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#purposefully ugly to catch people's eyes

lesinquietes · 7 months

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But can you imagine being on discussion boards talking shit about the League of Villains after the whole Overhaul situation like “lol still got fucked by all might at kamino tho” and that being the ONE comment Shigaraki reads that sets him over the edge???

Inspired fic

⚠️ mdni. death (minor), degradation, kidnapping, mind break, noncon, oral, stalking, yandere.

Like, my man just fucking loses it, totally seething at the notion that there are still people out there who don’t take him seriously. So he doxes you and finds out where you live. If you don’t reside by yourself, god help your partner, roommate(s), or family members. Your pets, too. They’re all dust. He waits for you to get home like a parent catching their kid in the act of sneaking out.

And of course, you never thought your shitposting would result in this — the leader of the League of Villains showing up and committing personal crimes against you. You’re flabbergasted when you return to your residence and find him there, amidst the carnage he’s left. It destroys your mind. You’ll never be the same again. You’re wracking your memories, trying to recall if you ever had an encounter with Shigaraki. It’s only when he cackles hoarsely and grins beneath that big, ugly hand that you make the connection.

“Still don’t think I’m the real deal, sweetheart?”

He takes a daunting step towards you. You’re paralyzed with fear. He wants to teach you a lesson. He thinks he’ll remove a finger; maybe a limb. He’ll keep you alive so you can remember what he did to you.

But as he gets closer to you… he realizes you’re actually pretty cute. No, that’s not the right word; you’re fucking hot. You look like one of his favourite porn stars. It’s your face, it’s your body — he didn’t think you’d be this attractive in person. In fact, perhaps he’s been approaching this the wrong way.

You finch when he grasps your chin. He purposefully keeps one pinky dangling not too far from your cheek. If he wants to, he can kill you. The way your lower lip trembles oh so adorably tells him that you know how vulnerable you are. You have no clue he’s decided there’s a higher purpose for you. His crimson eyes narrow with cruel glee.

“I wonder how the world would feel if I took an innocent civilian as a pet?”

It’s the perfect plan. He has a pretty face to come home to. He has a warm hole to fuck whenever he wants. He corrupts you for society to see. You’ll be humiliated to the point of losing yourself, descending into madness as a martyr for all who doubted him. Yes, he thinks keeping you is a way better idea than dusting you.

The heights he goes to ensure you know your place are higher than you ever thought they’d be. He forces you to worship him. He makes you kiss and suck on his fingers — the very things that could end your life in a breath. On various occasions, he coaxes you into sucking him off on camera, so he can make a montage for when he reveals your broken mind to the world. It’s sick; he doesn’t debate that. He wants to put you through the worst. Not only does he get off on degrading pretty sluts like you, but he can wear you down this way.

Braindead and willing is how he wants you.

Braindead and willing is how he’ll have you.

#I’m howling at this thought hahahaha it’s so stupid #and yet I still somehow managed to jam smut into it #this is a shitpost guys I’m sorry #shigaraki x reader #shigaraki smut #yandere tomura shigaraki #tomura x reader #tw noncon #afab reader

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crimeronan · 9 months

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slight expansion because there's too short a character limit for context:

sol, devin, and ruby all help the same basic groups of people -- not just poor people but generally disenfranchised groups, refugees, people with language barriers, exploited workers, disabled people, and so on. the question isn't about WHO they help but how they do it.

sol's methodology involves owning and controlling the system itself; she is militantly anti-trafficking and has spent years playing political lobbyist games to enact worker & human rights protections in the govt.

devin has a smaller scope of influence but is able to provide certain political protections to people due to personal status. she employs these frequently to protect vulnerable groups even though she is Technically not supposed to and could catch hell for it.

ruby is an advocate who takes on bureaucracy at the individual level; when bureaucracy can't help, she uses her legal and political knowledge to do things like forge papers, cause problems, exploit loopholes, etc, to get people the help they need.

the three of them work together; there's some overlap in What They Do, but this is their main shit.

nova does not particularly give a fuck about any of this, her priorities lie elsewhere. she is, however, expected to operate As The System Itself. she wields the power to make literally all of this collapse in the blink of an eye, and she's aware that it's happening. she has not done anything about it and is purposefully avoiding knowing too much.

obviously given that this is largely a horror story, there's a lot more awfulness and ugliness and sickness and rot to all four of them than this. but these are the Good things about them. so!

#original fiction #original fiction triad #original fiction quartet #devin #sol #ruby #nova

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loserlvrss · 9 months

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꒰ 𝐌𝐘 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄 ꒱ 구정모

summary : all you've ever wanted was to distract you boyfriend from the world he finds himself smack in the middle of

genre : mafia(?)!au, jungmo x afab!reader, fluff, established relationship tws : pet names, kiss, slight suggestive content (like not at all) author notes : for my dear anonymous requestor. i hope you like it & thank you for the scenario!! i've never fully written a mafia!au before so, i hope it's not too bad. and, truthfully i've been in a bit of a writer's block recently. word count : 0.8k

“how long will you be gone?” my voice broke through the deafening silence, which was only interrupted by the light crinkle of paper.

i paced the darkly-decorated room as i waited his response. murals, framed with gold and old weapons hanging on the walls. the brick was a dark shade of red, dusty and, purposefully, dingey-looking. it had a scary aesthetic, in contrast to the white slip-dress you’d put on only hours ago. the setting-sun shined through the window with an orange hue — which was only covered halfway by the dark curtains that were made to keep it out. i paused and stared crossed-armed at the man who casually sat behind the, just as dark, cedar desk: papers, upon papers scattered in a never ending raging-sea.

his attention didn’t settle on me, in turn making my voice raise as i tried again to catch it, “jungmo,” his movement stopped, however he didn’t look up from the sheet he’d read seemingly a hundred times, “how long will you be gone this time?”

i knew it couldn’t have been an easy task, told by the way his body tensed and his fingers pressed over the bridge of his nose.

but still, he didn’t answer me.

he was the quiet-type. he’d been that way since the day we’d met almost three years ago now, when he was prowling the bar i had spent the better part of my life tending. but, he was gentle and honest from that day forth. he did his best to protect me from the horrors of his world — hesitant to add me to it in the first place. but, he said it was love at first sight. that he'd shield his sunshine from the bitter planet's patterns.

and, who was i to deny?

i did love him endlessly, the ugly and disgusting included. i've known for years that he does things less the desirably. he'd killed people, however, it never scared or put me off. i knew the innocent look in his eye, reserved for me and me alone.

i guess, maybe his sunshine could get cloudy from time to time, too.

my fingers traced along his shoulders once i'd gotten close enough. he sighed, maybe because of what he'd read, or more likely, my touch, which i've been told — by him — is very soothing.

"baby," i stated, running both my hands down his arms and resting my head in the crook of his neck. i could hear his heart drumming a steady rhythm, that every so often skipped a beat when i'd motion like i was going to let go. "jungmo, love. what is it this time?"

he hummed, but still no words left his lips. though it wasn't unlike him, and has since stopped irritating me; i just wanted his mental anguish to avert to me, to distract him.

without any more questions, my right hand snaked up his own and to the paper. with ease, i took it from his grasp and added it to the droplets already on the wood.

his gaze fell upon me as i slid between him and the desk, holding his wrists out to the side so he couldn't protest — but, he didn't even attempt to. he let my legs straddle his lap, myself then letting his hands fall to their place on my waist, like that's where they were made to be.

"when do you leave?" i asked, his eyes locking with mine. i could feel him tense, his grip on the fabric over my skin tightening. the look in them was enough to answer, the sparkling that he saved for my view gone in an instant.

"tonight." he said coldly, barely over a whisper.

"and, when do you return?"

at this time, my hands had come to rest around his neck, our faces nearly centimeters apart — breaths mixing.

"my sunshine," he started, his hands rubbing up and down my sides soothingly — but, more for his stim than my comfort. "hopefully, tomorrow night. twenty-four hours. its not a complicated task. between wonjin, woobin and i, it shouldn't take long."

i halved a smile, "then why hopefully? who is it for?"

he finished the smile in my place, halting his movements on my side and bringing them to rest against my cheeks. he all but cooed, "don't worry, my sunshine." and pressed a light kiss against my lips.

i chased it, when he broke off, with a slight pout. but, he laughed against the skin of my neck, pulling me into an embrace instead of giving into my desires.

i'd see him again, i was sure of it, but that didn't stop the unbearable thought from crossing my mind: it very well could be the last kiss we ever have. still, he wouldn't say the word goodbye, and i prayed i'd never hear it fall from his lips in my lifetime and the next.

reblogs, likes and comments are greatly appreciated! thank u!

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amelia-c · 2 years

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I present to you, three pieces of fanart for @sophtopus/@sophtoart's fanfic, The Golden Quiche. It's the second Undertale fanfic I ever read and the fanfic that inspired me to start world-building for TWFOA! Beware of spoilers in the drawings and the stuff I say afterward!

As I said before, The Golden Quiche was the fanfic that inspired me. I was absolutely obsessed with it when I started to read it about 2 years ago. I actually spent a whole week of reading to catch up to the about a hundred and half chapters that were out at the time.

I still love the fanfic! And well, about the drawings, the first two are self-explanatory, I like Ludy Lucidia and her husband, Judge Mezil Thyme. They are OCs introduced in GQ and Lady Lucy is kinda a spoiler in herself. I was gonna draw more like Papyrus, Cenna and Frisk but as you can tell by the poor colouring. I'm not really in the mood to draw alot.

The last is well...the most spoiler of all the drawings. It's Sans Seraph.

'Gone was the casual slop. He’s wearing angel’s robes, true to form. It made his mended blue hoodie become a proper cowl.

Six wings of bone had sprouted from his back. A grand succession of plumage hung from the skeletal frames. On each, a motif of eyes adorned their vanes.

And then they…

….They blinked. That’s when a deep sense of horror smacked you across the head.

Every single ‘feather’ is a Seer’s Eye!

SANS SERAPH

The true ‘End Boss’ has finally reared its ugly head.'

This is his introduction in GQ. The seraphim arc is my favourite and least favourite arc of GQ. I like how it pushed everyone to their limits and how Sans is a 'desperate man with hope but no trust'. It encapsulates Sans's entire character throughout the arc. But well...It's my least favourite arc for the same reasons and it's a really long arc.

My favourite Sans would be the one after the crimson hall and seraphim arcs. (basically the magus organisation Sans) When he's just a neutral force working for the magus organisation. He's more like his usual 'canon' self and with something else. Maybe it's his strange work ethic or when he purposefully steps on people to incite reactions. I dunno, but I do like the Sans thats in the series right now.

I'll keep rambling about the story and the other characters if I could but I don't think I should. I'll save that for another day.

#sophtoart #sophtopus #undertale #undertale fanfic #undertale fanart #sans #mezil #lucidia #the golden quiche #GQ fanart #amelia's fanart

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redwayfarers · 2 years

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Microfics 4

Fandom: Wayfarer IF Pairing: Cassander x Melchior (implied); there’s no Cass x Aeran in this one folks, but there is Aeran Content warning: None Microfics 1, Microfics 2, Microfics 3, prompts

First light

The day of our inauguration, Aeran and I are up at dawn. The Spire sleeps, lulled into a sense of peace before this batch of apprentices officially become Wayfarers; many of them take their beauty sleep still, probably allowed to sleep in by their Masters for this very special day, but I couldn’t catch any sleep last night. Excitement keeps twisting my belly into knots even now, a simple joy of a dream that will come true in a few hours, and if it offered any space in my chest, I’d feel anxious about presentation, the words, the demeanor, but I don’t.

I know Aeran’s the same way. He meets me by the door to the main hall, seemingly thinking the same thing. Together we climb up one of the Spire’s towers and sit out our final hours as apprentices on the highest level as the sun slowly rises above the mountains.

“I can’t wait,” he says quietly, eyes bright with mirth. “It’s been ten years, Cass. Ten years and look at us. In a few hours, we’ll be Wayfarers, Cass, can you believe it?”

“Hardly,” I shake my head, putting my shoulder-length hair behind my ear. I won’t be going to my inauguration into the Order with that ugly mop Grandmaster forced on me. I’m not that gangly, overgrown branch of a boy anymore. “It feels like a lifetime.” I reach out and lay my fingers on his. He squeezes them, tilting his head back to watch what seems to be a particularly interesting freckle near my eyes and smiles. “Promise me you won’t abandon your best friend now that you’re a warrior of legend and whatnot,” I whisper, mirroring his position. Cold wind bites at his cheeks, tinting them red.

“Never,” he nods solemnly. “You don’t forget your best friend. Never.”

Symbols

Arathian love for asymmetry sometimes gives wonderful results, Melchior notices. Either unaware of or not caring for the empire’s distaste for tattoos, though he is certain it’s the latter, Cassander wears his proudly, as he does every nick and scar and freckle. His serithan doesn’t exactly hide the colourful Vestran sword wrapping around his arm and he’s purposefully placed it so the raven on his other arm that extends into the dark freckles of his shoulder comes into full view.

A good use of that serithan, in his opinion. A half-hearted attempt to blend into the Velantian elite, with that Wayfarer pendant around his neck, but he wears it all openly, a Wayfarer before anything else.

Melchior wonders if he could maybe find out if there are more of them the fabric does hide.

Keepsakes

There aren’t many artists who would be willing to ink a Wayfarer, but if you ask the right questions, pull the right information out of people, such person will appear - in my case, a greying dark-skinned human with curious eyes. They remind too much of Sero sometimes, only they’re much more timid than Sero ever was; quiet where they were boisterous, shy where Sero never gave a shit, serious where all Sero did was have fun. Yet the similarities were there, enough for me to willingly go beneath their hands for the simple price of a few favours and contracts.

The ink is a keepsake on my skin, a part of me I carry at all times. Vestran sword for my Vestran blood and my Vestran name; raven for Aisanne and her kindness and the love I bear for her in my heart. I considered asking for a little tattoo of the Wayfarer symbol before I realised there was no need.

I am, after all, Cassander, the Red Wayfarer.

#wayfarer #wayfarer if #wayfarer mc #cassander inteus #aeran kellis #melchior larkspur #cassander x melchior #inspo birb has come to town #wayfarer fic #the microfics challenge is always fun ngl

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a-simple-imagine · 1 year

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Victim Blaming

Synopsis: during a game of bodies bodies bodies, david catches you and emma alone in the dark

Pairing: fem!reader x emma (bodies bodies bodies)

Words: 3.9k+

A/N - I have finally done it. I finished this story. It’s set before the movie but features elements from the movie and all characters remain awful people. please note: i don’t see the reader as a victim, again they’re just as bad

WARNINGS - implied heavy drug and alcohol use, sexual references, cheating and swearing

whenever you invite your friends around, there comes a time late into the evening when you inevitably regret it. you loved the fuckers but when they got a little too drunk and a little too fucked up, they just become more of a burden than a joy. it seemed that time had arrived extra early tonight as you creep through the purposefully dark hallway. bodies. bodies. bodies. a game that brought nothing but tears or stress to all its players. if it wasn't David lying in wait for the perfect opportunity to grace you with a jump scare, it was the impending breakdown from Emma. or even Jordan getting aggressive in her defence when someone accuses her of being the murderer. never had this stupid game ended well and yet, here you were playing this cursed game? there are plenty of less ugly games you could have played, many of which involve more alcohol. a loud creak echoes throughout the night bringing you to an abrupt stop. what was that? with the way, your heart was pounding you'd think an actual murderer was lurking in the dark. when all falls silent, you push on. suddenly, a hand clamps around your wrist, making your stomach drop and heart leap as you're dragged into one of the many rooms in this house.

"What th-" a sweaty palm slaps over your mouth. shhh hissed loudly in your ear. your panic settles as you blink a few times; staring back was none other than Emma wearing a pretty amused smile. slowly, her hand falls. "did you just... murder me?"

a subtle shake of her head. "no." she assures you. "no, I'm not the murder."

curious eyes search for any signs she's lying before simply shrugging and accepting her declaration of innocence. "why did you grab me then? that isn't part of the game."

"well..." delicate hands trickle down the side of your body only to settle on your hips. her eyes remain transfixed on yours as she yanks you closer, pressing her hips into you. "I was hoping to have a little fun," the pungent smell of alcohol mixes with her sugary sweet perfume; you're not sure if you like it. she was a little out of it, just high enough to be careless. you were clearly on a different level. "in the dark." as much as you would like to, it was hardly the best idea right now even under the blanket of darkness. 4 other people were running around the hallways that could appear at any second.

"Emma..." her name drowns in your less than favourable sigh. she looked so soft standing here pleading for attention. you bring a hand up to gently caress her cheek. "you know we can't."

"It's fine, nobody has to know." with how loud she was whispering, the whole house probably already knew. her hands slip around the small of your back; applying a little pressure as she urges you closer. you know you should push her away but you don't want to; you're enjoying being in her embrace even in just the simplest of ways. however, it wasn't fine to be here alone with her like this. it never was no matter how much you try to convince yourself otherwise.

"I don't think your boyfriend would agree, now would he?" you pose it as a question but hardly expect an answer. a small smile settles on your face while a famous pout now adorns hers. she leans into your touch for a moment. "just one kiss then?" muttered into the night as a hand vacates your hip to take your hand; her lips pressed into the palm.

"we're gonna get caught." you insist, removing yourself from her grasp. you were tempting fate and she was sure to be far from kind.

"Please?" her eyes flutter in pair with that pout. emma leans in incredibly close; her hot breath tickles your skin but she never quite lets your lips connect. she was searching for confirmation. allowing you to take the lead but in a way that still left her with all the power of getting exactly what she wanted. "just one." even so, you can't help but smile at her determination for affection. it was just very on-brand for her. your friends would all agree; there were many stories that painted a glorious picture of just how needy drunk Emma could be. with a merely playful roll of your eyes, you ghost her painted lips summoning a flood of light with your sin. it almost blinding as you jump sharply away from Emma. it takes a few seconds to adjust before you notice the lone figure leaning against the doorframe. his hand lingers on the light switch for what you can only assume is dramatic effect. david. your friend. emma's boyfriend.

"what the fuck are you two doing?" his voice is pretty neutral as is his face, so you're unsure of how he's feeling. it was just a kiss. hardly anything to write home about but then again, he had every right to be mad. you liked David. he was a massive dick a lot of the time and he was sometimes a really shitty boyfriend but you have a laugh. he always shared his food with you before the others too which you very much appreciated.

"Nothing," a singular word that falls from two sets of lips. if it wasn't for the panic in your chest you'd almost say it seemed rehearsed.

"we're just talking," Emma is the first to lie and so you don't feel it's your place, to be honest.

"yeah," you nod quickly. "we just- I didn't feel good so she was helping me. coke always fucks me up."

"you have coke?" the question almost seemed random despite you being the one to bring it up. your brow furrows a little as you shake your head

"uh... no, alice has coke though." surely he already knew that. the silence is deafening with the weight of your lies. you're not even convinced he believes them. with how loud Emma was whispering, he could have easily overheard. you're about to continue talking when a particular word repeated three times summons your presence.

bodies. bodies. bodies

you look to Emma and then to David but were yet to make a move. it was like each of you was waiting for someone else to go first. David ends up being the leader here; flipping off the light as he turns into the hallway. "come on, cocksuckers."

you look at Emma again but her expression is hard to make out in the darkness. you struggle to find anything to say to her so instead you just quickly follow after David. "well that feels a little misogynistic." you comment but he just chuckles as Emma brings up the rear.

it's a painfully awkward walk down to join the others with nobody saying anything or even looking at each other. the first thing you spot is Jordan laying face down on the floor, pretending to be dead. a light tap of your foot against her side, she doesn't even move. "now that Jordan is dead does that mean we never have to look at her stupid google calendar ever again?"

"Without me, you'd all be dead in a ditch somewhere," mumbled into the ground. your lips curl into a little smirk. she was probably right. jordan was probably the best person in any kind of emergency and she was also like super organised. very handy but also very annoying.

"oh so that's why we never get to have any fun," you tease. a middle finger pointed in your direction as you step over Jordan's 'dead' body to join Sophie on the couch. alice is sitting on the floor beside your legs. your eyes follow David and his girlfriend take up space on the armchair.

"so any ideas who the murder is?" Sophie asks.

"We can skip this part, I already know who did it." you start, sitting up straighter. "Sophie."

"What makes you think it was me," Sophie grabs you from behind, pulling you back against her. "huh?"

"because it's obvious," you look at her through the corner of your eye, she wears a curious smile.

"explain?"

"yeah explain." alice repeats, pointing her saliva-covered lollipop in your direction.

"the only real possibility here is Sophie... or alice too, I guess." you shrug against her grip. "but at the start of the game, I was with alice doing lines while Jordan went in the complete opposite direction. then I like immediately ran into Emma and spent the rest of the game with her. david came along shortly after and there is no way he was quick enough to kill Jordan and run to me and Emma. that just leaves Sophie." you sit in her embrace, glancing at each of your friends. "Sophie is the murder."

"it's not me." Sophie huffs in your ear.

"Yeah, you are."

"I'm not." her arms unwrap from around you allowing you to lean forward once more.

"We should give you coke all the time," alice comments.

"I'm not the killer though," Sophie continues to argue but she's hardly convincing. you're pretty confident it's her. "what about alice? you said it could be her."

"maybe," you nod a little. "it's not though because it's you."

"why were you with Emma and David anyway?" her tone was sharp; a little too aggressive but maybe that was just the alcohol taking control. "that's not part of the game."

"oooh she's getting defensive," alice teases.

"I was just talking with Emma," you reply. "then David appeared and switched the lights on- I don't know why." your brow furrows a little as all attention falls to David. he's shaking his right leg repeatedly but doesn't say anything.

"what were you talking to Emma about?" Sophie inquires.

"does it matter?"

"kinda," the girl continues. "you were cheating."

"it's not cheating to talk to someone, Sophie."

"why don't we just start again?" Emma suggests in a desperate attempt to ease the tension.

"no." you reply firmly. "it's Sophie."

"you can't hang out with half the players, that goes against the whole point of the game."

"you're just mad because I guessed you were the killer and now you're making up any excuse. just admit I was right- who else thinks it's Sophie?"

"I kinda think it's Sophie now," Alice's hand shoots into the air.

"it's not me for fucks sake."

"let's just start again," Emma repeats.

"we're not starting again," you don't mean to sound so assertive but you can't help it. "I'm right."

"you cheated."

"Jesus fuckin' christ, just start again." David huffs. "it'll give these two a chance to sneak off again."

such a snide little comment, he was clearly upset which meant he definitely saw what was happening. or heard, at least.

"wait- what are you going on about?" a confused tone as Sophie diverts from the original conversation.

"nothing just my girlfriend making out with other people."

"there was no making out." you insist.

"who was making out?" Jordan, who was now sat up on her knees, asks.

"nobody. there was no making out. it was barely a kiss." you exclaim before looking at Jordan. "dead people can't talk, remember?"

"you kissed Emma?" Jordan questions, frowning a little.

"It's not a big deal," you insist, rolling your eyes. "do you know how many times I've had my tongue down Sophie's throat?"

"sophies kinda slutty."

"hey-"

you shrug, glancing back at her. "but like I've also kissed alice a bunch.

"can confirm," it's such an absent-minded response.

"See," you usher desperately to alice. "you just don't understand the complexity of female presenting friendships."

"what the fuck are you talking about?" Jordan calls you out. "we've never kissed."

"ooooh awkward moment to tell you this Jord but I actually don't like you." you're hoping the sarcasm in your voice is clear or this was leading to an even more awkward situation.

"I agree with Emma, we should just forget everything and start over without cheating this time." daggers shot in your direction from Sophie. "no running off to make out with Emma."

"fuck off," you fire back.

"a kiss is nothing," alice pipes up. "better than them fucking."

"alice," you growl.

"What?" David directs the question at his girlfriend who has now got the most innocent, surprised look on her face. you know she's struggling to come up with an answer here. all those acting skills and yet seemingly useless at improv.

"alice is a coked-up liar, don't fucking believe her." you urge quickly.

"nu-uh" she shrugs. "it's like totally fine anyway, not like they're having sex"

"oh my god, alice." it was Emma this time.

"do you... do you fucking talk about us behind my back?"

"no." Emma insists.

"yes." alice adds.

"no- no, I haven't."

"I don't know about Emma gossiping about you two but there was nothing between me and Emma."

alice's head shakes. "you literally text me saying you fucked."

"what the actual fuck?" David scoffs. "fuck this shit," he pushes himself to his feet, turning to Emma. "and fuck you."

emma was quick to her feet, scampering after her boyfriend. a glance in your direction as her name slips from your lips, there's a slight hesitation. like part of her wants to stay with you. find comfort in you. and maybe that's what you want too but it's clear where her priority lies when she continues out the door. an awkward silence quickly blankets the room providing zero warmth from the cold feeling of being left behind. you know your friends are dying to say something; you can feel their eyes peering into you. what were you expected to do here? you could feel a bubbling mess of different emotions deep inside. at the very least there was a tiny sliver of relief in the fact you now had one less secret to keep.

"That was.... real intense." alice mumbles, shoving her lollipop back into her mouth. you grit your teeth, she didn't deserve the anger you felt towards her. she couldn't keep her mouth shut, that was something you already knew. it was your mistake for sharing such a secret with her in the first place. you watch her bring a glass of god only knows what to her lips and take a sip. no attempt to apologise or anything. pushing yourself up off the couch, you head for the nearest exit.

"you good?" Jordan looks up to you as you pass by. you just... couldn't be in here anymore. not with alice. not with any of them.

