper-aware of how vulnerable you're feeling right now. It had been fun to pretend like you were in control, but as soon as he slipped inside of you, all sense of power had evaporated.

He doesn't realise this though. Doesn't realise that his cock is nudging so deep into you that it's practically knocking against your heart. Knock, knock, knock. Who's there? Your mind taunts, but you daren't answer.

"Hey," he coos, one of his large palms stroking on the inside of your thighs. That uncomfortable, obscure feeling is back again. The one that tells him he needs to be closer to you. This time, he doesn't ignore it. His hips pulse, just the once. A reminder he's still very much into this. Into you.

His hands grip your waist, softly this time, as he manoeuvres himself onto the bed with you, keeping himself snug. Your head is by the pillows, Jungkook's knees on either side of your ass, his chest flat against yours as one of his hands cradles your jaw. He presses a chaste, airy kiss against your lips, and whispers, "I love the way you sound." He kisses you again, hips rocking. You're trying not to, but you whine. "Fuck, sugar. You're my favourite fucking sound."

Your legs hook over his back, and he groans now. The angle change lets him delve deeper, your walls massaging him so well. Jungkook thinks he might have died and gone to heaven. He's slipping in and out of you with minimal force, skin slapping together. He makes sure to let his moans roll off his tongue and into your mouth. You eat them up and give them back. The pair of you aren't kissing anymore, just gasping and humming into one another's mouths. He's stuttering.

There's a pause as he adjusts his grip, digging his fingers into the soft flesh of your thighs. He likes it, the way you seem to melt around him in all capacities. His lips nudge against yours as his steady hips begin to rock into yours again.

You groan as he pushes down on your legs, pushing you as far apart as your bones allow. It's typical of him, seeing how far he can take things. Push them to the limit. Always gets him in trouble. There's a click, as air escapes from the socket where your leg meets your pelvis.

"You good?" He checks and you respond with a kiss. Hands tangled in his hair, you hope it conveys the fact you've never felt better. He laughs a little, soft and serene, into your mouth, the weight of his body keeping you trapped beneath him.

You're morbid in your thoughts, and consider how nice it would be for Jungkook to suffocate you like this; steal you of the air you breathe with his tiny giggles of satisfaction. So, so nice, you think.

And so you tell him. You tell him that you want his hand on your throat. He takes a second to respond - not because he doesn't want to, but more so because he can't believe you actually asked.

He doesn't normally fuck the girls he cares about like this. Then again, he never really cares about the girls he fucks.

"God," you moan as he pushes one of your legs over his shoulder. His body is clammy against yours, skin hot and damp, chest lean but built. He's working hard; not just for his release. For yours too. Rams into you, stuffing your cunt with his cock, dipping his head to lather your clasped throat in wet kisses.

"That's it, sugar," he growls as his teeth graze your neck. "Need to hear how good you feel. Need to hear what my cock does to you. You owe me."

You want to laugh. You're about to laugh. But then his head dips down to your chest, and he latches onto one of your pebbled nipples, sucking so hard that all you can do is tremble. He knows you like this. Knows it makes your pussy all creamy and slippery for him - and like clockwork, he's proven right. The sounds are lewd. He loves it.

"On your back," you husk, punctuating your instruction with a whimper as he suckles even harder. He shakes his head, eyes closed, mouth vibrating and full of your tit. Not a chance, he tries to say, but it just sounds likes he's forgotten how to speak. Too busy. Too close to spilling himself into you. Doesn't wanna get distracted.

So focused, he doesn't realise you're pushing him over until you're on top. He frowns as he detaches from your nipple with a pop, but his hands are running all over your body regardless. Obviously doesn't care that much. Course he doesn't. That ache in his chest has settled.

Until he starts thinking about it, and oh god, it's back and it's fucking unbearable.

"C'mere," he pulls you flush against him, as your hips begin to work against him. His hands cradle your face so he can kiss you as deeply as he likes, tongue slipping into your mouth, as his cock slips up and down your pussy. This, he thinks, is it. This is what fucking should feel like.

"Shit," he whispers. "Shit."

The friction of his surprisingly neat hair that rests at the base of his cock is nice. Real fuckin' nice. You're not even fucking him anymore, just grinding against it. Using it, using him, to get yourself off.

You think you're being slick, like he won't notice - but he does. Of course, he does. He's obsessed with your body.

"God, yeah, baby," his back arches, pressing his chest against yours, eyes closed. "Use me like that. Use me," he bites into your shoulder gently. "Fucking use me."

He means it. Doesn't give a shit about himself anymore. Just wants to feel you tremble as he holds you close. Wants to press kisses against your lips as your moans become undignified. He needs to be the reason you cum; needs to be responsible for your oxytocin rush.

You sit up a little, and Jungkook holds back a pout from the separation - but how can he complain when you're sat like that, his cock buried inside of you, hair a mess and with eyes like his favourite constellation? He's hypnotised as your boobs begin to bounce, pussy working up his shaft like the true Daerim woman of the night you are. He's forgotten about all of that, now. Can't think about anything except for how to not fucking cum.

He can't and he won't. Not until you do. But you're bouncing, and it's wet, and he can hear it, and it feels so fuckin' good. His toes are curling, torso tensing, eyes half-shut, pretty little pout hanging open. He's fucking whining. "Yeah like that," he encourages. "Gonna milk me so well, baby. Gonna... ah. Fuck. Gonna-"

Jungkook can't fucking speak. He wants to. Wants to tell you how fucking beautiful you look, how he wants this endlessly, how he never wants to let you go. Needs to tell you how right this feels, how good you make him feel, how he doesn't understand his feelings but fuck, just that he is feeling. Feeling so much.

You're not sure at which point he started calling you baby, but you're actually convinced that the name alone could tip you over the edge.

The pace of your hips is slowly, savouring. He doesn't quite get it. You were so close. Why stop?

The stillness of your movements makes way for something new. He feels a throb around his fat cock, which is begging for release. Notices the way your chest is shaking like you've got hiccups, tiny whines of pleasure making themselves known. Your pussy was always warm, but it's hot now, contracting around him.

And then he gets it.

"Oh, shit," he mewls, his hips slowly pumping upwards. "Yeah, that's it, baby. Let yourself cum. All over my dick," he encourages, hedonistic and self-serving. "That's it. Cream for me."

His slow movements as he fucks up into you amplify the sensation, the tip of his cock nudging languidly against your tight walls. Your entire body shudders, the feeling rippling from your chest right down to your toes. You rasp out moans, the sensation all too powerful, a creamy mess pooling at the base of his shaft. There's a jerk as your muscles spasm, your orgasm well and truly delivered. He pulls you down and into his chest, his strong arms wrapped around your back.

Your body rests on his, spent and sensitive, and he can tell you can't hold out for much longer. He pushes back the hair that's sticking to your clammy face, and presses kisses into your temple.

"So big," you hum, voice hazy, eyes shut.

"Just a little more, baby," he promises. " You're doing so well. Just a little..."

You've considered how Jungkook would orgasm on more than one occasion - and you're pleasantly surprised to find that your imagination was wrong. There's no grand declaration, nor large grunt. He's not aggressive, either, like you'd half-hoped he would be.

Instead, Jungkook kisses you as his hips begin to stall. His brows are creased, moans muffled against your lips. His torso shudders, abdomen as tight as his balls. "Baby," he drowsily mewls, and then it's happening. His cock pumps into you, unloading thick creamy spurts with every stroke of your pussy. The first one is so desperate that you're almost positive you can feel it paint your insides. You moan along with him, utterly obsessed with this, him, whatever the fuck just happened.

He doesn't withdraw immediately. Just lays there and kisses your skin, absolutely spent.

You don't move a muscle. You don't want it to be over. Don't wanna lose this. Lose him.

When you tilt your head to look at him, he's smiling. Eyes closed, cheeks appled. Serene. In a state of fucked-out bliss.

You tell him that he's pretty, and he lets out an airy laugh, covering his face with one of his hands. You move his hand and watch him fondly, enthralled with the grin that he's struggling to fight.

He turns to look at you, and the smile he's been boasting amplifies. "God, you're gorgeous."

It's not a new observation; just one he's never voiced before. One that he was able to resist saying. But you're naked now, chest pillowed against his, eyes glowing and nose blushed.

You hum, running a hand through his dishevelled hair. "I'm glad you chose to come here."

Just like that, there's a knot in Jungkook's stomach that seems to anchor that feeling he keeps having.

"Yeah," he nods. "Me too."

IT'S THREE IN the afternoon by the time you wake from your post-fuck snooze. Jungkook's never had one of those before. Hated being sticky after sex with anyone else. Always had to shower - but with you, he wants to stick to you like glue.

"Should have filmed that," he hums, the tips of his fingers stroking up your arms. You aren't sure if he's joking or not. "Would have given us a unique take on the project. Probably wouldn't have gotten us very high grades, mind you, but art is subjective."

"Some would argue that the critique of art is objective," you muse back, still blissfully cum-drunk from the events prior to your nap. Jungkook's nose has stopped bleeding, and the pair of you have almost forgotten the reason he showed up in the first place. "Documentary maker by night, porn star by day," you flirt. "Although it's cute that you think you fuck like a porn star."

"I felt you shaking," he says, knowing there's no possible way that you didn't enjoy it. His nose feels a little cold after all the trauma of the morning, so he buries it into your hair. "Can't fake that."

"That's what I'm saying," you simper, pressing a kiss against his bare torso, just below the meeting of his collarbones. And then another, simply for good measure. "Porn stars never actually look like they're making the woman feel any good." You trail down his chest, tongue licking gently at the darker skin around his nipple. "You... yeah you don't fuck like a porn star." And then you suck a little. He hisses, in the best possible way. 

"Don't," he says. "Not ready to go again."

You laugh. 

Jungkook thinks he's reached Nirvana. Almost certain, in fact. Never had a girl do that to him before. He loves to give it, but hasn't ever thought to receive it. Wonders what other things you'll do to him that he's never had done before. He can feel his cock fucking twitching again, achy and sore, definitely not recovered yet from how hard he went earlier - but god, he wants it. Wants to bury himself inside you again. Belong to you.

His hands paw at you, one gripping on your chest, the other on your ass, pulling you closer. Your leg hooks over him, and he can feel how wet you still are on the side of his thigh. His balls fucking tighten. He can feel it happening, blood rushing to his crotch. 

Yet despite it all, he just kisses you. Softly. Tenderly. Merely his lips languid between yours. Withdraws slowly. Keeps his eyes closed. Bliss.

"The fuck have you done to me, sugar?" he whispers, dark eyes opening to look into yours. His speech is husky, like he trying to steal the answers of a pop-quiz from you. You can't help him. You don't have a clue what the answer is. You're just as stuck as he is. "Got me feeling all fuzzy 'n' shit."

"Just a sugar rush," you smile. "It'll pass."

You're both acutely aware that it won't, but that will be a problem for another day.

"Tell you what," Jungkook muses, though his thoughts are shallow. He's not digging deep. Just talking for the sake of it. "I might not fuck like a porn star, but you don't fuck like a hooker." 

He pulls your arm up so that he can study the crease of your elbow. You let him move your body like you're a barbie doll. You'll be his toy, you think, if he wants. No bother. 

His fingers press at the thin skin that covers your veins, inspecting. 

"Not a scratch," he assesses. "So you're not an addict either."

You laugh, slightly amused. "No? Maybe I just don't inject."

Jungkook gives you a stern look. Hopes you're joking. Tells you that you better fucking be joking. The sweetness of your laughter tells him that you are.

"So?" you press. "I'm not a prostitute and I'm not an addict. It's your lucky day. What of it?"

Jungkook tilts his head down so that his nose is nestled into the crown of your head again. Comforting, he thinks. Smells like laundry. You must have washed your sheets recently. 

His next statement takes you off guard. 

"Only ever see three kinds of women down in Daerim." 

And you know.

You know he knows. 

You can feel it in the way he protectively presses his lips into your skull, as if he's Prince Charming trying to rid his Sleeping Beauty of the nightmare she's been living. Wake up.

But Prince Charming rides a white horse, not a petrol-spitting, air-cooled, steel-framed shadow that rips through the city at night. 

There are no nightmares, either. You're already wide awake. There's no saving you. 

He sighs against your head. Pauses. Resists, and then confronts. 

"I know what you do in the dark, sugar."

You don't say anything for a moment, and then you're pulling away from him, reaching for your shirt. He doesn't like this. Misses your warmth, but doesn't stop you. Instead, he follows, sitting on the edge of your bed, the corner of your comforter lazily protecting his modesty. His muscles are relaxed now, a little crease in his stomach from the way that he's slouching, hands in his lap. Those Bambi eyes of his are peaking through his hair, cheeks red and grazed from the morning encounter he'd had in Daerim.

He watches as you pull your shirt over your head, hair just as messy as his, and a graze on your cheek to match. He was pretty certain before that it had been carpet burn, but now that he's seen it up close, softly rubbed his thumb against it during pretty kisses, he's sure of it.

You avert his gaze. Feel shameful. Hate that he knows. You never cared before. It was just a fun little secret, the fact that he didn't know you were no angel. 

But you want him to think that you're one, now. 

For a moment, you were sure that he had. 

Instead, now, it feels like you're falling from grace.

He reaches for your hand, but you pull it back. "Please don't."

And so he doesn't. Just sits for a little while instead. "Do you want me to get dressed?"

You really don't. 

But your tongue is lodged in your mouth and it won't budge. You turn away, internally furious with yourself. It's been a while since you've gotten like this; so dreadfully panicked that you can't talk. It's a once in a blue moon kind of thing, the early onset of a panic attack, but you're hoping it won't reach the stage of no return. Praying.

"Babe?"

He sounds worried now, and it's making it worse. Feels like you've just reached the top of Bukhan Mountain without taking a second to catch your breath. 

Has your chest always been this tight? Or has someone just been wrapping rubber bands around your torso without you noticing? 

It isn't possible, and you know this, but it feels like it and - oh God - you can hear him shuffling, the buckle of his belt clanging. He's leaving, he's leaving, he's leaving, your ribs cackle as they close down on your lungs. 

There's a light hum behind you, like a wasp is coming to send you into a state of anaphylactic shock and then it stops. His jeans are tossed to the floor once more.

"Yoongi?" Jungkook speaks quietly behind you into the receiver of his phone. "Wassu- Yeah, yeah, I'm safe. I'm good."

I'm safe. 

I'm good.

"Where are- Yoongi stop. Stop it. I'm being deadly fucking serious-"

You don't realise it, but your chest begins to mellow as you listen in to his conversation. 

"It's my mess!" He shouts now. "I'll fucking fix it. I don't give a fuck what Hobi says. Where you at? The Zoo? I'll be there- Yes, I will. Don't do anything fucking stupid."

And then he hangs up, chucking his phone into your bed with more aggression than he'd ever wanted to show in your presence. You don't see it, back still turned, but you hear it, the way his phone rebounds against the springs of your mattress.

"Shit," he hisses, and when you turn to face him, you find that his head is in his hands, elbows on his knees.

Crouching by him, your chest expands. You don't give a shit about yourself anymore. Your palms rest just behind his elbows, eyes anchored below his, looking up. 

"He's got his fucking final in an hour," is all Jungkook says. "He's gonna miss his fucking final."

He lifts his head, tender lips pouted, eyes bloodshot from the pressure he's been placing on his palms. Looks right at you. Decides he'll never trust another pair of eyes more.

"I know what you do in the dark, sugar," he relays. "But I do worse. So much fucking worse. And I've just gone and fucked it all up."

And while he blames it all on himself, you know it's your fault. 

He didn't stay away from the girl. He tempted fate, tugged on the red string, and accidentally snapped it.

Forlorn, he slumps, tongue wetting his bottom lip as he bites down on it. It's only to stop it from trembling. Clouds lurk in his eyes, trying to block his vulnerabilities from you, but it doesn't take a genius to work out that he's scared. 

"Take it," you say, lips in a flat line, eyes stern. You nod towards the pile of cash on your desk, and his eyes follow. "Take it. Pay your debts. I can earn it again. I don't have a deadline. You do."

He shakes his head.

"I'm not taking the money you've earned."

"Yes, you are."

"I'm not," he protests and you've got it in your right mind to slap his pretty face silly. "Gonna be totally honest," he adds, "Don't really want your sugar baby money. Kinda resent it a little. Resent the fucker who gave it to you."

Jungkook hates him. 

Doesn't know him.

Loathes him.

"So then give him the middle finger and take it," you plead. "He got you fucked up into this mess, he got you jumped, he got your stash stolen. Take his money and get yourself and Yoongi out of it. You don't have time to be fucking arguing with me."

He wants to fight back. You stop him.

"We can argue later," you promise.

And that ever-present effervescent feeling is back in his chest. 

"Sugar," he speaks quietly. "Don't do this."

"Kook," you respond, voice much firmer than his. "You gotta do this. Yoongi shouldn't be fixing your mistakes and you know it. We can work it out on an I.O.U. basis. It's okay."

"I.O.U. suggests I'm gonna keep seeing you for a while," Jungkook mumbles. He isn't feeling as confident in himself as he had done earlier. 

You stand, offering your hand to him so that you can pull him up with you. Neither of you acknowledge the fact that he's stark bollock naked. It's really not the time. Nothing you haven't seen before, after all.

"Well, yeah," you shrug with a straight face, but there's a glint in your eye. "I'd hope so. Pretty sure you said you were fuck my tits later? Gotta hold up your end of the bargain, sugar."

And despite it all, he laughs, toying with your hands before slipping his finger between yours. "Don't call me that."

"Why not?" You squeeze his hands. "You're technically my sugar baby now."

"That's not how it works."

God, he knows he shouldn't be fucking about, wasting time flirting, but he just can't help himself.

"No?" You question, equally distracted.

"No," he says. "If you're paying me, and I'm fucking you, then that makes me a hooker."

He's not wrong. 

"Oh, that's kinda hot," you smile, pulling gently on his hands to encourage him to lean down. He does as he's told, and kisses you like it's the most natural thing in the world.

"You're so fucked up," he whispers against you, knowing that it's exactly why he enjoys you so much.

You don't let the moment linger, though, tossing him his clothes and going to grab the money while he dresses himself. You stack it together, all nice and neat, using the desk to straighten the edges. The wedge is thick in your hands. Yellow 50's are laughing at you. Stupid girl thought we'd fix her problems, they chatter silently to one another.

"Three and half million won," you hold it out to Jungkook. He hesitates, so you force his grip around it and let go. It's his problem, now. Not yours. You smile so warmly that Jungkook can't help but let that feeling in his chest simmer. Your hair is still messy, mascara still smudged. He wants to kiss your cheeks. 

Jungkook hasn't disclosed what exactly was in his bag.

But in the same way he knows there are only three types of women in Daerim, you know there are equally only three types of men.

There's only one demographic that he belongs to. Yoongi, too. 

You don't say it explicitly, not like he does. 

"Holangi are nasty fuckers," you acknowledge. "I know they raise the stakes just for the fun of it. Whatever got stolen, the street value doesn't matter. Take it all. You'll need it."

Take what I owe you.

When he kisses you goodbye, it's just like the first time; all breathy and needy, lips parted and pouting. Again and again, he presses down into your lips. His brows furrow, hands on your cheeks, chest pressed against yours.

The crimson paint that had stained you from his very first kiss returns. You're painted in red for the second time that morning, but this time only you can see it. Only you can feel it.

That's her. That's the girl who let Jeon Jungkook kiss her like he actually meant it. 

But it's funny now, because you know that he does mean it.

When he finally leaves, his nose is blushed, his cupids bow too. Eyes glassy. Smile forlorn.  

Disappointingly, as you close the door of your apartment when he's no longer in your line of sight, you remember exactly how Jungkook had kissed you for the first time:

Like it was going to be the last.

And it consumes you, because the kiss you just shared felt exactly the same.

Your chest is uncomfortable again, but it's not rubber bands this time. 

It's that stupid red string that Jungkook had tugged too tightly on.

The one that he'd snapped right in half. 

WATTPAD // AO3 // KO-FI // CARRD

#jungkook #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #bts fanfic #jungkook imagines #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook oneshot

[stevebabey]

totally didn’t expect the other part to do well at all but 😳 apparently i don’t know steddie fans. as such, have a part two <3 part one is here again, look out for the borrowed hunger games lines

“You’ve ruined your life, you know that, right?”

The kitchen had been basking in the lull of the quiet morning before Eddie had spoken up, breaking the silence. Steve blinks, realising he’s been zoned out staring at the swirling bubbles atop his mug of coffee and look up at Eddie across the table.

“Doing what you did.” Eddie continues. There’s this slight in his voice. Steve figures it’s not really aimed at him.

Chief Powell had agreed to not release the details of the case to the public for obvious reason. However, it went without saying that of the cops working the case, not all would be so free-thinking. There were plenty who deemed leaking the alibi and letting the town devour Steve’s reputation a more than fair consequence.

And, well, Eddie didn’t have any reputation left to tarnish or save.

Steve takes a sip of his coffee and lets the warm flavour coat his tastebuds as he tries to puts his thoughts in the right order.

He knows how Eddie sees this— sees it as this burden that he’s imposed on Steve’s life. That he had been able to accept it at first, the whispers of freedom tempting enough that he could be selfish enough to gasp them.

Then yesterday afternoon, Steve had come back from Bradley’s Big Buy with dried yolks splattered across the windscreen and regret howled through Eddie like a hurricane, fierce and wild. Realisation of what Steve had condemned himself to— no- what Eddie had condemned him to finally sunk in.

Steve can tell he’s been stewing on it all night. In the couple weeks he’s been here, staying in under the Harrington roof just down the hall from Steve, he’s surprised by how easily his brain has tacked on to Eddie’s habits. His little Eddie-ism’s. That’s what Steve calls them.

Like how Eddie’s nose will twitch if there’s something on his plate he doesn’t like, but he’s too polite to say it.

How he thumbs up and down the edge of a book when he’s reading, completely entranced. Doesn’t even notice his moving, twittering fingers.

How he’s always so much twitchier the morning after a sleep laced with terror after terror. It gives him away before Steve even see the bags under his eyes, the hollowness of his face.

Steve recognises that one from himself, from back when he’d gone through it all for the first time. The flinch is unshakeable when you’re convinced it’s all going to come back— that the world is going to tear itself up and spit out monsters you haven’t even dreamed of.

Today, Eddie isn’t twitchy like that. He’s tired, a sunken in face that comes from a bone-deep aching tiredness. He picks at his breakfast, bitterly avoiding the eggs on his plate.

And Steve can’t pretend to understand how Eddie grew up — can take his guesses but ultimately won’t get near the experiences he knows Eddie has lived through. Steve has only ever been on the other side. Stayed silent while someone else through snide comments and used the word fag like a jagged blade, to cut someone down.

So, he doesn’t know. Not even a year with Robin as his best friend and all her knowledge could’ve prepared Steve for the startling fear he’d felt when coming out of the store to the sight of a group of boys around his car, cartons of eggs in hand. One with a crowbar.

They would’ve smashed his windows if he had come out a minute later, he’s sure of it.

It had been like getting doused in icy water — the Letterman jackets on all of them, the sneers, still jeering taunts as they’d scattered across the parking lot. Steve had felt the bile rise in his throat as he got in the car and sat, staring at the steering wheel, his slimy fear melting and mixing with his anger.

Eddie’s point of view suddenly resounded within Steve in a way he hadn’t known before. Standing on tables, hollering about conformity, leaning in to every foul rumour about him— like a person drawing to full height, making himself as big as possible, to scare off a bear.

Steve gets that a little more now.

So, when Eddie tells him you’ve ruined your life he knows what he’s trying to tell him. Except, Steve doesn’t know how to say lightly that he’d gladly ruin his life to save Eddie’s. It’s too much — but Steve always is. Always loves in these big heavy ways that are too hard to handle.

So instead, he shrugs and says, “Consider it a trade.”

Eddie cocks his head, like a dog, just an inch.

“For following me into the lake and saving my life.”

Eddie scoffs and his head lolls back dramatically like what Steve’s said is ridiculous. “Jesus H Christ, dude, you saved yourself. I told you that I would’ve been too cowardly to come after you if Birdie and Wheeler hadn’t gone in first.”

He mutters the word cowardly with a hiss.

“Well then, a trade for drawing the bats away.”

“You mean the time I nearly became hamburger helper for the bats?”

“Christ, Eddie,” Steve scoffs. “I didn’t take you as someone who fished for compliments so hard.”

Eddie frowns, dropping his fork with a clatter on his plate. “I— what? I’m not- I don’t even—”

Steve cuts in. “You helped us and you saved my life, whether your horrible little brain can admit that or not. So,” He sits back in his chair with another little shrug and sips his coffee. “Equal trade.”

Eddie frowns, a crease forming between his brows. “No, not equal, Steve. You don’t get what you’ve done you— ugh, you just don’t—”

He huffs, cutting himself off, clearly unsure of how to voice his frustrations. He slumps back in his chair and eyes the eggs on his plate again with a glare this time.

Steve waits a moment and hopes he isn’t overstepping when he says, voice quiet, “I know, Eddie.”

Across the table, Eddie’s eyes raise to meet Steve’s and he doesn’t sound smug, he doesn’t sound angry, he just sounds defeated when he speaks.

“Do you?”

“Maybe not quite the extent of it until yesterday but, yes… I know.”

His words sink it and Eddie looks… affronted. His eyes get a little wide and a tremble finds his lips. Like the whole time he’d been convinced Steve wasn’t sure what he’d been getting into, that the reality hadn’t set in— that any moment he would rescind his alibi and throw Eddie to the cops and let them snap the cuffs back on him.

Steve hates that expression. Loathes that Eddie is so surprised that anyone would do this for him — something as important as keeping him alive and out of prison. Steve hates it because he knows it means that somewhere along the way, somebody had convinced Eddie that nobody would.

So, if he’s got to be the one to convince Eddie that someone will— that he will make the effort, will put his neck on the line because… well, isn’t that what Steve does best?

He’ll do it gladly.

Eddie picks up his fork and stabs his fork into the egg, the buttery yolk spilling onto the plate. Steve takes it as a truce, as him meeting him in the middle.

"So,” Steve swirls the mug in his hand and swills another sip back. Swallows it and takes a page out of Eddie’s book and goes the joke, leaning forward, forearms on the table. “If I’m gonna be your boyfriend for the foreseeable future I should probably know more stuff about you. Y’know, like, uh, the deep stuff.”

Eddie’s sunk back down in his seats but at Steve’s final sentence, he perks up. A smirking sort of grin crossing his face and Eddie twists a piece of his hair in front of his mouth. He hasn’t kept eating yet, too focused on the conversation.

"Uh-oh, the deep stuff.” He’s got that teasing tone in his voice. “Like what?"

"Like...” Steve scrambles to pull something from his brain. “Um, what’s your favourite colour?"

“Oh well, now you've stepped over the line."

Eddie’s sarcasm melts into a chuckle as Steve laughs, ducking his head instinctively. When he lifts his gaze, he’s relieved that Eddie looks a little lighter. Not much but a smidge of difference — Steve can see it if he squints. He’s sure it won’t be the last conversation they’ll have about this but for now, it’s settled.

Curiosity piques in Steve and he tries to sound casual when he says, “No, really, what is it?”

Eddie blinks and curls his hair around his finger once more, tugging it lightly. He seems to be considering his answer, eyes dropping to the sweater Steve’s donning.

“Yellow.” He finally says. “Not mustard but, y’know, lighter. Colour of the moon on Halloween or…”

“Cheese?” Steve suggests.

Eddie laughs. “Yeah, the right kind of cheese, sure. What about you? Favourite colour?”

Steve considers it — for the longest time, it had been red because Tommy had told him that red or blue were the coolest colours to like, way back in third grade. No one has asked him since then.

“Pink, actually.” Steve admits, hand coming up to brush across his nose, trying to hide behind the motion. He envies Eddie’s long curls suddenly. He feels the need to explain, more words rolling off his tongue. “Like, y’know, when the sun starts to set, like all dusky, it’s just… nice.”

Eddie’s staring at him peculiarly, his lips parted yet quirked up in this faint smile. If Steve didn’t know any better, he’d call it awe. Breaking his stare, Eddie chuckles again, finally properly picking his fork up to finish his meal.

“Steve Harrington.” He murmurs warmly, more to himself. His lips twitch with a smile. “You just keep surprising me.”

—

some people wanted more 🤲 uh get tagged idiot - normally i don’t do taglists but u were all so kind as to reply to the post & i didn’t get a chance to say thank u for ur lovely words! this is my thank u! have sum more!

@friendlyorange @imhereforthelolzdontyellatme @lostinadmiration @life-love-musicaltheatre @oldlovershippiemusic5 @phoeniceae @catateme9 @lolawonsstuff @justagaypanda @pluto-pepsi @whoopstie @scenesofobx @justforthedead89 @musical-theatre-gay @theperksofbeingstjimmy @ikilledabuginthewall @imauselessartist @fridgebaby @lingeringmirth and uhhh @corrodedcoughin cos i still do a little squeal when u rb my tings even tho we’re mewchies :D

#ignoring the other characters rn lmao #i wrote it in a day. Sue me #something about like eddie being convinced that steve Doesn’t Understand #cos if he did he wouldn’t have done this!! #and steve being like i know eddie… i know #I Knew It And I Did It Anyways #steve’s puts-himself-on-the-line selflessness vs. eddie disbelieving he’s worth it #[street fighter voice] FIGHT! #uhhhhh does baby boy steve even know he likes men yet? probably notttt #¯\_(ツ)_/¯ #ruby writes steddie #steve x eddie #steddie #steddie fic #steddie ficlet #steddie hurt/comfort

[queers-gambit]

Lost and Found

prompt: ( requested ) you're just friends, but on your first night at Saltburn, you get lost in the vast halls and accidentally walk in on lover boy after a bath. he wants you to stay.

pairing: Felix Catton x female!reader

fandom masterlist: Saltburn

word count: 3.6k+

note: this SHOULD'VE gotten slutty, but it DIDN'T because i'm back in the hospital and the LAST thing i need is a nurse walking in on me writing fucking smut - oh, my God, can you imagine? new fear unlocked!

warnings: RIP Queen Lizzie, cursing, sexual tension, emotions are hard, Lord's name in vain, depiction of mental illness (anxiety), author throws in a little personal detail cause writing is therapy.

"Honestly, who lives in a place like this? The bloody Queen, that's who. Her and all her fucking rooms! Jesus!" You grumbled, dipping down another winding hallway. "All right, this looks familiar, that's... Encouraging, right?" You frowned, glass of water in hand after venturing to the kitchen to fetch it - but now, you couldn't navigate your way back to your room. "Of course," you growled quietly, opening a door and finding a linen closet.

How silly, in a place like this! A fucking linen closet!

You huffed and shut the door, feeling incredibly awkward and terribly misplaced. You mind screamed that didn't belong here, you never should've set foot in a place like this! How fucking foolish you felt, like a silly little girl who was just excited her crush spoke to her, let alone invited you home with him for the summer holiday.

But it was Felix fucking Catton - certified enigma. He was all man with a boyish charm who smiled at you on move-in day at Oxford and sealed your fate. He was ridiculously nice, so very sweet, borderline annoying with his giving nature and kindness. He was loyal to a fault, intuitive, observant, admirably carefree, and so very happy to give his love to anyone who needed it. For a few weeks, you felt almost offended by his attention, wondering what kind of broken soul he thought you were; knowing he had an affinity for "damaged" or "broken" things.

At least, that's what his cousin, Oxford's registered and certified catty bitch, Farleigh Start, teased you about relentlessly when he noted the way Felix hung around you. Felix invited you out with friends, offered to study together, walked you to and from classes - even if his were in the literal opposite direction. You had no honest idea how the two were related, given Farleigh's constant attitude and Felix's overwhelming kindness, but that wasn't for you to understand. You just relished the attention Felix bestowed in-between your skepticism.

And here you are, your first night in his home, Saltburn, completely lost and totally turned-around! You didn't need water all that bad, did you? Granted, you had a several tablets to take that evening to maintain your health, but you could've used the fucking sink in the adjoining bathroom! You grew frustrated the more doors you opened, finding empty rooms or closets or another fucking library or studies or whatever! As if this home wasn't big enough, there were multiple levels and all you knew was that you and Felix were both located on the same floor with his parents above you and his sister and Farleigh beneath.

So, that helped.

But you still felt so fucking silly.

Seriously, who got LOST in someone else's home!? Fools, that's who!

Okay, okay, okay, you didn't need to be so hard on yourself, but you grew nervous and fearful for a reason you didn't understand. Your anxiety was planted in your stomach, festering, growing, taking over you to the point that you had tears in your eyes when you found yet ANOTHER fucking study!

"Oh, even the bloody fucking Queen doesn't have this many useless rooms, and she's a much bigger family, Jesus fucking Christ," you sneered to yourself - ready to give up and just sleep in one of the empty rooms. But you didn't want Duncan finding you in the morning, asking questions, forcing you to admit you were lost - you felt humiliated enough as it was! And that was without anyone witnessing this absolute mess you had made!

Well, not technically a mess - but you felt like a mess the more you crept around. And now, you felt fucking creepy - like some stalker, sneaking around the halls, trying to spy on this very nice family. You knew you weren't, but the feeling was still there - fucking anxiety would honestly be the death of you.

However, you came upon a familiar (enough) door that had a gentle light emitting from under it. With a sigh of relief, you suddenly remembered leaving a light on for yourself to return to; reaching for the doorknob, twisting it, and darting into the room while swiftly swinging the door close - but halting it to shut quietly as to not disturb anyone in the empty halls.

Yeah, anxiety was a bitch.

"Ohh-ho, evenin', love," a voice greeted, making you gasp, jump, and twist around. "Miss me that much? Heard the drain on the tub, didn't yah, had to come sneak a peek?"

Felix fucking Catton stood at the end of a messy bed in all his glory, running a towel through his wet curls. Nothing obscuring your sight, nothing hiding his manhood, nothing - literally nothing on his body except a shit-eating grin.

"Jesus, Fi! Fuck, I-I-I'm so - um," you gulped, trying not to ogle him, but failing (miserably) when beads of water rolled between the contours of his impossibly impressively sculpted muscles. "I just - you know, this place is so bloody big - um, I'm sorry - I just... Yeah..."

He smirked, nodding sarcastically, "Uh-huh. And you just happened to stumble into my room? Pretty good timing, too, wasn't it?"

You squeaked, "I didn't mean to! I swear - Felix, I'm sorry, I really didn't mean to, um, yeah, you know - uh..."

"Like what you see, sweetheart? Why don't you come in closer, get a better look?"

You adverted your eyes out of respect and fumbled messily for the door handle. "Oh, sweet Jesus. Bloody house is just too bloody big, I got all turned around - just needed some water and I just - fuck, I'm sorry - "

"Hey, hey," Felix chuckled, wrapping his towel loosely around his hips so his V-line was still on raunchy display, "I'm only teasin', love. I know this place can get confusin' t'newcomers. I actually meant to grab you some water, know you gotta take your tablets."

You swallowed your embarrassment, sighing, "I'll just - yeah - no - I'll, um, just go - I'm so sorry, again."

"You know where you're goin' all of a sudden?"

You faced the door, not wanting to make him uncomfortable, shaking your head gently, "Well, no, but I'll figure it out - I left a, um, I left a light on, you know, to help - I don't know - uh, guide me?"

"You've not stuttered this much since we first met," he laughed, tugging a pair of boxers on for your sanity (and to your dismay). "I'm dressed, doll, you can look at me now. C'mon, bit weird talkin' to your back."

"We're not talking, Felix, I'm going to bed."

"Then why haven't you left yet?"

You blinked at the intricately carved door, realizing your hand was still on the knob, but it hadn't turned. "I didn't want to be so rude as to just walk out, mid-sentence!"

"Hey, hey, you're all right, darlin', I'm only teasin'," he grinned, hearing his bare feet pad over the ground before his warm hand wrapped around your elbow. "C'mon, love, hang with me a bit - 's not that late, is it?"

"Oh, so, Duncan can walk in? Make his assumptions?" You whispered, slowly facing him and leaning back on the door with a pout. His big, brown, doe-eyes stared directly into yours, making you feel under his spotlight - something akin to a privilege, since Felix Catton didn't bestow his attention on everyone. "I just needed water, I didn't mean t'get, you know, lost like this. Seriously, this place looks totally different at night."

"Surprised you even got this far, huh?"

"I looked in any room with an open door," you admitted with a small wince. "I felt so creepy, but I was all turned around - and you know, you shouldn't leave other lights on in rooms not being used. Terrible waste of energy."

"Awh, my sweet, environmentally-conscious girl," he cooed, hand raising to gently pinch your jaw. There was a serene moment, the pair of you just staring at one another, becoming acutely aware that he was still practically naked. "C'mon, don't leave yet, we can play cards if you like?"

"I've medicine t'take - "

"Right, right, right," he nodded, letting his hand drift to hold your neck in a gentle grasp. "Tell you what, you stay here, I'll grab your meds, and bring them back? You keep 'em in that li'l pink bag, yeah?"

"I don't know how to feel that you know which is my med bag," you narrowed your eyes playfully.

"Just shows I pay attention, don't it?"

"Maybe shows we spend too much time together?"

He kissed his teeth, grinning at you, "There's no such thing - in fact! I reckon we could double our time together and it still wouldn't feel like enough."

"Well, how's that help me later? I still don't know where my room is - oh, don't laugh!" You groaned, Felix snickering louder. "Fi, c'mon, it's not funny - this place is huge! Like, illegally huge!"

He cooed, "Oh, doll, 'M not laughing at you, promise. Just... You're not the first person t'get lost here, yeah?"

You scoffed with severe discomfort, "I really don't want t'hear 'bout all the other girls you've brought home - "

"Hey, now," he cut you off swiftly, "don't do that." He shrugged meekly, "There's been no others, just friends. Mine, Farleigh's, Venetia's... They've all gotten lost once or twice... Or that time we had to actually draw Reggie a map, poor lad got lost around every bend."