"I'm fine," you lie quietly. "just need some air."

the chill is brisk when you step out into the night. normally being so messed up would shield you from the elements but alas it wasn't working well enough. you take up space on the edge of the pool, making the necessary accommodations to stick your legs into the water. it's a nice warm feeling. this is why you should never play that stupid game; it's fun when it's everyone else is arguing but less so when you're involved. a heavy sigh you stare into the blue wondering what Emma and David are doing right now. you can already picture the sob show Emma is putting on to win back her boyfriend. the distant sound of footsteps drags a heavy groan from your lips.

"is someone sulking because they've been a bad girl?" teased from above, you know it's Sophie. "do you need to be punished?" glancing upwards, you offer a smile that's quick to fade. "not even a laugh? you must be upset."

"I'm fine," you reply sharply but quietly.

"oooh, touchy," she laughs a little as she sits down beside you. an arm placed around your shoulder, Sophie pulls you into her side. it's fall silent, the distant sound of crickets chirping into the night. you watch Sophie's legs as they move back and forth through the water. "so did you really sleep with Emma?"

you let her question just hang in the air for a moment, unsure if you even want to answer. "...you'd know if you ever responded to my texts."

a huff of a laugh, the girl shoves you slightly. "do you like her?"

"do I like my friend, Emma? obviously."

"you know what I mean," she responds. "what you did was like... really fucking shitty but it's worse if you don't even like her."

"I thought you'd be angrier." you comment; an attempt to change the subject from whatever feelings may lay in your relationship with Emma.

"why?"

you glance at her. sophie wears a gentle smile but looks just a little lost; it's probably the drugs. "David is like your best friend."

"yeah... you're my friend too. a massive dick of a friend like but that's normally David so," she shrugs

Sophie earns herself a little chuckle. she wasn't wrong, David could be a piece of work. you hear footsteps again, Sophie turns to look but you don't bother.

"Are you mad at me?" mumbled quietly into the night. it was alice unsure about her question. "you can't be mad at me, your beautiful, sexy, amazing, best friend."

"fuck off, alice," you mumble. you really can't be bothered to deal with her of all people right now.

"so you are mad at me?" she asks again, taking up space beside you. "if you like really think about it I'm not to blame here."

"how the hell did you decide that?"

"Because I'm on like a shit ton of drugs so anything I do is totally not my fault." was she being serious right now?

"just... go back inside alice." you sigh.

"but-"

"fuck off!" you snap. Sophia's hand comes to rest upon your thigh. maybe she was trying to soothe you.

"It's fine alice, go back inside, we'll join you in a minute, okay?." Sophie says calmly. you kinda wish she'd go too but alas she remains. right next to you.

"Are we gonna stay out here all night?"

"you can leave whenever you want," you shrug.

"don't you want me here?"

"Frankly no."

"and that's exactly why I'm staying right here," she bumps your shoulder with hers. "all night."

you roll your eyes but just leave her be. "was I right?"

"About what?" she wonders.

"the game. you were the murderer, right?" Sophie hesitates just looking straight at you then shrugs. "Sophie."

"fine. maybe you were right but you also cheated so it doesn't really count."

"I knew it."

"yeah yeah," her hand runs up and down your back. "how about we go back inside and get you a drink?"

"how about you leave me the fuck alone."

"not gonna happen," Sophie stands up offering out her hand. "now come on."

you look up at her, willing her to simply walk away but you know her stubborn ass won't leave without you. with a roll of your eyes, you reluctantly take her hand and Sophie helps you to your feet, leading the way inside.

both Jordan and alice turn as you enter. you're walking just a few steps behind Sophie almost using her like a human shield from their judgemental stares. you don't even notice Emma until she's charging in your direction. cheeks bright red and eyes full of tears that haven't quite fallen yet. "why the fuck did you tell alice?" yelled in your face. before you can respond, Sophie steps in front, holding out a hand. why was she suddenly acting like you're some delicate wounded bird who needs protection?

"hey- back off."

you squeeze her hand softly. "it's fine," she looks to you for reassurance before stepping aside. "why wouldn't I tell alice? she's my best friend, I tell her literally everything."

"if you had just kept your mouth shut we wouldn't be in this mess."

"let's calm down, yeah," Jordan intervenes, coming up behind Emma. she was trying to usher her away but Emma just brushed her off.

"no- this is her fault."

"my fault?" your brow furrows in confusion.

"you fucked everything up."

"Emma that's-" Sophie starts but you just laugh and she trails off.

"you can't be serious," you state. this was getting more and more ridiculous. how had she somehow managed to completely absolve herself from the situation? how had everyone suddenly decided that you were the only person in the wrong here? "you were the one all over me upstairs, just zero chill- no wonder David barged in when you were shouting the whole place down," that urge to comfort her was now replaced with harsh anger. you know you're in the wrong here but so was Emma. so was alice. it wasn't just you. they couldn't just put the whole blame on you, it wasn't fair. why wasn't she shouting at alice too? or even taking an ounce of blame. "maybe you should try talking about your issues with your boyfriend instead of telling everyone else," Sophie squeezes your hand. you can't tell if she's telling you to stop or trying to encourage you. "in fact, let's talk about how every time you're sad because David said some dumb, petty shit, you come running to me? or how you can't help but beg for attention from literally anyone all the fucking time? it's like you're fucking incapable of being alone- it's fucking pathetic. it's just... sad" tears spill down her rose-tinted cheeks but that just makes you angrier. you squeeze Sophie's hand; hard as you get closer to Emma. so close she shrinks under your gaze. nobody interrupts or tries to drag you away. it's silent as you rant. "you're just as much to blame here, Emma, if not more and it's insane that you can't see that." you take a deep breath to calm your nerves, you can't stand looking at her anymore. "i need a fucking drink." you push past Emma, dragging Sophie along with you.

"little harsh, don't you think?"

it wasn't harsh enough. you knew a lot about Emma and there were plenty of ways you could have really hurt her. but you didn't want that. you wanted to go back to earlier when the only thing you were worried about was a pretend murderer who was definitely being played by Sophie. some time spent in the kitchen alone with Sophie before you head to bed. your friends left downstairs to their own devices. they're so loud. and alice keeps popping into your room to ask for things. the door opens with a soft click and you can't help but groan. "alice, for the millionth time, you can have whatever you want. I really don't care."

"It's... not alice." almost a chill at the sound of her voice, you sit up in bed and turn to look. rest assured, Emma stands in the doorway. her head hangs low so you assume she's not looking back. "can i... stay with you?"

the absurdity of the request caught you off guard. you're nothing short of a little confused. why would she want that after she blamed you for everything that went wrong tonight? you stare in her direction for a minute, never saying yes but also unable to send her away. it was messed up but you just can't do it. instead, you just roll back over and leave Emma to decide what was right here. a few seconds later, the bed dips beside you as she shuffles into your bed and after a few more moments a hand snakes over your waist. you just let it happen and wonder what David would think until eventually, you drift off to sleep.

#chase sui wonders #a24 #a24 movies #bbb movie

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bijoharvelle · 2 years

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(sorry that i think cas was at his hottest in season 4. as if it's my fault.) inspired by my own tags on this gifset from @gentlemancowboy like a month ago

Dean is faking sleep – Sammy only just knocked off, tossing and turning and muttering on Bobby’s couch that he outgrew more than ten years ago – when Castiel fizzles into existence. Hell is still screaming through his head and for a minute he can’t tell the difference between the soft black of the back of his eyelids and the cold void of hellfire.

The sound of wings, though, is familiar. The sound of Castiel coming is familiar, like some distant memory tucked away in his time below.

His heart is going triple-time in the cage of his chest and the rapid pulse roils through shame and guilt and hurt, like it’s still trying to pound out of Victor’s ice grip. There’s a roaring in his ears that maybe sounds like Viktor’s scream so he can’t be sure of what he says to the angel (if that's what this even is). He just knows that it’s snatchy and prickly because he doesn’t know how to be anything else in this situation. Every time he blinks he sees the bodies of people he let die: hunters, civilians, people just doing their jobs, innocent bystanders. Witnesses.

He comes back to himself when the angel in front of him tosses his hands up in defeat. It’s something, to annoy a celestial being into petulance, but Dean figures that’s Castiel’s fault. He’s the one who groped him out of Hell after all. Dean is his problem, now.

Castiel moves in closer and Dean is reminded of big cats in the wild, stalking in on cornered prey. Fever rises in him, a contrast against the high-whine of desperation that has been flooding his system since Victor reached for his heart, since Meg put the beat-down on him, since he crawled out of his own grave.

“You should show me some respect,” Castiel rasps out and Dean’s breathing catches in his throat. The angel is close enough that Dean can smell the off-center scent coming off him, something like metal melting and the milk of dandelion. He’s close enough that Dean can tell he isn’t breathing, doesn’t need to breathe.

“I dragged you out of Hell,” the angel says, voice whip-tight and Dean hears himself in it, an echo of Dean’s regret and guilt borne in Castiel’s admittance that six of his brothers were killed. “I can throw you back in.”

It’s a threat but Dean’s wiring has always been more than a little crossed, so he’s not surprised that it makes heat surge through his chest and straight down to his dick.

“Should maybe make it worthwhile then, huh?” Dean says, and he means it to be cocky and smug and flirtatious but it comes out reed-thin and needy. Before he can do anything to save face, he’s on his knees, eyes bowed up to look at the angel above him.

Castiel’s face is blank, calculating. Dean can practically see him flipping through a rolodex of human behavior, trying to place just what Dean is doing. His head cocks to the side, just the slightest bit and Dean’s eyes track along the dark shock of hair along his head. He wants to twist his fingers in it.

Instead, he gets one hand around Castiel’s hip and presses his face full into the guy’s crotch. And maybe Castiel doesn’t have to breathe, but there’s a long pull of inhale from the angel and Dean smiles to himself at that.

“What–”

“Shh,” Dean hushes, purposefully letting a hot stream of his breath run along Castiel’s leg. The angel obeys and Dean nuzzles between his legs.

And it’s familiar. It’s easy, Dean knows this. He knows bodies and pleasure, understands the simplicity of the role before him. For a minute, the wild chaos of torture in his head dulls and he can almost hear himself think. It takes him a minute to realize that Castiel has one hand resting atop his head, gentle and tentative.

Dean gets his tongue around the ugly-ass fabric of Castiel’s ugly-ass slacks and clamps his teeth on the zipper of the fly. Sharp metal pricks his tongue and Castiel’s hand goes a little heavier in his hair.

“You’re shaking,” Castiel says. It’s quiet, but in the hush of the night around them, Dean takes it like gunshot. He doesn’t answer, just looks up at Castiel through his lashes and tugs the zipper down. Reaching up one hand to pop the button, he realizes that Castiel is right. He’s shaking. He swallows past it and coasts his hand under the white dress shirt, skin skipping along skin.

“You’re shaking,” Castiel says again, even softer this time. Dean’s arm is stretched, hand splayed over where Castiel’s heart would be if angels had hearts, and his mouth is open against the boxers that the angel is wearing and in any other life he might laugh at that: angels wear boxers. There isn’t any room for revelation in his head, though, he’s still busy trying to rush through the sudden quiet in his mind.

He hasn’t been alone in his thoughts in forty years or two weeks. It’s all been a twisted havoc of Alastair’s hissing voice and the wretched cries he wrenched from souls and taunts from other demons. It’s all been a jumble of all the ways he was never good enough in life and how that was proved true when he finally climbed down off the Rack. It’s all been an endless parade of self-hate, guilt, shame, terror.

And so part of him is chanting in the background that he doesn’t deserve this, doesn’t deserve this quiet, this relief, but soon enough that too is soothed back. Until all he can focus in on is the pressure of Castiel’s hand on the crown of his head and the heat of Castiel’s cock under his tongue.

The angel is ramrod still, every muscle tuned taut to almost snapping and Dean wants more than anything to make him break. Dean wants more than anything to feel those fingers clench in his hair, those hips thrust against his chin. He wants to find out whether angels come and if they do, fuck, he wants to taste it.

He realizes that his knees and back aren’t aching the way they should be, the way they usually do, and he lilts his eyes up. That’s when he finds that Castiel is watching him with such rapt attention that it should be blasphemous. He was pretty sure one of the main commandments from the Big Guy upstairs was taking no other God before him and Castiel is looking at him like he might just turn false idols. Castiel is looking at him and looking at him and it’s enough that for a split second and no more Dean thinks maybe there is something in him worth saving.

He didn’t like the idea of God’s eye narrowing in on him but he doesn’t hate the idea of Castiel’s attention on him, unwavering.

Their eyes are latched and Dean can tell that Castiel is keying up higher and higher and he’s about to break

and Dean wakes up on the floor.

He wakes up on the floor, gasping, and desperately hard, and with a sharp pain around his jaw and lurking in his knees and back. There’s weak sunlight pooling in and the couch is empty, Sam walking around somewhere further in the house.

Dean closes his eyes and he doesn’t see Victor, or Meg, or Randy, or any dead bodies. He just sees the iridescent imprint of blue irises, floating like haloes out of the darkness.

#deancas #deancas fanfiction #destiel #destiel fanfic #deancas fanfic #destiel fanfiction #supernatural #supernatural fanfiction #spn #spn fanfic #chayya writes

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x-amount-verbs · 2 years

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A Helping Hand - Part 4

[start here] || Part 3 || Part 4 || Part 5

[silco x f!reader] [2.8k words] [no y/n] [during timeskip] [touch-starved reader] [henchwoman!reader] [SFW] [tween jinx]

AO3 Link

You may have given Sevika a bad rap. She’s not welcoming and inclusive and empathetic — or, at least, she doesn’t give off any of those traits — but she made a point to bring you back into the fold (and, perhaps more importantly, keep you engaged for a few hours and not wandering off to mope). Even if her lips thinned in a judgmental silence, she rolled her eyes and indulged your request for a sling to hold your dumb arm against your chest while you sat at her table.

And yes, you did lose money to her.

She made a point of saying she refused to lose to you just cause you were feeling sorry for yourself. Which… well, fair. Still kinda grated on you, but it was better than the people who were constantly sneaking peeks at the hand until you got the sling set up to hide it.

You get home later than you expected, having left with a coworker once the bar picked up, the new clientele too loud and too rowdy for you to feel good about staying with your stupid dumb deformity.

It’s how you kept thinking of it these past few hours. That foreign body that’s latched onto you. Parasitic piece of junk. A weight constantly dragging you down, that only seems to get harder to work the more you try. The amount of resentment you hold toward the inanimate— or… semianimate object— is impressive.

In the dark of your room in the lodging house, you pull the objects from your waist pocket, setting them on your dresser before finding the lantern’s switch. The sling is comforting. It’s much easier to ignore the hand this way. Your good hand has gotten used to some tasks anyway, during the original recovery period. You stopped pulling your hair up, for one, opting to lop off a few inches so it wasn’t as much of a burden. It had felt bold, then. Freeing, to bluntly state the decision, make it happen, and say screw the consequences. Now you miss it, miss the old spike-strapped braid. But you can’t braid with one hand, so… too bad so sad sucks to be you, apparently.

You run your hand through the thick mess of what’s left, grimacing at the feel of sweat against your scalp. Gross. You are in desperate need of bathing beyond the towel-and-basin method. Scanning the list from Silco (once again marveling at how neat and concise the script is) you note the directions for use when bathing, and then pause. You missed one of the last bits, earlier.

Sleeve will self-sanitize generally; remove 1x/week to check connections, evaluate, etc.

Removing the sleeve? The sheath that covers the undoubtedly ugly tubes embedded in your arm, that protects where shimmer binds nerves and muscles to the fluid hydraulics? It makes your stomach turn over. You don’t want to see that. Isn’t the purpose of this prosthetic limb to never have to see your mutilated flesh again? To replace it with smooth fired plates and a polymer liner?

Besides, you’re not even 100% sure how to remove the sleeve. But in the back of your mind, time is counting down. This is day two; you need to face that unpleasant reality before seven days have passed.

But not tonight!

Letting out a long breath, you straighten your spine and set all your attention to getting yourself clean and into bed.

The first time you awkwardly try to wash your hair with the prosthesis, fingers catch in curls and tug uncomfortably, and you can’t feel what’s tangled. So that’s not going to happen. The hand goes back to resting awkwardly against your chest as you try to ignore the too-smooth backs of its knuckles.

—

Morning aches and pains have been the norm, but with the fresh supply of painkillers they ease at the press of a plunger. You can practically hear Silco chiding you for your pride— the hypocrite. But he’s right; trying to function without the drugs would just be making things purposefully harder for yourself, and you’d hope you’re smarter than that. (Jury’s still out on that one, though.)

You’re running out of easy-to-wear clothes that are appropriate for an actual work day. When you were just going back and forth to the lab, all your time spent waiting and testing and sitting around, it didn’t matter what you wore— which was great, cause foundation garments are a tough sell when you put them on with one hand. Oh well. You’ll figure out tomorrow tomorrow. Maybe you’ll talk to the lodging manager about moving up your usual laundry service day.

The walk to work isn’t too bad, even without the escort you’ve had the past few weeks. A pistol at your side and a good cloak to hide the sling both help discourage trouble. You haven’t been carrying the gun, but it’s time you got back to it.

Orid shows you to your makeshift office, and the unusual gentleness he shows makes you cringe. Pity is not your favorite thing. And that’s what this ‘job’ is: pity. Something to let you feel useful while you’re being useless.

At least now you have a desk.

—

You notice her around the corner when you’re on your way back to your office with lunch (maybe more like dinner, it’s well past 3). Blue hair disappears around the edge of the hallway just as you’re getting to your door. Your gaze lingers on the corner, but after a momentary pause you tilt your head and accept she isn’t interested in being seen again. Food is more important, anyway.

Not three minutes later, you hear light footsteps and a muffled hollow metallic sound in the hall, and don’t regret leaving your door open. Sounds like the kid is back, but trying to be sneaky. A sidelong glance spots blue and purple in the crack of the door.

Your good hand sets down the almost-stale bread you’ve been dipping in leftover soup, chewing slowly as you try to see all you can without actually looking at the girl. The colors shift a little, but don’t leave.

“Are you going to come in, or just stand there stalking me?”

The movement stops.

Then, after a brief hesitation, the kid pops around the corner, lips in a stubborn line and chin high. “I wasn’t stalking you,” she argues, word emphasized with a melodramatic eye roll. “I was observing your patterns.” She sounds like she’s quoting someone. If this is who you think it is, she probably is, and that someone is probably Silco.

“Why? Plan on taking me down? Am I a threat to your operation?”

Her eyes narrow, like she can’t tell if you’re being serious. Your brows raise, expectantly, but you carry none of that oppressive vibe that Silco gives off. It’s a joking challenge, even if it’s delivered with a straight face.

She opens her mouth to say something, then snaps it closed again. Instead, she stares intently at the sling. “Does yours do the thing like Sevika’s?” She sounds halfway between interest and wariness.

Well, at least she’s being upfront.

You free your arm, holding it out for her to see. “No. Not yet, anyway. It’s just a hand.”

A few more steps into the room, and you can tell this kid is seriously putting on a show of confidence. That jutting chin, the tight mouth, some echo of Silco’s haughtiness… As a kid, it would’ve passed in your circles. Everyone was constantly posturing. Didn’t have much choice, if you wanted to stay above the last rungs of the social hierarchy.

“What happened to your arm?”

“Not the arm, just the hand,” you correct. “The arm part just keeps it on.” You watch your own hand as you flex and curl your fingers, lips pursing at the uncomfortable dissonance of seeing and not feeling.

“Then what happened to your hand?”

“Blew up.”

Her eyes go wide, breaking the carefully curated too-cool-to-be-interested facade she had. “No shit, really?”

“Yes shit.” You nod. “Guy was trying to kill—” You’re tempted to say your dad, but falter. There’s a few different rumors that go around about why Silco took in the blue-haired girl. That she’s his bastard, his niece (though you weren’t aware he had siblings), or even a kid kidnapped from some Piltie family, being held hostage to keep them cooperating. The last one was a stretch to begin with, and seeing her now you're even more sure that one is bullshit. “-my boss,” you finish.

“Silco?” She doesn’t say dad, so it feels like a good call.

“Yep. Assassin had explosive rounds and I took it to the hand. Detonated on impact.”

She looks interested. You’re not sure if it’s about the injury or the event. “Explosive rounds? Like, for a pistol?” Or about the weapon, apparently. Her gaze drops to the half-visible grip of the one on your belt, and a brief warning blares in your head that this kid better not get ahold of your gun.

“I don’t have any.” You head off the question before it can get asked. “And you shouldn’t be shooting guns at your age, anyway.”

She snorts. “Pffft, yeah, okay,” her blatant sarcasm is nowhere near the subtlety of Silco. “I’m twelve.”

You shoot her a quizzical look, unsure how that relates.

Her expression seems to imply you’re stupid. “Um, duh? Twelve is basically thirteen.” She adopts a bad impersonation of Silco. “‘Gun safety is important, Jinx. No guns until you’re a teenager, Jinx.’ But I still know how to shoot. Sheesh, you think I’m some dumb topsider?”

You try to recall your first experiences with firearms. Pretty sure you didn’t have live rounds until you were at least 18. But, to be fair, pop guns definitely were a thing, and pellet guns, and paintballs. Not to mention other ranged weapons kids could use to fuck with each other. “You a good shot?” you ask; another casual challenge. Undercity kids are tough. Basically tiny adults just with bizarre priorities. Baby talk would be a waste of both your time.

She lets out a bark of laughter, and her smirk is impish. Next thing you know, there’s a gun pointed your direction and your heart stops for a hot second.

Then paint splatters the desk drawer next to you and you’re back, shoving that panic away.

This is not a good realization. Guns are a part of your trade, pistols your favored weapon; you can’t have such a strong reaction to seeing one. Your heart is racing, vaguely lightheaded as the unexpected shock lulls away. Logic is at the forefront of your mind. It’s just a paintball gun.

Speaking of which—

Jinx is laughing, clutching her stomach like it’s the funniest thing. “Your face! It’s like you really thought-” Another laugh splits the air.

You grimace. “What are you doing here, anyway?”

The kid smirks. “What are you doing here?” she shoots back.

Janna, and Silco called you impertinent. “I work here.”

“Nuh uh. You work in the armory district.”

How the hells does she know that? There’s no way she could’ve spotted you there, cause you never spotted her. Where did she hear that? “Not anymore.” Your gaze scours the kid for some kind of clue as to her purpose here. “Now I work here, doing a sum total of nothing useful.”

That makes her laugh. “Yeah. You really got the short end of the arm, huh?”

To your surprise, a laugh makes your chest jolt, even if it’s hardly more than a huff. “Rude.”

“Why do you have to work here?”

“Because the arm cost your— Silco, money.” Still tempted to call him her dad. “And he pays my bills. So.”

“So you do what he says.”

“Yep.”

“And you save his life.”

“I guess.”

“Do you regret it?”

That’s… That's not a question you expected from a kid. It’s heavy. Given the option to undo it, to rewind time and keep your hand in return for Silco’s life? You’re not sure how to answer. Mostly because… gut instinct feels very wrong.

Smart people don’t opt to get their hands blown off for the sake of a kingpin. Smart people value their own safety over their boss.

Alternatively: smarter people know the chaos that would come if Silco ever was removed.

Sure. That’s why you did it.

Do you regret it? “No.”

It’s frustrating that that’s true.

“Shit, you’re crazy.”

You roll your eyes. “And you’re a little menace.” It’s not said maliciously.

Jinx cackles. “Sevika calls me a tripping hazard.”

“Sevika is also a menace,” you add, flatly. For that matter— “So is Silco.”

More giggles spill forth. You manage to keep your grumpy facade, even if there’s something soft threatening the structural integrity.

“So is Lock,” you add. Which is true. “And Liro. And Pashek.” You start listing names of the most overbearing coworkers, annoyances you’ve had on jobs, the ones who’ve irked you in any small way. Very few are people you actively hate, but they’re known enough for Jinx to recognize them, maybe.

Jinx, meanwhile, is collapsing in on herself with laughter. When your list lulls she wheezes, “What about Orid?”

“Oh, a saint.” You don’t even hesitate. “Finest man I’ve ever met.”

She loves it. You are possibly the funniest person she’s ever met, based on her reaction.

You will never understand why kids find things so uproariously funny, or if they just laugh at their own laughter, but it’s more endearing than it should be. Lips press tight to stop yourself from smiling. Dammit. Of all people to feel a kinship to, the boss’s daughter probably isn’t great, when he’s notoriously protective.

Finally, her laughter dies down. “You’re a much better project than the last one,” she shares, amiably.

It’s said so casually.

It should not hit you like a too-hard paintball to the solar plexus; a small focused pain at the crux of your rib cage, bruising but not breaking skin. It could hurt worse than it does.

But it does hurt.

…Which is stupid. Of course you’re a project to him, he practically said as much, that he was taking you on as a project so the Doctor could work on more important things. Silco sees you as an investment of time and energy, with the goal being discoveries he can apply to future dealings.

So why does your mind keep imagining other projects before you? Maybe not medical projects— maybe charity cases, or political schemes, or business offers. Each person receiving his undivided attention until he got what he wanted.

Which was results. And nothing else.

This is fine, you think. This is expected. Logical, reasonable. There is no reason to experience any emotion over this revelation.

A blink or two and you force your mind back on track. Jinx. Cute kid, dumb laugh, right here in front of you.

“Thanks.” It’s unenthused, followed by a low, “I think.”

“So if your hand can’t do the Sevika thing, what can it do?”

You let out a soft sigh. Weight has crept back into your limbs— particularly the prosthetic one. “Theoretically feel, but that’s not working yet.”

“So you can’t feel your hand?”

“Nope.”

Her head cocks sideways. “So like… I could stab a knife through your hand and you wouldn’t feel it?”

Perhaps it should bother you that a twelve year old is proposing stabbing you. It doesn’t. This is the Undercity, and the question is reasonable. You shrug. “I mean, I’m not sure if you personally could get through the material, but I guess. If it was the hand part.”

She lights up. “Cool! Can—”

“No,” the voice is from the hall as an older man suddenly appears in the doorway. He comes in looking thoroughly anxious. “No, you cannot stab one of your father’s employees-”

Blue braids whip around as she turns on a dime. “He’s not my dad!”

The sudden change of mood is disconcerting.

Jinx scowls at the man, glaring daggers. When he doesn’t have a response, she pulls the paintball gun.

You quickly speak up. “I don’t know if Silco would appreciate you shooting this, uh…” Who is he, exactly?

“Tutor,” the man offers, hands up as though the kid holds a real gun, looking terrified. This poor guy.

“Silco says I have to know when people are bullshitting me, and trust my own judgment.”

Well it is a valid point. “He’s not much use if you shoot him,” you point out. From the way the man’s face drains, you suspect he may not realize the clunky firearm is a fake.

Jinx’s face screws up in annoyance. Finally, she lets out a frustrated noise. “Ugh, fine!” She stomps her foot, and heads for the door.

As soon as the tutor lets out his terrified breath, she shoots him in the knee.

—

[next part]

[Eyyy, baby Jinx! Or, technically, tween Jinx! I am very curious to hear opinions on this one, cause I know my take on Jinx doesn’t mesh with all fanon interpretations (like, for instance, my Jinx’s refusal to give Silco the title of father after having lost her last two). Also, yeah, my hc for Jinx is that she’s 10/11 in act 1, and this takes place appx 1.5-2 years after that.

Okay, plug time! Boosting through reblogs is always appreciated, given the nature of tumblr’s opaque rules for links in posts that make it into the main tags. If you want to check it out on AO3. Tag list can be joined by commenting on this linked post. Also I crave any and all comments, be they replies, reblogs, tags, or the comments on ao3. They are the wind beneath my wings. ❤️ -verbs]

Tag list: @hawk4president @mello-jello29 @jennrosefx @dad-dumpster @ellhd-imagination @zuckerwattencupcake @meep-moop-mystic

#silco x f!reader #silco x reader #silco/reader #silco #silco arcane #arcane x reader #arcane league of legends #x-amount-writes #wip:a helping hand #a helping hand

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yoonpobs · 3 years

Text

bad boy good thing | drabble i. | m

WARNINGS. jealous jk, jk's gf is hot and he's not the only one who thinks that, jimin and tae as instigators, i swear jimin and jk love each other, fucking in public spaces aka a car in a parking lot, jk luvs his gf, appearance of perpetrator jin!

NOTE. i missed this couple 🥺oc is living her hot girl summer life and jk does nawt know how to deal with it Lol. hope u enjoy loves!!!!

WORDS. 3k+

“I’m okay,” Jungkook murmurs, eyes fluttering shut as he repeats his own personal mantra. “I’m good. I’m fine—I’m chill. Chillest person ever. I’m good—”

“He’s not okay,” Taehyung snickers.

Jungkook blocks the negativity out, purposefully and intentionally. Nothing could ruin his day—not on his watch, especially as the sun shines over bodies across the beach while the waves break into beautiful fragments that he’s yearning to dip his feet into.

Personal affirmations came first.

“I’m good, I’m fine, I’m okay,” he chants like a crazy person, definitely earning some form of side-eye from the people next to him but he can’t be bothered. Another person thinking that he was insane wasn’t the worst thing that could happen to him—not when—

“You should open your eyes,” Jimin says, “How are you going to fight them if you don’t know thy enemy?”

Immediately, Jungkook’s peace is disturbed by the mouth of Park Jimin, who painfully reminds him of why he’s got into the entire personal mantra and affirmation thing. He used to think it was redundant, unnecessary. How could the universe return your wishes just as you’ve uttered them into the atmosphere? It didn’t seem logical to him.

But right now, that didn’t matter—not when he had bigger things to be worried about.

“Don’t disturb my peace,” Jungkook snaps.

“They did it first,” Jimin retorts, cocking his head towards the flock of people at a certain part of the beach, specifically towards where the water meets the shore.

Jungkook’s eye twitches. His peace is disrupted, his happiness is compromised and it’s all Park Jimin’s fault. He spent a good amount of time getting into his zone, reaffirming himself that he was in fact, fine, good—he was okay! But now, he feels all his resolve dissolve when he realises he can’t even see the main thing that was responsible for his dilemmas.

“You’d think a celebrity was on this beach,” Taehyung snorts.

“Not helping,” Jungkook says dryly.

“So isn’t your crazy person chanting,” Jimin points out, “but yet, here we are—listening to you reciting your own version of a biblical verse.”

“I’m fine,” Jungkook grits for the umpteenth time, and no less is his assertions any more convincing than it was a moment ago. The flicker of his irises towards to crowd is enough to prove that fact. “I’m just enjoying my day at the beach with my friends and my girlfriend.”

“See, there are two false statements in that,” Taehyung tilts his head downwards, offering a smug smirk that Jungkook wishes he could shove into the sand beneath him. “You’re definitely not enjoying this because I can see the veins protruding out of your neck at how hard you’re clenching your jaw, and”—the older boy makes the effort to taunt Jungkook further by letting out a low whistle the moment the crowd seems to grow slightly bigger—“you’re partially right about the friend part. Your girlfriend though … where is she?”

I’m good. I’m okay. I’m cool—

“Oblivious, as usual,” Jimin sighs, plopping back onto the beach towel beneath him while shooting Jungkook a pointed stare. “It’d be sad if you only called her your girlfriend for six months when you’ve been in love with her for seven years.”

“Okay that’s it. I’m going there,” Jungkook declares, huffing as he pushes himself off the ground while Jimin makes an effort to grab at his ankle, halting the younger boy from causing any damage and potentially getting them banned from ever returning.

“Not with that temper you aren’t,” Jimin snaps, “Sit your ass down. God. Can’t you take a joke?”

“A joke?” Jungkook splutters, abhorred. “You literally just said she’s going to break up with me!”

“I said that it’d be sad if—”

“Same fucking difference,” he hisses, rubbing a hand across his face before he kicks Jimin’s petty grip off his ankle while levelling him with a menacing glare. Jungkook’s eyes slowly drift to the side where you finally enter his vision, still smiling like the soft and sweet person you were as you help Namjoon with whatever crab hunting mission he had.

See, Jungkook’s mature enough to know that you and Namjoon were good friends, great ones, even. The two of you were smart and clicked well, and if anything, Jungkook was more envious of the fact that the two of you shared such a wholesome and meaningful friendship than anything else.

The fact that Namjoon used to have feelings for you didn’t bother Jungkook anymore, not when he knew where your heart truly laid. He also trusted Namjoon with his entire life and his firstborns (not that he’d ever tell you that, and God—did he hope that day would eventually come when it came to you). But still, Jungkook was mature—he did some growing up, and he was proud of that.

But Jungkook’s human, a flawed, ever-learning and constantly improving human. A human who’s crazy in love with his pretty girlfriend that he’s longed for years—and a human who isn’t blind. A human who can’t ignore the fact that, apparently, he wasn’t the only person that was trying to keep himself in check at how stunning you were. Every day—and especially today, with how your dainty yellow bikini drapes over the curves of your body.

Jungkook nearly cries. Yellow was his favourite colour. You wore it for him.

Not for—

“Maybe you should head over,” Taehyung murmurs, snapping Jungkook out of his love-filled mind as his eyes clear, immediately catching what his friend was referring to.

Some dude. Talking to you. Smiling at you like you carried all the answers to all the world problems as you giggle a tune comparable to birds chirping. Maybe Jungkook was exaggerating but it always sounded like you were singing his favourite song even if you were just explaining economical concepts to him like a soothing e-book.

“God, why couldn’t she have been ugly,” Jungkook groans.

“You wouldn’t have dated her otherwise,” Jimin retorts.

Jungkook gawks, affronted as he gives his two friends a scandalised expression as he places his hands over his chest to indicate the offence he took to that statement.

“I’m not superficial,” he huffs, “I fell in love with her because of her—”

“Personality, yada yada,” Jimin mocks him in a lower tune that has Jungkook glaring at him. “Yeah, okay. But don’t tell me that her being pretty doesn’t help you bust a nut every once in a while.”

Jungkook flushes.

“Well, yeah, but I’m her boyfriend—”

“Thank you for reminding me that you are in fact, still a boy,” Jimin rolls his eyes, “Men. Mansplaining everything, really.”

Jungkook’s jaw slackens as his eyes briefly land on Taehyung’s figure who doesn’t look too bothered with how the conversation turned out as he shrugs in response.

“How about you do the typical manly thing of being a jealous prick and go over there and stomp over all her fan club members,” Jimin says sarcastically, resting his arm over his eyes to shield them from the sun.

There’s a brief rustle from where the sand meets the towel, and a relatively long period of silence while the only thing that permeates the air is the sound of waves with laughter coming from a family a distance away.

“He did exactly that, didn’t he.”

“You need to stop giving him ideas,” Taehyung sighs, plopping a grape into his mouth before occupying the space next to his friend. “Should we find another beach to frequent?”

“Really?” you laugh, “That’s so cool! I’m actually planning on landing an apprenticeship there over the summer.”

“Oh?” The man is leaning way too close to you for comfort, but you’re unfazed. Jungkook doesn’t even want to know where the hell Namjoon had gone, leaving you with this broad-shouldered, terrifyingly handsome man. “I could definitely put a good word in for you if you’d like.”

You beam, appreciative rather than brazen. But Jungkook thinks the man doesn’t know that.

“I don’t think I can accept that, Seokjin.”

And of course, you knew his name.

“Why not?” Seokjin smirks, and Jungkook knows that it’s definitely done him justice in other situations. “For a beautiful—”

“____,” he interjects, smoothly (or not quite) sliding next to you as his arms wrap around your waist before his glare rests on the man before him, who looks both shocked and unbothered at his appearance. “Who’s this?”

You jump slightly at Jungkook’s arrival but relax when you realise that it was just him and not some other beach weirdo.

“Jungkook, this is Seokjin! He actually attended our university—”

“Really,” he says dryly, “That’s nice.”

“Is this your …?” Seokjin looks Jungkook up and down before settling with a rather unimpressed look. “Do seniors usually bring their shadows out for playdates?”

Your eyes widen at his patronising tone, and before can even think to correct him with a tilted frown, Jungkook’s fingers dig into your waist, a precursor to his jaw that clenches while he engages in his own version of a staredown with the man before you.

“Boyfriend.”

Seokjin raises a brow.

“Me,” Jungkook blinks, unnerved and quite frankly, tired. He’s crossed this bridge enough times, and it’s always the same. Some older dude who thought that you were doing charity work by having Jungkook tag along with like some puny little brother. “I’m her boyfriend.”

“Jungkook—” you start, softly reaching to grip his arm.

“Interesting,” Seokjin says offhandedly and Jungkook knows it’s anything but. “Well, my offer still stands.”

He’s directing it to you as you peer up at him with your notoriously innocent eyes. Jungkook hates that this douche is still unaffected by his blatant declaration of the fact that you were—taken.

“I—that’s fine, Seokjin,” you say softly, lips curling into a thankful smile before he nods.

The look he sends Jungkook is nothing short of unimpressed, and Jungkook’s thinking of clamming the dude into the sand and quite literally, bury the hatchet with him. Sure, he was handsome and broad, and undoubtedly ripped—but Jungkook trained to benchpress twice his weight so he could beat up assholes who tried to hit on his girlfriend.

Right before he leaves, Jungkook calls for his name—intentionally calling him Seokmin—noting the way his face drops into a scowl.

“You’re not her type.”

He scoffs.

“And you are?” he throws back, brows raised as a challenge.

“That’s why I get to hold her and you’re walking away.”

With that, Seokjin doesn’t bother responding to Jungkook, especially in the way that you gawk at your boyfriend’s blatant warning to the older man.

He titters off, and it’s effectively just you and Jungkook standing by the shore while you briefly see the way Namjoon stutters before deciding to return to where Jimin and Taehyung lays.

Jungkook’s still seething in his rage, clenching and unclenching his fists even though he got the last word. It wasn’t that he thought you’d elope with Seokjin and leave him—he trusted you wholeheartedly and vice versa. He knew you loved him and so did he.

It had more to do with the fact that Seokjin saw you, and eventually, him—and thought that Jungkook wasn’t fit to be your boyfriend. That he saw a gorgeous girl on the beach and expected her to be single, and if not—to be with a boyfriend that had his shit together and not … not Jungkook.

“Jungkook?” you say quietly, tugging at his elbow while you peer up at him with wide and apologetic eyes. “I’m sorry.”

It’s no good, the fact that you’re apologising. As if you were responsible for his insecurities when you’ve done nothing but shower him with love and support ever since the two of you started officially dating.

“Don’t apologise,” he says stiffly, though his heart isn’t angry—he can’t help the way his words get out. “It’s not your fault.”

“But—”

“If you apologise then you’re gonna piss me off, baby,” he says lightly, peering you down with a small smirk as your eyes widen.

“I—okay,” you say weakly, and before he knows it, you’re intertwining your fingers with his, eyes suddenly twinkling in a way he’s grown all too familiar with.

“You have the keys?” he murmurs softly.

You nod, blind and in love as you sigh.

“Take care of me?” you ask sweetly, and Jungkook forgets all about Seokjin when he has you right in front of him.

“O-Oh, fuck—Jungkook—ngh—”

Maybe Jungkook really was a crazy person, but he’d argue that you were equally as crazy to oblige to indulge in his lewd fantasies. He was crazy, for you and your cunt that was like nirvana, and it’s proven further when he fucks into you at a brutal pace, uncaring whether or not the car shakes with the exertion of the activities that were taking place in it.

It could be the fact that he had a decade worth of fantasies to play out, but he knows that he plays a huge part in opening your sexual nature and he couldn’t be happier about it, especially when you unabashedly throw your head onto your chest, whimpering with the dirty squelches of his thrusts that echo in the vehicle.

“You’re mine, aren’t you?” he growls, hand wrapping around the back of your neck to force your glassy eyes to look at him.

The look on your face is enough to get Jungkook even more riled up, your flushed cheeks and swollen lips while you nod your head manically, crazy—and his.

“Y-Yours,” you whimper, and just about then, Jungkook brings your hips down with his free hand and meets you with a sharp thrust that has your mouth dropping open and your face scrunched up in pleasure. “F-Fuck, J-Jungkook.”

“No one gets to fuck you like this,” he hisses, pressing a hot kiss to your neck as you whine, hips involuntarily swivelling to meet his fast pace. The car is shaking and it’s all too risky, Jungkook knows that—but his rationale is clouded with the antagonising face of Seokjin. “No one gets to see you like this. Only I do.”

“Y-Yes!” you sob, clutching onto him as he feels your pussy tighten viciously around him, the walls of your inner linings spasming as Jungkook hisses at the feeling. “Only you K-Kook. Only ever want you.”

Jungkook believes you, especially when you desperately hold onto him as he feels himself slowly reach the edge. He knows you are too, especially when your whines get higher in pitch, and your tugs against his shoulders get tighter. He knows because he’s learnt about your body as your boyfriend—and he’s the only person that will ever get to have you like this.

The thought, paired along with the risk of your situation only fuels his determination to get you off, his strong arms immediately wrapping around you to root you into place as he shoves his cock deeper into you.

“Come on, pretty girl,” he croons as you mewl in pleasure, breathless whines turning more desperate as your eyes flutter shut. “You wanna show me how much you want me?”

You nod manically, your pussy fluttering around his length as he grunts in exertion.

“G-Gonna—pleasedon’tstop—fuck, I-I’m cumming—!” you cry, tugging your face into the crook of his neck as Jungkook bites his lips in focus, all ready to accept your hot pleasure and his own.

“Come for me,” he encourages, lips hovering over your earlobe as you obey his orders, head thrown back as he watches your mouth drop wider and your eyes roll to the back of your head, pussy tightening around his length.

Jungkook thinks you’re beautiful. On days where you don’t feel like you do, but he may be biased to say that he thinks you look absolutely stunning for him like this. When he knows that he’s the one responsible for your reddened cheeks, the way you so desperately cling onto him whenever you’d orgasm (the only person that would ever know this fact about you), and the way that you’re left breathless, satiated and with that hazed expression after his resolute efforts.

Jungkook cums shortly after, with those exact thoughts plaguing his mind. He was so whipped. He really only had to think of you and he would get hard, and having you right above him, soft and warm with your arms draped loosely over his form made his heart all mushy and soft despite the way his cock stands erect.

You mewl in oversensitivity although you don’t complain. You never do, whenever Jungkook cums after you. Even now, when Jungkook comes down from his high with pants of his own, his own mind-clearing while his cock softens in you—you remain patient. Patient like the ever-loving, wonderful girlfriend that you were—one that Jungkook wasn’t sure he deserved.

“Wow,” you giggle, forehead resting against his as you return from your own post-orgasmic bliss. “I can’t believe I let you fuck me in a parking lot.”

Jungkook flushes, reality sinking in when he realised that the two of you weren’t hidden from plain sight. While the idea of being caught was definitely arousing, Jungkook knew he wasn’t too keen on having anyone see you delirious, even if it was all for him. He was lucky enough that your bikini top remained on the entire time, but both your sweaty bodies were enough of a dead giveaway.

“I just,” Jungkook tries to explain, words slurring in embarrassment as you raise a brow at him. “You look really pretty today.”

You stare at his forlorn expression as if admitting that pained him. Jungkook feels slightly embarrassed at how he reacted, and if you notice this, you don’t point it out—yet.

“Wore this for you,” you murmur, pressing a soft kiss to the mole under his lip. Jungkook’s heart soars at your admission even if he knew that. “You know it’s only for you, right?”

Your question is purposeful and Jungkook shamefully looks to his lap, and even then—you’re still connected. He slowly pulls out, wincing when his cum threatens to pool out of your pussy, but before he can pretend to clean you up, you’re putting your bikini bottoms back in place and clamping your hands over his cheeks so that he’d look at you.

“Jungkook,” you say sternly.

He sighs.

“Yes,” he groans, feeling a lot like a child who’s being berated. “I just—God. He was such a prick.”

“I know,” you say gently, fingers combing through his hair while he melts into your touch. “There are a lot of pricks out there, but you know that I only love you, right?”

Your confession is the same as the one you’ve made six months ago, and just last night before the two of you fell asleep—but it’s a confession that Jungkook never grows tired of.

“I know,” he mumbles as you giggle at him. “It’s just that … he really thought he had a chance with you, and when he saw me it was like—”

You frown, finger pressed against his lips to stop his rambling as he peers up at you with doe-eyes.

“None of that,” you chide lightly, “I don’t care what people think. The only person I care about is you, and no one will change that, okay?”

Jungkook feels himself relax into your touch, especially when you lean forward to capture his lips in a soft kiss that isn’t set to lead anywhere. He remembers. He remembers the times where you were unsure and all too worried of the words of others—and here you were, with him and with your gentle and loving soul, the embodiment of comfort as you tell him the words he’s always known but needs to be reminded of.

“I love you,” he says quietly as you grin widely at him, “Sorry for—you know.”

You roll your eyes, lifting your leg to get off his lap as you wince at the cum that threatens to escape your lips.

“I mean, it was kind of hot,” you shrug with a small smirk.

“God, I’ve created a monster,” Jungkook snorts, looking over at you when you shoot him a devious grin.

“You love it,” you throw back cheekily, leaning into his shoulder as he wraps an arm around you with a sigh.

He does. And he knows that he’s the only one that you’ll love back.

#bad boy good thing #bbgt #bts #bts fics #bts series #bad boy good thing drabbles #jungkook smut #jungkook fluff #jungkook angst #jungkook drabble #jungkook scenarios #jungkook x oc #bts fanfiction #jungkook scenario #bts jungkook #jeon jungkook

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1kook · 4 years

Text

some way, some how

jeon jungkook x (f) reader

Summary: Maybe you don’t know Jungkook as well as you thought you did. Maybe he doesn’t know you. Warnings: emotional constipation, toxic ex, internalized misogyny, jk has bad experiences w/his ex’s dad, one scene where jk throws up, brief episode of panic, mentions of terminal cancer (minor); smut; fingering, praise kink, face fucking, spitting kink, cunnilingus, unprotected sex on top of a car im sorry Misc: autoshop owner!jk, businesswoman!oc, slice of life, childhood crushes, friends to lovers, ex gfs, pining, country bumpkin pjm w/crush on oblivious oc, ex-bf kth but it’s not real lol Wc: 19.4k (wow!!!)

the spirit of auto shop jk possessed me n next thing i knew i was 11k into a drabble. if ur curious: the 1975 corvette, car at the end, the tweed suitskirt (not actually chanel ☹️sowwyyy) also: this is the longest fic I've written!!!!! clap for me!!!!! i proofread the first few paragraphs n was like thats enough professionalism for the day

inspired by ain’t no mountain high enough one of my fave songs ever🥺 the title is a lyric from the song bc i love it so much enjoy !!

The garage is mostly dark when you enter, the faint hum of a radio quietly filtering through the stagnant room, its source coming from the back wall, where the only light is. It’s a rolling lamp, shining down an ugly yellow glow onto the figure of one man.

Jungkook’s sitting in that same rolling stool he always is, the metal one that’s rusted beyond repair, the cushion so uncomfortably flat. He’s caught up in whatever paint job he’s been tasked with this time around, a classic muscle car from what looks like the 80’s. He’s humming along to the radio, so caught up in stenciling out his design that he doesn’t notice you creep behind him until you’re very purposefully rattling the tool cart beside him, a teasing “boo!” making him jump.

“Fuck, you scared me,” he gasps, rubs over his chest as if to check if his heart is in fact still there. You grin, brandish your bag of takeout out for him before he can lecture you on the dangers of startling people who work around very complex machinery. Instead, all he says is, “you’re an angel.”

Once you’ve got the food carefully scattered across his work bench, your cherry cola tucked next to a canister of gasoline like that’s the safest practice, Jungkook wastes no time diving into all the details of his project, the 1975 Chevy Corvette behind him. The longer you look at it, the more you feel you’ve seen it somewhere. Probably a car show, you presume.

“Purrs like a kitten,” he sighs dreamily, completely ignoring the way half his toppings slide out from the opposite end of his cheeseburger. You don’t, and you swipe a fallen pickle from his tray before he can catch you.

“A kitten?” You ask, glance over at the car. It’s desperately in need of a paint job, and you only realize this now as you stare at it more in depthly. The niggling feeling that you know this car is still there, but you ignore it in favor of indulging your best friend. “Don’t people usually compare cars to bigger, better cats?”

There’s a taped stencil running alongside the car, a thick stripe followed by a thinner one, and you suppose Jungkook’s trying to spice her up, give her back the same youthfulness she probably had in her prime. What better way to do so than by adding some classic stripes alongside it.

Jungkook hums, gulps down his soda noisily. “Not this one. Never heard an engine as soft as hers.”

You roll your eyes. For a minute, the two of you quietly chew through your burgers, the radio filling in the gaps while you analyze the car. You know this car, but you can’t remember where. Jungkook coughs into his palm, probably from trying to inhale his fries too fast like he does every time you go to the diner you’re eating from today.

The diner.

A mouthful of braces. A pretty waitress. A strict dad.

“Holy shit, this is Sojin’s dad’s car,” you inhale, the memories from high school suddenly hitting you full force. Jungkook chokes, out of surprise this time, and furiously goes to deny your claims. “This is totally his car. The one he tried to run you over with when he caught you trying to put her on the back of your bike.”

“He didn’t try to run me over,” Jungkook whines, and the tips of his ears are red from your revelation.

You glare. “Why are you fixing that asshole’s car for him?” You interrogate, the last quarter of your burger forgotten in favor of squeezing the truth out of him. You’d had enough of that treacherous woman and her equally deranged father causing Jungkook trouble, and to catch him still helping her now, almost ten years later, was enough to make a brain vessel pop.

He shrugs, avoids your eyes as he picks through his fries. The radio is still on, some tune you recognize from those old days at the diner when Jungkook had become so unbelievably smitten with the part timer that served you milkshakes every Wednesday afternoon.

He had been in love with her the moment he saw her, and the look in his eyes was only magnified by those dorky glasses he wore pre-lasik. You'd been his friend long enough, recognized the jump of his scrawny thigh beneath the table. Like a bunny, thumping in excitement at the sight of her.

Sojin was... full of surprises.

She was nothing less than a supermodel, long legs carrying her around the diner as if it was her runway. She was nice too, so you hadn’t originally had an excuse to dislike her. She was nice, and so endeared with your best friend that it was inevitable when they began dating. Her presence consumed the end of your high school careers, overtook the time that should have been yours and Jungkook’s last year before being thrown into adulthood. He decided on studying at a technical school nearby—per your encouragement to save money—while you travelled five hours out for your degree in business. That last year, when you had finally come to terms with your feelings, had been so painfully ripped away by Sojin and her never-ending list of teenage drama, and by Sojin’s dad and his overbearing need to police her and Jungkook every chance he got.

Jungkook still hung out—“Sojin was busy, do you wanna do something?”—but more often than not those hang outs consisted of Jungkook telling you about her and her dad, about how hard he tried to get into his good graces.

The bike incident had only been one of many. Times where Jungkook would put his heart—and life—on the line for that girl only for it to be in vain every time she broke up with him over the simplest things. You’d heard stories from Jungkook, all told with a tight smile, of a handshake that would bruise, a man chasing him with a bat, of a car following him to school. All things he put up with for a girl who didn’t care for him. One day, after Jungkook had grudgingly sat through an hour long dinner with her family, the stare of her father piercing through him, she broke up with him because she didn’t like how long his hair had gotten.

(If anyone were to ask you, he was handsome with long hair. Dreamy even.)

He cut it that same day.