You rolled your eyes, "Truly expect me to believe that, do you?" Then you let your eyes widen a fraction, teasing, "Oh, wow, you really believe it! You really believe you haven't brought home other girls who you're interested in or who are into you?"

He crowded you into the door, shifting the room's energy to something sultry, making you hold your breath as his hand slid into your hair. "You know you're the only one, right?"

"You know that's absolute bullshite, right? Like, what a fucking line!"

He tisked, "C'mon, doll."

"Be honest, Felix."

His head cocked, "Want the truth?"

"That'd be a nice change of pace."

He scoffed lightly, "I don't give a single fuck if any of our previous guests cared for me - only you. Hear me?" He took the last step so he was stood with his feet slotted between yours. "I didn't bring them here for any other reason than friendly entertainment. You've seen the place, as big as it is, can get a bit lonely without anyone to hang with. But I asked you here... For different reasons..." He whispered, eyes jutting down to your lips as he kept a firm hold on you.

"And what reasons are those, Fi?"

He smirked, "Obviously... To kick your arse at cards."

You were flooded with pure disappointment. Raw, unfiltered disappointment that deflated your shoulders. "Yeah, right, like that would ever happen," you covered, nudging him a single step away from you. "Wanna be a gentleman and direct me to my room now?"

"Nope," he grinned, snatching your hand and yanking you away from the door. "You're gonna sit your pretty self right here," he nudged you to the edge of his bed, turning for his desk, then turning back to you to slap a deck of cards to your hand, "you're gonna shuffle these, and mentally prepare to get your arse handed to you at your own game."

You chuckled slightly, "Thought you hated 51 Rummy?"

"Only when sober," he smirked, leaning down to peck your forehead sweetly. "Sit tight, doll, I'll be a moment, yeah?"

You sighed and watched him exit the room, reaching to set your glass of water down and observe the room. In a moment of weakness, you pet over his sheets as if tempted to snuggle into them - and you were! You were cold from the lack of robe you meant to shrug on, and wondering the halls of Saltburn took much longer than you anticipated - now wanting to dive into the warmth you knew was left, the same warmth that Felix left on everything.

You jumped when the door opened again, Felix slipping inside with your little pink bag. His brows pinched, "All right, love?"

"Hmm? Yeah - "

"Your feet are nearly blue," he shook his head, handing you your bag before turning for his wardrobe. "Socks or sweats?"

"Huh?"

He turned, holding up a pair of sweatpants and socks, repeating, "Socks or sweats? Figured you're a bit cold in that." The left side of his mouth quirked up in a smirk, eyeing you in your sleep shorts and loose teeshirt that had the collar ripped out, showing a hint of cleavage.

"Oh, uh, socks, please."

He tossed you the socks, dropped the sweats, and joined you on the bed as you pulled the oversized garment onto your feet. "C'mere, get close, get comfortable," he chuckled, pushing his blankets down to sit in the sheets, waiting until you turned in the bed to yank the blankets up over both your legs. "Didn't shuffle? My naughty girl," he joked, reaching for the deck of cards and opening it. He offered a much softer smile, eyes darting to your medicine bag, and then focusing on the cards - as if to give you privacy to take your meds.

You did so quickly, insecure about the rattling bottles and the amount of tablets in your cupped hand, but never once had Felix made you feel bad about your needs. After swallowing them, you cleared your throat and turned to face Felix as he divided the cards for the game, nodding to his side table, "Paper's over there, doll, for the score."

"Sure you want me to keep score?" You asked softly, reaching for the pad of paper and spare pen. "Last time we played, you lost so very miserably, I was embarrassed for you. We can save your pride a li'l, not keep score."

"It's only polite to let the pretty lady win."

"Oh, tryin' to butter me up, are you?"

"Is it working?"

"I'll let you know."

Felix chuckled, leaning back to the headboard. Then, he asked softly, "You feelin' all right?"

"Hmm? Oh, yeah, all good."

"Sure?"

"Why?"

"Hands are shakin' a bit."

You eyed him for a moment, changing the subject by asking, "How're you not freezing? Seriously, 's like the floors are air conditioned."

"Nah, just not cold."

"Your nipples say otherwise."

"Lookin' at my nipples, are you?" He grinned. "Now you're a very naughty girl, knew you didn't stumble into my room on accident!"

"Oh, don't flatter yourself!" You pushed his shoulder, but he leaned closer. "Felix - "

"You could just stay here," he offered softly.

"You got me for a game - "

"No, I mean, uh..." He chuckled to himself, shaking his head and readjusting so he was supported on one elbow, facing you. "Nah, nevermind, all right, so, back to the game - "

"No, wait, say what you're thinking," you encouraged softly. "Know I hate you doin' that."

"Yeah, you get all anxious," he nodded. "I don't want t'be too forward, all right? But... You know, we sleep together at Oxford. I-In the dorms, you know?"

"Yeah, and?"

"Just thought, maybe you'd wanna stay here? With me? If you want, won't make yah, sweetheart, just thought... You know, in a house this big, you wouldn't get so lost stayin' here... Maybe?"

"Oh, aren't you my hero?"

"I know, I know, I'm just tryna look out for you, my li'l lost love. And, you know, prevent you from finding our secret dungeon," he gasped comically.

"That's not even a joke 'cause I'd believe it in a place like this. Is it a dungeon for torture or sex?"

"Wouldn't you like to know."

"Maybe I'd like to see it. Hm," you considered, "maybe I should stay here, you know - so you can show me around and go get me water when I need it. Save my toes from freezing off, wonderin' 'round here."

He grinned, "Yeah?"

"If it's not too scandalous?"

"'S not like anyone would care... Except me, you know? I'd... I'd like you to stay here. Like havin' you close, sweetheart."

"Well, maybe you could put some clothes on? You're terribly fucking distracting! I'm here to win a card game, and I'll be damned if you win 'cause your abs are... You know, staring right at me, you cheater," you grinned, turning to face him fully with your legs crossed, the space in the sheets open for your cards.

"I think you like me naked," he grinned. "I mean, you stared long enough."

"I was just caught off guard!"

"Oh, I'm sure," his grin turned wicked. "You're still staring, doll."

"Well, it's not as if you're quick to cover yourself!"

"You're not too quick t'look away, either!"

"I was - "

"Caught off guard, yeah, you've said," he chuckled, staring at you with those moony brown eyes that made you feel as if you were the only girl he's ever seen. "Maybe I liked you lookin'."

"Is that so?"

He nodded slightly, "Yeah, not such a bad thing. You're kinda the only one I want lookin' at me like that, anyway."

"You absolute cheesehead!" Your laughter was quiet, trying not to tip Duncan off to your antics.

"You know, they're not just for lookin'," he perked his pierced brow at you. "Feel free to touch whenever you want, too."

"Hm, always knew you were a slut."

He gasped dramatically. "Is that anyway to talk to your host? Especially after giving you refuge from the big, scary, confusing halls?" Your eyes rolled and reached out to pushed his forehead, making him rock back into the pillows and headboard - but he was quick to snatch your wrist as he fell. You were yanked across the slim space, pulled so you were directly resting onto his chest; forearms bracing against his pectorals. He grinned, caressing the back of your head, teasing, "'Ello, love."

"You're a fucking fiend."

"And you're so fucking beautiful."

"I'm already stayin' here, Fi, you don't have to lay it on so thick."

He hummed, "You know... If you were mine, you'd get this treatment all the time. I can't stop - you're just so easy to compliment."

Feeling bold, perhaps from being so close and him being nearly naked, you whispered, "Then maybe you should stop shuffling your feet, grow a pair, and ask me already."

He paused, the moment turning soft as you relax against his body; stretched out the length of him, but still remaining propped on his chest to look down at his sweet face.

"Was a bit afraid to, actually, love."

"Why?"

"Haven't felt like this with anyone," he admitted, "'s just so fuckin' easy with you. Organic, authentic, safe... I was afraid to ruin that, destroy the rapport and friendship we've established. I care about you so much, I just wanted you in my life - no matter what variation that was. Being just my friend, being my girl, just want you with me. Didn't want to jeopardize anything."

"Hm," you considered, nodding slowly, "I get that. Think I felt something similar..."

"So, what do we do?"

"I think we be adults about this," you offered. "If you just want to be friends, we'll stay friends, Fi, but we don't blur lines like we have been. And if you want to give this - us - a try, I think we could. 'Cause you're you, and I'm me, and if things don't work out, we can just go back. Right? Adults do that sorta thing, don't they?"

"Not entirely sure, don't feel like an adult most days," he breathed, petting his fingertips down your cheek. "But I know I want this, with you. I swear, since you came into my life, I've felt - " He paused, shaking his head with a growing smile, "Free? Elated? Light as air?"

"Mhm, I know the feeling," you repeated.

"We doin' this?"

"That's up to you."

"I think it's up to us, actually - "

"I mean, you've gotta ask, Fi, not just assume."

"If you reject me in my own house, in my own bed, doll, I'm gonna be fucking crushed!"

"Oh, my God, just ask me! You fucking knobhead!" You laughed, leaning your head on his chest. His other arm moved behind his head to keep it propped up, looking at you with so much adoration, it knotted your stomach. The hand that had been in your hair drifted down to keep a secure hold on your waist; fingers scratching in soothing motions.

"Wanna be my girl?"

"Hmm, I think you could phrase it better."

He grinned brightly, "Would you be my girlfriend?"

"Oh, that's a little too formal. Maybe try - "

"Oh, c'mere, you," he growled, swiftly using both arms to seize under your arms and literally drag you up his body. "C'mon, baby," he whispered, lips ghosting yours, "be my baby."

"Fuck, no, that's way too cheesy!"

"I thought you liked me cheesy?" He gaped, your hand petting his cheek now; shoulders straining to keep you upright, over him.

"Correction, I love you cheesy," you whispered, lowering your head to press a quick kiss to his lips. He hummed in relief, but you pulled back to promise, "I'd love to be your girl, Fi. Only took you the whole bloody school year, didn't it?"

"Hey, good things to those who wait, right?"

"Don't quote Professor Mercy at me when we're in bed with barely anything on, Jesus fucking Christ," you grumbled, unable to restrain your grin when he pulled you in for another kiss - but this time, stealing the breath right out of your lungs.

Maybe getting lost in Saltburn was more beneficial than you originally thought, and maybe Professor Mercy and ages of philosophy was right because this felt like the absolute best thing, and you'd wait a hundred lifetimes if it meant having Felix in your arms - like he was now, kissing you like it was his lifeline.

How extraordinarily warm, you felt, to be lost in this world, in this extraordinary home, and found, by Felix fucking Catton.

requesting rules and masterlist

Saltburn masterlist

#felix catton #felix catton x reader #felix catton x fem! reader #felix catton x you #felix catton x y/n #felix catton imagine #felix catton fanfic #felix catton fanfiction #felix catton fluff #felix catton saltburn #saltburn felix catton #saltburn felix #saltburn #saltburn 2023 #saltburn movie #saltburn fanfiction #saltburn imagine #fix it felix #felix catton request

[astroph1les]

more than study buddies | h.c

summary: you’ve had a crush on hazel for yearsnow. after you get partnered with her in mr.g’s class, she asks you to come over to study for the final exam. tired of not being able to act on this crush, you turn to isabel for some help in seduction. you attempt a few of her tactics but it seems that hazel doesn’t really seem to be that interested. or so, you think until you’re straight it forward with how you feel.

pairing: hazel callahan x fem!reader

contains: mature language, mature content, smut including — oral (fem receiving), fingering (fem receiving), hazel being an absolute teasing dom bc i said so, mrs.callahan almost catches reader and hazel but is saved by a locked door, reader does not know how to flirt to save their lives, isabel & josie being cuties and supportive of hazel and reader, no y/n!!!

a/n: i hope everyone enjoys. this is my first time ever writing about a sapphic character so i hope it meets expectations. thank you! :))

word count: 7K (i got extremely carried away)

You and Hazel shared Mr.G’s class. It didn’t take a genius to notice that Hazel was insanely attractive with her mullet rocker hair, insanely sharp cheekbones, and big blue eyes that had you blushing at just the thought. After being assigned partners for the ‘Death of Women in History’ section for Mr.G’s class, you two had got to talking more and more about each other.

First, that Mr.G’s class really made no sense a majority of the time and that you had no idea how he even got hired. Hazel agreed but pointed out that at least it was an easy class. Along with looking cool, Hazel just was so fucking cool. She knew taekwondo, how to build a bomb (you didn’t question why or how she knew how to do that) and how she blew up that douchebag Jeff’s car after cheating on Isabel, who had also become close friends throughout the year, with Hazel’s mom.

You were pretty sure that was extremely illegal but didn’t even have to comment on it to tell that it pissed and disgusted Hazel off beyond belief.

You were surprised to find out that she didn’t have a girlfriend nor had she ever had a girlfriend. This made you more hopeful for a chance with her. You gushed to Isabel as you had been doing all semester about Hazel once class ended.

“Oh my god, you are obsessed with her,” Isabel teased you as you walked down the halls. “You know, if you want, I could for sure give you some tips on how to hint to her that you wanna be more than just friends.”

This made your eyebrows raise in interest. You weren’t really the flirty type in any way. You were the type to repress your crush on someone for as long as you could until it eventually went away. Rejection clouded your confidence as soon as you even considered confessing to your past crushes.

“Oh, I don’t know,” you awkwardly chuckled, shrugging your shoulders. “I think we’re good now a-as friends.”

“Is that what you tell yourself when you're jerking off to the thought of her?” Isabel deadpanned causing you to blush.

You whip your head around the halls to see if Hazel or if anyone associated with her was around. You would rather die than have her hear that.

“I told you that happened one time!” You sneered through a whisper at the freckled girl.

Isabel continued to just stare at you unamused at your lies. The two of you approached your locker and there across the way was Hazel wearing a cozy brown sweater and green pants with her low Doc Martens. She was talking to Josie about something you couldn’t quite make out from a distance. Just seeing her made those memories of the many nights you’ve happened to use her as some inspiration to get off.

Many, many nights.

“Okay, a lot more than once but shut up. She is right there.” You sneered at your friend, glancing at Hazel once more before opening your locker to place your textbooks for the day.

As you do, you notice Isabel raise her hands up in defense before ogling at her Josie.

“Now go and talk to your girlfriend. I can see you eye-fucking her from here.” You poke at her gorgeous head of hair with a gag as she hugs you quickly, reminding you to FaceTime her tonight so that you can work out exactly how you could seduce Hazel.

Isabel happily walks over and throws her arms around Josie’s neck to kiss her softly. Hazel visibly grimaced at how heavily the kiss progressed in such a short amount of time before removing herself from their space.

“Hazel, hey,” you call out with a grin, hoping you didn’t scare her.

Hazel sighed out of relief at the sight of you which, of course, made your smitten heart thump.

“Shit, I’m glad I caught you actually. Mr.G’s test is coming up in about a week and I was wondering if you wanted to start coming over to study for it,” Hazel proposed and you felt your throat close up.

“Like a…. study-date?” You question carefully.

Hazel shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly. “Sure, yeah. So tomorrow after school? We can walk to my house.”

You blinked once, trying to process what you already agreed to. You nod with a deep inhale, a nervous smile that you hoped looked normal to your crush for years now.

“I’ll see you tomorrow then,” she reached forward to place a hand on your shoulder before walking away.

Your eyes followed her figure as you waited until she completely disappeared in the crowd of students leaving for activities and to go home. You inched forward to Josie and Isabel, lightly tapping on Isabel’s shoulder in a panic. Isabel audibly groaned and detached herself from Josie to look at whoever was tapping her but when she saw you, her face softened.

“What—“

“Hazel just invited me over tomorrow to study for Mr.G’s test. I don’t know what to do. What the fuck do I wear?” You express in a panic, messing with your middle finger ring as a sort of comfort.

Josie raised a finger up and shrugged. “Maybe study? I don't know…” Her voice faded out as her girlfriend then stared at her warningly.

“No, I am coming over tonight,” Isabel removed herself from Josie who just gaped at you and the honey haired woman. “FaceTime is not enough. Bring your best outfit ideas and I’ll help with seduction techniques because, no offense, but you really need it.”

“Wait, wait, wait, wait,” Josie interrupted with a grin already forming, “you like Hazel?”

You raised a fist to punch her shoulder and point at her. “Shut up, Josie.”

“Oh my god, babe, you seriously haven’t noticed? She’s jaw dropped and drools every time she’s around.”

“Okay, whatever, jesus. Yes, I do and I’m freaking out right now because I really like her and she’s so fucking hot and not only that, she’s actually a really nice person. God, I want her so bad.” You stress yourself out as you think about how tomorrow evening was going to go.

Isabel glanced at you with a grimace as she understood your struggle. She reached forward to pat your shoulder, not knowing how else to comfort you.

That same night, Isabel made her way over to your place to help you pick out an outfit. The two of you went through every single item in your closet. Isabel gave you one single tip on the clothing options for seduction; cleavage. It should’ve been a given in your eyes but being told it would for sure.

So, deep within the old, thrifted clothes, Isabel found something you completely forgot you had bought on a whim. She pulled out a soft pink cotton dress that was practically lingerie as the boob area was lined with lace.

“Isn’t that too dressy for a study date?” You proposed to Isabel.

“Definitely but it’ll make your tits look amazing.” Isabel emphasized, motioning to your chest.

Did your tits not look amazing on every other day?

So, the next afternoon after the last bell rang, you rushed to the bathroom to change into that said dress, quickly smoothing down the front to lessen the wrinkles from how you shoved it into your backpack. You glanced at your cleavage and Isabel was right about how great your tits looked.

They were a pretty average size but the lace and slight lift on the top area made your confidence rise a bit. Walking out of the bathroom, you spot Hazel leaning on your locker. A black and white zig-zag button up, a black opened vest on top with a medium wash of blue jean and a pair of creme white Converse.

Her chains shine very faintly against her neck which shouldn’t have driven you insane as it did.

You move yourself into her eye-line with a friendly, innocent grin. Hazel’s brows raised in your direction then furrowing at your obvious change in attire.

“Hey, you ready to go?” She asked with slight confusion in her tone.

“Yeah, sounds good,” you nod.

“Oh! I was able to get my mom’s car today so we don't have to walk for, like, half a fucking hour.”

The news caused you to internally sigh in relief. You were wearing Converse which weren’t exactly the most comfortable for walking miles. Plus, you didn’t want to try and seduce your way into Hazel’s heart.

The whole drive was quiet as you, in all honesty, completely forgot about every single thing that Isabel had told you to do. It’s not your fault that Hazel looked ridiculously attractive behind the wheel, driving with one hand gripping the wheel with the windows down.

It looked straight out of a fucking rom-com. You couldn’t help but gawk at the way the wind blew her rocker hair wildly, exposing her sharp cheekbones. The soft melody of a random radio station playing in the background really just made it full circle.

Maybe you could start here and compliment her.

“You look really nice driving,” you blurted out, wanting to vomit already at how fast and loud the words left your mouth.

Hazel’s face twitched in confusion for a moment, glancing over at you with a slight grin.

“Nice?” Her tone was teasing. “Thank you, I think?”

“Yeah, of course,” you nod, embarrassment flooding through your veins.

Yeah, you didn’t say anything else the rest of the drive to her house. Pulling up, you tug the ends of the skirt of your dress down so you don’t flash her. You peaked over at her as she put the car in park, checking her out as discreetly as you could.

Hazel walked around the front of the car to open the door for you as you reached for the handle, catching you off guard. You froze for a still second before flashing her a flirty smile.

“Thank you. You didn’t have to do that,” you inform Hazel who had an arm raised and rested on the opened door.

“You’re the guest.” Hazel shrugged with a small grin before adding on, “also, it’s jammed on the child’s lock for some reason so I have to open it from the outside.”

This made your expression falter but you attempted to hide it. You threw your backpack over your shoulder as you stepped out of the car. Hazel moves out of your way to motion towards the front door. Or doors, in Hazel's case.

The walk to Hazel’s room made your heart sink. The confidence that had been waving in and out of your system had fully disappeared into thin air. Hazel strides in front of you, turning a corner to the egg-white wooden door to her room. She opens the door and moves out of the way, again, to let you in first.

“Just make yourself comfortable.”

You haven’t been comfortable since you walked into the house. Hazel sets her backpack down on the ground next to her desks' swivel chair. As she turned around, you tugged the front of the dress down to reveal your cleavage more for her to notice.

This is where it had to begin.

Setting your bag down in the same area, you brushed your hair out of your way and leaned on the desk with one hand. You made sure to make your arm press into the side of her boob to accentuate the front of the dress. Hazel turned to find you there right behind her, eyes widening and blinking once out of surprise of how close in prolixity you had become.

Then, Isabel’s advice came echoing in your mind.

“Compliment the smell of her or her room. Or even both. I know I love when people let me know how good I smell.”

“Hey, you know your room smells really good. It smells like you,” you smile, looking her up and down and leaning in closer. “What is it?”

Her room did, in fact, smell like some sort of fragrance mixture of woody, mahogany, and sage with a hint of lavender. Hazel glanced around the room before her eyes landed right where you had been wanting her to look; right at your tits.

“Uh, thank you. I have no idea. Probably ‘mahogany teakwood’ or some shit like that.”

You nod, mentally noting that. Hazel, then, got out all of the material needed for Mr.G’s class. Shit, you haven't even packed a notebook. Isabel gave you the confidence to assure you that something was going to happen.

Fuck.

Hazel was already getting out different colored pens and pencils, laying them out on her desk. You pretend to look through your bag, faking a sigh and groan as you continue your act.

“Damn it,” you muttered.

Hazel was quick to notice your frantic rummaging before asking, “what’s wrong?”

“I completely forgot to get my notebook so I can’t really study. I’m sorry.”

“No, you’re fine,” Hazel reassured, a kind smile on her face. You hated how much it made your head spin. “Here— shit,” she dropped her notebook while handing it to you. The clumsiness made you smile; not making fun but in admiration of how cute she was.

Isabel was painfully right. You were obsessed with everything about her, it was concerning sometimes.

“I got it. Thank you,” you tell her as you bend forward to pick up the notebook from the ground, looking up at her from the ground.

Hazel’s eyes find themselves locked on your cleavage again. She nodded, clearing her throat and twiddling a pencil around her fingers skillfully.

“Yeah, of course.” Hazel smacks her tongue against her teeth. “We should probably… get to it though.”

You nod to yourself, clutching the notebook in a way that has the metal spiral digging into your palm. How were you going to seduce her when she actually wants to study?

“Right, yeah,” you respond, glancing over at her made bed. A thought filled your brain as you pointed to the bed. “Hey, is it okay if we get on the bed? It’ll probably be more comfortable that way.”

Hazel glanced at her bed then at you before nodding without hesitation. “Sure, yeah.”

The tension in the air was indescribable. When you were studying by yourself in your own room, you were usually blasting music on your speaker or in your headphones to the point of everything else around you becoming insignificant. There was complete silence in the room which made you even more nervous to be with Hazel in her room.

The two of you then sit on the bed; Hazel prying off her shoes to sit criss-cross on the bed and you lie down in front of her, one arm holding up your head and the other writing down mindlessly. Hazel actually seemed to be writing and studying while you were just scribbling your name down in different fonts. She had no idea how much you had been zoned out and bored.

That is until after half an hour of ‘studying’, Hazel asked you a question about a topic she was writing about.

“Oh, uh,” you look down at the paper and then back at her.

She was staring at you, waiting patiently for some sort of answer but she glanced at your graphite covered paper to see what you had been doing this entire time you had been here. Embarrassment begins to flood your system as you meet her gaze.

“Have you been writing your name over and over again?”

“Yeah…” You trailed off, having no defense whatsoever. You were bored, on the verge of giving up seducing Hazel. Might as well just tell her the truth. “I’m sorry, Hazel. I… never wanted to really study.”

Hazel chuckled and nodded her head towards the scribbled piece of paper. “Yeah, I noticed but why’d you say yes then? Did you wanna just… hangout or something?”

As you were about to open your mouth to ramble out some stupid love confession, Isabel’s voice echoed in your head.

“If you can’t do the subtle, seductive route, be honest about what you want. Some people hate it when they dance around what they really want to say or do. Be direct.”

You sucked in a deep breath, sitting up so that you were sitting across from Hazel with one leg hanging off of the bed. Your socked foot accidentally nudged her pant leg as you straightened out your back, making sure to keep eye contact with her.

“I want you, Hazel.” You kept your voice clear and lowered a bit to let her know that it was in fact in a sexual manner.

Hazel’s face dropped and you were already conjuring up an ‘it was a joke’ or ‘I’m just messing with you’ until she tilted her head with a smile.

“In a sexual and romantic way,” you emphasized with a grin.

“Is that why you changed into a dress after class?” Her tone was in its usual teasing way.

“What do you mean? I was wearing this all day.” You lied straight through your teeth but your grin gave away that you were being sarcastic.

Hazel just shook her head at you, muttering something under the lines of ‘such a tease’ as she leaned forward to press her lips onto yours. You blushed at both her words and how quick she was to kiss you. Her lips felt gentle and smooth against your own.

You inhaled and picked up a rhythm as she cradled the back of your neck with her hands. You were a bit intimidated by how experienced she was with her movements even though she had told you that she had none. Not that you were calling her a liar but she felt so fucking good.

Your hands awkwardly sat on your lap, not knowing where else to place them. This position made your lower back ache and not in a good way. You pull away from her slick lips, sucking in a deep breath.

“Can I,” you begin but hesitate for a moment. “Can we change positions? I’m sorry. My back is aching.”

You both softly chuckle at your question but it didn’t feel awkward. No, it felt more comfortable than anything. In fact, she shoved all of her school notebooks and pens on the ground with a cheeky grin.

“You can sit on my lap, c’mere.” Hazel scooched up further on the bed so that she was resting with her back against the bed frame, her legs straight out.

You blushed at the sight of her slightly slick and red lips and flushed cheeks. You forced yourself to follow forward and straddle Hazel’s legs. Her hands immediately found your waist, thumbs rubbing at the skin through the fabric.

“I’m not too heavy, right? Like it doesn’t hurt your legs?” You ask softly, placing your hands on Hazel’s shoulders.

“No, no. Trust me, this feels really good.” Hazel makes her point by running her palms up and down your sides than to squeeze at your thighs.

Your skin heats up as you feel her rings indenting into it with her soft grip. To hide your blush, you pull her into another passionate kiss. Your hands find her neck while she holds your waist, slightly rocking them forward. You let out a noise of pleasure as you feel her tongue swipe past your bottom lip.

Hazel began to smile against your lips after the noise left your mouth and she pulled away to then kiss at the skin underneath your jaw. You hum at the feeling of her lips sucking and biting at the skin. The room’s atmosphere was filled with the two of you letting out the gentlest of sensual sounds to egg each other on.

“Hazel,” you whine, rolling your hips into hers desperately.

Hazel detached herself from your neck to glance down at the way you were moving against her. She pecked at your cheek, placing her hands on your hips encouragingly. You noticed this glint in her eye and it was clear to you that she was turned on by how you were trying to get off on her.

“There you go. Just like that. That feels good, yeah?” Her tone raising a little with that stupid fucking smirk on her face.

“Please touch me.” You begged, a wave of desperation falling over you.

Hazel shook her head, obviously taunting your aroused state. “I think you’re doing good right now, pretty girl. Look at you, fuck.”

“Please,” you whispered, leaning forward to capture her lips onto hers.

Hazel pulled away to instead kiss right above your left boob, looking at you through her eyes to make sure you were okay with what she was doing. A slight nod was all Hazel needed to continue her journey down. She uses one hand to move the straps of the delicate dress off your shoulders.

You watch her tug down the top area of the dress to expose your bare chest. You try not to make it known how nervous you were for this. No one has ever seen this part of you and Hazel meant a lot to you in so many ways already. She gently takes them into her palms, a shiver running down your spine at the contact of her cool rings.

“You’re perfect, you know that?” Hazel hummed, now looking into your eyes.

It sounded so sincere and kind, you could shed a tear.

“Perfect?” You tilt your head to the side, no humor behind it. There was genuine curiosity if she meant it.

“Yeah, you are,” she pecks your lips once before placing another peck to the top of your tits. “I’m not just saying that because your boobs are in my face, by the way.”

This causes a soft laugh to erupt from your chest, leaning forward to rest your forehead on her shoulder. Her hands rub up and down your back soothingly as she chuckles along with you.

“Okay, I’m sorry.” You remove yourself from the comfort of her neck, pushing your hair out of your face.

“It’s okay. I just wanted to let you know that. Make you comfortable.” Hazel held your waist, looking between both of your eyes then your lips.

“I am. I just am really turned on right now.” You take your lip in between your teeth, adjusting yourself to grind once again on her lap.

Hazel took the hint and took one of your nipples in between her lips, sucking and licking on the bud. You gasp softly at the feeling, pushing your chest forward into the warmth of her mouth. You took one hand to brush her hair out of her face, moaning softly.

You were panting at the overwhelming feeling of her lips sucking and kissing at both of your tits and her hands gripping hungrily at your waist. It felt like so much but not enough all at once. You just wanted to be engulfed by this feeling; of Hazel.

“Can I go down on you?” Hazel asks softly, pulling away from your sensitive bud.

Your eyes widened at her words and tried to get out of your lustful haze. Your head felt clouded and not able to focus on anything other than this erotic feeling.

“I—Yeah. You really wanna?” You reply, a wave of both excitement and nerves flooding through your body.

“I really want to. If you’re not comfortable, though, that’s completely okay.” Hazel reassured you, kissing you gently on the lips. “We can keep doing this because trust me, this is really good too.”

You can’t help the smitten smile that spreads onto your lips. You hated how much you loved the bare minimum treatment she was giving you.

“No, I want to. I just— how do you want me?” You stare at her, waiting patiently.

Hazel bit her lip as she thought for a mere second before glancing to the empty space next to her. Hazel cupped your face once again to place a soft kiss to your lips. When she pulled away, you were quick to chase after the addicting taste of her. She pulled back with a teasing grin, moving her hands down to squeeze at your ass once.

“I’m gonna go and lock the door. Lay down for me, okay?”

For me. Fuck, she wanted to send you into cardiac arrest.

You nod and remove yourself from Hazel’s lap to sit down on the mattress. You could feel the wet patch on your underwear now that you were distracted by how your crush for years was sucking on your tits. Hazel rushed to lock the door, pushing her hair out of her face.

When Hazel locked her eyes on your figure on the bed, she sucked in a deep breath as if she was trying to keep her composure. She removed her open vest and her button up so that she was left in her white wife-pleaser and a black sports bra.

You could feel yourself getting wetter by the second in anticipation.

“You are so gorgeous,” Hazel tells you as she approaches the bed once again.

She crawls in between your open legs so that you are face-to-face. You answer by pressing your lips to hers. You crossed your arms around her neck to tug her more onto your body. Hazel moved her lips against yours, moving a hand from your neck to the skirt portion of the dress. She lifted it up so that it was resting around your stomach area to expose your black lace underwear you had worn for this.

Hazel hooked one finger underneath the waistband of the panties to snap it against your soft hips. You gasped at the feeling, in both pleasure and shock. Hazel pushes up on her arms to move down your body. She presses wet and attentive kisses down your chest and makes her way down to the plush of your stomach.

You sucked in out of habit so that you hoped you would appear thinner. You didn’t even realize earlier how exposed you were going to be. Hazel did take notice of the sudden tense feeling on your stomach as she kissed right above the waistband of your underwear.

“Hey, you gotta relax for me, okay?” Hazel mutters to you, hands kneeling into your soft thighs.

You sit up on your forearms to look Hazel in the eyes. “Sorry. I’ve never had anyone down there. I’m sorry if I look bloated or smell down there or—”

“Hey, it's okay. It’s okay. You look beautiful, okay? And as for the smell, its not supposed to smell like fucking vanilla or flowers. Men made that shit a standard because they’re fucking idiots.” Hazel’s words really set in your head as you tried to push away all the negative and harmful words that were telling you weren’t skinny or pretty enough to be doing this with her. “If I didn’t want to do this, I wouldn’t be.”

You nod slowly, watching as Hazel places feather-soft kisses onto your inner thighs. She was so attentive to every single sensitive part of your lower region. She kisses right over that wet spot on your underwear before taking the waistband of your underwear and tugging them down. She flings them somewhere in the corner of her room.

You want to close your legs out of instinct but you hold them open. Hazel leans down onto your pussy, placing a soft kiss onto your clit. Your hips shift at the feeling but you try to keep your composure. She looks up at you as she licks one stripe through your folds.

“Oh, fuck,” you moan softly, chasing her tongue for more.

Hazel continued to move her tongue through your slick folds, her hands gripping onto your thighs to hold you there. Your breathing was heavy and a slight layer of sweat began to form on your hairline and your lower back. The obscene sounds coming from your pussy only encouraged Hazel to pick up her movements.

You ran a hand through her hair as you felt it tickle at your inner thigh. Her eyes locked with yours as she sucked at your clit, waiting for pretty sounds to leave your lips. You whine and rock your hips against her mouth.

“You taste so good, baby,” she breathes against your slick folds. “So fucking good.”

The praise went straight to your core, your naked chest rising and falling as you were overwhelmed by her grip on you and her tongue hungrily moving through your folds. You tried to squirm away as you felt that familiar feeling in your lower abdomen.

Hazel wasn’t letting that happen, though. She slipped her pointer finger into your entrance slowly, lifting her head up to watch your reaction to this new feeling. You nodded at the feeling of something inside of you, jaw dropped as you didn’t realize she had kept her rings on. Feeling incredibly pathetic and needy as you clenched around her finger, you rocked your hips down as if that would make the pleasure increase.

“That feel good, pretty girl?” Hazel’s voice breathy in arousal, pumping her finger with one hand and keeping a tight grip onto your thigh to hold you open.

“More, please. Haze, I need to cum, please,” you begged, not even responding to her question.

Your mind was too clouded with the endorphins releasing from how good she was making you feel. Your hips kept grinding against her, feeling so out of your normal state of mind. Your lips were kiss-swollen and hair was beginning to frizz from the beads of sweat that were forming at your hairline.

“You look beautiful like this. All fucked out for me, honey.” Hazel did as you had begged for, her pointer and middle fingers were now pumping inside of you.

Her hair, too, was frizzing up beautifully from the humid air that had been filling the room. Her chest and cheeks had a gorgeous pink hue to the pale skin from the lust. Her lips and chin were coated with your arousal. How could she be complimenting you when she looked like she came straight out of porno magazine?

“Really? I’m the beautiful one when you look how,” you pant in disbelief, “you do? Fuck, Haze.”

In response to this flirtation, Hazel adjusted so that she was face-to face with you once again and pressed her lips to yours. You moan softly against her at the taste of your own slick on her swollen lips. Hazel’s fingers curled into you to hear those moans that she could have on repeat if it was possible. You pulled away to keep your lips ghosting over one another to breathe heavy moans into your mouths.

“How do I look, hmm?” She taunted, her eyes flickering all around the features of your face.

You whine, trying to kiss Hazel again to avoid answering. She just pulled back, curling her fingers against your g-spot teasingly to purposely drive you insane. You were so fucking close and she’s asking you this now?

And as if things couldn’t go more awry, you hear a rather loud knock on the door.

“Hazel! Is everything alright in there?”

Hazel’s movements freeze for a moment as the realization sets in that her mom is just on the other side of the door. You glance at the door than at Hazel who was heavily breathing along with you.

“Yeah, mom, why? I’m just doing…” Hazel glances at you and smirks for a moment. You roll your eyes as you know she wanted to say your name as a joke. “Homework. Just studying right now.”

Waiting for a response from her mother, Hazel resumed the thrusts of her fingers. She even picked up the pace of her thrusts and you knew it was because of this thrill of almost getting caught. Fuck, and it really wasn’t helping your attraction to her.

You scrunched up your brows at the pressure building in your abdomen as you force the moans itching at your throat back. Hazel had this lustful glint in her eye as she watched your hips sputter as she knew you were so close to cumming. She could feel how much you were clenching and hear the soft ‘please’ and her name falling from your lips.

“Okay, well, I swore I heard someone else in there. Is there someone else in there?”

You almost felt bad for Mrs. Callahan as you were getting finger-fucked by her daughter while she was just on the other side of the door. Almost.

Okay, you didn’t give a fuck.

“Yeah, a friend. She’s helping me study for Mr.G’s final exam.” Hazel borderline shouts back before leaning down to kiss at the underside of your jaw.

“You’re doing so good for me. You’re gonna cum, pretty girl?” You nod, eyes watering from how good she felt and not trusting yourself to speak at the moment. You were whispering and begging for her to make you cum, the build-up becoming overwhelming.

“Did you guys want anything to eat? I can go and get some pizza?”

“Yeah, mom. Sounds good. Pepperoni is great. Okay, love you. Bye.” Hazel rushes out her words.

You reach your hand down to rub at your sensitive clit as Hazel pumps her fingers harder. Hazel moves your hand away to replace your hand with her own, wanting to make you cum on her own. You let out a shaky moan, a string of ‘please’ leaving your lips.

Your hand reaches down in between your legs to grip onto her wrists, trying to push her hands away from the overstimulation. Your back arches and chases the feeling over how hard you were cumming. Your thighs tried to clamp her hands still but she didn’t stop whatsoever, wanting your cum to lather her fingers.

“Haze, please, please. Fuck, right there.” You beg through dry sobs, cumming quicker than you could comprehend.

Your head went numb and your body went weak as shivers ran down your spine. Hazel watched as your hips eagerly chased the high, stuttering as you were slowly coming down from the orgasm.

“There you go, baby. Just breathe. You did so good. So, so good, yeah.” Hazel leaned down to kiss your soft lower stomach, slowly removing her fingers from your cunt.

Hazel refrained from groaning at the sight of your climax dripping out and lathering her fingers and rings. Her main focus was taking care of you right now.

“I need a nap,” you huffed as you raised an arm to cover your forehead.

Hazel chuckled softly, leaning down to place sweet and gentle kisses to your cheeks and then lips. “How about you pee for now and then we could take a nap? I don’t want you to get a UTI or something.”