As her childishness grew, you quickly came to dislike her. She strung Jungkook around, you thought, and just when you thought she was finally done toying with him and making his life difficult in the sneakiest ways, the damn kid started hitting the gym. His growing frame, toned arms and now straightened teeth had turned him into a heartthrob, and Sojin was just as aware of this as you were. “Don’t we look perfect together?” She’d ask, twirl around him like they were on the cover of a magazine and not standing on his chipped front porch.

Needless to say, by the time graduation had rolled around you despised the woman. You absolutely disliked how she treated Jungkook, how she let her father treat Jungkook without ever stepping up and defending him. Granted, you didn’t know exactly what went on in her household behind closed doors, you’d seen enough of her uncaring attitude to want to ram her and her dad’s head against the hood of the car.

Which is why seeing the old car, in Jungkook’s shop nonetheless, was rekindling a boiling hatred in your chest. “That man should rot in hell for all he put you through,” you huff, glare at the car like it holds some magical connection to him and he can feel the intensity of your stare.

“___,” Jungkook scolds, swirls his cup around to distract himself. “He was just trying to protect his only daughter,” he defends, quietly, like it’s what he tells himself to justify all those years of mistreatment. Even when he and Sojin had continued through college, it had never stopped. You, being five hours away, couldn’t do a damn thing. “Besides, the guy’s old as hell now.”

You snort, finally breaking your staring match with the car. Glancing at Jungkook, he’s got that same forlorn expression on his face, the one he started wearing when he first came to terms with the fact that her dad would never like him. There was a time it was stuck permanently on his face, the pressure and the discomfort that came from the father of the girl you’ve dated for five years looking at you like you were nothing more than a speck of dirt on the bottom of his shoe.

When you came back from school, educated and confident, you almost didn’t recognize your best friend. Tall and broad, tattoos splattered over his arm. Hair long like you loved it, but eyes still as round and wondrous as they’d been when you were kids. He had his own place now, he told you, and you vaguely remembered all the times he mentioned him and Sojin moving in together, mentally preparing yourself to see that wench for the first time in a while.

Much to your surprise, there was no Sojin in sight. No lingering artifacts of her presence. Nothing that showed she existed in this space besides an ugly orange mug she’d given him for his birthday one year, tucked into the very back of his cabinets. They’d broken up, he explained. Almost immediately after graduation.

After stringing him along for the better part of five years, she had decided this wasn’t what she wanted. No, what she wanted was a man ten years her senior with an abundance of cash to flow. Jungkook hadn’t cried. Hadn’t even looked the tiniest bit upset when you ordered pizza and drank some beer, watched your favorite episodes of The Simpsons like you were seventeen and avoiding your homework again.

You stayed the night, a little too tipsy to drive home. Besides, Jungkook had a spare bedroom. It was a room beside his, just a full bed with a chest of drawers. You liked it, liked the scent of him surrounding you after only seeing each other for a couple weeks in between months of distance. You liked it, because when he shifted in bed you realized the beds were pressed against the same wall, and you liked it until the shared wall spared you no secrets, and you listened to him quietly sob into his pillow.

“Old or not, he’s still the devil,” you murmur, snapping back to the present where Jungkook is wheeling himself closer to the car again. “Where did you find that thing anyway?”

He stays silent, quietly pretending like he still has something to do on the car besides paint it. Then, “I bumped into Sojin at the store.”

You sigh, drop your head between your shoulders. You can only imagine what whirlwind of a sob story she had to throw on him to win this favor.

“Kook,” you start, gauging his reaction only from his backside. His muscles ripple beneath his dark t-shirt, his usual red jumpsuit knitted around his waist. “What happened?”

Again, silence.

You say nothing, let him sort through the hurt on his own while you creep up behind him, sliding your hands over his shoulders and pressing down on the cricks behind his neck. He melts into your touch, head lolling forwards as a quiet sigh escapes him.

“She told me she was low on cash, and she needed the car to get to work,” he confesses, and from his ducked position, his voice trembles. You roll your eyes.

“And the paint job?”

A particularly rough press of your fingers has a whimper escaping him. God, this boy needed to see a chiropractor and a masseuse soon. All that hunching over and under these cars was doing a number on his back.

“I… I figured I might as well fix up the exterior too.” Of course he would, you think, Jungkook’s heart was stupidly big and easy to manipulate. He would get so swept up in it sometimes, trying to do the best he can for everyone’s benefit that he’d ignore himself.

You sit in his confession, fingers digging into his skin for a few minutes as you consider what to say.

The mature adult in you, the logical half of you, wants to hit him upside the head, scold him for letting that wench into his life again so easily. You were going on twenty-six now, all three of you, and you didn’t have time to be fixing him every time that childish woman decided to toy with him. Granted, it’s been four years since you last saw her, since you heard him muffle his cries on the other side of the wall, and you liked to think Jungkook was a respectful adult of society now. He didn’t have time to get dragged around by self-absorbed women with insane fathers.

The other part, the best friend since childhood, wants to run away. Wants to pack Jungkook into a suitcase and take him far away from here and from her. Unlike you, who now lived in the city, Jungkook had stayed in your small hometown, a quiet place just outside the bustling city. It was difficult to ensure his happiness when you were always forty-five minutes out of reach. It would be so much easier to just take him and fly to another province, maybe on the beach, Jungkook loved the beach.

“Listen,” he says, successfully pulling you out from your spiral. “I know what you’re gonna say and I just wanna tell you it’s not like that.”

You blink, hands stilling on his shoulders. Your lack of movement allows him to spin around on his chair, gaze up at you with the same shiny gaze he’s given you ever since you were kids. “I’m just doing her this tiny favor. She looked...” he trails off, face scrunching to find the words.

“Like shit?” You propose, and he smiles. “Like flaming dumpster shit behind a club?”

Jungkook laughs, loud and beautiful. You want to kiss the mole beneath his lip.

“She looked bad, okay?” He settles, reaches forward to take your palm in his. You’re standing between his thighs, and you wonder how he would have acted if you were Sojin. “Don’t think things worked out with that CEO she was dating. I’m just giving her a push.”

You sigh, try to push those crestfallen sobs to the back of your head. “Okay,” you agree, briefly glancing back at the damn car. “You fix her car, and that’s it,” you state. Jungkook nods, makes a little X over his heart. He knows how much you hate that woman. “No funny business.”

“No funny business,” he agrees, then reaches down for a white spray can. “You wanna spray some dicks on it before I paint it?”

“Please,” you laugh, taking the face mask he offers you with a grin.

—

One day your car starts making a weird noise as you pull out of the underground parking garage of your building. It’s somewhere between a pig squealing and metal scraping. You’ve been around Jungkook long enough to know this is probably something to do with your breaks, something about them being loose or old, one of the two. You have a short day at work today. There’s repairs being done to the office you work at, so everyone’s been spending more time working from home.

You leave work a little after two pm, head pounding from the hour long meeting you sat through, the mediocre business proposals your boss had asked you to look through and file. There’s a hefty load of emails waiting in your inbox, mostly the interns requesting you write them a recommendation letter. You’ll have to look through those later, pick out the good ones and write them each a unique piece kissing the ground they walk on.

The scent of freshly fried donuts hits your nose as you pull into your old town; the bakery down the road from Jungkook’s has their windows open. You can already taste the sweetness on the tip of your tongue, the iced coffee cooling your insides as you sit and watch Jungkook work on your car.

Jungkook’s shop is on the corner of the street, takes up a huge chunk with it’s massive garage and driveway; the office area is tiny compared to the sheer size of the actual work floor. There’s music blaring through the overhead speakers, and when you pull in you recognize it as Jimin’s playlist.

“Morning, Miss,” the country bumpkin says, leaning against your car door as you rifle through your purse. “What’re you in for?”

“Hi, Jimin,” you reply sweetly, take his hand as he helps you out the door. You very vaguely explain the noise your car had made that morning, glancing around the shop as Jimin gets to work inspecting it. “Where’s Jungkook?”

Jimin’s waving over some other employees, all greeting you in their matching red jumpsuits. “Kook’s in the office,” he tells you, and it’s almost sensual the way his hand glides over your palm for your keys. God, you needed to get laid. “Has some lady friend in there with him.”

You pause, the bustling of the crew behind you fading into the background. Something inside you snaps, and you whirl around the garage, before catching sight of a 1975 Chevy Corvette, almost unrecognizable from how you’d last seen it. It’s bright red now, a color you only briefly saw before you’d left the other night, with two, lightning bolt racing stripes decorating each side. It looks new, almost in mint condition, and the fact it’s still here has you storming through the garage.

Your heels clack loudly, the crew moving to the side as you torpedo straight into the offices. You barely remember to greet the receptionist before you’re stomping straight into the main office.

There’s no knock, no warning given, before you’re flinging the door open, seeing exactly what you’d expected.

“___,” Jungkook stutters, jumping onto his feet from his position on the couch. He looks frantic, wide eyes flickering between you and the woman sitting in front of him, her back turned to you. But you’d recognize that silhouette anywhere.

“Did you say ___?” She says, and she’s still as tall and as beautiful as you remember her. Had it not been for the heels you wore, you don’t doubt she’d tower over you. She flashes you a killer smile, lips carefully painted red. It almost looks murderous. “My! ___, you haven’t changed a bit,” Sojin exclaims, rushing around the couch to pull you into a tight hug. You don’t return it.

You let her cling to you for a second, before pushing her away as gently as you can by the shoulders. As much as you’d like to rip her in half, tear her apart for all she did to Jungkook, you won’t. You’re older now, elegant in all the ways you weren’t before. It would be a huge disservice to your maturity if you shoved your heel up her ass right now.

“It’s lovely seeing you, Sojin,” you smile, taking her hand in yours.

Besides, being a woman in business meant you knew better, more creative ways to strike.

“And your boyfriend?” You ask, tilting your head in staged confusion. You even glance around the office, like you’ll find the geezer hiding behind the potted plant or Jungkook’s frozen figure. “The rich one with the huge company? Did he come with you today?”

Her smile tightens, red lips pursed as she gauges you with those cat eyes that haunt your nightmares every now and then. “My ex-boyfriend,” she corrects after a minute, pastes a forlorn expression onto her features. “We’ve separated, and you know how it is for women like us,” she jests. “We need a man to push us along—“

“Do we?” You ask, think back on all those years of school, of studying and working and pushing yourself, all the time you spent investing in yourself for yourself. “I don’t think so,” you contemplate. “It’s really embarrassing if you can’t care for yourself without the help of a man. Almost like you don’t trust in your own abilities, and ride other’s coattails instead.”

A beat of silence. Two completely different worlds, and Jungkook hovering awkwardly beside you.

Two palms grasp your shoulders from behind, and when you turn Jungkook is smiling at you, forced and stressed like he can’t stand to be in this uncomfortable situation any longer. “Well,” he announces, pushing you behind him as he guides Sojin towards the door. “There was an issue with her car, so I’ll just check on it real quick, okay?”

You nod, feel empty as he takes her by the wrist, and not you. He hands her her purse, palm on the small of her back as they exit the office. When the door clicks shut behind them, you throw your own handbag at the ground, barely stop yourself from stomping like a child.

Instead, you breathe in, hold it, and exhale, just like your Tuesday yoga instructor taught you. By the time you’ve collected yourself a few minutes have passed, so you kneel down to gather your fallen lipstick tubes and cellphone from the floor, scooping them back into your purse.

Tugging the door shut behind you, you mindlessly wander down the hall, until you reach the small receptionist area and nearly get jumped by Kim Taehyung. “Holy shit, you won’t believe this,” he gasps, takes you by the shoulders and nearly shakes you until your brain falls out through your ears. You would have slapped him, had this been any other man, but he’s quite possibly the only man besides Jungkook you’d let jostle you like this. “You’ll never guess who just left the office with J—wait,” he pales, suddenly connecting two and two, your exit from said offices definitely a key factor in whatever conclusion he’s drawn. “You were in the office with Hwang Sojin and you didn’t kill her?!”

You huff, let him shake you again until you’re nearly tripping in your heels. “Yes, I know,” you groan, finally slap his hands away when you begin to feel this morning’s breakfast bubbling from all the motion. “I’m surprised too.”

“Wow,” Taehyung marvels, leans back against the receptionist desk even though the poor girl has told him time and time again not to. He ignores her, something he can do as second best friend to the boss. “Remember when she showed up crying outside his mom’s house and you threw a potted plant at her? Oh how the great have fallen.”

Rolling your eyes, you drift over to the plexiglass window in the office that looks out across the entirety of the garage floor. In the corner, Jungkook’s got the hood of the Corvette open as he works away on something, Sojin tapping at her phone beside him. “Why are you here, Tae?”

He steps beside you, tuned into the same scene. “Can’t visit my ex-girlfriend every now and then?” He teases, you groan.

“We dated for three days, dude, let it go,” you whine, and watch with rapt attention as Jungkook motions for her to start the engine. She does, and it purrs to life, soft and silky just like Jungkook said it does. She squeals and claps, launches herself into his arms in thanks. You look away.

“Yuck,” Taehyung gags and you couldn’t agree more. “Can’t believe you ended the best 72 hours of my life for that pinhead and the hussy attached to his hip.”

He shrieks when you pinch his side, and you take great satisfaction in the judgemental stare half the crew sends him through the glass. After all, they weren’t soundproof. “You embarrassed me and my brand,” he huffs, crossing his arms as the two of you return to watching Jungkook and the hussy.

“He’s not a pinhead,” you softly retort, watch him wipe a bead of sweat off his forehead as he waves her off. Sojin sends him a brigade of air kisses, none of which he catches. A sick sense of glee consumes you at the sight, but then he’s turning to stare directly at you and Taehyung through the glass, and the both of you quickly whirl away.

“His ability to find you in less than a second is so weird,” Taehyung shivers, and you ignore it, taking the candy from the bowl on the receptionist desk. She doesn’t care, having heard these conversations more than enough times to get the general gist of what you and Taehyung gossip about. You’re surprised she’s never mentioned it to Jungkook before.

Regardless, you listen to Taehyung complain about his life for a few more minutes, before Jimin’s sweet voice pops into the room. His ash blonde hair is all ruffled, and there’s something dark smeared over his otherwise perfect skin as he tells you your car is fixed. Taehyung bids you goodbye, and Jimin walks you back to your car out on the garage floor.

“All set, miss,” Jimin grins, puts a hand against the car so you don’t hit your head as you go in. You thank him, and don’t miss the way he lingers by your window.

“Is something wrong?” You ask, tilt your head quizzically. Jimin’s cheeks flush, and he looks shyly at the ground.

“Actually, I was wondering if—“

“___,” Jungkook calls, jogging over beside Jimin, who looks almost ashamed to be caught doing...whatever it was he was gonna do. Jungkook glances at him, catches him in some weird staring contest before crouching down to your window. “You needed your car fixed? Why didn’t you tell me?”

You blink, don’t know how to politely tell him he was too busy kissing the ass of his toxic ex-girlfriend to help you out. “Jimin helped me,” you smile, the same practiced expression you’ve mastered since college. You usually get by, usually trick people with that look, but not with him. Jungkook knows you too well, knows that look, and knows you’re holding yourself back. “You were busy.”

His lips part in surprise, tugged downwards with the hint of a frown. “I,” he stutters, looks at Jimin, who doesn’t seem that impressed with him either. “I… I would’ve came if you called.”

You tug your sunglasses out from their little case, slide them over the bridge of your nose as you strap your seatbelt over yourself. “Would you though?” You ask, flash him another polite smile before shifting your car’s gears. Jimin walks off, clears the path for you to exit, and with just Jungkook standing there, you speak freely. “I would hate to distract you from something important.”

—

Some of the proposals end up being better than expected, and after carefully sifting through them, your boss asks you to sit through presentations for the next few days. Your time gets consumed in graphs and budgets. There’s a multitude of businesses you have to look into, some big and well-known, and others small and local. You drive around the city one day, visiting business after business, until your ankles hurt in your heels and your cheeks hurt from all the smiling. Your only comfort is the nice Chanel skirt suit you’re wearing that makes you feel like the most important person in the room wherever you go.

By the time the week’s over, there’s a thin cut forming on the back of your ankles from all the walking you’ve done in your heels. You slump against your front door, tossing your heels in the vague direction of the closet before padding through your house.

You nearly scream yourself sore at the figure in your kitchen, hunched over what looks to be a hastily made cake with a number three candle. “Oh my god,” you seethe, turning the overhead light on to illuminate Jungkook’s grinning figure, dirty and sweaty from work. You glance at the clock on the stove; it’s only been about an hour since his garage closed.

“Surprise!” He exclaims, and you’re not the slightest bit amused when he begins humming the happy birthday song on a day that is definitely not your birthday.

When he’s done, you don’t clap and his beaming smile doesn’t waver. “It is not my birthday,” you calmly state, placing your leather padfolio on the counter.

Jungkook blows the candle out for you. “It’s the birthday of when we first met,” he explains, and gets to cutting the cake. How he remembers such a day, you don’t know. You do know that this is his mom’s birthday cake recipe, and you love that. “Can you believe it? Friends for almost three decades.”

“Almost,” you repeat, dutifully sitting across from him and taking the plate he offers. He nods at you like a bobblehead.

His eyes are sparkly and big, like he’s drunk, and it’s only then you notice the red wine on the table, bottle open and halfway done. You set your fork down, grasp the neck of the bottle in your hand. “Have you been drinking?” You ask, even though the answer stares you right in the face. You frown. “You hate drinking.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes, shovels more cake into his mouth to delay his response. “Needed it,” he offhandedly explains, nearly eats the candle but you jump forward to snatch it off his fork before he can.

“What do you mean?” You inquire. You’re not hungry anymore, too interested in whatever’s going on in his head to make him think he needs to be drunk around you.

Jungkook gulps, reaches forward for more wine but you cradle the bottle to your chest. You nearly gasp when he levels you with a real, stony glare, the expression out of place on his face. “Cuz you’re mad,” he huffs. “At me.”

There was a time you would coddle Jungkook’s every mistake, never let him think he was at fault for anything. You’d grown out of it shortly before high school, recognizing boys were stupid no matter how much you tried to prove otherwise. Since then, you’ve watched him get into trouble time and time again—Sojin being the prime example—and only intervened when absolutely necessary. Some part of you, the half that hates seeing him upset, wants to tell him you’re not. The mature part in you, however, doesn’t let that happen.

“I am,” you agree, watch his eyes widen almost comically at your admission. You set the wine bottle back on the table, leaning your chin on your palm as you level him with the most unimpressed gaze you can. “I’m furious, actually.”

He whimpers, actually whimpers like a kicked puppy, and you can almost see the metaphorical ears pressed against his head and the tail tucked between his legs. His lips are big and pouty, stained from the wine. You’d love to know what they feel like.

Jungkook’s vulnerability lasts all of three seconds, before he’s shaking himself out of whatever emotional pit his foggy brain has him in. “Well, it’s dumb,” he spits, and it’s your turn to sit in shock. “You can’t tell me what to do.”

“Excuse me?” You ask, incredulously, because this has never happened before. Are you overprotective and sometimes overbearing? Sure. Has Jungkook ever voiced discomfort with that before? Never. “I’m not telling you what to do,” you sneer, crossing your arms over your chest.

He rolls his eyes, pushes away from the table like a moody teen. You know it’s because he’s drunk, because he’s not himself, but you have to remind yourself that he obviously felt this way somewhere in his heart to voice it to you now. “You’re not my mom.”

You choke. “I’m not!” You angrily agree, pushing away from the table as well.

Jungkook snarls, “well you sure do love acting like her.” He picks up his plate, glances over at you with a look in his eyes that can only be likened to that of a sneaky cat, and then purposefully shoves the bread and frosting down the garbage disposal in the sink. You shriek, fly around the table and shove him away.

“What is wrong with you?” You seethe, push him away rudely with a hand on his face. Jungkook stumbles back, slips on the floor and nearly cracks his head on the corner of the counter. “Oh my god,” you exclaim, abandoning the sink in favor of watching the way his face twists up at the sudden motion, stomach contracting beneath his black t-shirt, cheeks puffing. “Oh god, oh god,” you stammer, tugging him to his feet with the strength only a panicked individual about to see an entire cake regurgitated onto their kitchen tile can have.

You’ve barely kicked the door to the bathroom open when Jungkook begins throwing up, gooey vomit spewing from his mouth and onto the floor. It touches your arm, and you shriek before shoving him in the general direction of the toilet.

“Ew, ew,” you freak, shoving your hand under the sink faucet to get that gross feeling away. You wanna vomit yourself, but you tell yourself there can only be one sick person at a time, and right now it’s Jungkook.

He’s got his head in the toilet, disgusting sounds echoing off the ceramic of it. By the time you’ve calmed down and washed your arm thrice, you move over to pull his bangs away from his face, letting him hurl in peace.

“I’m sorry,” he mopes, spews another round of birthday cake into the toilet.

You look away, blindly reach out to turn the bathroom fan on. “Mhm,” you nod, rubbing a hand over his back. Jungkook nods sadly against the toilet seat.

“‘M sorry,” he repeats, gags around nothing but the gross feeling left in his throat. “I-I know you just want…” a pause as he considers throwing up some more, “...want what’s best for me.”

“I do,” you agree, wipe a hand down the side of his face that he leans into. “Not trying to be your mom,” you assure him, and he snorts.

“Be a good mom,” he murmurs, so soft you don’t hear him. You hum, leaning closer and he repeats it. “You’d be… a good mom.”

Not knowing what to do with that information, you just pat his back until he falls asleep, cheek against the toilet seat.

—

“Woah, the sexual tension in this garage is off the charts,” Taehyung blurts from behind you, and you smack your clipboard against his chest. “Oof,” he grunts, rubbing his chest like it actually hurt. “You doing finances for him again?” He asks and you nod.

In an ideal world, Taehyung would leave upon finding out you’re busy. In this world, he simply leans into your personal space, nearly knocking you into an empty tool cart. “Oooh, an extensive list of all the money Jungkook’s stupidly blown this month. How much did he spend on neon signs this time?”

You relent, showing him the shop’s finances. Anywhere else, revealing a business’s finances without the consent of the owner would be a federal crime. Here, it’s the equivalent of showing Taehyung Jungkook’s browser history. “He spent how much on window tint?!”

“A lot,” you say.

There’s a whistle from across the garage, the shop’s resident country bumpkin Park Jimin standing at the huge garage doors with his hand on his hip. “No fraternizing, please.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. “Boooo,” he shouts, peels himself away from you to flick an impolite finger Jimin’s way. “He’s just jealous,” he tells you, and you frown.

“Of what?” You ask, and Taehyung nearly loses his shit.

“My precious ___,” he sighs, leans his forehead on your shoulder. “So beautiful and smart, yet so slow.” You flick the side of his forehead just as Jungkook strolls by and, seeing your attack, slaps the back of Taehyung’s neck. “Why do you guys hate me!” Taehyung exclaims, jumping at least five feet away from you and Jungkook’s giggling forms.

“How’s it going?” Jungkook asks you, completely ignoring Taehyung’s soulful cries as he glances over your shoulder at the clipboard. You tilt it his way, but he stands close anyway, until you can feel his breath huffing against the back of your neck.

“Okay, but you’re spending a lot of money stockpiling on things that haven’t shown signs of running out yet,” you explain, pointing at the window tint that had astonished Taehyung only a moment ago.

Jungkook grimaces, pink tongue swiping across his lip as he looks at the total amount he’s spent the last three months. “Well, it’s a good thing I have my accountant,” he grins, throwing an arm over your shoulder.

“Not your accountant,” you correct, “just a friend who doesn’t wanna see you run your business to the ground from overspending.”

Jungkook waves you off, and Taehyung tries to sneak into the receptionist office behind you, but Jungkook catches him with his free hand. “This is the life,” he sighs, wistfully gazing over the garage floor. It reeks of motor oil and car paint.

“Count me out,” Taehyung snorts, voicing your disinterest toward such greasy and smelly work. He tries to wiggle out of Jungkook’s hold, but the muscle bunny only straps an arm around his neck, until Taehyung’s squirming and clawing for air against the red sleeve of his jumpsuit.

“My own successful business, a shitload of sexy cars, and of course,” he pauses, squeezes the two of you tighter until you’re both groaning. “My two best friends.” The sap has the gall to peck the top of your heads, and that seems to be the final straw for Taehyung who rips himself away.

“Have this lovefest somewhere else, man,” Taehyung says, flattening his rumpled clothing down. “You’re really putting a nail in my reputation around here.”

Jungkook cackles, mindlessly goes to wrap himself around you from behind. “Your reputation has been trash since that scream you let out the other day,” he informs him, swaying the two of you back and forth. Your heart thunders in your chest, and you just barely manage to avoid Taehyung’s pointed stare.

“Whatever, I’m outta here.” With Taehyung peaced out, you’re left in Jungkook’s arms, gazing over his business like two old lovers. It makes your chest tight, so you quickly go to shake him off.

“We’re okay?” Jungkook murmurs, so soft you almost don’t hear. He’s got his hand wrapped around your wrist, thumb massaging over the bone there like he’s afraid you’ll bolt the second he lets you go.

You nod, tuck the clipboard to your side. “Why wouldn’t we be?”

Those sad puppy eyes, pouty lips turned southward. You want to wipe that look off his face. He sighs, glances at where your skin meets and gives it a squeeze. “I’ve been an ass lately,” he settles on saying. “Said some mean things and ruined your bathroom rug—I’m sorry.”

You don’t know what to say.

Jungkook takes your silence as understanding, reaching down to hold both your hands in his slightly dirty ones. “It won’t happen again. I’d rather lose a million friends than lose you,” he confesses, and something about it feels too real, too raw. “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

You nod, the constricting feeling in your throat only tightening when he smiles at you, those gentle eyes and plush lips for only you to see. You want to kiss him, swallow him whole. Right here on the garage floor so everyone knows he’s yours.

But you can’t because he’s not.

You settle on swinging your arms between you. “Just don’t do anything stupid,” you warn him, narrowing your eyes playfully. There’s a heavy feeling in your heart, something akin to anguish, but you could never voice it out loud.

“I won’t,” Jungkook promises.

—

Jungkook visits again on a weekday, and you nearly send him straight home when he brandishes another bottle of wine in your face. “It’s nonalcoholic!” He exclaims before you can shut the door on him, foot lodged against the frame. You give in.

“To what do I owe the pleasure?” You ask, curling up on the couch in just your shorts and huge t-shirt. Jungkook pops the bottle open, pouring the wine into two limited edition Shrek 2 cups you pulled out from the depths of your cabinet.

“Can’t hang with my bestie?” He throws back at you, snatching the remote from your hands before you can click on another episode of that dumb housewives show. You end up watching National Geographic, some documentary about the role of bioluminescent shrimp in the sea.

“Aw look, they’re kissing,” he cooes at a pair of seahorses that wander across the screen halfway through a shot of some school of shrimp. “How romantic.”

“Wonder what that’s like,” you comment, not thinking too much on the meaning behind your words until you can feel Jungkook’s stare pierce your cranium. “What?”

“You’ve never been kissed?” He blurts, and you choke on your wine.

“You were my first kiss,” you remind him, flush at the memory of the two of you sitting criss-cross applesauce on his bed, knees knocking in what was probably the worst first kiss in the history of first kisses.

Jungkook blinks. “Oh yeah,” he laughs. “With the Tony Hawk poster behind my bed, right?”

“The one and only.”

Jungkook hums, and the two of you melt back into the silence. Nice aquatic sounds fill the room, the camera panning over more colorful fish that Jungkook oohs at appreciatively. You don’t really pay attention, more interested in the way the wine swirls in your cup and the way you can feel Jungkook’s thigh pressed against your knee, like when you were thirteen and trying something new.

You know it doesn’t mean a lot to him. Just another silly childhood memory of you. Not like you have hundreds, thousands of them with each other. By the way he’d blurted the question, you doubt he even remembered it most days. But you did.

It plagued your mind all the time, the soft feel of his mouth and the trembling hand that had held yours. You wonder if he kisses the same still, lips gently puckered. He’s had years to learn, half a decade to get creative with Sojin, and the past four years of being a bachelor to explore more.

You’ve kissed too, plenty of guys who had no meaning and ones you thought would replace him. But it’d been a long time since you’ve let anyone into your bed, more content to please yourself without the overbearing weight of feelings and emotions to wrap around your throat.

Jungkook coughs, and you shake yourself from your thoughts.

He’s looking at you inquisitively, like he can’t get his usual read on you and would rather just ask what’s wrong. “You don’t,” a pause, “hang out with guys?”

It’s devastatingly cute, the way he asks if you’re fucking, and you want to pinch his cheeks. Instead you shake your head, try to hide the grin on your face from his inquisitive expression. “Just you and Taehyung,” you admit.

Jungkook nods. “Do you and Tae…?”

You shake your head furiously. “No! God no, we don’t do anything like that,” you clarify, the thought of Taehyung in your bed enough to make you want to gag.

Jungkook says nothing, just turns back to the documentary to watch more Nemos and Dorys flit across the screen. You polish off your cup of wine, leaning forward to settle it back on the coffee table. As you settle back into the couch cushions, Jungkook speaks again. “So you take care of yourself?”

You freeze.

“Yeah,” you admit after one complete meltdown in your head. Where was this coming from? Why did he want to know? You and Jungkook were close, but you never did this. You never divulged the details of your sex life, never bragged about who you slept with or how many there were. What was going on?

Jungkook doesn’t say anything after that, just turns his attention back to the tv screen, where you’re almost certain the sea horses from before are fucking. Not that you know what it looks like, but you hope at least someone in this room was enjoying themselves and not drowning in the mortification of having their life long crush ask them if they masturbate.

“So, do you use your hands or a toy?”

You choke, slap your chest to ease the pounding of your heart at Jungkook asking such a question. “E-Excuse me?” You ask, scandalized that Jungkook, your sweet and caring childhood friend turned Fabio, could ask you such a bold question about your personal affairs.

“What?” Jungkook says, like he truly doesn’t see the inappropriateness of the situation. He even raises his eyebrows at you, as if urging you to answer the question.

You sigh, fight the flush of your cheeks and stare idly at the cups on the table. “A toy. Hands don’t feel good,” you curtly reply, crossing your arms over your chest and straightening your legs off the couch, hoping that’s the end of his curiosity. This was enough to fuel your 3am anxiety meltdowns for the next five years.

Jungkook nods, and you can feel his penetrating gaze on the side of your face again. A great white shark swims across the screen. Jungkook strikes. “My hands feel good.”

“Jungkook!” You exclaim in horror (and excitement, but you’ll pretend it wasn’t there). “What has gotten into you?”

“What!” Jungkook defends, Bambi eyes looking at you like you’re the unreasonable one here. “We’re having a civil conversation in which I’m trying to open up your worldview.”

You’re flabbergasted. “This is not a civil conversation, what are you even talking about?” You scold, tug your arms around yourself like it’ll actually protect you from the words that don’t seem to be filtering out of his mouth properly. “Why are you so concerned about that?” You interrogate, hope your forceful tone will scare him away.

It doesn’t. Jungkook shrugs, some noncommittal i dont know sound. “I can’t be interested in what you get up to? What my best friend gets up to?” It’s the obvious emphasis on best friend that makes you step down.

“No,” you sigh, rub a hand down your face. “You can be interested,” you tell him gingerly. “We just never really… talked about... those kinds of things,” you rush out, turn away from him as the narrator on screen dives into the intricacies of bioluminescent shrimp in the animal food chain.

As if sensing your discomfort, Jungkook softens, scooting closer to you. “I’m sorry,” he murmurs, too close and too warm. “I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” he says, places a palm on your knee.

“I’m not!” You rush to assure him, facing him head on again. His eyes are big and implorative still, and you wonder why he became stuck on that of all things today. “It just surprised me.”

His lips quirk to the side, an unsure grin that has you leaning into his shoulder. You sit in silence, the rise and fall of his body with every breath lulling you into a sense of comfort.

A false one that Jungkook zeroes in on.

The documentary’s wrapping up, soothing ocean sounds and wind instruments playing as the credits roll across the screen, when the hand that had been laying so comfortably on your thigh inches up. At first, you don’t notice it, writing it off as Jungkook just shifting around. You tell yourself it’s just that, until his pinky makes contact with the end of your shorts.

Slowly, you turn towards him, catch his mocha irises lustfully lidded as he toys with the hem. “Kook?” You murmur, so soft, barely there.

“Hm?” He replies, continuing to play with the edge of your shorts, until he gets brave and his fingers slip beneath, index finger just barely grazing the panties underneath. You gasp. “This okay?”

Stuck between your arousal and your common sense, you flounder for a response. He’s so close, and smells so good, curls brushing against your temple the closer he gets. You want him so bad, want him to find his place between your thighs and put those pouty lips to use. But you know it’ll make things different, change whatever it is you’ve had for the past almost thirty years, and you’ll never bounce back. Another brush against your panties, pointer finger wiggling it’s way beneath the fabric, and you’re choking out a “yes.”

“Good girl,” he murmurs, and something in your core tingles at the name, thighs clenching together. “Uh uh,” he chides, nudges them open. “Stay still for me,” he commands, and you do, for all of ten seconds, but then he’s pressing his finger on your clit, panties and shorts muting the sensation. Still, it makes you squirm, fingers clutching the couch cushion beneath you as you struggle to keep them open. “Too much?” He asks, and you shake your head no.

“I-It’s fine,” you whisper, and Jungkook smiles.

He pets you, almost wondrously, for a few beats, watches the way the muscles in your thighs twitch with every press against your mound. Eventually, he decides it’s enough. “Hands don’t feel good for you?” He inquires, your words from earlier obviously having left their mark on him. Slowly, you shake your head. He glances down at the fist you have on the couch, composed features sliding up your face. “Well, yours are so small, princess. Of course they don’t feel good.”

He manhandles you around, tugs you onto the couch until you’re laying down, legs sprawled on either side of him. Pleased with the arrangement, Jungkook glances back down to your bottoms. “These have to go,” he tells you, hooks his fingers in the waistband and abruptly yanks down, leaving you just in your t-shirt.

You go to shy away, but Jungkook stops you, palms resting on the insides of your thighs, thumbs pressing into the skin soothingly. “My fingers are long, see?” He says, raising a hand to wiggle his fingers at you. You nod, heartbeat thundering in your ears. “They’ll feel nice inside.”

You know they will.

You can tell he knows his way around a woman’s body just from the way his hands glide over yours, carefully like he’s mapping you out. Ever so slowly, one hand grows closer, until his thumb is gently circling your clit, and you inhale sharply.

“So wet,” Jungkook hums, his other hand traveling further down, until he’s spreading your pussy lips with two fingers, trailing them through the arousal that gathers there.

You’ve never been so attentively cared for, never had a man zero in on your cunt like it was his first meal in ages. Jungkook’s eyes are clouded with lust, tongue peeking out from between his lips as he watches your pussy lips flutter at his touch.

He swirls his hand over your clit, pressing down. The first sound escapes you, a soft whimper that has you clamping your hand over your mouth in embarrassment. Jungkook grins down at you, shifts closer to press a kiss to the knuckles over your mouth.“Don’t hide from me,” he purrs, pulling away and pressing a kiss to your neck.

You cry out when he gets back to it, massaging your pussy with gentle hands and a thumb against your clit to placate you. “Jungkook,” you choke out, and he beams at his name, takes it as a sign to finally slip two fingers inside. “A-ah,” you whine, arching beneath him.

He basks in your noises, leans close again to press a kiss beneath your ear, against your jaw. “This okay?” He murmurs, curling the fingers inside of you. You mewl, throwing your arms around him as he begins working you open. “How does it feel, baby?”

“G-good,” you pant, turn your head until you can bury your nose in his hair, drown even more in his all-consuming aura.

Another kiss to your neck, before he’s suctioning his lips right below your ear, nipping and sucking at the skin to brand you his. “You like my hands?” He husks, and the patch of saliva he leaves on your neck feels cold without his mouth there. You nod, and Jungkook rewards you with a soft smooch over the hickey he’s left.

His fingers inside you curl and scissor, brush against every inch of your walls until you’re quivering beneath him, gasping his name out. You could melt if his fingers weren’t holding you together. “So tight,” he groans, curling his fingers. The movement touches upon something sensitive within you, and you moan his name loudly.

“O-Oh,” you pant, wiggling beneath him as you try to feel that again. Jungkook lets you, watches you desperately rut into his hands. He drifts away, lets his tongue mouth over your breasts, licking until there’s a damp spot on your t-shirt, the flimsy house bra you’d worn and the t-shirt combined not enough to hide your pebbled nipples.

The drag of his hands against your pussy isn’t enough, the motions not quick enough. Jungkook glances at your twisted features, your quivering pussy, and then, ever so gently, ducks over you, puckered lips letting one, long glob of saliva touch down on your pussy, trickling around his knuckles.

“Fuck,” you choke, watch his tongue swipe over his lip to break the thin bridge that connects you too. Suddenly, everything is smoother, the combined lubrication of your arousal and his spit making the glide of his fingers sinfully slick.

Frantic for release, you lose yourself in him, ready to free fall into your pleasure so long as Jungkook is there to catch you. “That’s it,” he encourages, picks up the pace of his fingers inside you. “Come on, beautiful, let me see that gorgeous face of yours when you come.”

“K-Kook,” you sob, and he smiles against your neck. His fingers work fast, until your muscles are all pulled tight, waiting for that final push to unravel. You make the mistake of glancing down, only to be caught by that pearly smile and adoring gaze. You’re in heaven, you know you are.

There’s no other explanation for this—the way Jungkook holds you like you’re his, hands so gently caressing your most intimate parts. You’re almost convinced you’re having a fever dream, a sick, too realistic dream, but then Jungkook’s biting down on your shoulder through your t-shirt, subtly rutting against your thigh.

“Cum for me,” he purrs against your neck, and you do, sobbing as your orgasm rolls over you, the heavy weight of his cock against your thigh. “Jungkook,” you cry, so pitifully, it has him lunging forward, a kiss pressed to the corner of your mouth.

You feel sweaty and gross, unbelievably tired from the gentle way he opened you up. Blindly, you reach down, feel the hardness of his cock beneath his sweatpants, but Jungkook nudges you away. You huff. “Let me,” you whimper, reach for him again even though you can see the slowness in your movement. “Need your cock in my mouth,” you drawl, almost sleepily.

“Shh,” he soothes, lips pressed against your neck, where he’s still licking and sucking over every inch of you. You whine. “You don’t have to do a thing, gorgeous,” he assures you, “just wanted to make you feel good.”

—

Work gets stressful shortly after. There’s a new batch of interns coming in this season, new faces who will mess up your coffee orders and jam the printers for a good few weeks. There’s normally a team of employees who train them, a mix of relatively older people from different departments who show them around; a girl in the finance department, the one who usually trains them, is on maternity leave. With no one else to fall back on, the head of the department pushes the duties off on you, claiming your flexibility and work ethic make you the perfect candidate for such a role.

Normally you’d thrive at the praise, eat up every single word like it sustained you. In a way, it did. It was nice to be appreciated and recognized for your hard work, to be thought of so highly, especially in a male-dominated company. However, this time, you know it’s out of convenience that the head kisses up to you, and you end up begrudgingly taking the role.

The gaps in your schedule you’d normally spend relaxing or catching up on other projects are filled with bumbling interns, calling for help every chance they get. It’s like they’ve never done anything on their own, this group, always asking you the correct way to do this, the right way to do that. You haven’t mentored interns in a while, so you spend the first day breezing over old powerpoints and print outs you made years ago. You remember why you’re not fit for mentoring when one of them asks you how to navigate Excel. You nearly rip their head off.

There’s so much going on, you barely get time to see Jungkook, let alone text him. You saw him once the morning after, stack of pancakes on your kitchen table as he rushed you off to work. The shop didn’t open for another hour. He was sweet, kissed your forehead as you left, but he’s always done that. You didn’t have time to talk about whatever the night before was, or what that made the two of you now.

On Friday night, one week into your nightmarish role, you pull into the shop. You'd like to convince yourself it was routine, visiting the shop, but that’s a lie. You desperately miss Jungkook.

Most of the garage doors that are usually pulled open during the day are shut, save for one. The last of Jungkook’s employees are leaving, bidding you adieu as you step out of your car. Park Jimin is there, repairing some rickety car in the back corner.

“Boo,” you call playfully, and Jimin doesn’t flinch, merely pulls his head from out of the hood to flash you an easygoing smile.

He whistles at the sight of you. “You look like you’ve been through one of helluva week,” he says, and you, despite your strong personality, feel yourself blush at his comment. Jeez, did you look that bad? Jimin doesn’t elaborate, just pulls out a stool for you to sit on beside where he’s working. “Penny for your thoughts?”

You glance at the plexiglass, the offices hiding down the hall. Jungkook could wait, you presume, settling down beside him. Your skirt tugs up as you settle onto the pleather seat, so you cover your legs meekly with your purse. “Work’s been crazy,” you explain, and Jimin laughs at the obvious.

“You’re telling me,” He hums, and you roll your eyes playfully. “What’s going on at work?”

What hasn’t been going on, you think to yourself, before launching into a full retelling of your new horrendous position, of all the interns with their clueless eyes and useless notebooks. Jimin chuckles, indulges you in a few comments here and there that only fuel you on. He’s just about done with whatever he’s doing to the car at the same time your story wraps up, explaining how you found yourself here, desperate for Jungkook to whisk you off to that arcade you loved as kids. “Jungkook?” He asks, and you nod. “He left a while ago.”

You freeze. “Huh?” You say, dumbly. You almost want to laugh at your own impulsiveness, for showing up without sending him a text or a warning to let him know you were coming. You almost do laugh, but then you remember you and Jungkook never did that anyway. Hell, he showed up at your house a few weeks ago unannounced and drunk. The two of you were hardly the type to plan ahead, so it was weird for him to not be here. He’s been at the shop almost every night since it’s opened, the days he’s not usually a holiday.

“Jimin…” you begin, glancing at the receptionist window once more. “Where’s Jungkook?”

Jimin shuts his tool box, kicking a cart off to the side. “He left with that lady,” he tells you, doesn’t hear the way your heart rips straight out of your chest. No way. “Tall, pretty. Had that nice Corvette he fixed up a while ago.”

“Sojin,” you mumble, and Jimin nods.

“Think that was her name.” As if sensing your tumultuous thoughts, he steps closer, one hand reaching out to steady you. “You alright?”

“God,” you exhale, pushing yourself away from Jimin and the garage and the window. The stool rolls away, almost hits the side of another car but Jimin catches it. He rushes over towards you, watching you wobble in your heels.

“Honey,” Jimin says, steady and warm beside you. “Sit down for me, yeah?” He guides you to a row of seats against the wall, nailed into the floor so you can’t push them away and make even more of a mess. Not that that’s your concern, your mind and heart too preoccupied with thoughts of Jungkook lying to you, going out with that woman again, despite your obvious hatred for her and his promise to you.

Jimin disappears, rushes over to the other side of the garage before returning with a water bottle for you. He cracks it open, presses it into your hands, and then against your lips when you don’t move. “Drink,” he encourages, watching you with worried eyes that only grow more and more concerned the deeper you fall into your thoughts.

You want to cry and beat Jungkook up at the same time. You want to scream at him for lying to you after treating you so nicely, holding you so warmly. Instead, you gasp for breath, clutching your face in your hands like it’s the only thing that grounds you.

There’s a beep outside, chirpy and cute in the way only older models are, and you whip your head up, the headlights of the Corvette painting you in shades of yellow as it rolls to a stop, the tears you hadn’t felt glistening under the light.

Jungkook flings himself out of the driver’s seat, and a sob catches in your throat when Sojin steps out of the passenger seat. Jungkook shoves everything in his path to the side, carts flying into the few automobiles on the floor, tools clanging loudly onto the cement, and just as those arms you love so much are reaching out for you, there’s a hand on his chest stopping him.

“What did you do to her?” Jungkook snarls, pushing Jimin roughly to the side. Jimin, smaller but not weaker, holds his ground, clutching Jungkook by the material of his jumpsuit a second time. “Let— go!” Jungkook shouts, finally worming away from his employee.

He nearly trips before you, stumbling to his knees as he takes your quivering hands in his. “What’s wrong,” he asks, throwing a nasty glare back at Jimin who watches silently from the side. Sojin is still by her car, leaning across the driver’s side now. “What did he do, what did he say?”

You shake your head, dropping your head to tuck your chin against your chest. You hate this. Hate letting him or Jimin or Sojin see you cry. It’s not the person you are, not the self-made woman you claim to be as you cry over the same man who is unknowingly defending you from himself.

“Let go,” you whisper, hoarse and choked. You shake your arms, but he doesn’t let up.

“Tell me what's wrong,” Jungkook pleads, inching closer to you. His breath is warm and he smells like oil, just like he always does. He also smells sweet and floral in a way only a woman could. He smells like Sojin.

You sob, rip your hands away from and scurry blindly towards Jimin, who catches you in his arms despite the shock that paints his face.

Jungkook watches with an expression of hurt, watches you snuggle into the arms of another man over an issue you won’t tell him about. Jimin says nothing, just rubs his palm over your back. He gestures towards the red corvette, the woman standing by it and Jungkook takes the hint.

You hear the kitten-like purr as it pulls off, the silence that follows afterwards. You don’t know where Jungkook is, if he’s here or if he left with her, and you don’t want to. “Tell me he’s gone,” you beg Jimin, quiet gasps against his neck.

He nods, slowly lets you untangle yourself from his arms as the two of you stare over the empty garage. The Corvette is gone, and so is Jungkook. Before Jimin can tell you where he is, you’re wiping a hand over your face, embarrassed at the moisture it comes back with.

“I take it he’s not supposed to be with her?” Jimin tries to joke.

Neither of you laugh.

You sniffle, process what just happened, how you acted. You’ve never felt that way before, never experienced such brutal heartbreak.

You don’t know what you expected from Jungkook. In your heart, you convinced yourself what happened in your apartment was the start of something new between the two of you, a natural result of your long friendship. Realistically, you know you should’ve waited until the two of you spoke, discussed whatever happens next. But you’d spent the past week comforted by the fact you’d finally gotten to experience something like that with him, daydreaming about him every chance you got.

Somewhere in your mind, you had convinced yourself your involvement with him would finally be what broke his connection with Sojin, the final nail that would make him forget about her. It’s painfully funny how such wasn’t the case.

Jimin breaks you out of your thoughts. “You okay to drive home?” He gently inquires, and you turn your gaze over toward your car.

Did you trust yourself to make it home without shedding a single tear? Absolutely not. But between Sojin and Jimin, you had let enough strangers see you fall apart over a man tonight.

“Perfectly okay,” you tell him.

—

The interns pick up on your sour attitude the week that follows. They don’t ask dumb questions, and don’t mess up your order. You talk them through a presentation, show them how to properly organize finance charts. There’s a slide that has clip art, a goofy dollar sign with a smile and shoes. Jungkook put it there when you first made the PowerPoint. After the little lesson, you go to the bathroom and try not to cry.

A week later, and the interns don’t need you anymore. They do well, and your boss praises you for being such a good mentor. You thank him and he lets you go home early.

Home is empty. Jungkook doesn’t show up unannounced, mostly because you’ve changed the number lock on the door. You want to eat salad today, for some reason, but don’t have any of the ingredients for it, so you walk to the supermarket a few blocks away.

The supermarket feels the same as it always does at night. That ghostly feeling of being watched in an empty aisle, the scratchy tune of whatever Top 50 radio station they settled on today. You get there and decide you don’t want salad anymore, so you buy ingredients for a stew instead, all of which you probably had at home.

When you step outside, the air around your bare thighs is cold. Summer was ending, which meant Jungkook’s birthday was coming up. You ball the receipt in your hand and fling it at the trash. You miss, so you hobble over to pick it up.

The trash is beside a red Corvette with two racing stripes.

“Hey,” Sojin says, arms crossed over her chest as she walks up behind you, sizing up your crouched form beside her car. “What’re you doing to my car?”

You breathe in, shake the crumpled up receipt at her, before stuffing it in the garbage. She says nothing as you stalk by her, and you’re back on the main road when she pulls up next to you, window rolled down to speak to you. “Get in,” she gestures, “it’s gonna rain.”

“No,” you say, and a fat raindrop falls right on your nose.

The door unlocks and you climb in, plastic bags crowded by your feet.

The drive is silent. You only live a few minutes from the store, and you point out an empty spot by the sidewalk for her to pull up to. A dry thanks is on the tip of your tongue, but you never get to say it.

“My dad has cancer,” Sojin says.

“That sucks,” you respond, feel bad right away and say, “I’m sorry.”

Sojin doesn’t seem bothered by it, shifting the Corvette out of drive and cutting the engine. “He’s probably not gonna see Christmas,” she adds, and you don’t know what to say. You don’t care about her or her crazy father. “I wanted to do something nice for him before he, y’know.”

“Died,” you fill, and at that she glares.

“Yeah,” she huffs. “Before he died. So I fixed up his car. But the place I took it to didn’t know how to fix an engine so old, and ended up fucking it up even more.” You nod, she continues. “Then I bumped into Jungkook and—“

“Took advantage of his kindness,” you finish, remembering the twinkle in his eyes when he’d told you about their encounter, that day in the empty garage that seemed lightyears away. “Well congrats. Hope your dad liked it,” you sigh, push open the door and get soaked to the bone immediately.

“Wait!” Sojin calls, hopping out after you. She’s still as beautiful as she was when you were seventeen, even with rain soaking her entire being. “I didn’t ask him to repaint it, but that’s what my dad loved the most.”

You want to go inside, make your stew, and cry in it.

Sojin doesn’t seem bothered by the bangs that stick to her forehead or the water that washes down her spine. “When I told him Jungkook did it… he wanted to see him. Apologize and stuff.”

You snort. “Apologize,” you repeat, tightening your grip on your shoppings bags. “For what, Sojin? For almost killing him with this car or for treating him like shit for five years?” She says nothing, stares at the hood of the car like she doesn’t know what you’re talking about. “He was crazy for you, you know that? He would have done anything for you and not once did you stand up to your dad for him. You let that man call him worthless, stupid, a waste of space. And for what? For you to break up with him for some rich asshole who would never treat you half as good as Jungkook did?” You sneer.

The rain feels cold and your groceries feel heavier, so you whirl on your heel and make for your building entrance.

“He never liked me,” Sojin calls out, and you wonder if she even heard the second half of your emotional outburst. You turn to face her with fire in your eyes, and are only a little surprised at the sadness that paints hers. “He never liked me the way he said he did.” You could knock her teeth out.

“You’re stupid,” you spit, and she rounds the car at an insane speed until she’s glaring down at you over her perfectly sculpted nose.

“He never liked me,” Sojin repeats angrily. “He was always busy looking at you—for approval, for attention, I don’t fucking know. He would hold me and touch me but it never felt real. It always felt like practice for him…” she sniffles and your breath hitches in your throat. “We dated all through college,” she says like you don’t know, like you didn’t stress about it for years. “Everyday closer to graduation felt like a ticking bomb. Like he was just waiting for you to come back. To come home.”

You remember it.

The excited texts he’d send you everyday, the plans he made for you. Jungkook was more excited than your parents about you coming home. The five hours had done a number on him, and after four years all he wanted was to have you close again. You remember the hug in his driveway, the way his mom had told you he’d waited all day for you. It’s weird hearing it from Sojin.