You nod, agreeing with her. You take a deep breath in and out as you sit up slowly. Hazel watched you carefully as she continued to caress your sides and thighs.

“You have a private bathroom right?” You wonder as you stare at the door you entered from.

If Hazel’s mom was still home, you couldn’t fathom having to interact with her after what had just happened in this room.

“Yeah, it's right next to the closet over there.” Hazel jerked her head to a door that looked identical to the entrance to her room.

You nod as you should’ve seen that earlier. A sudden silence fell over the two of you; almost tense. Do you kiss her? Do you hug her? Do you ‘thank her’? No, thanking her would be so fucking weird.

Just get up and pee, you freak, jesus.

Hazel watched you move your straps back onto your shoulders and covered your tits that she wished she had spent more time on. You get up from the bed, turning your head to flash her a gentle smile, muttering that you would be right back.

“I’ll be here.” Hazel grins, pointing to her bed.

You open the bathroom door with a soft blush, shutting the door behind you. You locked eyes with your reflection and raised a hand to cover your mouth in shock. Your mascara was smudged under your eyes and your lips were a bit puffy and red. And god, your hair was a mess.

You looked fucked out.

You were fucked out.

A part of you wanted to take a photo and send it to Isabel to show her it worked a lot better than you thought it would go. You shook your head and quickly used the bathroom, washing your hands. You dry them off on a towel, trying to keep your composure from flashes of what had just happened.

You adjust the skirt and top to your dress, wiping underneath your eyes to smoothen out the black mascara. You swing open the door to see Hazel sitting on her bed on her phone. She looked up as she noticed the bathroom light turn off and how you were standing silently to yourself.

“Hey, are you feeling okay?” She turned her phone off and tossed it to the side, her eyes trailing up and down your body.

“Mhmm. Yeah, just tired, honestly,” you reassure her as you sit down next to her on the mattress.

“Do you want to take that nap now?” Hazel smiled kindly, turning her head to look at the head pillows.

You couldn’t help but smile at her too. Why did she have to be so attentive? Not that you were complaining but god, you couldn’t believe she was even real.

“Maybe not nap but I wanna lay with you, if that’s okay?” Your tone was hesitant as you didn’t know what you guys were going to be after this.

“Like cuddle?” Hazel’s tone was hopeful and kind.

You nod and the next thing you know, Hazel is holding you close with your legs intertwined. One of your hands was on her chest, twiddling with her necklaces while Hazel’s hands were rubbing up and down your back. In the midst of the domestic silence, you pressed gentle kisses onto her neck and she reciprocated the pecks onto your temple.

You could stay here forever.

“Hey Haze?” You murmur onto her skin, watching goosebumps rise to her skin.

Hazel hummed in response.

“Are we, like, dating now?” You avoid looking her in the eye, anxiety clouding your thoughts.

“I have to take you on an actual date but yeah, I want to be.” Hazel shrugged her shoulders, acting cool about it but you could pick up by her tone that she was being genuine.

You purse your lips to hold back the giddy smile, snuggling further into her chest. Hazel cupped the side of your face, pressing her thumb underneath your jaw to tilt your head up and capture your lips into a gentle kiss.

After inhaling the pizza that Mrs. Callahan had bought for you guys, you impulsively decided to spend the night. You and Hazel lazily made out and whispered in the late of the night tangled in her sheets.

The next morning at school, you and Hazel walked in side by side. Your pinkies were just barely brushing against each other and you were wearing one of Hazel’s sweaters with your jeans from before you changed into your seduction dress.

Isabel was waiting by your locker to hear all the details as you refused to text her last night after what had happened. She was talking to Josie, smiling as she listened attentively to whatever her girlfriend was telling her about.

You look at Hazel with a soft smile as you approach Isabel and Josie.

“Ignore how they will act when she sees us together,” you warn Hazel quietly.

Hazel nods, making eye contact with Josie who was already sporting a knowing grin. You deeply inhale as you stop in front of the couple.

“Morning guys.” You politely say, sending Isabel a warning glare.

Her eyes were locked on Hazel behind you, a smile forming on her freckled face. Josie and Isabel both mutter ‘mornings’ back, eyes never leaving Hazel who just stared back with a tight-lipped grin.

“So, you two are coming to school together? How exciting.” Josie bit her lip cheekily as she rocked side to side, the smile never leaving her face.

“Well, you know, I hate polluting the air so saving the environment by just riding together,” you turn around to face Josie, tilting your head with a smile.

Isabel nodded. “Right, so how was that study session guys?”

You and Hazel locked eyes with flushed cheeks as you could still feel her lips on your body. She left a permanent mark on your psyche. Hazel looked down with a smirk, shrugging her shoulders to play it off as if it was a minor occurrence.

“Actually, it was very informative. Exploring lots of new things about women,” Hazel glanced over at you then at Josie and Isabel with a confident grin.

Your eyes widened for a moment, nodding along to her words. You glance at Hazel, wanting to kick her in the shin but you just continue to add on the conversation.

“Yup. Ladies learning about ladies. I love feminism.” You give them a thumbs up.

Isabel’s eyes squinted as she glanced between you and Hazel. Before she could add on another comment that would make you feel even more tense, the bell rang for your first period.

“Shit, I gotta go. I forgot my first period is on the other side of the school.” Hazel rushed out, tightening and adjusting her grip on her bag.

“Oh, I’ll see you later, okay?” You turn to her with a small smile.

You tried not to sound too clingy as you were already missing her presence. Hazel reciprocated the smile before leaning in to connect your lips into a soft kiss. You close your eyes and almost forget where you guys were until you heard a soft ‘oh my god’ that came from Josie.

“Try not to miss me too much, baby,” she mutters against your lips.

You nod, feeling like your brain was short-circuiting. When Hazel pulled away, she turned to the other pair, raising a hand to wave them bye.

“I’ll see you guys.” Hazel walks away with a confident pep in her step as she rounds the corner of the hallway.

Yeah, you were done for. Thank God for Mr.G’s class.

taglist: @ptolemaeacles <33 for you

#hazel callahan x reader #hazel callahan #bottoms movie #sapphic #wlw #hazel is cocky as fuck

[rainba]

What's Rightfully Mine (Yan. Kairos! x GN! Reader)

A/N: OOuuuhh... I've read over this a billion times and I figure I may as well go ahead and upload it. ^^;;;;;;;;;;;; Matching artwork with the story...! Woohoo! (*´▽`*)

TWs: very graphic depictions of violence, disturbing yandere behaviors, mild gore, kidnapping, 18+ content....... Kairos being Kairos. Slight mention of virginity (but it's just Kairos' virginity) MDNI.

Wordcount: 2300~

((And thank you @x-v0id-x for reading over the fic for me before I posted it!!! ☆:.｡.o(≧▽≦)o.｡.:☆ ))

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Kairos never meant for this to happen. 

He swears up and down that he never wanted to do it– he promises that he never intended to hurt anybody.

But he did anyway.

However… Can you blame him–?

You are Kairos’ one and only, his soulmate, his beloved, the reason he breathes, the reason he wakes up every morning, the reason why he’s still alive– you’re his everything! Was he supposed to just let you run off into the arms of another man without even attempting to fight back...?!

The way you looked at that filth– that disgusting, foul, no-good other man… It made Kairos sick to his stomach.

What even was that guy’s name...?

(####)? (######)? (######).

Yes, that’s his name, Kairos is sure of it.

It repeats itself in Kairos’ mind over and over again, piercing his skull like a blade that twists and twists until he’s left screaming for mercy at the top of his lungs.

“G-get out of my head! Get out! Get out get out get out! Leave me alone!”

Countless nights end in him violently waking up from the same nightmare– a nightmare where you and (######) run off together while he helplessly watches. And in the nightmare, you smile so brightly, but you’re only smiling at that bastard. It’s like Kairos is invisible as he desperately crawls towards you. He’s sobbing and begging for you not to leave him, but it’s as if you can’t hear him.

However, (######) can.

(######) spits on him, jeers at him, then laughs as he carries you far, far away.

In Kairos’ nightmares, the other man stomps on his neck as he spits out callous remarks.

“Nobody could ever love you.” He sneers.

“You’re nothing but a disgusting freak.”

Kairos knows he’s heard these things before– but he can’t remember who once told him that.

He feels so powerless when imagines you with (######) as he sleeps, and he can’t stop himself from thinking about it when he’s awake– it’s a never-ending tragedy that haunts every second of every day. The bags under his eyes have grown horrifyingly darker. Kairos had to make this stop.

He was desperate.

Kairos didn’t have a choice as he broke into that man’s house, sneaking in through the first-floor window and trudging down the darkened halls.

Kairos didn’t have a choice as he crept into the shadowy bedroom with a silver blade placed firmly in his hands, his back pocket harboring a rag soaked in chloroform.

The two of you were sleeping together so peacefully– you and that disgusting bastard.

That man looked so carefree; his chest rising and falling at a perfectly even pace. His arms were wrapped so warmly around you, holding you close in a tender embrace. The blankets covered your lower halves, and the man’s face was buried in the back of your neck.

The scene was so peaceful. Way too peaceful…

With tear-stricken eyes, Kairos couldn’t help but wonder: “why can’t that be me?”

Why does this man get to live a happy and carefree life, but not him? Why does this man get to hold you tightly in his arms, and not him? Why… Why… 

Why does Kairos never get what he wants? 

This feeling– this god awful feeling that Kairos is constantly haunted by: envy.

Envy… The one emotion he’s all-too familiar with. He doesn’t want to feel this way anymore– for once in his life, he wants to have something, and not just yearn for it.

In this moment, he knows that the only way to obtain happiness… 

Is simply to take it by force.

Kairos had to be fast– because if the man woke up before he could stun him, then he’d be quickly overpowered.

Before he focused on taking him out, Kairos tiptoed over to your side, his gaze softening for just a moment. He pulled out the rag from his back pocket and placed it gently under your nose, covering all your airways. He knew he had to wait a few minutes– he had to make sure that you won’t wake up any time soon. So, while he stood there, he lovingly petted your hair and left little kisses on your forehead. When he was certain that the chloroform settled in, his heart started to tighten in his chest.

Adrenaline struck him like lightning as he snuck around the side of the bed, his purple eyes locked in on his target. For the first time in his life, Kairos was no longer the victim.

Nervous sweat dribbled down the sides of his face as he held the blade up high, positioning the pointed end towards the man’s exposed throat. Kairos could have turned back– he could have easily put the knife away and let you both go free. But he loved you too badly. He needed you too badly.

This was it.

He jabbed the knife deep into the man’s neck, hoping that would prevent any screams.

And it worked.

(######) jolted awake in horror as his mind raced to figure out what was happening. He threw his hands onto the wound and tried so desperately to stop the bleeding, but it was futile. It was so, so futile. Gurgled sounds bounced off the walls as a bloody rampage ensued right beside you.

Seeing the red gushing out flipped a switch in Kairos’ mind. He doesn’t know why he lost control– he doesn’t know how it happened– but it did.

Kairos’ vision went black as he fully jumped on top of the bed, plunging the knife into (######)’s body over and over and over again.

Slash, slash, slash.

A horrifying symphony: the sound of flesh being sliced apart.

The man’s muffled cries were like music to Kairos’ ears.

He choked and he gagged, whimpered and wailed, but coherent words of pleas were unable to escape his mouth. Every time he tried to kick Kairos off, Kairos would stab him in his legs. Every time the man tried to push him off, Kairos would slash the palm of his hands. Kairos thought for sure that he’d be overpowered, but the adrenaline in his veins gave him strength that he never knew he had.

And there was blood.

Blood everywhere.

“M-mine, mine, mine… They’re mine...!” Kairos mumbled manically under his breath, his focus flipping back and forth between you and his victim. But– it wasn’t just Kairos that looked over at you. Your partner did as well.

His shimmering eyes stared at you longingly– so lovingly... Too lovingly.

It made Kairos’ blood boil.

Through gritted teeth, he spat out, “n-no, you don’t get to look at them...! Don’t look at them ever again!”

Then… Slash.

The silver knife plunged deep into his eyes– thick blood spewing out from the wound.

Kairos can barely remember what happened after that. All he knew was that, eventually, the man ceased to struggle.

His black hoodie was now soaked in blood- his quivering hands completely red. It dripped from his cheeks and onto the corpse beneath him– the entire world was spinning dizzyingly fast.

(######)’s body was painted in deep lacerations, and his face was disfigured to the point of him being unrecognizable. Something about it was so… So…

Exciting.

 It was done now. It was over.

There was nobody in this world who could take you away from him.

And the thought of that made him smile.

Kairos laughed– he laughed so joyously, laughed so carefree.

Kairos’ mind was an incoherent mess. A horrible, horrible mess.

And he doesn’t know why it happened– he doesn’t know how it happened– in one moment, he was attacking that man, but in the next…

“M-mine… Mine… You’re f-finally mine!”

His pale hands were shaking as they savagely tore away your thin clothing. Kairos pushed your ex-lover’s corpse onto the floor as he kissed your lips with the intensity of a starved animal.

Your lips were so much softer than he imagined– so much sweeter, too. He couldn’t contain his excitement anymore– after all, this night marks the beginnings of a new and wonderful life!! 

And now, he also just gave you his first kiss! 

The silver light of the moon was glowing on his face, illuminating the dark red blood that stained his skin. He was a monster– a selfish freak that craved your love more than anything else.

There really was no rhyme or reason to anything Kairos was doing. At that moment, he just wanted to feel good; he needed to feel your warmth.

In one second, he was desperately humping your leg while holding your hips in place. In the next, he was kissing your stomach and fervently licking your chest. He knows that you can’t feel it, but that’s beside the point– he uses this time as practice, so that when you are awake, you’ll be feeling nothing but bliss! And besides… You just taste so good; he can’t help himself.

Kairos kisses and bites at your neck and collarbone, leaving behind a faint trail of needy marks. Without thinking, he pulls out his cock and begins to jerk himself off. He parts his mouth and rambles to himself.

“I’ll… I’ll m-make sure nobody finds you! Nobody!”

Kairos sticks out his tongue and licks over your left nipple; he does it a few more times before fully sucking on it. The lewd act sends a shiver down his spine.

It’s so hot, so naughty, and ultimately entirely new to him. He’s never been so turned on before.

“W-we’ll live happily together, alone in my apartment! And you’ll be s-so happy!”

He speaks as if you can hear him– and deep down, he almost wishes that you could. Kairos crawls up further onto the bed and digs his knees into your shoulders, the shadow of his cock looming over your perfect face. It’s so close to you– so, so close– god, he still wishes you were awake right now. But he knows you’d fight him off if you knew what was going on.

“I’ll f-feed you every day, and– And I’ll learn how to cook for you! I– I can watch videos online… I promise I’ll learn… J-just for you!”

He strokes himself even faster, soft wet sounds echoing off the bloodied walls. Kairos lifts the chloroform rag away from your mouth but keeps it over your nose. He presses his tip against your lips as he keeps going, his precum slowly dribbling down your chin.

“W-we can make love every single night...! I’ll… I’ll make you feel so, so good… I…” A shiver runs up and down his spine as a whiney moan escapes him.

“M-my virginity… It’s… It’s all yours...! Ahh…” 

His eyes squeeze shut as a hot sting of pleasure surges through him.

“D-doesn’t that sound wonderful!? I’m all yours, my love!”

Kairos pushes his cock a little closer to your lips– but he does it a bit too aggressively, the tip of it scraping against your teeth. God, he would give anything for you to suck on it– even if only for a fraction of a second.

“Th-then we can have a family one day!! I’ll– I’ll get my job going, I… I’ll m-make more money! Lots of money! W-we can adopt… We can…”

With his one free hand, Kairos reaches down and begins to stroke your hair, leaving blood stains all throughout it. 

“J-just us two, only u-us two… Nobody… Else!” 

The pace of his hand quickens as his head starts to tilt backwards, his breathing growing out of control. His chest heaves as he erratically chases his high, yearning so badly to feel it hit him all at once.

He can’t help but imagine how wonderful the future will be– your all's future together. Then he imagines the way you’ll be all tied up in his bed, completely naked and vulnerable for him…

Just like you are now.

“F-fuck..!”

It’s all too much– Kairos’ cock twitches as he cums all over your face, some of it pouring into your mouth and on your cheeks. He squeezes as much of it out as he possibly can, craving to see you drenched in it. Throughout it all, you still sleep so peacefully… All thanks to the chloroform.

He can’t help but think that you look so cute when you’re knocked out and covered in his cum.

Ah… if only he could draw you in this state.

Even though he so badly wants to collapse by your side and cuddle you, he knows that he has to move. There is quite literally a dead body in the room and blood on his hands– he has to clean up.

And he also has to find a way to sneak your body to his broken-down car outside.

Very reluctantly, he kisses you on your forehead, smiling sweetly. “I’ll… I’ll be back, my love!”

After a while of stumbling, he finds himself entering the bathroom.

When he looks in the mirror, his eyes widen partially in horror. Kairos knew this side of himself existed deep within him… He knew there was a disgusting monster that laid dormant in his chest, but he had never before seen it come out so fiercely.

His pupils were small, his purple eyes hauntingly beautiful. And on top of that, he was grinning.

It was the first time he had genuinely smiled in weeks– maybe even months.

Kairos turned on the sink to wash off his face, but he only seemed to be making more of a mess. Blood streamed down the sides of the sink and pooled in the drain. Despite how macabre it all was, he just couldn’t stop smiling– because now he has everything he could ever want: you.

All to himself… Forever.

Until death do you part.

#teehee #silly kairos moment #yandere oc x reader #yandere #yancore #yandere male #yandere fic #male yandere x reader #yandere boyfriend #yandere x darling #kairos art

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

the girl next door 1

Warnings: this fic will include elements, some dark, such as age gap, manipulation, chronic illness, noncon/dubcon, coercion, and other untagged triggers. Please take this into account before proceeding. It is up to curate your online consumption safely.

Summary: A new neighbour moves in and upends your already disarrayed life.

Author’s Note: Please feel free to leave some feedback, reblog, and jump into my asks. I’m always happy to discuss with you and riff on idea. As always, you are cherished and adored! Stay safe, be kind, and treat yourself.

This lewk but silverfox

“Mom, we should get going,” you say as you check your bag.

Your mother sits at the table. It’s cluttered as always. You can see her inhaler amid the mess. Wait, there’s another one. You cross the kitchen, only two steps, and grab both inhalers. You feel the subtle difference between them.

You take both, putting the full one back in the medicine cabinet and the other in the disposal bin. The doctor said the inhalent would help with your mother’s dopamine levels, balances her out a little, but the new treatment only seems to be another symptom of her disease. She hates doing it, she hates all of it, but you can’t blame her for that.

“We can’t be late for the consultation. We’ll be waiting another six months,” you come back to the kitchen.

She looks at you as she wobbles slightly. The tremor is more prominent than before. Each day you notice it more. All the little things changing about her. She’s a bit slower, her words don’t come easy or always clearly, and her mood grows grimmer and grimmer. So does yours.