Too overwhelmed, you decide to deflect. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” you murmur, and you’re surprised she hears it over the pouring rain.

A loud scoff. “You’re stupid,” she repeats back, jabbing a finger at your chest. You glare, and so does she. Like two animals in a cage you size each other up. “You’re stupid and ugly and I hate you,” she spits, and you drop your shopping bags to lunge at her.

You don’t swing, just grab her by the shirt and move to slam her against the wall, but she’s tall and a little strong, bony fingers wrapping around your wrists like spiders. “Why can’t you see how much he likes you?” She screams, like it hurts to admit it. “He’s been in love with you since forever, and all you’ve ever done is run away!”

“I never—“ you gasp, pushing her away from you. Sojin stumbles, but she doesn’t fall. “I’ve never run away,” you defend, heart beating in your chest too fast to be normal. “Some of us have careers and lives we want to live—I don’t want to depend on a man for the rest of my life!”

She growls, tugs at her wet hair like you’re giving her a headache. Stomping up to you once more, she pushes you hard with both hands, and you barely catch yourself in time. “He would have followed you to that fucking fancy school, but you told him it was better to save money here! Told him to not waste his time and just settle there! You did this to us—to all of us!”

You choke. Lightning flashes behind her, and for a moment all you can see is your gentle prodding, sitting behind him as he filled out applications, big wannabe business brain telling him the easiest way to save money for his auto shop was by going straight into technical school. The small frown on his face that day you’d packed for college, and the way he’d stood in your parent’s driveway until you couldn’t see him anymore, a little spec in your rearview mirror.

Sojin, sensing she’s made her point, says nothing. She scoops up your fallen grocery bags and shoves them into your trembling hands, stomping back to her car and pulling off with a roar, loud and ferocious, and nothing like a kitten.

The groceries in your bag end up in the trash.

—

Taehyung invites you to lunch one day, and you go. You’re starving and desperate to get away from work, where you’re paranoid everyone knows there’s something wrong with you. You meet up at a cute little bistro, and he smiles and hugs you when you arrive. You sit in comfort for all of two seconds before he jumps into his interrogation.

“What’s going on with you and Kook?” He asks, casually flipping through the menu. Your hand stills around your glass of water, and you eventually set it down without ever taking a drink. Your mind instinctively maps out a lie, but Taehyung has known you a while now, knows the quirk of your lips when you’re about to lie your ass off. “Don’t lie to me. I haven’t seen you at the shop in almost a month. And he doesn’t go out,” he mentions. “I think he spent four nights at the shop before I made him go home.”

You deflate.

Too embarrassed to explain, you flip through your own menu, and when the waitress comes you order the first words your eyes focus on. Taehyung doesn’t push you, just patiently gazes out over the bustling street.

Finally, you break. “We… did a thing.”

“Uh huh,” he nods, reading some ad on the side of a bus that passes by. “Need you to elaborate, babe.”

You squirm. “We… fooled around,” you say for lack of more appropriate wording. There’s a family sitting beside you, and you’d rather die than let some nooby pre-teen listen to the details of yours and Jungkook’s night.

“You fucked?” You choke, make a loud sputtering noise like it’ll drown out Taehyung’s voice to the other patrons. “What’s wrong with that? We all knew it’d happen sooner or later,” he shrugs.

“No,” you seethe. “We didn—I didn’t.” Taehyung rolls his eyes, the same way Sojin did that day on the sidewalk. You almost throw your glass of water at him. “We…” you sigh. “We did a thing, and then the week after he went out with Sojin.”

Taehyung scowls at the mere mention of her, so the glass of water is returned to its coaster. “Really? He went out with her right away? He’s cancelled.”

You nod, rubbing your hands over your face. “He… her dad has cancer and is literally on his deathbed so she wanted to fix up his car for memories sake, which he loved, so he wanted to apologize to Kook and thank him for fixing up his car,” you rush out, and now Taehyung chokes, water spewing out of his nose. You shriek, drawing everyone’s attention as you pat down your soaked blouse. “Tae!”

“I’m sorry,” he cries, wiping at the sting in his nose. “He-she, what?!” You ignore him, focus on battling the damp spot on your blazer. “God, that’s crazy,” Taehyung snorts, winces at the feeling in his nose.

After the two of you have settled, the manager kicks you out for your inappropriate conversations and childish behavior. You leave with your tails tucked between your legs. Taehyung holds your hand as he walks you back to your workplace, you quietly fill him in on all the other details surrounding yours and Jungkook’s fallout, from your breakdown in the garage to your weirdly dramatic confrontation with Sojin. “Well,” he claps, slamming a hand down on the traffic light button, even though both of you know it doesn’t work. “That explains a lot of things.”

“Yeah,” you agree, pushing down the crosswalk when the light finally changes of its own accord. “Do you,” you pause, feet glued to the sidewalk. “Do you think she was right?”

Taehyung glances back at you, so small and unsure in the midst of a bustling crowd. He smiles, sweet and soft. Rare coming from him. His free hand ruffles the top of your head, and he brings you into his chest. “Babe, the hottest guy in your grade was intimidated by scrawny, pre-muscle bunny Jungkook. I’m pretty sure he feels some type of way towards you.”

Your lip wobbles dangerously, and you bite down on it to stop. Taehyung pats your head, barks at some old guy when he yells at the two of you for standing in the middle of the sidewalk.

When you’re outside your office, you speak again. “You were not the hottest guy in our grade, by the way.”

Taehyung snorts. “I totally was.”

—

You hideout for the rest of the week.

On Friday night, you finally have the balls to show yourself again, and you hop on the highway leading out of the city before you can overthink it. The buildings slowly melt away, replaced with cozier homes, tinier shops, and by the time you’re pulling up the street, you’re deep in doubt again.

It’s not that late yet, only a little past sunset, but the garage doors, usually open to the street, are all shut. You frown, pull around the block, reverse into a spot across the street. Locking your car, a gust of wind nearly trips you as you cross the street. The front office is dark, metal shutters pulled over the entrance.

Eventually, you stumble around until you find the tiny backdoor squeezed beside some dumpsters, grateful for the key Jungkook had given you so long ago.

Just as Taehyung predicted, a pair of red jumpsuit clad feet stick out from beneath a car. A nice car, an even older Corvette than Sojin’s dad’s, still shiny despite the model it is. It looks like a show car with the way it glints at you, black paint almost glossy. The only light in the entire garage is a lamp, positioned over the area where the legs are working, and a flashlight that occasionally beams at you when the holder loses his grip. No music today, just the hum of a rotating fan. You creep over.

Jungkook’s humming a song when you get to him, foot tapping idly on the ground. You suck in a deep breath and nudge his foot with the tip of your heel. You have exactly two seconds to jump away when he abruptly rolls out from beneath the car, concentrated features scanning quickly around until they land on you.

The garage is still, until Jungkook jumps into action. “___,” he stammers, stumbling to his feet. The rolling board drifts away, bumping into the corner of the metal table beside you. “Hi, um,” he flounders, brushing his fingers through his hair, palms wiping over the front of his pants. Finally, “hi.”

The bad bitch Chanel skirt-suit you’d worn today fails you for the first time in a long time. Your hands feel sweaty, so you clutch them behind your back. “Hi, Jungkook,” you exhale, and all the emotions you’d swallowed for so long, the feelings that tightened around your chest and throat like boa constrictors, come oozing out, until all you can see is his puckered mouth and twinkling gaze.

He coughs, tries to casually lean against the car, but greatly miscalculates the distance. “What, um, what brings you here?” He asks, foot tapping nervously against the ground.

There’s a box of takeout on the floor he tries to subtly kick beneath the car, and a plastic bottle of soda that makes a loud noise when he tries that too. You twist your lips, watching the anxious shuffling of his feet. You breeze over his question, plaster a tight smile into your face, and ask your own question; “how long have you been here?” Tentatively, you lower yourself onto a rolling stool. “It’s late,” you state the obvious.

Jungkook’s leg bounces, and he pats his hand over it nervously. “Um, an hour? Just working on something,” he answers, cheeks warm as his eyes flicker everywhere but you. “What brings you here?” He repeats, and you know you can’t deflect it this time.

Shrugging half heartedly, you wait for him to finally look at you. When he does, he almost looks away but the glint in your eye stops him from doing so. “We need to talk,” you finally say. Jungkook visibly deflates, lips pulling into a thin line. You contemplate letting him relieve his thoughts first, but you came here with a point to make, for questions that needed answering, and you’re scared one word from him will wash them all away.

“Listen,” you start, smoothing your hand over the edge of your skirt. “I know something weird happened between us, and then I kinda freaked out on you, but… I need you to tell me the truth.”

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate. “Always.”

You swallow, try to push back the frustration that builds in his throat. “Did you ever even like Sojin?”

Jungkook blinks. “Huh?” A snort. “You’re joking,” he snickers, wipes at faux tears in the corner of his eyes, before your unsmiling face registers and he’s schooling his features. “___, I did like her. I dated her for five years. How could I not like her?”He says seriously, like he can’t believe you would ever question such a thing.

You exhale, pick at your fingernails. “I met her,” you admit, and Jungkook’s face twists in confusion. “At the supermarket last week. She said you never liked her.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “Of course she’ll think that—we’re exes. I doubt she remembers all our best memories,” he sighs, turning back to organize his tool cart like he’s done with this conversation.

Raising to your feet you call his name again, and he hums absentmindedly. “Sojin said you never liked her because you were always chasing after me,” you accuse, laying all your cards out on the table. Your claim startles him, and you watch as he jostles half the tool cart with his surprise.

“She, what?” He huffs, cheeks as red as his jumpsuit. He forces out a laugh, airy and tight like you’re starring in your elementary school play again and the nerves are eating him up. “I-I don’t know why she’d say that.”

He’s flustered, obviously so, as he scoops the metal tools back onto the cart, bumping into three other things before settling back down on the floor to roll under the car. He pushes himself under, and you sternly call out, “Jungkook.” He freezes.

You strut over, brush your hands behind your skirt as you crouch beside him. “Always,” you quietly remind him. Jungkook says nothing. For a moment, you wonder if you’ve grossly misread the situation, if this was just another one of her schemes to drive the two of you apart.

Slowly, Jungkook appears from under the car. There’s a new stain on his cheekbone, brown and slick. He sits up, wide eyes tracing over your features likes he’s trying to seal them in his memory. “Yeah,” he admits, lips twisting as he watches the surprise take your features, before he’s lolling his head back to stare at the ceiling, leaving you to stare at the column of his neck.

“I do,” Jungkook admits, pushing through his emotions. It’s hard for him to confess, you realize, watching the way his Adam’s apples contracts and his jaw twitches from having to say so. “I like you so much it hurts.”

His confession leaves you feeling weird. On one hand, you want nothing more than to spring yourself on him and kiss his face until the stray oil marks are gone and replaced with the outline of your lipstick prints. You want to smother him and hold him, let him know he’s yours, always has been.

On the other hand… it’s sad. Going on thirty years and never did the two of you guess your feelings for each other. You doubt either of you are good at hiding them, with the way everyone seems to have known except you two. Maybe you don’t know Jungkook as well as you thought you did. Maybe he doesn’t know you.

A hand touches your knee, and you return your attention to his downtrodden appearance, chin tucked against his chest. “Please,” he murmurs. “Say something.”

You say nothing.

Tentatively, you reach a hand out, run it along the side of his head, through his mane, chocolate waves touching his cheekbones. He almost looks like when you guys were kids, round eyes watching your every move. Your hand continues down the back of his head, cupping the nape of his neck comfortingly. Jungkook leans into the touch, even though his shoulders are tense. You soothe your fingers over the tight muscles in his neck.

“Since when?” You inquire.

Jungkook blinks, lets your palm trace along his jawline and cup his cheek. “Since you dated Taehyung when we were sixteen.”

Mentally, you curse every deity in existence for putting Kim Taehyung in your life. “God,” you groan, burrowing your hands in your palms. Jungkook, surprised by your reaction, rolls closer, moves around until you’re crouched between his long legs. “Since me and that pinhead dated for twenty minutes?” You repeat.

Jungkook shifts closer, rubs your back. “It was 65 hours, actually,” he corrects, and the exact duration of your relationship makes you cringe. “I… counted.”

Small and shy, almost embarrassed. You glance back up at him. “Why?” You prod, and Jungkook’s cheek flush, palm stilling.

“Uh,” he starts. “I was nervous? That you two were in it for the long run. And I, I don’t know. It was easier to just count,” he lamely finishes, and his dangly earring whips around with him when he avidly avoids your gaze.

You sigh, catch his hand in yours. “Tae and I would have never lasted,” you tell him, remembering all the times the guy made you pick him up from one night stands in the last few years. “He wasn’t who I wanted.”

His foot jumps, toe tapping against the wheel of the car next to you. He wants to ask, you know he does, but Jungkook was quite possibly the only other person on this planet who could overthink something more than you.

Deciding to ease his worries, you give his hand a squeeze. “It was you,” you confess, feel like an elephant lands straight on your chest. “It is you,” you correct.

His forehead knocks against yours, hard, and you hiss at the bump that probably forms. “What the fu—“

“Tell me it’s not temporary,” Jungkook pleads, eyes crinkled in worry. You’re going cross eyed from trying to look at him like this, so you flit your eyes off somewhere to the side. His hand is heavy in yours. “Tell me you’re not just doing this for closure, or because you want to see what it would have been like, please,” he begs, “that would be so fucked up, because I’m so in love with you I actually think I might die.”

The dramatic confession makes you painfully warm. You nod, your lower lip trembling at the way he looks at you, like you single-handedly controlled this entire world with a flick of your wrist. “I-I love you too,” you parrot back, the first time you’ve ever said it, the millionth time you’ve ever thought it.

Jungkook visibly relaxes, pulls away from you to drop his head on your shoulder instead. Your legs are starting to cramp from the tight crouching position, ankles wobbly in your heels. His hair smells good still, despite the hours he’s probably spent beneath a car, and you gingerly pat the back of his head.

“I love you,” he murmurs, and you repeat it. “I love you,” he says again, and you repeat it. “I lov—“

“Me, yes, I’ve heard,” you cut him off, smile at the snort he releases, and when he turns his head, his lips brush against your neck. You’re instantly thrown back a few weeks, to that night on the couch with the limited edition Shrek 2 cups and the wine; the gentle touches that left you trembling for weeks. You inhale quickly, grabbing him by the shoulders and pushing him away.

His eyes are too soft, face too relaxed as he stares at you. “My legs hurt,” you tell him, quickly getting up. You whirl around, facing the car and digging through your purse like you suddenly have something to do.

“Oh,” you gasp, watch two arms wind around your waist, the dirty red jumpsuit contrasting against the tweed material of your high-end Chanel jacket. Jungkook sighs lovingly by your ear, snuggles his face into your neck. “W-we should go out,” you blurt, nerves jumping when he squeezes tighter, burrows closer. “To celebrate!”

Jungkook hums. “Yeah?” His voice is too low. You’re in trouble. “Celebrate what?”

You squirm, breath catching in your throat when he presses you closer against the hood of the car. “Um,” you shakily exhale, hands splaying out over the sleek surface of the black hood to steady yourself. It’s so shiny you can almost see your reflection. “U-Us!” You finally manage to exclaim.

A kiss against the side of your neck, and your spirit just about exits your body. Your knees feel weak, and you're just about ready to throw another mediocre excuse his way, when something warm and wet traces up the column of your neck. “Kook!” You gasp.

“Shh,” he murmurs, deep voice instantly soothing over your nerves. His hips nudge against your behind, and you jump at the bulge that presses against your lower back. One hand unwraps from around you, gliding down your arm sensually until he’s trapping your fingers on the hood of the car with his own. A swift kiss against your ear. “You owe me, remember?”

You flush, remember the filthy promises your list-addled brain has spewed that night at your house, the almost erratic development of your thoughts as you became consumed in the thought of him. Reminisce on the prod of his fingers against your cunt, his hot breath against your ear.

Suddenly, Jungkook whirls you around, traps you with his gaze as two hands flutter to rest on the small of your back. He’s looking down at you with those lovesick eyes, hooded with lust as they trace over the dip of your Cupid’s bow. “You’ll do that for me, won’t you?” A soft brush of his mouth against yours, pouty lips guiding you through a kiss, until you’re sighing against him, and he’s pulling away.

Numbly, you nod, almost hypnotized by the soft smirk that overtakes his features as he pushes you down, watches you sink to your knees before him. The concrete feels cold and hard beneath your knees. His jumpsuit is knotted around his waist, and you shakily unravel it, the elastic waistband staring you in the face afterwards.

“Take your time,” Jungkook croons, hand coming to rest on the side of your face, knuckles brushing over your skin delicately.

You tug it down, and one flash of that underwear band has your nerves flying out the window. You shove his t-shirt out of the way, let your hands trail over the ridges of his abdomen in your haste. He helps you by tugging it over his head. With that gone, his black boxers stare you in the face, and you yank those down with no hesitation.

“Jesus, baby,” Jungkook chuckles, though it’s choked off when you grasp his engorged cock in his hand. You should be surprised, marveling at the sight, considering it’s the first time you’ve ever seen him like this. But you brain is working overtime, too immersed in the vein that runs alongside it and the tip that throbs back at you. Later you can worship it, you think. Right now, you needed it down your throat.

The tip is flaming and swollen, his cock still growing plump in your hold, your hands slowly dragging up and down the length. You lean forward, press a gentle kiss below the mushroom head, trail kisses down the length until you're meeting your knuckles, and trail them back again. Jungkook sucks in a tight breath, leans to rest his palms on the car behind you, as he watches you on him.

A head of precum escapes, and you lunge for it, swirl your tongue in and around the slit on his cock, until his entire body tenses up. “Fuck,” he grunts, watches you ease his cock into your mouth. You groan at the stretch, the drag against the corners of your lips making your eyes roll backwards. “___, baby, a little more?” He asks, voice hoarse as he watches you sink down further on his cock.

You comply, close your eyes and focus on relaxing your throat. There’s a hand on the back of your head, impatiently pushing you down his length. “Shit,” he cries, unconsciously ruts against you. You gag, and he shushes you with a caress against your cheek. “Sorry,” he huffs, “just a little more for me, okay?”

Eyes squeezed shut tightly, you let him push you down until his cock hits the back of your throat and you can’t take anymore. The prod against your throat has tears springing to your eyes. “Gonna move now,” Jungkook announces, thumb brushing away the tears that collect in the corners. “Be good.”

He drags himself out, your saliva coating every inch of him, and when just the tip is resting on your tongue, he shoves back in. You whimper, palms digging into his thighs. Jungkook brushes a hand down your hair, soothes you for all of two seconds before he’s pulling out and doing it all over again. He picks up the pace, loses himself in the feeling of your hot mouth around him, tongue dragging over his cock.

The feeling in your throat burns, each thrust of his hips against your mouth making your jaw more and more sore. But god, it feels good to have him so close, his scent swarming your sense, groans like music to your ears. You want to please him, want him to feel as good as you did at your place. You want it even more now that you know how he feels, know he’s probably thought about this before.

A brutal thrust has you gagging, throat contracting around his length. “Shh,” Jungkook sighs, the fingers buried in your hair flattening out to run over your head. “Doing so good for me, beautiful.”

You bask in the praise, let a hand flutter down to the apex of your thighs, pressing down to relieve some of the pressure. Jungkook groans, rolls his hips against you and keeps you there for a second. Your throat spasms, his dick pressed hotly against it, and you feel your panties grow embarrassingly sticky. Eventually, he draws back out.

“You like this?” He hums, rutting against you faster now, nose brushing against the sparse hairs on his pelvis with every slam of his hips. You nod around a gag, eyes clouding with tears, lips slippery with saliva and precum. One particular thrust is so hard, it nearly sends you knocking back into the car, Jungkook’s hand on the back of your head barely saving you. “Fucking hell,” he spits, “look so pretty with my cock shoved down your throat, princess.”

You moan around him, feel a subtle twitch against your tongue before he’s pulling himself out. “Shit,” he cursed, pushing you away as he goes to grab his own dick in his hand, tugging at it like a madman. “Wh-Where?” He asks, and you stare dumbly at the sight of him playing with himself, almost don’t realize he’s asking you a question.

You take too long, scramble for words too long, and even if you did have one your throat is far too sensitive yo answer. Jungkook grows impatient. Pulling you closer by the collar of your Chanel suit jacket, tugging it open until the flimsy buttons snap, and the tank top you wore beneath comes into view. He aims the tip of his cock towards your sternum, and a few jacks later, he’s coming, cum spurting against your chest. You watch the cum trail down between the valley of your breasts, until the feeling comes to rest against the inside wire of your bra, sticky and gross, sliding along the underside of your boobs. “Shit,” Jungkook repeats, eyes furrowed over you.

Your knees ache, and you nearly trip when you stand up, steadying yourself against the side of the car. Jungkook seems to regain his sense by then, hand trailing around your waist. You meet his eye, and almost immediately turn away, the blood in your face rapidly rising.

Jungkook laughs. “Don’t get shy on me now,” he teases, gets too close and your noses bump. “Sorry,” he smiles, too shiny and bright for the sinful acts you just committed in an auto shop.

“Put your dick away,” you huff, let him nuzzle closer to you, and when he doesn’t move to tuck himself into his pants, you go do it for him.

Jungkook frowns, swats your hand away. “This dick has places to be,” he informs you, and you scoff.

“Refractory period,” you remind him, and he rolls his eyes.

“Well I’m not exactly gonna stick it in you this instant,” he drawls. “Gotta stretch you out first.”

You go to complain, tell him he doesn’t have to over exert himself. Truthfully, with Jungkook you feel like one good session was enough to sustain you for weeks. After last time, your skin had flowed for an entire week. But then his hand is slithering up your backside, sneaking under your skirt to grab a handful of your ass.

There’s quickly drying drool collecting at the corners of your mouth, saliva from when he’d fucked your throat just a few moments prior, that he kisses away. His mouth slots over yours, and your heart and pussy both flutter at the kiss.

It’s gentle and sweet for all of ten seconds, his mouth moving against yours until you feel the wet press of his tongue against your bottom lip, tracing along until you open your mouth. He wastes no time shoving his tongue past your lips, letting it dance with yours as he pulls you closer, hands gripping the globes of your ass. You let him lick his way into your mouth, more and more saliva catching in the corners of your mouth until he’s pulling away with a wet pop.

He pulls away, doesn’t stray too far, proud smirk crossing his features at the sight of your slicked lips. “You liked that, didn’t you?”

“Huh?” You ask dumbly, tongue mindlessly swiping over your lips.

Jungkook’s eyes track the movement. “The saliva,” he clarifies. “The spit. You liked it at your place too,” he reminisces, moving in on you again. “Liked watching me slobber and spit all over your body. Isn’t that right, baby?”

You blush, discreetly rub your thighs together. “I-I do,” you admit, willing the warmth of your face away because at this distance he must certainly feel it.

Jungkook nods, doesn’t say anything else as he captures your lips a second time. He doesn’t bother with the gentle prodding anymore, jumping straight into tongue right away. He’s messier, letting his saliva coat your lips and drip down your mouth, and as messy as it is, you love it. You whimper when he pulls away, but gasp when his hand tugs at the hair by the nape of your neck, pulling you back until you’re looking up at him.

“Open,” he murmurs, and you do, tongue pressing against your bottom lip.

It should be disgusting, the rev of his throat, the sound of his saliva collecting, and the way his jaw shifts when he’s got enough. It should be filthy, the way he shoots it down your open lips, the way it splatters against the back of your throat. It should be gross, but god do you love it. “Swallow,” Jungkook commands, and you do, feel his spit drip down your throat like it’s your own, whimpering at the feeling. A quirk of his lips. “Good girl.”

You have to bite down the pride that grows in your chest.

Jungkook’s hands continue their mapping out of your behind, eventually ending with a hard squeeze that has you squealing. Automatically, your back arches in surprise, breasts pressing against Jungkook’s chest. He smirks down at you.

“Bet you taste good,” he says, pressing a kiss against your cheek. “Let me taste?”

“Please,” you beg, nearly losing your shit when he lifts you up onto the car, the cool metal making you jump, heel on your foot nearly kicking the side view mirror clean off. “Wait, Jungkook,” you sputter, glancing down at the sleek metal. “This is someone’s car.”

Jungkook ignores you, pushes your legs apart to slot himself between them. His palms run up your legs, over your thighs, until they’re toying with the hem of your skirt. Mocha eyes glance up at you, as if daring you to question him again, so you promptly zip your lips shut. The skirt goes, ever so slowly, over your thighs, bunches up at your waist until he’s staring at your lace panties.

He presses a kiss against the inside of your thigh, nose faintly brushing against your skin. The kisses trail over your skin, until he’s hovering over your panties, and he’s staring like a man starved. He gives no warning, suddenly leaning down to press his mouth over your party-clad folds, nose flush against your clit. “Kook!” You squeak, hands flying to clutch at his hair.

Jungkook mouths at you, drags his tongue against your panties until they’re soaked in both your essence and his saliva, just how you like. A hand slithers around your leg, wrapping around until he’s got a firm grip on it that he uses to hold it open.

“J-Just take them off,” you gasp, squirm when his mouth moves towards your clit, lapping against you. “Please,” you cry.

He doesn’t.

Jungkook tortures you with those kitten licks, muted through your panties, until you’re begging him to stop, to take them off and do it right. He loves it, you can tell, dazzling smile peeking up at you every time you tug against his hair, until finally, he’s had enough.

The underwear comes off, dangling uselessly by your ankle, and then the show really begins.

“Wait,” you choke, head falling back against the hood of the car when he finally gets his mouth on you, suctioning his lips around your swollen clit. The niggling reminder that this is some stranger’s car he’s eating you out on rings in your brain, and perhaps that’s what makes it more exciting.

His mouth is warm, tongue flicking over your sensitive bud like it’s candy and he needs the sugar. The sounds are so loud and wet, the squelching of your pussy every time he pulls off a pop that resounds throughout the garage. He pampers your clit for what seems like hours, switching the movements of his tongue every time he gets the chance until you’re quivering.

When you think he’s done, he’s not.

Fingers slide up your thigh, featherlight, as they reach your drenched cunt. They drag over your lips, and you mewl, feeling the muscles jump and tighten at his touches. “Jungkook, please,” you moan, rolling your hips against him, but it’s hard and everytime you move, you feel the sweat on your skin weigh you down, glued to the metal beneath you.

The first finger breaches you, just the tip of his index slowly wiggling inside. You muffle a moan in your palm, and Jungkook pulls away with a huff. “No hiding,” he warns, slowly lowering back to your cunt with a stern glare. You nod, but can’t help it when his second finger pushes its way in and you bite down on your knuckles.

“Oh,” You sob, body quivering as he begins scissoring his two fingers inside you. With your attention focused on the digits sheathed inside you, he pulls away from your clit, bestowing one final kiss against it that has your foot kicking out wildly. “Th-there.” His other hand catches your palm in his, presses it against the metal by your head.

Jungkook smiles, curls his fingers around until he finds the soft spot inside you that turns you to jelly. “There we go, beautiful,” he purrs, pushing himself to his full height, leaning over your trembling form. “So sweet for me,” he sighs, licks his lips like he’s remembering your taste.

“I'm gonna,” you choke, become hypnotized by the dark cloud in his gaze, the arrogant smirk on his lips. He curls his fingers, palm brushing against your abandoned clit. The touch makes you jump, nerves tingling.

“Cum for me,” he encourages, silky tone swarming your head as your pleasure slowly washes over you. It’s probably the most relaxed orgasm you’ve had in your entire life, his low voice and delighted eyes guiding you through it, until your entire body clenches, dissolving in a puddle of contentment. Your arousal surges around his fingers, trickling down onto the metal.

“Oh, Jungkook,” you pant, overwhelmed from the touches and the kisses. Jungkook’s smile gets swallowed by your greedy mouth, desperate for more kisses now that he’s made you feel like this.

The kisses only placate him for so long, and when he presses his body against yours, there’s an awfully hard cock that slides against your dripping cunt. “Think you can go again, gorgeous?” He murmurs against your jaw, nipping at the skin on the way down. You nod, eyes falling shut at the warmth you feel in your bones.

Jungkook kisses your neck one last time, before leaning back once more to line himself up.

This was a scene straight from your teenage fantasies, a dripping, shirtless Jungkook at full mast between your thighs, looking at you so lovingly. It makes your heart thunder, imagining how long you could have been doing this if you weren’t both so stupid. As if reading your thoughts, Jungkook rubs a palm over your thigh, eyebrow quirked. You nod his concern away, squirm closer until the tip of his cock nudges against your hole.

“Fuck,” Jungkook sighs, moving his hands to your hips as he slowly pushes in. His fingers, bless their intentions, could have never prepared you for the size of Jungkook’s cock, thick and veiny as it pushes inside. You whimper, clawing at the hands on your waist that stop you from impaling yourself on it fully. “Waited so long for this.”

“Then fucking do it,” you beg, nearly pass out when he shoves in harshly at your tone. “J-Jung—“

“I got you, baby,” he assures you, jostles you until you’re flush against his cock, clit brushing against his pelvis. Your back arches, and Jungkook slips his arm around you, the other lingering on your waist.

Every subtle shift has him brushing along your swollen clit, and you sob at the sensation, begging him to move. He complies, changes his stance to make it easier, and finally begins thrusting into your throbbing pussy.

“So good,” he huffs, eyes zeroed in on where the two of you meet. You would have looked too, if your body hadn’t felt so completely boneless beneath him, the grinding of his cock sending shocks of pleasure up your spine. “So pretty and mine.”

“Yours,” you choke, heart swelling in your chest at his words. It’s almost animalistic, the way he ducks down to bite at your neck, like some animal staking its claim, and you like it. You like it because it’s all you ever dreamed of for so long. “Faster, Kook,” you urge, wrapping your arms around him.

He does as you say, slow and careful thrusts transitioning into a fast piston that would have had you bouncing out of his reach if he wasn’t holding you so tightly. “Fuck,” he chokes, lost in the way you clench around him, lips dragging against his cock with each thrust. “Baby,” he grunts, sweat trailing down his temple, eyes furrowed shut. Eventually, his head falls into the crook of your neck, his weight pressing down on you uncomfortably, subtle ridges on the hood making you ache. At this point, you’re too far gone to care. “All I ever wanted,” he gasps.

You could cry, right now and he’d pull out right away, big heart fretting over your emotional well-being. Which is exactly why you hold your emotions in, let yourself get fully immersed in the feeling of Jungkook pounding you against some stranger’s car and not the inevitable emotional crash you’ll have later.

He fucks like he’s waited all his life for this, and you guess he sort of has if what he’s saying is true. You have no doubt it is, and when his lips suck a mark against your neck, you feel like you’re in heaven. “Almost,” you pant, legs wrapping around his waist tightly. Jungkook nods, his hair tickling your jaw and neck, as he picks up the pace. Your cunt swallows him up every single time, suctions him in until he’s shaking, and so are you.

It can only last for so long, your heart and body eventually reaching their peak, and you unravel. His arms are there to catch you, to pick up the pieces and hold you together. You want to cry, you really do, and when the coil in your stomach snaps, you finally do. “I love you,” you sob, and Jungkook shudders, glances at your tear-struck face to push himself off.

“Love you too,” he mumbles, grinds his cock against your spasming folds one last time, and comes mid-thrust, cum spurting inside you. He holds you, just like you knew he would, as you come down from your highs, hot breath fanning across your skin.

You feel warm, loved, and in love, body trembling in sensitivity afterwards. He’s pulled out since, soothingly rubbing a hand against your side. You’d like to say you wouldn’t be anywhere else, but one shift reminds you of where you are.

“Shit,” you groan, taking in your surroundings before letting your head fall back against the hood. Jungkook hums, round eyes looking your way. “We really just confessed and had sex on some stranger’s car.”

Jungkook snorts, leans away just the slightest to look you in the eye. He’s lost in thought, chocolate irises swirling as they drink you in. “Say thanks to Taehyung,” he finally says.

You roll your eyes, and when you shift beneath him, your sweaty skin sticks uncomfortably against the metal hood. “Yeah, let me thank Taehyung for dating me for three days and awakening your crush,” you huff sarcastically, resigning yourself to your new life stuck against the hood of some classic automobile from the 50s. Jungkook laughs, tucks himself back into his underwear. “Thanks Taehyung, for your noble sacrifice ten years ago that allowed me to fuck Jungkook on some stranger’s car—“

Jungkook hums, snuggles closer to you. “Tae’s car.”

“—after confessing our—Taehyung’s car?” You shriek, sitting up with the strength of three football players, Jungkook toppling off you. “Oh my god. No.” Jungkook rubs his elbow where he knocked it against the hood, looks at you with solemn eyes. Slowly, a smirk crawls over his features. “No,” you gasp, mortification crawling up your spine. “We didn’t.”

He tugs you off the car, tugs your skirt down when you wobble on unsteady heels. “Yup,” he says, pops the end of the word like a child. “Say hello to Taehyung’s new car!” He exclaims, patting the hood you just defiled. “Straight from the car auction he went to this morning,” he beams.

“Oh my god,” you groan, covering your face with your hands when you finally spot the puddles of... something on the black hood. “This is terrible.”

Jungkook ignores you, wipes up the mess with some napkins from his takeout bag, but there’s already some that's dried, only fueling your mortification. “Not like he’ll find out,” he shrugs, then narrows his eyes at you. “Or will he?”

“No!” You stutter, carefully rounding the car as if inspecting it for any more signs of the treacherous things you and Jungkook did on or around it. “I-I won’t tell him.”

“Uh huh,” Jungkook teases, settles on that rolling stool and pushes himself towards you. There’s a hand easing itself around your waist, tugging you between open legs. Still in shock, your hands flutter around his neck, muscle memory causing you to immediately begin massaging the skin there.

Jungkook sighs into the touch, eyes falling shut. “Too bad Jimin’s not here,” he sighs, and you visibly see his nose grow in arrogance.

“What? Why should Jimin be here?” You ask, pushing your fingers against the knots in his neck.

Jungkook levels you with an unimpressed, one-eyed glare. He scoffs, “maybe you are as dumb ad Taehyung says.” And then, “hey!” when you tug his ear. He isn’t upset, just tugs you closer until his face is buried against your stomach. “You know country folk like him marry on the spot right?”

“What are you even saying,” you huff, burying your hands in the hair at the nape of his neck, tugging his head back to properly look at him. “Why do you care who Jimin marries?” He doesn’t bother answering.

Instead, Jungkook sighs into the touch, an easygoing smile thrown your way, and for a moment you forget about the trauma Taehyung will have when he inevitably learns about this. “This is the life.”

#goldenclosetnet #ksmutclub #networkbangtan #jungkook smut #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #jungkook fic #mine

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hongism · 3 years

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touch of the devil - k.hongjoong 18+

↣ pairing: hongjoong x fem!reader | ao3 version (mxm seongjoong) ↣ genre: angst, fluff if you SQUINT, nsfw, fantasy, supernatural, demon!hongjoong, emo rocker!hongjoong, there do be plot tho. ↣ wc: 9.0k ↣ summary: you came to make a deal with a devil sure, but this is the last thing you were expecting out of a night in a dingy bar. ↣ warnings: explicit smut, mention of death, demons, it’s actually really heavy on plot and angst and less focused on the smut ↣ a/n: again i know it’s my birthday but this is my present to you guys, i am a person who prefers to give rather than receive on my birthday and this was the first thing i wanted to work on during my hiatus!! i’ve got so much inspo and motivation rn that it’s crazy and i can’t wait to have everything all set out for you guys when im back :3

﹊﹊﹊

Everything about the air around you is heady and thick in a way that chokes you as you step through the fogged bar. This isn’t your sort of scene – not one you would typically find yourself frequenting on a Friday evening without even so much as the company of a friend – and yet here you stand with hands pressed into the pockets of your black leather jacket. There remains a dull thrum in the atmosphere of the club, a steady rhythm of bass and vibrations that makes your ears ring but you do your best to ignore it in favor of reaching the bartender.

“Just a rum and coke please,” you murmur, hand sneaking out of your pocket to lay a few bills flat against the wood counter. You tug your ID card out as well and flash it in the man’s direction when he raises an eyebrow at you, but upon seeing it, he relents and steps away from you to get the drink.

The question remains of why exactly you are in such a dismal and hopeless scene full of people too drunk off their rockers to even fumble around the bar with some sense of dignity. You, who is neither dismal or hopeless yourself nor are you drunk in the slightest (at least not yet).

The answer is simple. This is a breeding ground, a festering cesspool of desires and greed, and it is the prime place to find what you are looking for in terms of deals with the devil. Maybe not one specific devil, but certainly whatever demon you can get your hands on tonight. And you have quite the lot to choose from it seems, because as you glance around the neon-lit building, you can spot many pairs of red eyes glinting under the lights. You know you have no right to be picky — any and all of them will get the job done — but you can’t help but to note that none of them are as appealing as you imagined they would be. When your friend said that these demons thrived off of lust and appeal, you figured that meant they would purposefully up the ante in terms of physical appearances.

The disdain must show on your features as the bartender begins to speak again as he sets your drink down before you on the counter.

“None of them are for you,” he utters, and you twist back to look him in the eye.

“What do you mean?” You inquire, chin tilting to the side in question, and the man huffs out a small laugh.

“They have their prey already. Picked ‘em the second they walked through the door. All it takes is one look to figure out what these needy people crave from them, what appearances they need to take, what voices to use, what outfits to wear. For people like you, though, something more is required before the real games begin.” He points a single bony finger at your face, staring you down over the length of his digit like it’s the barrel of a gun, and that has you shifting in your seat a bit.

“Something… more?”

“One must have a particular level of certainty before coming to make a deal with a demon, ma’am. But you — you don’t seem to truly know what it is you want. And for that reason, the King will see you with no ruses or deception.”

On the contrary, I wouldn’t have dared set foot in here if I didn’t know what it is I wanted, you want to say. However, your attention is held rapt by his final sentence, the one that held unspoken promise to it.

“And by that you mean physical alterations?”

“You catch on quickly, Miss.” The man leans forward, tongue darting out to swipe over his lower lip, and you glance over the motion only once before pushing away from the counter. He notes the slight annoyance in your features a moment later. “The King will like you quite a bit.”

“When can I expect for this ‘King’ to present himself?” You prop an elbow up on the counter and give one last forlorn glance around the bar in the hopes that someone will come over your way, but it’s to no avail.

“Patience, human. The show hasn’t even begun yet.” He motions towards the middle of the bar, the starkly empty space with a glossy stage set in the center with only a microphone held delicately in its stand and nothing else. You had been hoping to make this a speedy trip — a quick in and out with your deal made and nothing else — but it seems you won’t be having that luxury. And it is a bit frustrating, honestly, to come to this place with the expectation of having a demon cater to you and your wants only to be told that you aren’t certain enough for these supernatural beings, so you’ll have to wait on a demon who won’t cater to you or come to you immediately.

You take a quick swig of your alcohol with the desperate hope that perhaps drinking will make you more certain of what you want, although you already know it won’t. The bartender offers a shrug in response to your annoyance then pulls away to tend to other customers, and you take it as an invitation to swivel in your stool and face the stage. It’s still fucking empty, but at least it gives you a better view than the old wood of the counter that now sits under your elbows.

“Leave it to men to make me wait on them, demon or not,” you mutter under your breath, breath fogging the side of your glass a bit.

You nearly choke on the liquid inside in your next breath because the swirling red neon lights come to a halt on the center of the stage, and the suddenness of the shifting lights startles you so much that you have to sit up straight and inhale deeply to keep from coughing on the alcohol in your mouth. The hazed mist hovering above the floor of the bar seems to swirl towards the stage under the beams of light. You watch the movements as though in a trance, slowly leaning forward until your elbows come to rest on your knees. Out of everyone in the bar, you seem to be the only one interested in what’s going on at the center of the room. Mind you, everyone else is preoccupied: demons with their humans, and humans with the mask-wearing demons who cater to their desires. And while you have no reason to be so intrigued by the scene before you, you truly cannot bring yourself to look away, especially as the dull thrum of music in the bar heightens and gains momentum.

There is no way of describing the sounds rumbling around you. Perhaps if you were fully in your senses, you would be able to distinguish the instruments and beats of the song, but the bass clogs your mind and leaves you squinting at the hazy stage. It could be poetic, the way a lone figure pushes his way through the crowds of the bar like he holds all the power in the universe, studded black leather jacket slung around his shoulders. And as the red lights come over him, you can see his features better. Dusty brown hair that shines a bit, one side exposed and cut shorter than the other, which has bangs that hang loose over the side of his face. Metal bars line both ears, another near the end of his left brow, and a final more intricate one that loops around the middle of his lip and connects to two long metal chains. You follow the path of those chains with your eyes, watching them trail downwards until they loop around his chest and disappear behind his jacket. It’s just a black turtleneck that he wears underneath the dramatic leather regalia and chains but somehow he makes the garment look expensive. You dare glance a bit lower, just enough to make out the frayed and distressed jeans that cling to his skin like a vice, leaving hints of enticing skin underneath to peek through. You can’t see his feet thanks to the fog, but you can practically hear his footsteps drumming in your ears with the rise and fall of his shoes.

Simply put, you are entranced by the sight of this man — if he can even be called that, because you wouldn’t find yourself at all surprised should he reveal himself to be a demon on the tail end of this encounter. He barely looks up from the floor on his trek to the stage, only stopping when he comes before the mic stand and exhales against it in a way that sends shivers down your spine. It’s hardly reasonable for any creature to hold your attention in the palm of his hand the way this one does, but there is no chance of you looking away now, especially as his voice begins to drawl through the microphone and coat your ears like honey. There are words, you recognize enough in the music to know that it should be a song you’re familiar with, but none of them truly process in your daze.

It’s all you can do to just sit there and watch his performance. Between the gentle sways of his shoulders and hips, the teasing drag of his tongue over his lower lip whenever there is a break in his lyrics, and the overall intoxicating nature his aura exudes, you are hooked on every breath he takes. You don’t realize how relaxed your body has become under his spell until it’s too late, and that happens to be the last note of the song as well. It is accentuated with the drop of the glass in your hand and a sharp shatter of the cup against the floor. And just as you inhale a startled gasp and break out of your reverie, his deep crimson eyes flicker over to find yours across the bar. Those twisting lips churn something ugly in your gut. You can’t find the strength in your body to move.

“Mine.”

Your heart leaps in your chest as the word leaves his lips, and while you can’t hear it grate against your ears, you can clearly read his lips enough to know what he’s saying.

His eyes glint a bit in the darkness. It shouldn’t leave you wanting more, but that bitter taste of curiosity is nipping at the back of your throat, and you are far too intrigued to turn back now. You just want more. If he seems to understand that at all from the gleam in your eyes, he makes good on it, stepping off the stage and letting his hand drag over the mic in a way that is almost tantalizing. Step after step, he comes closer to you with his lips still curled into a smirk, and the way the lights hit him makes him seem to glisten and glow in the darkness. You don’t realize you’ve been holding your breath until he breaches your personal space and you release a shaky exhale that seems to fog in the air between you. He stretches a hand out to close the space between your bodies and curls his index finger under your chin. The touch is simultaneously hot and cold — your whole body seems to light on fire under it, yet at the same time, the chill in your bones deepens to an alarming degree.

“What is it you desire above all other things?” You can hear him now, loud and clear, and whilst you heard his singing beforehand, the simple rasp and lilt to his regular tone is something that has you unashamedly weak in the knees. “I can give you everything,” he whispers as he presses closer to you. Your knees brush against his form but he keeps on pushing forward until he’s slotted himself between them. The chain hanging from his lips rattles like a chime, singing its unknown song like church bells in the night, although you are far from God and heaven now. “All you need to do is ask.”

You cling to some semblance of reason while you can, knowing full well that it will all leave you soon enough, but for now, it lets you choke out a single statement that has the demon before you laughing under his breath.

“That’s not how it works.”

“And who are you to tell me how it works?” His finger curls a bit harder at your chin, and you can feel the blunt of his nail scraping over your skin. Your eyes are glued to his, so enamored and consumed that you can’t even think to look anywhere else.

In that moment, it is as though the universe is nothing but a speck of dust in the corner of your vision. Something so raw and whole like the man standing before you is all-powerful and vigilant in a way that has every nerve in your body at full attention, ready for whatever his next step might be. And that turns out to be quite the curveball as it seems because he leans closer to you, breath intermingling with yours, and you subconsciously curve your back into his touch to reach him closer. Still, even though you physically show how ready and desperate for the touch you are, he waits and glances over your features.

“What is it you desire from me, human?”

You have to vehemently restrain yourself from simply saying ‘you’ and getting on with it.

“Your name.”

“Is that all you would have from me?” As a demon, it is his life’s work to know the inner-workings of the festering desires of humans. You have no doubt in your mind that he knows exactly what is it you want, even if you are not sure of it yourself, and you do not doubt that he won’t use that to his advantage either. But that’s what you asked for in coming here, and that is exactly what you both expected and wanted out of this.

Perhaps it is shameful, but just for once, you wanted to surrender control. Too often are you asked to have everything set out and planned and under control, and too often do you find yourself wanting someone to just tell you what it is you should do. That could be why the bartender labeled you as ‘uncertain’ because even in this moment of vulnerability, there is still the thinnest thread of thought tethering you to that control. And as of now, you want nothing more than for this demon before you to break that thread.

“I would have your name before I asked for anything else from you. Calling you demon over and over would certainly wear out its welcome, no?”

“That all depends on the context, my dear. But… you can call me Hongjoong, if that’s suitable to your tongue.”

“Hongjoong,” you try, testing the way the name rolls off your tongue in such a delicate manner that the demon before you flutters his lashes a bit.

“Sounds so pretty coming from lips so innocent.” He tilts his head to the side, and the movement flashes the pretty expanse of skin below his jaw. You aren’t shy in the way you let your gaze slip over it before trailing back up to meet his eyes again. “Would you close your eyes for me, doll?” He doesn’t have to ask. He could just make you do so with no resistance but still, he asks as though you could say no if you wanted to. You don’t though, and as such, your eyelids fall shut and your vision turns to black for the time being. “Do you know who I am?”

“Th-The bartender called you the King.”

“And do you understand what that means? Truly understand with every fiber of your being?” The question is heavy on your bones, and it is one that you feel like you should know the answer to yet you can’t find any response to his inquiry. Perhaps he means to confuse you because you hear the soft huff of a laugh fall from his lips. “King of the Underworld, Lord of the Dead. Some would call me Pluto, others Hades, it varies from religion to religion and in every culture. Sometimes I pick up rather banal and common names, other times I find myself seeking something extravagant and luxurious. Now… Hongjoong will be a good middle-ground for us.”

You should be falling to the floor in absolute shock due to his words, but the steady finger under your chin keeps you steady. That and the growing fear in your gut as you come to realize that this man holds so much power in just his pinky finger and could absolutely crush you under his heel whenever he wishes. What are you to a god besides an insignificant fleck of dust on the pavement?

“And what of your appearance? Is that… manifested as well?” You dare to ask.

“I have many faces, yes, but this one is one I wear boldly and frequently. You could say it is my natural form. After so many millennia of fantastical myths and legends, however, I’m sure that would seem odd to you.”

“Are you truly a demon then?”

“King of demons, yes. Whether I am truly a demon myself is something that could be ambiguous, I suppose, but if they are all part of my creations, then would that not make me one myself? Though you could say they are all fragments of my own being, making them all mythical gods. It’s all a matter of perspective; however, I doubt that you came searching this place for a lesson on perspectives.”

“No, I came for…” You trail off, and that blossoming uncertainty from before presents itself again.

“There are two things your heart wants right now. One, I can give you with ease and grace, only if you would allow it. That desire is a fleeting one, however, and I do not think it is what you are truly after in being here. The second… that is a wish I cannot deliver, and I think you are more than aware of that. The reason everyone left you to me is because of what you want. It is a domain only I could ever touch.”

You blink your eyes open in haste, searching his deep crimson gaze for some sort of confirmation of the words. The demon dares to look forlorn and lets his stare drop to the floor rather than looking you directly in the eye. Confusion blossoms in your gut. Yes, you figured there was a slim chance that your wish could not be granted, but still you clung to the desperate hope that maybe there was just a small window of opportunity for such a wish to be granted.

“Death is irreversible,” the demon, Hongjoong as he wishes to be called, says in a quiet tone. “I cannot give that which you want more than anything else.”

“Then what can you give?” You ask, squeezing your eyes shut as tight as possible to keep your emotions from slipping out the corners.

“One of two things: I can give you time to speak with him once more or I can make you forget the pain.”

“And if I choose the latter?”

“It would make you forget everything about him and leave you with no memory of him at all.” Hongjoong exhales a small sigh, the bouncing rhythms of the bass rumbling against your ears along with the sounds of his breaths. “You need not decide right this instant. The payment will be the same either way, so we can settle that first if you’d like.”

“W-Wait,” you stammer. You dare to open your eyes once more. “How would I be able to speak to him if you can’t bring him back?”

“I cannot bring him back the way you want. He… he is gone, and though I am the King of the Dead, there are powers even I do not have. Bringing him back to life is impossible, but I can create a doorway for the two of you to speak through for a short period of time. I have no control over how long it would be, just a forewarning. That is all up to him and his willingness to see you.”

“I can’t imagine he wouldn’t want to see me,” you murmur, but the pang in your chest tells you otherwise.

“Sometimes, death and the underworld change fundamental parts of people. They are no longer alive, after all, and as such, those human vices and personality traits dissipate. How you knew him in life could be vastly different than the spirit who now resides in my domain. It is all a matter of weighing risks, my dear. What matters most to you? Remembering him or him remembering you?”

“So if I ask to see him, I would remember him but there’s a chance that he would have no recollection of me? And should I ask to forget, there will be no way of knowing whether he remembers me in the afterlife or not?”

“Precisely.”

That is a hefty bargain to weigh. It is almost too much for your shoulders just to think about it. One is starkly more selfish than the other, but if he’s dead, what good will selflessness do you? It won’t bring him back, that’s for sure. Either you are left with the painful realization that he does not have any memory of you in the afterlife, or you forget it all to avoid that pain. Maybe thinking about the payment before deciding would be a good idea after all.

“As for the payment? How many years do I owe you?” Demons have no use for human currency or trinkets that could be traded for favors. You can barter the only thing you have — years of life. Whether it shortens your lifespan or turns you into a personal slave for a certain amount of time, that is a price you must be willing to pay for such services. You are more than prepared to barter it all off right now if need be.

“None,” Hongjoong answers coolly, and you quirk a brow upwards at the nonchalance in his tone. “I do not deal in years of life. Not often, at least. My abilities are bound in… passion. Lovemaking, fornication, sex, fucking – whatever you wish to call it. Of course, it wouldn’t have to be that exactly, should you not desire that. The other option is a blood pact, a ritual that would take hours to complete, although both could take quite some time depending on your stamina.” There’s a breath of silence that allows Hongjoong’s lips to twist into a suggestive grin, and heat brushes the base of your neck as you fight off waves of embarrassment. “I cannot guarantee that the blood pact would be painless. With sex, I could at least provide some comfort that the pain would only be temporary; however, the choice is yours. Both are binding and would mean that you could never make a deal with another demon again, and you would be marked as mine for eternity.”

“What does being yours entail?”