You grab your purse and the keys. You’ll clean up when you get home. It doesn’t take very long for living to pile up though. Especially when you’re the only one to keep it in order.

Your mother grips the table and stands up. Getting her dressed was a battle already won. Her posture is slightly crooked as she shuffles around the table, “I’m moving.”

You step back, waiting patiently for her to round the table. She grumbles. Your mother was never bright and bubbly but ever since her diagnosis, she’s lost any glimmer of warmth. It’s like she’s living in a fog, just slowly wading through.

You walk down the hall ahead of her and pick out your shoes from the rack. As you kneel to tie your sneakers, she leans on the wall and slides her feet into the orthotic flats. She’s not very old yet. Neither of you expected her to decline so quickly.

You stand and open the door. You back up though the screen door and hold it for her. Her steps get a bit smoother the more she moves around. The permanent scowl sinks into the lines of her face as she comes out onto the porch. You lock the door behind her as she grunts and leans on the railing, stamping down each step to the walkway.

You follow behind her. That’s another problem. The lawn. The old mower broke. You haven’t been able to replace it.

As you trail your mother to the car, she swats you away. Sometimes you try too much for her. You know she must feel helpless. You back up as she sits heavily in the passenger seat and your eyes skim around the neighbourhood. The white sign on the lawn next to yours catches your eye.

You remember the finely dressed woman, her very image on the sign, and how she grimaced at the weeds and grass. If she’s going to sell the property, the neighbours shouldn’t be living in a jungle. You heard her say as much over the phone as she paced back and forth on the porch.

You mother pulls the door shut but it doesn’t click. You give it an extra push to secure it and round the hood. You get in the car and turn the key, rolling down the windows as the early summer morning crowds the tight space. Your mother mutters and wipes her forehead with a shaky hand.

“Let’s just go,” she sneers, “waste of my time...” she bends her arm over the open window, her fingers quivering, “damn doctors said it enough. Nothing they can do. Charlatans.”

“Mom,” you chide gently, “the surgery could help. If you qualify--”

“I heard ya last night,” she snaps. “Just drive.”

You nod and snap your mouth shut. You shift into reverse and back out of the drive. You know better than to talk too much. Your mother never liked hearing anything she didn’t want to hear. Facts are just an attack on her.

You steer down the street slowly, following the curve of the suburban street. The green lawns and white picket fences are palatial at first glance. It’s a 1950s fever dream implanted in the twenty-first century.

Your house is the black stain on an otherwise pristine canvas. The HOA must curse your grandmother for her leaving a perfectly nice home to a pair of beatnicks. You don’t blame them. You’re the puzzle piece that doesn’t fit, leaving a gaping hole in the picture.

The radio crackles on and you wince. Your mother struggles to turn the knob and the volume pendulums up and down. You reach to help her and she smacks your hand, only softly as she has little strength behind it. You retract and grip the wheel, listening to buzzing struggle of her unsteady. You just hope the appointment goes well.

🏠

Your mother hasn’t said much since the appointment. That worries you. What should be good news is just another dark cloud over her.

She sits as she often does; half-reclined in the chair by the window, watching the neighbourhood just outside the pane. She’s just a resentful of the picture-perfect neighbours as she if of everything else. As she is of you.

You tidy the kitchen table as the unsaid dangles in the air. You know better than to bring it up. She barely acknowledged it when the doctor said it. She’s a good candidate for surgery but it isn’t a cure. It will help with the symptoms but not stop them altogether. It’s not good enough for her but it might just be her only hope of relief, even if temporary.

“Bring me a coke,” your mother calls through and you hear the hollow tin clatter of an empty can.

You bring the dirty dishes to the sink and set them beside it. You go to the fridge to grab a red branded can and let the door shut on its own. As you enter the living room, your mother sits forward, the recliner snapping forward with her weight. She leans on and elbow as she squints through the window and cranes over the armrest.

You pick up the old can and put the new one on the small table by the chair. She sits back and takes the Coke, trembling as she struggles to crack the tab. You know better than to help her. The curl in her lip warns you better.

“Someone’s looking at the place next door,” she says.

“Oh?” You move behind her chair and try to the next house. You can only really see the edge of the porch from here. You could open the side window but that would give more than a view of the siding and might be too obvious. “New neighbours.”

“Eh, if it sells. Could do better without these stuck-up prissy bitches running around measuring grass,” she growls of the Home Owners’ Association.

You nod. She’s right. You’ve had to deal with that nosy blonde too many times.

“We’ll see,” she mutters as she finally gets the can open and slurps. “Just hope it’s not another bitch.”

You cross your arms and step closer to the window. You sense movement just beyond your vision and the realtor in her pantsuit comes down the front steps of the neighbouring house. She turns back to face someone you can’t see and speaks to him. Their words are garbled by the barrier of window and wall.

The woman smiles and spins to strut down to the sidewalk. A man follows after, a slow stroll in his long legs. He turns to face the house again and puts his hands in his pockets as he looks up at the facade. His eyes narrow as he considers it.

His gray hair is streaked with remnants of its former blond. If it wasn’t for the colour of his locks, you might not have guessed his age. He’s tall and his shoulders are broad. He’s built finely for any era.

Your mother leans forward again, “heh, lookie there,” she slurs.

She leers through the window as you stare blankly out. A new neighbour just means another person to complain about the lawn; or another person for your mother to complain about. The man pivots on his sole and pauses, his gaze set in your direction. You don’t think he can see you, not with how the sun reflects off the square panes. He stalls for just a moment before he turns complete, striding up towards the realtor.

You back up and retreat toward the kitchen. You mother hums as she continues to snoop through the window. The recliner squeaks beneath her as she shifts in the seat.

“Bit old for a family man,” she tuts.

#dark steve rogers #dark!steve rogers #steve rogers #steve rogers x reader #drabble #series #the girl next door #au #silverfox au #mcu #marvel #captain america

[cryptidghostgirl]

Can I request a part 3 to "unrequited"?

A/N I honestly was not planning another part to this story. I'm just gonna... leave this here. (Pls don't hate me guys. This is so genuinely the only path I could think of for this story that I liked.)

Unrequited pt. 3 (Alastor x Reader)

Pairing: Alastor x Reader

Warnings: Um. Alastor is dark/yandere in this part. Uh. Unhealthy relationship. Yeah.

Word Count: 2,094

Previous Parts:

Unrequited (Alastor x Reader)

Unrequited Pt. 2

Master Lists:

Master Lists 

Hazbin Hotel Master List

Alastor had cornered her in the hall. The years, the games, the challenges, none of it was fun anymore. It all came to an end tonight. There was no other option, not when she could die tomorrow. The angels were coming, and they were coming for the hotel.

"I don't want you here tomorrow."

"What!?" Y/n exclaimed in utter shock.

She hadn't known what to expect when Alastor had stopped her as she made her way downstairs to the bar. Everyone was supposed to be having a drink together, celebrating their afterlives that there was a chance they might loose. She didn't know what to expect but, she certainly hadn't expected this.

Alastor had been acting weird lately. He was always weird but ever since the day with Husk in the hallway, he'd been weird even by those standards. He was always finding something for Y/n to do that put her near him, always watching. It was irritating. They had been fighting a lot and Alastor still had yet to apologize to Husk.

"I don't want you at the hotel tomorrow. You are not coming near this fight."

"What the fuck, Alastor?" Y/n nearly stamped her foot on the floor, she crossed her arms and glared at the demon, "I... these are my friends. This is my home. I will do what I can to protect it."

"No, you wont. You wont be here." he paused, "I will use our little deal to make sure of that, if need be."

Y/n scoffed. Her anger was a fiery, radiant thing. Alastor found himself thinking she had always reminded him quite a bit of a lioness when she got like this. The thought had been an accident, he couldn't afford to be distracted. Not when these were the stakes. Alastor pushed it away.

"You fucking... literally why? Like, what? I... sorry, just taking me a bit to process this: the demon who tricked me into selling my soul to them is now going to use that contract to take me, a valuable asset, out of a war which we cannot afford to loose?"

"Yes." Alastor nodded.

"Because?" Y/n prompted in irritation after a moment.

Alastor sighed.

"Y/n, think about what could happen if you are here."

"The same thing that could happen to any one here!" Y/n threw her arms up in exasperation, gesticulating her frustration as she spoke, "The same thing you're forcing on Husk and Nifty, have you had this chat with either of them?"

Alastor didn't respond. It was all the answer she needed.

"Yeah, I didn't fucking think so!" she scoffed, "So it's okay for everyone to risk their lives -- it's okay for you to risk your life even, but not me? Its okay for you to force my friends to risk their lives, but you're going to force me to stay out of it? Listen to yourself, you sound ridiculous."

"We don't need your help. You're slow, you will only hold us back."

The comment he had hope would dampen Y/n's spirit, bend her will into submission, only added to her fire.

"I'm... that's bullshit and we both know it. I might be small, but so is Nifty. Everyone has skills they can offer. I know how to fight, how to survive, and we will have angelic weapons for Christ's sake. Like, I really don't understand what the issue your having is here."

"Y/n, just... no." Alastor shook his head, a hand to his temples, "No. You will not be here tomorrow. I forbid it. I'm sending you to stay with Rosie."

"What am I, your kid?" Y/n sneered.

Alastor looked over at her, his hand falling from his forehead.

"Just please, Y/n." he took a step forward, pulling her hands into his. Alastor took a deep breath. "For me."

Y/n's eyes went wide. Alastor could see the conflict, the swirling emotions. Anger turned to grief, mixed with gratitude, and became anger again. A never ending cycle.

His heart pounded against his chest, it fought him valiantly for release. It had been so long. So long since she'd looked at him with anything other than disgust, so long since she had let him touch her like this.

Y/n settled on confusion as her dominant emotion and pulled her hands from his grasp. Alastor mourned the contact, his hands still held up in the air where hers had met them as Y/n took a step away.

"Why."

It wasn't a question. Y/n commanded information and at the end of the day, he may own her soul but she owned his heart. Alastor felt like in some way, she always had. He couldn't bear the thought of loosing her but, he didn't know if he could handle the rejection either. There was no way, no chance, she would believe him if he told her too much of the truth but, lying wouldn't work either. It would have to be a careful balance, a calculated withholding of information. Too much was riding on tomorrow, on tonight, on this very moment.

"Because I don't want you to die."

Y/n's brow furrowed even further, their eyes growing wider still as she stumbled another step back. Her back was nearly against the wall now, there wasn't anywhere else she could go.

Her eyes flitted around the space fervently. Her lips formed words that never left her mouth. Alastor watched, stress eating him alive. At last, Y/n did something. She brought her hands to her head and sunk to the floor, her knees pulled into her chest.

"What are you doing to me." she muttered softly, just barely loud enough for him to hear.

For what felt like the thousandth time, Alastor felt a little piece of his heart fracture off. He didn't know how much more he could take of this before there was nothing left to break, nothing left to loose. She looked up at him, her hands still holding either side of her head and her eyes wet with tears.

"Why do you care?"

Alastor's breath caught in his throat. There was an insistence in her voice, a pleading. He stood in indecision for a moment, frozen by want, by need, by fear. His body took over as he took a step towards Y/n. Alastor kneeled down in front of her.

With great care, with a familiarity and gentleness Y/n hadn't felt from him in years, Alastor untangled her fingers from her hair. He held her hands in his once again and this time, he wasn't going to let go.

"Because I care about you."

Shock at his own bravery emanated from his chest. Alastor held his breath.

"You..." Y/n's eyes hardened, "I wish you'd stop messing with my head like this. Its not funny."

"Y/n, I'm not messing. I am not playing a game, I'm not..." Alastor sighed, letting go of one of Y/n's hands and running his hand through his hair as he looked to the side.

Taking a deep breath, he turned back to face her, grabbing her free hand once again.

"I don't know what I can do to prove it to you, that I'm not. But I will keep you safe. No matter what, you will not be here tomorrow."

"Please, Alastor."

His heart stopped. He couldn't recall the last time she'd asked him for anything that wasn't to leave her, Husk, and Nifty, alone. He couldn't recall the last time she'd seemed to fragile in his arms.

"Please, they're... they're my family. I can't..." a single tear rolled down Y/n's cheek, "I can't just leave them."

"I..."

There was a moment, a split second where he almost agreed. Alastor's eyes narrowed. He dropped Y/n's hands and got back to his feet. She adjusted her position in response, nearly kneeling before him.

"Please, Alastor. Let me help them. Let me do what I can to protect my family. Please. I'll do anything you want... I'll..."

It almost worked. Alastor felt his purpose waver again. Then the fear came back. He had already lost so much. His mother, his humanity, his own soul and free will. Alastor refused to add Y/n to the list of things that were so far out of his reach. He just couldn't. He didn't care if she hated him for the rest of eternity, as long as it meant she was safe at his side.

"No." he shook his head, his heart hardening, "You forget, you already have to do whatever I want. You forget, I own you."

Y/n's scream of anger as the shadows took her was muffled as she was sucked into their portal. Alastor stood, watching the spot she had been in for a few moments and then, he doubled over in pain. It shot through him in spikes, in daggers. It was the first time he had told her that. Not once before had Alastor ever said those three words to Y/n, not even when they had first made their deal. I own you.

The guilt, the regret, all of it underpinned by the overwhelming love. It had been trapped for so long, so sheltered and pushed back in the recesses of his mind that it had twisted. The love had become obsessive, dangerous, hungry.

With a breath, Alastor stood straight once again. Pushing his composure back to the surface, he smoothed his hair and went down to the bar to inform everyone of his decision. He may have forced Y/n to do something she didn't want to, fracturing things further than he'd believed possible, but he wasn't going to blame her for it. Alastor was used to being the villain and hopefully, in this case, he wouldn't have to be. Hopefully, they would understand.

Y/n gasped for breath as she was let out of the shadow portal. Panting on all fours, slowly she brought herself back together. Y/n had met Rosie before, once or twice. She knew she was a kind soul at heart, a reasonable person, and she knew that Rosie's cannibals were the main force of their army tomorrow. All she had to do was convince the overlord to let her join them, and it would be okay.

Taking a deep breath to restore her confidence, Y/n looked up. Her heart dropped.

"No."

She got to her feet, looking carefully around the decrepit old radio tower.

"No. Nonono."

Her breaths becoming panicked, she ran to the door. It was locked. Taking a step back, she kicked it harshly. The firm wood didn't budge.

Driven by adrenaline alone, Y/n ran to the windows and began to hit them with all her might. None of them so much as trembled.

"No!"

She looked wildly around the space and, spotting Alastor's chair, picked it up. Y/n hurled it at the window. There was a crash and for a split second, there was hope. That was until she realized it was the chair that had broken, not the window.

"No! No!"

Turning back to the door, she hurled her body repeatedly against it. Each time, she got the biggest running start she could. Each time, there was no change at all, nothing happened. Fresh tears pooled in her eyes, she was long past panicked now.

"NO!"

After about twenty minutes, Y/n was out of breath and exhausted. Her whole body hurt and her face was sticky with tears. She sat at the door, her back pressed against it and her knees pulled into her chest. Burying her face in her legs, she sobbed.

Everyone was at the hotel, except for her. Everyone was preparing to fight for and protect what they loved, except for her. What would they think? What would they say? Much more importantly, would they make it out?

A sudden fear gripped her, a fist around her heart. Would she ever see any of them again? Y/n's sobs redoubled.

"Fucking..."

She sniffed, her panic and grief quickly fixing itself back in the shape of the familiar anger. She could see him in her minds eye, that moment his eyes had softened, that moment she thought that maybe he had been telling the truth all along, that they really had been friends, that he really did care.

"I hate you Alastor!" she screamed to herself, alone in the dark, "I hate you and I will continue to hate you until the day I fucking die again!"

----

A/N I love an irredeemable villain and doomed, misshapen love. I'm sorry to anyone who wanted this to end up happy.

#x reader #hazbin hotel #alastor #hazbin alastor #x reader fics #fic writer #alastor the radio demon #hazbin hotel alastor #alastor hazbin hotel #dark!fic #dark!Alastor #yandere alastor #alastor x reader #alastor fanfiction #fanfic #the radio demon #radio demon #radio demon x you #radio demon x reader #hazbin hotel x reader #hazbin #hazbin hotel fanfiction #radio demon hazbin hotel #yandere hazbin hotel #dark hazbin hotel #dark alastor #yandere x reader #yandere #x reader fanfiction #x reader fanfic

[six-core]

So in case anyone here is missing out, the Scream Street social media accounts are gone (only its Twitter account is private)

#scream street #live at sneer hall

[vanderilnde]

world stopped when #that gym vid went live. i blacked out and woke up with this in my drafts. dont remember a thing. enjoy.

cw for dubcon smut, breaking and entering, soap dragging you across the ground, fleeting knifeplay, and greasy ex bf soap!!!!!!

-

You wake in a daze.

Your mouth is hot and clammy, tongue sticking to the roof of your mouth. Your eyelashes are glued together with sleep, your underarms perspiry and the skin of your back dewy. 

It’s the baby monitor that stirred you. Languidly capitalising off your motherly instincts, thinly crackling and humming and rousing you awake. When you reorient, the indistinct, enigmatic shadow in the corner of your room turns into a pile of undone laundry. You rub your eyes, hackles raised, as the baby rustles, her fussing carrying through the monitor, tinny and jangling as she whines. 

You swing your legs over the mattress, and her whines ripen into giggles. They’re high-pitched and brayed, accompanied by her clapping hands. She’s squealing while you edge into your slippers, wrapping your arms around your slip dress, padding into the corridor. 

Your eyes are too unfocused and filmy to notice the telltale signs. Your panties missing from your hamper, your closet open and forged. The lockbox where you keep your pistol pulled from under your bed and unlatched. Empty.   

You turn the corner to your daughter’s room and freeze. There’s a glow spilling from it, into the hall. It’s her owl-themed nightlight, soft and moulded around a pair of kevlar-plated shoulders. Outlining a clunky chest rig and a heavy belt. Longer hair, curled at its ends and flat with sweat. The shadow of a knife. The steel of a gun.

It’s the reaper himself, and he’s made his way into your home. 

Your mind wrestles between attacking him and sneaking away to call the police. He’s a harvester of life, a macabre memory unheralded and in the middle of your house, but your baby is, at least, safe with him. Stronger than the scythe he carries—his own flesh and blood. You peel your feet off the floor and creep backwards, fleet-footed and rushing down the stairs and into your kitchen, working your way around furniture in the dark. You don’t turn on the light, don’t want to run the risk, so you bump into the lip of your counter, reaching over it and grasping the landline. 

It’s bulky in your hand. Almost slips out with how sweaty your palms are, with how you scramble to dial the police. 

But you feel him before you see him.

It’s like echolocation. He’s using his skill, you know, to sneak up behind you. Capitalising off whatever he learned in the military to soften his feet and prowl behind you. It’s his breathing that’s low and rumbling, reflecting off your spine, rolling like thunder.

It’s now, you remember, that Johnny is an ambush predator. 

He leans over you before you hit the dial, smashing the hang-up button. A long honk succeeds it and precedes deafening silence.

Your lips warble. You clutch the phone to your chest, quivering, and steel yourself. “How did you get in?”

Johnny chuckles, and it rumbles against your spine. Through the silk canopy of your slip dress and into your bone. 

“Wore this for me?” He ignores your question. Noses the strap of your slip so it curls like a wisp of hair off your shoulder. “Y’know I love this colour on ye.”

“I want you to leave, Jonathan.”

He spins you around. Bullies you back and cuts the hind of your spine into your countertop. He looks rugged and stinks of sulfur, like he came straight from downrage, and chucks your slip over your hips, kneading your flesh. 

“Ye can’t keep me from my bairn,” Johnny mumbles. He wraps his arms around you like a serpentine, licking a belt up your neck. “We’re in this together. Isn’t fair of ye t’hide from me.”

“You’re sick in the head,” you sneer. 

Johnny’s cheeks engorge around a malformed, gnarled grin. He feeds off your disgust, a flayed moan ripping from his throat, as he reaches down to palm his cock. 

“Say it again,” he huffs. “Tell me how sick I am, hen.” 

You draw your hand back and swing it across Johnny’s face in rash judgement. He stumbles back in shock, his cheek burning with a ruddy hue beneath the peppery hair of his beard. He blinks, catatonic, and rubs his face. The silence is ear-splitting. Like the calm before the storm.

Then, you’re free-falling. Johnny grips you by your hair and pulls you to the floor. It’s now, you realise, that you’ve gravely miscalculated his strength. His calibre of ruthlessness as he forcefully tugs you along, heedless if your shins bump into the corner walls or grate against the carpet. He pulls you outside, over the wide-combed, lightly-pitted brick of your driveway, towards his scrap metal pickup truck that’s been eaten away by yellow rust and dog-eared bumper stickers. 

The hem of your silk slip turns threadbare as you’re dragged across the ground. You shiver as the cold air furls over the wet smudge he’d licked up your neck. You consider yelling into the night. For help, for atonement, to right whatever wrong you’ve done to deserve this. To deserve him. But Johnny slaps a palm over your mouth before you’re able to do anything. His hand is so big, splaying over the expanse of your face. 

This, you suppose, is your penance. 

The door to his truck rasps as he swings it open. He throws you inside with a dull thud and awkwardly clobbers in behind you, too big for the door, his stature exemplified with all his clunky tactical gear. 

He sinks his knees into the pleather bench seat, grinning as if he’s done nothing wrong. 

“Dinnae mind the mess, hen,” he laughs. There’s mud-clogged boots thrown on the bed floor, a couple of plastic water bottles littered around the front. “Wasnae expectin’ you ta put up a fight.”

Johnny shucks his jeans to his boots, followed by his boxers. His cock springs out, long and hard and lazy against his navel as he leans back, languidly stroking it.

He smooches your cheek, and his beard—something he’d grown recently—is spindly like steel wool, dragging against the hull of your ear. 

“Did I pull ye too hard?” Johnny asks. His concern is masked with a colour of arousal, lukewarm and lacking in conviction. “Dinna fash yerself, I’ll pay for yer salon appointment.”

When you plaintively sniffle, Johnny starts jerking off faster. Meaner. His fist tightly winded around his cock, his cheeks pink and his puppy lips parted open. His lashes fluttering as his eyes roll back, every sigh and gasp out of him materialising as off-white smoke in the cold tract of his truck. 

The sticky sound of Johnny rolling his palm over his raw cock is too much. Precum drools over him, between his thighs, indigo and pearlescent in the moonlight. Your eyes are dewy but your pussy is swelling. It clings to your panties, as hot as it is uncomfortable.

“No need to be a minter,” he pants. Releases his dick with a pinch and lets it hang, reaching out to you. His slick, big hand swallows your flinch and pulls you close. Fishes the combat knife from his pocket, twisting it in the light. “I’ll help you, Birdy.”

Johnny slips the knife below the band of your slip dress. He tilts it up, slicing the strap over the steeple of his knife, letting it curl off your body and reveal your breasts, your tits goose-fleshed in the frigid air of his truck.

He takes it upon himself to repeal that. Johnny leans forward and latches his lips around you, flicking his tongue around your nipple, kneading your other breast with his opposite hand. He doesn’t stop going back and forth until you try peeling him off, squirming, trying to push him away.

Johnny’s as sturdy as a steel wall. He chuckles, low and hollow, and pulls off his gloves, snaking his hand lower. Towards your pussy that radiates an unwelcomed, pulsing heat. Johnny’s fingers are deft and hardened, splitting you open like a fleshy fruit, coaxing out your honeyed juices, fingering around for that sweet spot. He grins when you writhe, and he knows he’s found it. Knuckle-deep and deeply-seated in your warm cunt, curling his fingers, pushing the heel of his palm into your clit and sinking himself deeper.

You wildly flail your legs like a deflated balloon trying to fly away. It’s to tame a feral animal as Johnny pins you down, crawling over you, his fingers sinking deeper and the pad of his thumb circling your clit. You preen with embarrassment at the sticky, wet sound of your cunt spreading open. 

“Just as tight fo’ me,” he mumbles. His words melt through your lips and into your lungs. Burns you from the inside out. “Didn’t shag anyone while I was gone? Kept yerself sweet for me?”

A sob wracks your ribs. It prompts Johnny to go a little deeper, a little meaner, in how he curls his fingers into your walls. Your sticky spine peels off the pleather seats, shiny with sweat and shaking, and suddenly, Johnny pulls out. You feel yourself crash into nothing, your winking hole stretched empty and cold. Your thighs, quivering. 

“How about ye gimme another, eh?” He says. Lifts you up like you weigh nothing and drops you onto his thighs. Lines his fat cockhead up with your clit, gives it a few, irritable taps. “Always wanted a hoachin’ family.”

Johnny tries to ram it in, you think, but he’s too thick. It requires time and patience, squeezing into you, but those are two things Johnny doesn’t have. It feels like you’re being flayed as Johnny slams himself into you. He shatters you as he pushes himself deeper, his hold on your waist breaking your skin, his hips ripening into a bruising, splitting pace. Johnny rubs his tongue along the round of his cheek and spits on your cunt. It slips down, over your clit, frothy around the base of his cock.

Sweat travels down the coils of his beard, dripping onto you. You’re folded in half as Johnny batters into you, pounding you with a lack of inhibition. He chases after his orgasm like a dog chases after its own tail, the stretch of your pussy around his cock so stifling it flares into a sweeping pleasure. 

He reaches down and blindly swipes your clit. It’s sloppy. The dead, rough skin of his thumb pressing down on your bud and tracing circles with a slap-happy hand. It’s a disgusting mix of stickiness and squelches. The windows fog up, and your legs tremble. Johnny’s hips slam into you sharper, and you feel your orgasm shivering like a gurgling kettle. Hot to the touch and almost at your climax, expelling white hisses of steam. 

It rockets into you without warning. You’re scratching and crying, and he’s rolling into you. Slowly, as if that’ll sink him deeper, as he gives you his come. Thick, white ropes that paint your walls and plant a seed. You gush around him and Johnny peppers you with kisses as if that will placate you. As if that’s his cobbled together, screwed up idea of penance. 

He lets his cock soften in you. Johnny rests his head on your shoulder, kissing it. He slips out and a thick, shapeless wad of come follows suit. Sticking to the pleather of his seats, leaving you empty. 

Johnny collapses, falling on you like a dog that doesn’t know how big it is. Feels for the come that slips out of you and uses his fingers to stuff it back in.

“Left the door unlocked agin,” he mumbles. “Guess ya wanted me to find ya, ye ken, Birdy?”

#johnny mactavish x reader #soap mactavish smut #soap mactavish x reader #cod mw2 #soap/reader #soap mactavish #john soap mactavish

[diejager]

HI HI !!! i just wanted to request a fic of perv! stebrother! konig :D

he basically offers us a massage and us, innocent! reader would agree not knowing the intent behind this ‘innocent’ service— it’d turn into SEX,, ( you can figure the details out or just get straight into the scenario of you’d prefer )

that is all, teehee :3

Massage Cw: DARKFIC, DUB-CON/NON-CON, STEPCEST, massage, innocent/oblivious!reader, fingering, condescending, coercion, slight misogyny, size kink, tell me if I missed any.

You thought yourself extremely lucky to have an older brother so caring and gentle with you, always offering to pick you up after classes in his old pickup truck, helping you with finding inspiration for projects, acting as your model, soothing your aching muscles and always giving you a hand whenever you needed it. You really loved König despite his awkwardness and aversion to you when you first moved in with him, his avoidance of you when you crossed paths in the hall or his cold, lingering gaze on you, but after a while, he opened up, gracing you with soft affection and and eagerness to be near and help you.

You spent a lot of times together, be it in one of your rooms, in the kitchen, in the living room or in public, always so close to you and holding such an intimacy that some would think that you were a couple. Perhaps it’s this closeness that made you feel so comfortable being naked in front of him, splayed over his bigger bed without anything to cover yourself. His hands pressed down on the knot, feeling the tightness in your muscles and the softness of your skin, without being obstructed by your clothes —or any at all. König had your back oiled, stomach and breasts pressed into the cool sheets of his bed, tensing and groaning when he put pressure on a specific spot.

“You’re so tense, Spatzi,” he bemoaned, letting his rough fingers trail down your spine, feeling and staring at your arched back, mewling lightly when he ghosted your hips, “It’s good that have good hands, ja?”

You nodded against his bed, letting out a little sigh when he raised your hips with one of his big and silky pillows, hands grazing down your ass to grip your plush thighs. Kneading the sensitive, inner fat of your legs, drifting so closely to your uncovered cunt, teasing you a little flick of his thumb on your swollen clit. Your body reacted to his touch, cunt growing slick from all the stimulation of his calloused pads pressing and kneading your skin, especially when he moved down your ass or crawled up the sides of your tits, leaving fleeting touches on your perked nipples.

“Wait, König-” you mewled, squirming lightly beneath him, hips bucking against his palm from light touches, “König.”

“I know. I know,” he mumbled out, his tone wearing a slight edge of condescension, “Let me help you, Spatzi.”

You mewled lowly, your body too relaxed into his sheets to do anything against him but mewl out your objections and writhe beneath him, legs numb to the point that all you could do was give him light nudges. Shushing your cries with growling words, his fingers slipped down your slit, thumb nudging at your clit and rolling it before he dipped a thick finger into you. You moaned, gushing around him the moment he pressed his finger knuckle deep, your virginal walls unused to having a thick and rough finger curling inside of you.

You’ve fucked your self with your hand before, unable to stop the brewing flame in your core, but one finger of his equalled to two of yours, it filled you to the near brink, pumping and tapping your g-spot without fail. Your body moved on its own, ass raising lightly to coax König faster and harder, riding his hand for more stimulation than his muscle-deep massage. He nearly sneered at you for being so eager to want to come around his fingers, his sweet and innocent step-sister vulnerable and pliant for him. Giving you a few rough pumps, you gushed, soaking his palm with slick, rutting against his hand and screaming into his sheets, fingers clenching and body tense, thrashing and arching.

Your slick rolled down your thighs, wetting his bed with your salty and musky cum, gifting him with something to relieve himself with for the next days. You were complexly limp, after a massage and a mind-blowing orgasm, you felt boneless and aroused and floating on ecstasy.

“See?” König growled out, body pressing down on you to reaffirm his previous words, ”I know how to help you. I know better, Spatzi.”

Taglist: @sae1kie @yeoldedumbslut @bvxygriimes @distracteddragoness @konigsblog @im-making-an-effort @daisychainsinknots @0alk0msan @danielle143 @tuttifuckinfruttifriday @notspiders @brokenpieces-72 @petwifed @randominstake @cassiecasluciluce @hayleybarnesx @shironasumi @sparky--bunny @bloobewy @infpt-zylith @sweetnanah @aldis-nuts

#x reader #cod mw2 #cod mw2 x reader #konig x reader #konig mw2 #mw2 smut #tw: dark content #dark cod #dark content #tw dubcon #tw: dub con #tw: dubcon #dub con #dubious consent #cw: non con #tw noncon #tw: non con #tw: noncon #non con #tw: stepcest #stepcest #tw stepcest #konig smut #könig x reader #könig mw2 #könig smut #Stepbrother!konig #Stepbrother!könig #konig #coercion

[darklcy]

𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐫𝐭.

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

‣ eddie's session runs longer than you thought. bored, with nothing to do, you find his shirt.

‣ eddie munson x reader | stranger things masterlist | 823 words | fluff, established relationship, idiots in love ig

‣ i havent posted him in a while and i just got to rewatching s4, so naturally-

He’d been gone far too long already.

You tried not to complain, not having the desire to suck the life out of his soul for simply engaging in his passion. Dungeons and dragons served as an enigma in your brain, its complexity never failing to swirl your thoughts in knots each time you tried learning to play. If him being late was the only self punishment for not comprehending the rules of the game, then perhaps it was justifiable.

..It was just late. And you were beyond bored.

Boredom was a lazy explanation for the feeling you were experiencing at the moment, but for lack of better word, boredom will do. Body sprawled across his mattress, Gremlins displayed in the living room television down the hall, fingernails touched skin in a pattern, as if counting sheep represented itself through your fingers. The night sky stretched further along the hours as you waited for his campaign to finish, but with the way your eyelids drooped and head bobbed, you may not be around for his return.

Laying back on your spine, ceiling coming into view, you fought the upcoming dreams with all your might to avoid slumber, wanting to greet Eddie properly the moment he stepped inside. Chin lolling to the right, a signature club shirt curiously grabbed your eye, the red faced demon poking through the gaps of his drawer. 

Huh.

Somehow that pumped a vein full of awoken energy throughout your body. Sitting back up, you crawled over to the drawer and yanked the shirt from its clenches, freeing the fabric from its prison. The demon’s eyes met yours in a sneer, and sometimes you wonder if the corners of his mouth grew each time you stared at him. Discarding your own top, you replaced it with his, the remnants of smoke and faint cologne wafting in your nostrils.

Eddie smelled like home, a sanctuary, a safe place. A bit ironic, with fire comes reassurance, in your world, that is.

The garment was a bit loose on your figure, the ends reaching just below your hips. With the canvas of your legs exposed from lack of pajamas, his shirt became your blanket and lover all in one, a figment of the real thing. This will have to do until he returns. 

Cheek pressed to the comforter, Gremlins had just barely faded out into the credits when sleep found you, tucked away and hidden in the cotton of Hellfire.

“Baabe, I’m home.”

Brass met knob when Eddie unlocked it open, enjoying the warm heat of the trailer compared to the brisk November air outside. Campaign was good, as usual. Dungeon Master certainly had its perks, even if repeating senior year didn’t. The journey to his bedroom was swift, eager to finally end his day with you by his side, how it always should be. 

However he wasn’t at all, in the slightest bit, prepared to greet you adorning his beloved club shirt, soft skin of your thighs bare, asleep comfortably in his bed. His bed. Alone. With his shirt on. And boyshorts. Oh, wow. You were going to be the death of him.

It was as if he’d been transported to the Moma, viewing a delicate, historical self portrait of an acrylic artist from the 1700s. You were a sight to behold, and for him only. His feet almost sunk into the floorboards from the sheer weight his heart plummeted against his ribs. He’d just fallen in love  all over again. How do you do it so easily?

A gentle groan emitted in your throat as you shifted. What a sweet sound. You’re so sweet. 

Crouching down towards your face, his ringed knuckle gilded hair from your eyelashes, a smile on his face at the way you stirred from the action. When your eyes awoke to meet his, his lips only stretched wider.

“Mornin', sweetheart.”

Stretching out your arms, a yawn escaped you as a sleepy, “Oh, you’re home,” uttered out in a jumbled whisper. His full palm caressed your face now, occasionally smoothing down your hair while continuing to grin at your drowsiness. He couldn’t get enough.

“Yeah, Hellfire ran a lil late. Sorry to keep you waiting.”

You shook your head into his fingers. “No, you’re fine. I was just bored.”

A deep chuckle rumbled in his chest as he moved to sit beside you. His fingers transitioned from your cheek to the shirt on your skin, rings grazing the neckline and shoulder. Eddie had never seen anything like it, and he wore this exact thing every god damn week. 

“You look beautiful like this.”

It was as if complimenting a model, the way he spoke so carefully and tender. You gave him a look.

“..It’s comfy. I might steal it from you.”

He’d give you anything he wanted if you gave him the word. His lips captured yours in a trance, ending too quick for your liking. 

“You should. You wear it best.”

—

#eddie munson #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x reader fluff #eddie munson x reader oneshot #eddie munson x you #eddie munson oneshot #stranger things fluff #stranger things x reader #stranger things 4 x reader

[beatificwrites]

HIDDEN WANTS ★

pairing: hobie brown x gn!spider!reader

content: gender-neutral reader, no use of y/n

premise: you and hobie are completely unaware of the undeniable tension between you two and the feelings you carry for one another

It was yet another ordinary day at the spider society which consisted of: small breakfast with your spidey friends, taking care of anomalies, possibly being lectured by miguel for being too reckless, lunch with spidey friends, and sometimes more anomalies to take care of afterwards or none at all.

You took out a box of frozen pizza from the fridge and got a plastic plate from the cupboard above it. You were in the food lounge, as everyone liked to call it—the place had no official name though, it was just a room where food was kept if you didn’t want cafeteria food. You threw the cold slices in the microwave and set it for 3 minutes.

You were preparing yours and Hobie’s lunch for the day. He never brings his own lunch and just steals from your plate, so recently you started bringing enough for the two of you to eat.

You sensed a presence behind you, trying to go unnoticed and instantly knew it was him.

“You know that I know you’re there, right?” you crossed your arms, and asked matter of factly.

“Yeh, just tryna see if your senses are back in check, dat’s all.” he teased.

He’s referring to last week when your senses seemed off because you didn’t notice the huge boulder being thrown your way. Hobie had to save you last minute and now he will never live it down, he loves annoying you.

You rolled your eyes and groaned, “just shut up already! It was one time, for crying out loud!”

He chuckled and moved up to stand beside you as you watched the pizza slices slowly spin behind the glass. He was awfully close, and that fact conjured a bit of nervousness with a hint excitement. You don’t exactly know why you always felt the latter whenever he was near, therefore you always write it off as being happy that a friend was in your company.

The aggressive beeping coming from the microwave pulled you out of your thoughts and you quickly took out the steaming slices, then handed the plate over to Hobie, knowing he would want the first bite. Your friendship has reached a point where one usually knows what the other wants.

Hobie smiled then gladly took that first bite while you shook your head jokingly. You both walked out of the lounge and through the halls filled with spideys all over the place. Hobie’s arm was now casually hanging over your shoulder as he chomped away at his slice with his other hand. You were now holding the plate and aimlessly leaning against him as you two made your way to the cafeteria where the rest of your friends were.

“Ew, dude, you smack so loud!” you remarked as jabbed him with your elbow.

“Literally chew like dis everyday, bruv. Besides, nothing compares to your obnoxious sippin’.” he replied with a sneer, before returning to his smacking.

“Oh, ha-ha, right like I’m the slob!” you said sarcastically.

You two finally reached your table and your friends—gwen, miles, and pavitr—merely watched as you both laughed with each other and sat down with Hobie’s arm still thrown over your shoulder, completely oblivious to how you both looked from an outside perspective.

“Uh…do they see themselves?” miles whispered.

“I don’t think they’re aware…” gwen whispered back.

“Are they not already together?!” pavitr whisper-yelled.

“Wassup, mandem.” Hobie greeted.

When you grabbed your slice, you looked up at your friends for the first time. “Why are you guys so being quiet?” you asked, confused.

Gwen acted as if her mouth was filled with food and Miles and Pavitr copied her immediately, even adding a few extra finger licks here and there. Gwen covered her mouth before saying, “we already started eating that’s why.”

“Mmh, yeah, I was really getting into this bacon sandwich right here! Right, Pav?” Miles asked with an awkward smile.

“Totally, man!” Pavitr replied, too enthusiastic.

“Okay…” you chucked at their weirdness, then followed up with, “So, how was your first mission, Miles?”

“Light-work, needed no help at all! I don’t know why Miguel was acting like I was gonna screw the whole thing up.” he responded with a shrug.

“Except that you did need help and couldn’t do it all alone on your first try…” Gwen chimed in.

“I hardly see how that’s relevant.” Miles clapped back.

You were trying to listen and eat at the same time, but Hobie’s head laying against your shoulder made the endeavor a little challenging. You were still eating, though his weight now on you was all you could focus on.

In Hobie’s mind, he appreciated the closeness and carelessness towards touch you guys carried in your relationship because he could lean against you or hold you close all he wanted without it seeming like he viewed you as more than a friend. It was a great way to mask his ever-growing crush on you, along with the occasional teasing flirts that he could play off as jokes.

“You got some sauce on your face, lad.” he commented before gently wiping off tomato sauce from the corner of your mouth with the side of his thumb. You stayed put as soon as you felt his touch on your face. You thanked him with a smile before resuming to your almost finished slice. Gwen, Miles, and Pavitr just shook their heads at each other.

“You lot doin’ anythin’ tonight?” Hobie asked the group.

“Nope, I—Yeahhhh, gonna be super busy with my aunt Maya back at home!” Pavitr explained once Gwen slightly nudged him.

“Yeah, I gotta help my mom with…work…stuff! And gwen’s helping me!” Miles added.

“Alright, then...you free?” Hobie asked as he looked up at you.

“Um, yeah, got nothing planned for the rest of the day.”

“Another jam sesh at my place?”

“I’m down!” you exclaimed.

“Coo’, let’s go after dis!” he said before suddenly grabbing your pizza crust and stuffing it in his mouth.

“Hey! I wanted that!” you bemoaned.

“Too bad.” he said, almost inaudibly, with a smirk.

“You repay my kindness with still stealing my food?!”

“Deal with it.” he stated playfully.

You abruptly placed him in a headlock and he started to yelling “tap out, tap out” before swiftly pulling your arm over his head and going straight for a tickle attack. Once you felt the funny tingle on your neck you began to squirm around and laugh out loud. Hobie laughed to himself quietly at the escalation of events, but paused at the hearty sound of your laughter. You sounded sweet.

“At this point we’re 5th wheeling...” Miles sighed.

“Yeah, if we leave we’ll go unnoticed.” Gwen added.

Pavitr was mumbling to himself incessantly before finally shouting, “when are you two going to ask each other out?! You’re driving us all nuts!”

The whole table was now silent and a few spideys around the area looked over.

You and Hobie looked at one another, and simultaneously went, “huh??”

“Huh? What do you mean ‘huhhh?’ ! You guys are always so immersed in each other, you’re practically dating!!” Pavitr went on.

“Don’t know what you’re talking about, Pav. We’re just friends!” you defended.

“You two act like a couple and every-spider here can see that!” he explained further.

“Hey, lovebirds! I got a proposition for both of you.” Peter B. Parker appeared out of nowhere.

“See?!!!” Pav stressed.

“Oh.” Hobie just said.

“Well…that’s how we are with each other! Super close! There’s nothing going on here.”

“Yeah, what they said.” Hobie agreed.

“You two actually make a great power couple! You’re like the stereotypical punk-rock duo.” Gwen mid-joked.

───────── ☆

That was five hours ago, and now you two are in Hobie’s band room playing together. No real song was being played, but you and him liked to mess around and improvise new sounds. Him on guitar and you on drums. You twirl the sticks like a natural and change rhythms from time to time and Hobie’s fingers glide adeptly across his chords as he harmonizes with you.

This was one of your favorite pastimes because it’s how you and Hobie bonded at first; when you found out he played guitar you shared that you knew how to play drums and there was an instant connection.

He was already interested in you because of your unique fighting style even though you two shared about the same abilities. You thought his dope way of dressing and punk attitude was enough to reel you in, however music brought your spirits together and a beautiful friendship had blossomed as a result.

Beneath the teasing moments and oblivious public displays of affection, lay Hobie’s mind constantly debating whether or not he should casually admit he likes you, but his never ending fear of possibly ruining your friendship, if you reject him, ultimately wins the debate in the end and he shrugs his feelings off.

It’s moments like these, when you play together, that he takes the time to appreciate your company and steal a few glances at your face. Hobie would strike his chords and try to look at you without being noticed at first, but realized he could stare at you for longer because you would be deeply immersed in your playing. You were just so precious, he thought.

Unbeknownst to him, you did the same, though you struggled far more because you were forced to look down. Every chance you got, you’d instantly look up and take a second to revel in his coolness and cuteness while he played. You struggled more this time because your mind was tasked with a serious decision it needed to make.

“I think we should take a break. My hands are getting tired.” you stretched and cracked your fingers.

“Good idea.” he chugged the last bit of water left in his bottle, then chucked it into a bin.

He carefully laid his guitar against its stand and you placed down your sticks. He followed behind you out the room and into his small living space. You threw yourself onto his couch with a yawn and he did the same, then positioned himself so that his head was leaning on yours.

“You know, I thought a lot about what Gwen and Pav said eariler, and I actually do think we would make a great power couple. In a cool way, you know?“ you suggested with a light chuckle.

“I think we’d make a cute couple in general.” Hobie teased, half-jokingly.

“That too.” you immediately agreed.

Your confidence was through the roof all of the sudden and the urge to tell Hobie the truth about how you’ve felt for months was dying to acted upon. You knew the stakes were high, but you couldn’t deal with hiding your personal, inner thoughts any longer.

His eyes slightly widened, he was taken aback. “Wait, huh?”

“Well, yeah, now that I think about it…they were right. We do make a power couple because of our hero identities, we act like a couple, and it only helps that I like you too.” you confessed.

“You bein’ for real?” he turned to eye you and search for any hint of teasing.

“Gosh, yes, Hobie I really like you okay?! I want to be with all the time, swing around London with you always, watch our favorite movies, and make music! I don’t want to leave your side. You’re all I want.” you spilled out.

You watched Hobie nervously and fidgeted with your fingers as you waited for his mouth to form the anticipating words. You were honestly a little scared; the ‘idgaf’ attitude left as soon as it came and now you don’t actually know what he’ll respond with.

Hobie finally picked up his mouth and admitted, “I hate watching you go because I always want you to stay, love. I don’t like gettin’ all sentimental, howeva you make being vulnerable a whole lot easier. I want all of my time to be consumed by you and I would like everyone to know how much I care for you, so…I really like you too.”

Relief, bliss, and watery eyes were all jabbing you at once. You exhaled a breath you were unaware of holding, processed the fact that Hobie—your best friend—just admitted he liked you back, and his extremely sweet words were going to stupidly make you cry.

He gave you a warm smile, then brought you in for a tight hug. “Aww, don’t be such a sap.” he joked before stroking your back as you began to sniff.

“I was so worried you didn’t feel the same, Hob! I was preparing to say goodbye!” you lightly sniffed.

“I like you, alright? I love everythin’ about you. I love bein’ around you, listenin’ to your pointless rants, mockin’ you at every opportunity, but what I love most about you is your understanding of me. I appreciate you like no other and I want you to know that, even though I got a weird way of showin’ it.” he went on, running his hands above your undershirt.

“Gosh, you’re so sweet when you want to be, Hobie. You’re so cute for that.” you professed just seconds before taking advantage of your newfound confidence once more and pecking his lips.

Now, Hobie was physically taken aback and wasn’t sure where was appropriate for him to place his hands. You giggled at his dumbfounded state, him not knowing how to one up you this time. You kissed him again.

“For pete’s sake, you’re gonna turn me real soft!” he complained while laughing. “Give me another.”

“With pleasure!” you beamed, then kissed the rest of his face.

───────── ☆

© beatificwrites

#reader included #reader insert #x reader #fluff #x gender neutral reader #across the spiderverse #atsv x reader #astv fic #astv hobie #hobie brown #across the spider verse #atsv x you #spiderman imagine #spider punk #daniel kaluuya #spiderpunk atsv #spiderpunk x reader #hobie brown x reader #hobie brown x you #spiderman #spiderman fandom #astv fanfic #daniel kaluuya x reader #beyond the spiderverse #spiderman punk #gender neutral character #gender neutral language #x gn reader #hobie brown imagine #writeblr

[whore-ibly-hot]

Yan!Bully x Gn!Reader x Yan!Loser

'Art-Project'

18+ Minors DNI

Warnings: Bullying, name calling, degradation, violence, mentions of non-consensual photos, nonconsensual touching, male pronouns for the yans, mentions of school, general perversion, toxic behaviors, creep behavior.

(AN: Had a fun time with this one, really enjoyed toying with the dynamic between this two. I think I'll probably make a part two with these trainwrecks in the future)

Part 2 here

The crashing of books and pens falling on the tile floor rings out through the boy's bathroom, as a young, dark-haired boy is thrown harshly onto the cold multi-colored tile. The boy lets out a cry as he hits the ground, and he scrambles away upon impact, pressing his back up against the wall as he looks up at his assaulter.

"F-fuck off, Patrick!" Ahmed exclaims, his frightened eyes never leaving the predatory gaze of the bully who stands over him. Ahmed's free hand wanders around the bathroom floor, grasping blindly to try and find his book bag. Ahmed's accent only becomes more prominent, as his voice shakes and cracks. "Fuck did you say to me, you little shit?" Patrick grabs the boy by his collar, yanking him up from the ground and sneering at him. Ahmed gulps when he feels Patricks breath tickle his neck, making him tremble. "I-I didn't, didn't mean it, c'mon. I was just shocked when you threw me on the floor, it just slipped out." Patrick rolls his eyes, and as he does, his gaze falls on Ahmed's bright red backpack, laying open on the floor. Patrick notices how Ahmed's eyes widen when Patrick looks at it, causing Patrick to raise an eyebrow.

"What's in the bag, freak?" Patrick whispers, and before the sentence has even fully left his lips, Ahmed is fiercely shaking his head. "Nothing, nothing! Just work, please-" He hits the floor again, and he's sure tomorrow he'll be bruised from the rough treatment. "Pick it up." Ahmed looks up. "What?" "C'mon, pick it up. You're all freaked out, freak... I wanna know why, so I'm gonna tell you one more time." Patrick crouches down, and nods in the direction of the cloth schoolbag. "Pick. It. Up." He pauses after each word, relishing the fear in Ahmed's eyes.

Since Ahmed transferred to Morrisville high, Patrick had made his life a living hell. Not that he wasn't already unpopular at his old school, but people at least tried to avoid him there. People did here at first, before Patrick set his sights on Ahmed. Patrick wasn't sure what drew him to the scrawny, quiet boy. Possibly the way everyone avoided him, or maybe it was how little everyone knew about the new kid. Most likely, it was the knowledge that no matter what he did to the boy, or what he made him do, no-one was going to stand up for the boy. Patrick picked on everybody, but god, Ahmed became his favorite. The way he'd squirm, and cry. The way he was able to convince the other kids at the school to pick on the lonely boy. Things only got worse when Patrick found out that everyone at Ahmed's old school thought he was a freak too. Suddenly, shoulder-checks in the hallway became full-on beatings, stolen homework became shoes and clothes being taken from Ahmed's locker, or even right off the poor boy. Patrick never hesitated to remind Ahmed that even if he reported him, or got away from this school, that he'd still be a freak, no matter where he went.

Ahmed's sobs snap Patrick out of his reveling, as the scrawny boy crawls over to the bag, his hands shaking as he tries to grip the red canvas of the backpack. Patrick huffs, but before he can open up the backpack and take a look, he hears footsteps outside the bathroom, coming from down the hall. "Get in the fuckin' stall, go." Patrick growls, pointy sharply at the large handicapped stall at the other end of the bathroom. Patrick steps outside of the bathroom, and Ahmed can hear Patrick greeting whoever is outside. A friend of Patrick's probably. Another member of his little delinquent gang. Ahmed shuts the lid of the toilet and sinks down to sit on the lid, afraid his knees may give out. The sound of heavy boots approaches, and Patrick fingers slid around the stall door, pulling it open as he slips into the stall, locking it behind him. Ahmed tries to steady his breathing.

"Alright, open it up. C'mon." Patrick nods in Ahmed's direction. Shaking hands pull out textbooks, pens, pencils, even the leftovers from Ahmed's lunch. The objects clatter to the floor, scattering across the bottom of the stall. "See, nothing in here, just my school stuff." Ahmed's trembling hands extend the now empty bag to Patrick, presenting it almost proudly. "What... there's no fucking way." Patrick huffs. He begins to dig through the objects, kicking away the writing utensils as he grasps at the textbooks. He flips through each of the pages, trying to find anything incriminating. His frown only deepens as he finds nothing. He's about to give up, as he reaches for a blue folder labeled 'Math'. When he does, Ahmed lets out an involuntary whimper, causing Patrick to freeze. A sick grin spreads across the blonde's face, as he slowly pivots his head to look at Ahmed.

"There we go, somethin' in here you don't want me seeing?" He asks. Ahmed nods, tears cascading down his cheeks. "Alright, I'll tell you what, freak..." Patrick stands straight up, leaning up against the wall behind him. "Tell me what's in the folder, and I won't even look, okay? Just get it off your chest, I'm open-minded." Patrick purrs at the boy, watching his resolve crack in real-time.

"It's-" Ahmed goes quiet towards the end, his words so soft Patrick can't hear. "What was that? You gotta speak up." He sighs. "Or, I guess I could just look-" He moves to flip open the folder with the edge of his boot, causing Ahmed to jolt forward. "N-no!" The boy yells, thrusting his hands out in front of him. Patrick scoffs, tossing his head back for a moment as he laughs, clutching at his stomach. "Jesus, Ahmed, what the hell is in here that's got you so spooked?" Patrick asks. Ahmed shivers. Somehow Patrick using his real name is worse than him calling him 'freak'. It feels more personal.

"It's nudes... nude photographs." Ahmed whimpers, a blush of shame spreading across his cheeks as his gaze falls to the floor. "Oh- yours?" Patrick asks. Ahmed doesn't respond, causing Patrick's brows to furrow, an amused and pleasantly surprised expression coming onto his face. "Not yours, huh." Patrick glances down at the folder. "Who the hell's been giving you pussy, freak? Who's been letting you take those pics?" He asks. Ahmed's hands are tense, gripping the fabric covering his knees so hard that he worries they might tear.

"I- they didn't, alright?" Ahmed cries, curling his knees up to his chest and burying his face in shame. "They didn't-" Patrick takes a moment to process this information. His eyes light up in realization. "You really are a little pervert, huh? I knew something was off about you." He puts his hand on his knees, leaning over so he can make eye contact with Ahmed's curled up form. "A sick little pervert. You get off on those photos?" Ahmed whines. "Some poor kid at this school doesn't know that the school freak strokes it every night to a picture of them... poor them." Patrick leans down and picks up the folder.

"Wait, w-what are you doing, you said you wouldn't look if I told you the truth about what was in there?" Ahmed coughs, almost full on hyper-ventilating at this point, eyes wide in panic. Patrick nods, keeping eye contact with Ahmed as he flips open the folder. "True, but..." He shakes his head, his blonde locks falling from his loose ponytail. "How do I know you're telling me the truth about what's in here if I don't look?" Ahmed scoffs. "Why would I lie about having a folder of some creep-shots?" Patrick shrugs. "I don't know, maybe something like that doesn't seem that serious to you, y'know, because you're a pervert." He suggests. Patrick sticks his tongue teasingly out at Ahmed, before looking down at the gritty Polaroids nestled behind some math notes.

The photos are taken from all sorts of places. The ones at the front are simple upskirts from behind, the subjects face not visible. As Patrick examines more of them, he notices they seem to get more invasive. The final photograph was clearly shot at night, a bedroom window visible. The subject of the photo lies nude, and Patrick's face falls when he sees the face. He looks up at Ahmed, his breath halted. "They... they are cute, huh?" Ahmed looks up from his knees, confused. "You know them?" Ahmed swallows harshly, then nods. "Sort of... we have English together." As Ahmed explains the nature of his relationship to you, Patrick flips through the photos once more. Now that he knows these photos are of you, they have an even greater allure. "Hmm, I have lunch period with them, gym too..." He muses. "Heh, you should see em' in those little gym shorts, shit..." Ahmed isn't sure where this is going, but Patrick's calm tone and hyper-focused expression stress him out even more than when Patrick is outwardly aggressive. At least then he's predictable. Right now, Ahmed is in new territory with his tormentor.

Patrick sighs, and tucks the photos back into Ahmed's folder. He smacks the folder into the center of Ahmed's chest, making him let out a grunt as his trembling hands grip the blue plastic. "Listen, freak." He whispers. He places a hand on the wall behind Ahmed, allowing him to move his face right up in front of the boys. Brown eyes look back at him with fear. "Nobody has to know about all this. I'm still gonna kick your ass, but nobody has to know about your..." He thinks. "Let's call it 'extracurricular art project', okay?" Ahmed, gulps, and asks. "What do you want in return, I know the way you are." Patrick chuckles. "You're pretty smart, huh? Alright, I'll tell ya. Get me some of those photos, some new ones. And copy that last one, that shot into their room." He says. "Why, y-you like them too?" Ahmed whimpers. Patrick shrugs. "I know they've got a sweet little body, and I wouldn't mind a closer look at it, that's all." Ahmed considers this. If he doesn't agree, who knows what Patrick would tell everyone. God, Ahmed might even have to change schools again, and if he did, he couldn't be near you. He shakes his head. He won't let that happen.

"Alright, you got it. I- I think I can get them to you by friday." Ahmed offers, and Patrick nods. Ahmed moves to stand, but Patrick pushes him back. "One more thing, freak." He whispers. Ahmed bites his lips in fear. Patrick slips his hand from the boy's shoulder, down past his waist, and to the front of his victims school shorts. He roughly palms Ahmed's limp cock through his pants, making the boy choke on his own spit in shock. Patrick sighs softly at his reaction, leaning in to whisper into his ear.

"Snap me a pic of yourself too, freak..."

#tw.dark content #reader insert #tw.yandere #x reader #yandere #yandere content #yandere fanfiction #yandere oc #yancore #yandere boy #yandere bully #yandere freak #oc Patrick #oc Ahmed #poly yandere #yandere x reader #yandere fic #gender neutral reader #tw.dubcon #tw.bullying #tw.violence