“Nothing diabolical or unsavory, I promise. Just… when the time comes for you to pass on and join the Underworld, you would take a place at my side.”

“How many people have you laid claim to? Did they all agree to the same terms? How can I trust your word?” The questions tumble from your lips without relent.

“For what you desire, the cost is far less than what I would usually ask for. Those lucky enough to deal with me in the past paid less for their debts. The blood pact… the fornication… both are binding elements. The real cost is your service. Most have agreed to give me their servitude in the afterlife, all with their own places in my domain. That is what you would be offering as well. You will live just as long as you would without making this deal but make up for it after your death.”

“And that’s it?”

Hongjoong’s eyes twinkle a bit under the lights above your heads.

“What did you expect from me, doll? Savagery? Unfairness? Everyone deserves a fair price for what they want, regardless of station in life or status in society.”

“Deal,” you utter without any more hesitation, blinking up into Hongjoong’s dark orbs. There lies a lingering sense of regret in your gut, one that you cannot chase away no matter how hard you try, but you do not need to dwell on it any longer.

“And how would you like to bind our deal, my dear? Neither can be handled immediately. The blood pact requires special preparations for the ritual, but the other — I would not have you in such a place as dirty as this.”

“I-I, um, sex will work just fine,” you bite out, the skin of your cheek caught between your teeth.

“Then when the time comes that you are ready with your decision on what it is you truly want, all you need to do is take this—” Hongjoong retracts his hand from where it rests gently against the column of your throat and digs into one of his pockets. He pulls out a gilded card, one that is black and gold with flecks of red across the surface, but there are no other adornments to the material. “Tear it in half and it will bring you to our meeting place, and I will join you there to seal the deal. Should you decide that you do not want this after all, then all you need to do is burn the card. The decision lies in your hands, and yours alone.” He has to lift one of your limp hands and forcefully place the card into your waiting palm, closing his fingers around yours to make you cling to the item.

“I – th-thank you,” you stammer as you blink from your closed hand to Hongjoong’s features.

“The pleasure is all mine, doll.”

Those are the last words you hear from the demon before he slips away from you, the dense fog lingering in the air swirling up around his body, and within moments, his shadowy form disappears entirely from sight. The air grows cold around you once more. You are left with only the fleeting desire for that warmth to return, for you to feel less alone than you are in that moment, and even if it’s the briefest visit ever you just want one last chance to tell your lost lover how you feel without mistakes this time.

///

The night, as per usual, is cold and unforgiving. It allows for too many opportunities to be alone with lost feelings and thoughts. It has been weeks (if not months) since you visited that dingy club and your fateful meeting with none other than the King of the Dead. Yet you are still here, wallowing in the memories that you’ve been left to suffer with alone, and the gilded black card sits in your nightstand untouched. You open the drawer just to stare at it from time to time, when the nights are particularly rough, and it already had begun collecting a thin layer of dust the last few times you looked at it.

It isn’t that you haven’t made your decision about what you want from your deal with Hongjoong. The more terrifying fact is that you are fully aware of what it is you want, and you simply cannot rectify the guilt that comes along with the pure selfishness of your decision. The feeling is so potent that it swarms your every thought. You know it wouldn’t be an issue once you meet with Hongjoong; the demon will take it all away and leave you with nothing. You won’t even know enough to be guilty any longer, but the pain of committing to the decision is strong enough to make you sick to your stomach.

Wooyoung — the one who suggested you go to the club and make the deal in the first place — will not shut up about how worried he is about you. You won’t recall the deal or why you made it, so what’s holding you back? A temporary guilt that won’t exist longer than a few seconds once you’re actually in Hongjoong’s presence? As he said, you just need to swallow the feeling and get on with it. Prolonging the regrets any longer won’t do you any good.

You huff out a quiet laugh in the silence of your darkened room. The black gilded card taunts you again now, gleaming up at you through the shadows with its faint hints of gold and red. Maybe Wooyoung is right and the only way to get rid of missed opportunities is to forget about them entirely. Yeosang was but a chapter in your life, one that is past and gone now, and as Hongjoong said, there is no reversing death. Seeing him one last time won’t give you anything but pain.

You stretch a shaky hand towards the card in the drawer. It’s cold to the touch, dust billowing up with even the slightest touch of your fingers. You have to dig your nail under the material to pull it up, and once it’s safely set in your palm, you drag your thumb over the surface to brush the dirt away. No words on the surface, no sign that it has been touched by a demon, and not even a hint as to what it could possibly be for.

It is surprisingly flexible, at least moreso than you would have imagined, and you give it a few testing bends to see how easy it would be to break. Hongjoong simply gave you the instruction to tear it in half and that was all. You don’t expect him to suddenly materialize before you on a whim, but surely such a creation is bound by some sort of magic on his part. It is hard enough to believe that demons are real living creatures, but magic as well? Maybe you’ve passed on and just don’t realize it yet. Still, you exhale one last huff of air into the darkness before letting your eyes flutter shut. Taking the card between your hands, you begin to slowly rip the material until it separates with the force, torn in two mismatched pieces.

Nothing fantastical happens.

That fact alone is so overwhelmingly disappointing that you really think for a moment that Hongjoong was just some goth rocker in a stoner bar who pulled an elaborate trick on you. It can’t be too difficult to get your hands on some weird red-toned contacts and weave some elaborate story about being the King of Hell. You could do that yourself. Why did you think he was incapable of such a charade?

Because he knew what you wanted without you having to say it.

Yes, well, Wooyoung claimed that your regrets and grief were evident in your features every time he looked at you. Maybe Hongjoong could see it as well.

You fall back onto your bed, flattening your back against the mattress with a small shout of frustration. The urge to cry is strong; if you’ve spent all these weeks uselessly worrying over something that could all be a farce, you don’t even know how you would react. You squeeze your eyes shut tight, blinking away the tears that blossom in the corners there as best you can. The rolling emotions in your system distract you from the sudden shift in temperature, and before you know it heat washes over you and fills the void of cold in your body. You jerk but refuse to sit up quite yet, eyes flying open in your shock only to choke on air as a bright golden light fills your vision and swarms you with warmth. The cushion under your body doesn’t feel the same either; it is not your bed, it’s too plush and soft, too warm under you, and you feel like you are absolutely drowning in the sensation.

Gold flickers above you, twinkling lights that glisten like small stars above you, and the ceiling is so dark that you nearly think it’s just an opening to the night sky. You sit up in a mad panic. The gold and red decorations littering the far too lavish room barely process in your vision as you look for a way out, and you don’t even see the figure coming up along your side until he’s upon you. A hand stretches out to brush over your forehead. You nearly shriek in your state of terror, but the sound is all but stolen from your lungs instead.

“It’s only me, doll. You’re safe.”

Hongjoong. Ah, Hongjoong. Then… he was telling the truth. It wasn’t a farce or a deception meant to be a game. He claimed to be the Devil Incarnate, and here he stands before you in a room too rich and exquisite for words. You can’t find it in you to think he’s lying now.

You dare to glance up and meet his gaze, finding it so soft on your face that you have the audacity to blush under his stare despite the things you’ll be doing with him soon enough.

“Have you made your decision then?” He asks, tone soft and light. It isn’t one that demands an immediate answer. You know he could ask what took you so long to decide, complain about your hesitance, say that you kept him waiting for far too long — instead, he exudes patience with you, hand slowly combing over your forehead down to your cheek and brushing over the skin there with a touch so featherlight that you almost don’t realize it’s there at all.

“I-I have,” you whisper like the two of you aren’t the only ones in the room and it’s a secret meant only for your ears.

“What would you have from me first then? As I told you before, the payment is the same regardless of your decision, and as such, we can bind the deal first if you’d rather.”

You swallow around nothing. There is no harm in going through with the decision now, but your nerves are so frazzled and out of sorts that you almost desire the sex simply as a means of stress relief. Hongjoong steps in front of you, fully coming into view, and you are shocked at how… mundane he looks. You blink fervently at the man — demon, rather — and take in the gentle part of his hair, the soft glow of his skin that makes him look simply ethereal under this light. He hardly looks like a demon to you; his features are too smooth and perfect for that, from the curves of his lips to the even line of his nose. Although you suppose that’s all he wants you to see, yet it still seems oddly intimate to a certain degree.

“You aren’t worried that I’ll try to run away after my wish is fulfilled?” You ask. Hongjoong arches his brows at you, and his neutral expression slips into one of momentary shock.

“Where are you going to go, my dear? I brought you to this place, and you will need me to send you back once we’re done here.”

It sinks in at that moment how you are completely at his mercy right now. Not that you had any plans of running away, but the question was moreso just to test the waters, see if he is truly as merciful as his features make him out to be. The underlying danger in his tone proves your point and sends a chill down your spine.

“Is that something I ought to be worried about, doll? Should I claim you now to make sure you keep your end of the bargain?” The question sits on your ear like warm honey. It chokes you, fills your senses with Hongjoong’s scent, and you almost find yourself leaning into his curling lips before catching yourself. That seems to pique his interest in the very least, and his smile twists a bit more. “The decision is in your hands as always. I won’t do anything you don’t give me explicit permission to do.”

“Permission granted,” you mutter before catching a hand on Hongjoong’s collar. “Do it all.” You aren’t too worried about damaging his clothes as he’s not wearing anything drastically fancy or expensive-looking, and thus you twist your fist into a ball around the fabric of his black tee and yank him down to your height. He bends at the waist, hands catching on the mattress before his forehead can smack hard against yours. There’s a bit of tension in his neck, and that keeps him far enough back so that he doesn’t kiss you quite yet. It’s almost as though he is waiting for something else, eyes carefully tracing your features with great care before he settles on your lips, and a sharp inhale of breath follows before that thin line in his composure snaps.

His lips hit yours with a surprising amount of force, and the kiss isn’t at all what you were expecting — well, to be more accurate, you aren’t quite sure what you were expecting in the first place. It’s much more pleasant than you could have imagined though, and Hongjoong isn’t shy with the touch at all. His tongue is quick to swipe over your lower lip, hands darting upwards to brush over your sides before reaching your face, and he brings a knee down on the mattress to support his weight as he leans over you. You follow the motion when he pushes forward and lean back until you have no choice but to scoot back on the bed. Hongjoong moves with you with the same amount of fervor, still pressed to your lips without relent, and you don’t even think to stop as he completely drapes himself over your body, knees still up and supporting his weight. The cushion of the mattress dips by your head, a telltale sign that he’s placed his hands there, and you use that as your opportunity to stop for air. Hongjoong surely has no need to breathe like you do since he is undead, but he still pants above you, chest heaving as a pretty flush rises to his cheeks.

“Putting that much power in a demon’s hands is dangerous, is it not?” He mutters. You let your lashes flutter shut as he moves back to your lips, hot breath ghosting over your skin. “Are you sure you want to do that?”

“I’ll tell you if it’s something I don’t like,” you murmur, opening an eye to peek at him. He meets your gaze with a soft laugh, but your answer seems to please him enough to bring his attention back to your lips. You inhale as his tongue breaches your mouth and pushes into the wet cavern inside. There’s no chance for you to fight back for any sort of dominance because he only thrusts deeper and coats the inside of your mouth with his taste until you can feel his tongue brushing over your palate. A quiet moan reverberates through your throat and against his lips. You feel the barest hint of a smile in the kiss, then his lips are suddenly gone from yours. You gasp for air with the freedom. Heat pools in the depths of your gut, a pleasant one that leaves you wanting more, and you aren’t sure if it’s simply been so long since you last had sex or if Hongjoong truly has that effect on you.

He returns to touching your body a moment later, hands trailing to the row of buttons on your nightshirt, and one by one, he pulls them apart until the material is barely clinging to your skin. His lips replace his fingers then. First at your jaw placing a wet trail of kisses and soft nips that leave you with goosebumps. Then he reaches the midpoint of your sternum and rests the flat of his tongue there, tasting and teasing your skin until you can do nothing but writhe under him because he is taking so damn long. Your impatience is laughable to him, as evidenced by the quiet huff of air that leaves him next.

“I want to taste every inch of you,” he mumbles against the skin of your stomach, hands pulling your nightshirt away to expose more of the skin underneath. He makes good on his words, and that damn tongue traces lower and lower until he reaches the band of your pants and underwear. You instinctively dart a hand down to tangle in his hair. “F-Fuck.” The curse slips out when you give an accidental tug to the hair close to his nape, and you nearly think that you’ve hurt him in some manner until you catch sight of the blissed-out expression on his features.

“D-Do you — can I…?”

“Do it harder while I eat you out,” he growls. His fingers close hard around the remainders of your close, and you don’t even have time to nod before he’s yanking both your pants and underwear down in one fell swoop. It leaves you more than a little exposed — you’re suddenly nearly nude before the demon who is still fully clothed, and that realization draws your thighs tight together in a sudden rush of embarrassment. You swallow hard around nothing, eyes darting away from Hongjoong’s prying gaze.

All of a sudden, he shrugs your hand off his hair and sits back on his heels. You don’t understand what his reasoning is until you settle your eyes back on his body. He’s leaned back to start stripping layers of clothes off in a rush, hands fumbling and struggling to pull them away in an orderly manner. There is no composure to his actions, only a hastened fervor that has him tossing his shoes far from the bed along with random articles of clothes until he’s laid fully bare before you. You really try your hardest not to glance down at his… you know, but the urge is overwhelming. Before you can even catch a glimpse, however, Hongjoong is on you again, hands latched around your thighs and pulling you to the edge of the bed as he kneels before you on the floor. The sudden movement has you squealing in surprise, and that noise is broken off into a startled moan when Hongjoong’s lips brush through your folds without warning.

“O-Oh god,” you gasp out. Hongjoong’s tongue gives a long and dragging pull through your heat, teasing some of the juices out of you with little restraint.

“Far from it actually,” he replies against your clit. A cheeky grin eats away at his features, but it quickly disappears as he returns his focus to your cunt. Your hand finds its way back down to his hair once more and tugs hard at the strands. Each tweak of his tongue through your folds has your legs jerking a bit, and he has to tighten his grip on your thighs to keep you from moving so much under his touch.

“I’m not — I w-won’t last, pl-please, I–” You can’t even finish the sentence as Hongjoong flicks the tip of his tongue right over your clit and cuts you off. He repeats that same motion, again and again, brings you right to the precipice of an orgasm only to tear you back down from it with soft kisses pressed to the outside of your folds. You can’t keep track of how many times he repeats that process, but it is more than enough to have you shaking from exhaustion and desperation even though you haven’t even been able to come yet.

“Are you going to beg for it, doll?” Hongjoong hums after what feels like hours of pleasurable torture. “I promised to make you feel good, did I not? You just have to tell me what you want.” His words are so taunting that it burns you with embarrassment. The need for that orgasm hangs on every nerve ending of your body, and you could cry just out of the need to come.

“Please,” you whisper in a tone broken from constant moans and cries.

“Be more specific.” It’s so cruel. He dangles the promise of pleasure before your eyes again, this time nipping ever so gently at your bud, and you really do cry this time, fingers digging harshly on his scalp. That draws a prolonged growl from his lips, and it reverberates against you so nicely that you could come from that. Hongjoong pulls his head back too soon though and the sensation is dashed away.

“N-No, no, please. P-Please, Hongjoong, I — please let me come. I need it, I need it so badly. Shit, just – just please let me come,” you wail as tears slip out the corners of your eyes and spill onto the sheets under you. That’s the breaking point for him as well, or so it would seem, because the next time his mouth brushes through your cunt, he doesn’t relent. You come undone on his tongue, riding out the waves of your intense orgasm as he fucks his wet muscle into your heat. He won’t stop chuckling either — a low noise that just prolongs the pleasure and makes you quiver from overstimulation. He doesn’t let up until a dry and choked sob pushes past your lips.

Suddenly he is back up on the bed, bent over your body to be eye to eye with you. His fingers trace over your wet cheeks then clasp hard around your jaw.

“Too much?”

“N-No,” you stammer through the wet cries. “So good. So so good.”

“Mm, can you take my cock too, doll?” He all but purrs the words against your skin. His soft and trailing kisses return to your skin, peppering the line of your jaw just past his fingers.

“Yes, please, I c-can. Please. I want i-it all.” You never thought you could sound so overwhelmingly desperate, but the tumbling sensation that swerves through your stomach as Hongjoong’s demeanor shifts has you falling into absolute shambles. He shifts your position, pushing you up higher to rest against the pillows, and you start to drape your legs around his waist. That must not be the position he had in mind though, because his hand clamps down hard on one of your calves and pushes it to the top of his shoulder. Before you can even blink, he does the same with your other leg, effectively folding you in half and into a position you weren’t even aware that your body was capable of. That shock is momentary as you feel the tip of what must his cock rubbing over your pulsating hole. You can’t do anything but ball your fists around the sheets under you and cling to them like a vice. It’s the only thing that can prepare you for his girth; the stretch may not be as much as you thought it would be, but it still stings like a bitch even after he bottoms out in you. That pain must be showing on your features – in the way your brows are tightly knit together and your eyes are screwed shut so that excess tears from earlier slip out.

The soft caress of lips touches your forehead. It’s so gentle and delicate that you nearly miss it in your efforts to grow used to the sensation between your legs, but Hongjoong repeats it time and time again until your breathing steadies and your chest stops heaving as much. It’s only then that he dares to resituate his hips. You crack an eye open to look at him, and it’s abundantly clear that he’s trying his hardest to hold back and keep from fucking into you with reckless abandon.

“I’m okay now,” you whisper, pulling a hand off the bedsheets to brush some loose strands of hair out of Hongjoong’s vision. “Please fuck me as hard as you’d like.” You snake the same hand around the back of his neck. When he still doesn’t move, you offer a sharp tug to the hair that falls over his sweat-slick nape, and that spurs him into action. His hips snap roughly against yours, pushing your back further into the crude curve it’s already in. Now that the dull throbbing pain has dissolved into a sensation of pleasure, you drown yourself in the drag of his member inside you. It’s quite possibly the best feeling you’ve had all night with the way his tip rubs over your bundle of nerves at just the right angle.

Hongjoong drops his elbows to the pillow under your head, and you greet him with a kiss that is mostly just an awkward clash of teeth for the most part. He gains enough composure to shift the angle to one that’s easier for both of you, hips still working hard as he rocks into you with the same force and speed as before. You are so lost in the euphoria that you can’t even feel your next orgasm sneaking up on you, but when it does, it pulls a noiseless scream from your lips. Hongjoong mouths at the corner of your lips as you ride it out. He still seems far off from his own high, even as he slows the pulses of his thrusts. You claw your way back from the high of your orgasm to grip his hair tighter and pull him closer to you.

“In me. I need you to come in me or not at all,” you demand through a huffed out sigh. It’s a moment of throwing caution to the wind, one that is quite worth it thanks to the expression of hunger and lust that fills Hongjoong’s face.

“You can’t just say things like that, doll,” he growls into the shell of your ear. You try to laugh but he interrupts you with a thrust harsher than any of the ones before. Every sound that falls from your lips now is stuttered and broken at the seams, and you let him fuck you with that same level of passion until he finally seems to tire and lose his rhythm. The only warning you have that he’s about to orgasm is the slight whine to his tone when he moans next. You push what strength you have left into clenching hard around his cock, and that is ultimately what tips him over the edge and pulls a delightful moan from his lips as he spills into your tight heat. He releases his hold on your legs, letting them slip away from his shoulders and back into a more comfortable position on the bed, but he refuses to move off your body.

You aren’t sure how long the two of you stay like that: with Hongjoong continually mouthing small kisses to the underside of your jaw and you just staring blankly at the glittering ceiling with a mind nearly empty. However much time passes doesn’t quite matter because once you recover your senses enough to be coherent again, you recall what is supposed to come next. Shaky hands find their way to Hongjoong’s arms and trail up to rest atop his back.

“Take it all away,” you exhale through a pant, hands clinging desperately to the milky skin of Hongjoong’s shoulders. “I don’t want to remember him anymore.” His chest heaves against yours, and a few loose strands of dark hair fall forward to stick to his sweat-slick forehead. This time when he kisses you, it is hot and searing, a brand against your lips, one that burns the inside of your mouth and sets your tongue alight. The sensation slips down the back of your throat, fills your gut, burns you from the inside out, and all your thoughts go hazy under the touch of his lips. With that one kiss, Hongjoong takes it all away. He gives into your desires, heeds your wishes, and grants you the ultimate peace and serenity you so deeply craved. He continues to cling to you like he’s never held something so desperately or lost in his infinite existence. You return the embrace in full while you can, strength already leaving you in the afterglow of your fornication, and you rake your nails down over his back if only to leave him with some sort of trophy to leave with. He is already leaving with your memories though, a trophy to hold close to his heart should there ever be a time when you ask for them to be returned to you. Perhaps in your afterlife, you’ll ask for them back, and Hongjoong would gladly give them should it be what you desire.

That is what he is, after all. As much as he takes, the Demon King of the Underworld gives in return, where he can with what he can. His duty, his bond, the sole purpose for his existence is to maintain that balance between giving and taking. But if it’s for you — a creature so lost, dismal, and hopeless — perhaps he can tip the scales a bit further in your direction.

At least, that’s what he thinks as you curve your body into his and press your lips with more fervor than before. That maybe, just maybe, endless years of his own hopelessness and confusion were all meant to lead him to finding this: a purpose in his undying life.

﹎﹎﹎

#atzinc #kdiarynet #kwritersworldnet #ateez smut #ateez x reader #ateez angst #ateez imagine #ateez imagines #ateez oneshot #ateez scenarios #hongjoong smut #hongjoong x reader #hongjoong angst #hongjoong imagine #hongjoong imagines #hongjoong oneshot #hongjoong scenarios

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jayeray-hq · 3 years

Text

Br(Atsumu)

Hey everyone! This is the piece for @maizumis sfw brat collab! It's 100% sfw and if you enjoy it make sure to check out the Masterlist!

If you like this and want to see more of my writing for Atsumu check out my Character Masterlist!

Post Time Skip/Manga Ending Spoilers!

Warnings: None all Fluff

You watched amused as Atsumu slumped over the counter of his brother’s restaurant, arms pressed to his sides dejectedly and cheek smooshed against the hard surface. You couldn’t see his face from the angle you were at, but there was no doubt in your mind he had a pout on his face.

Osamu was standing behind the counter, clearly purposefully ignoring his brother’s sulking as he shaped onigiri in his hands, a thoroughly exasperated look on his face. His head lifted when he heard the bell overhead ring as you entered the shop, but a quick finger to your lips kept him from greeting you by name.

“Welcome to Onigiri Miya what can I get ya?” he chimed automatically, the usual bored drawl in his voice.

“How much for your twin?” you asked, your voice making Atsumu jerk a little in recognition, though he didn’t bother lifting his head, choosing instead to heave a sigh and pointedly ignore you, letting you know exactly what kind of mood your boyfriend was in.

“You can have that for free,” Osamu told you, face scrunched up in disgust, “In fact if yer haulin’ trash outta my restaurant I almost feel like I should be payin’ you instead.”

“Who you callin’ trash, ya scrub,” Atsumu sneered at his brother, finally raising his head to glare at his brother.

“Who else but you, ya trashy scrub!” Osamu retorted, not impressed in the slightest.

Luckily there was no one else in the restaurant at the moment to watch their antics, because while you found them entertaining you knew some found them more than a bit intimidating. Still you didn’t think either twin would be too happy if they actually started brawling in Osamu’s restaurant so you walked up behind your boyfriend, threading your fingers through his hair and gently tugging backwards until his head was resting against your chest.

He immediately quieted down a bit, though you could tell from the look on Osamu’s face that he was still glaring at his twin. Carefully you rested a hand on his shoulder and stroked your fingers through the soft golden waves, massaging his scalp in a way you knew he loved as you asked, “Rough day, Tsumu?”

He let out a huff, but didn’t bother to respond, clearly purposefully ignoring you, even if he didn’t actually pull away from your hands. You rolled your eyes at this childish behavior exchanging a look with Osamu.

“Don’t do that,” Atsumu hissed at the two of you.

“Do what?” Osamu demanded exasperated.

“Talk to each other like I ain’t sittin’ right here in front of ya,” your boyfriend retorted angrily.

“Ya really need to get yer ears cleaned out if ya thought we were talkin’ ya deaf scrub,” Osamu hissed, thoroughly fed up with your boyfriend who was clearly looking to pick a fight.

“Are you going to tell me why you’re ignoring me Tsumu?” you asked patiently, knowing that when he got in this kind of mood patience was the best way to deal with him. If you snapped back or got sarcastic it would only escalate the situation.

“It’s only fair,” he grumbled, still pointedly not looking at you, “Since you’ve been ignorin’ me all day.”

“Ignoring you?” you repeated completely and utterly baffled, “But weren’t you practicing with the rest of the Black Jackals today? And you know I was working too.”

“Ya didn’t let me kiss ya goodbye this mornin’ and ya ignored my texts all day,” Atsumu sulked, “I was startin’ to think ya weren’t even goin’ ta come fer our monthly dinner.”

“I was going to be late, and you were refusing to wake up,” you told your boyfriend reasonably, more amused than annoyed now that you knew what was bothering him, “But I still kissed you goodbye Tsumu and I even left a note for you.”

“Ya left a note?” he asked, voice perplexed though still sulky, “Where? I didn’t see it.”

“In the fridge on top of the bento I packed for you last night,” you told him puzzled that he hadn’t seen it, “Where I was sure you’d see it.”

“I forgot to bring my lunch,” he told you miserably, which definitely helped to explain his mood. Atsumu almost never ate if he didn’t bring his lunch with him insisting the food wasn’t good enough and didn’t match his diet plan. However, when he didn’t eat he tended to get hangry, which had no doubt contributed quite a bit to his foul mood.

“Sounds like a you problem,” Osamu jeered, clearly unimpressed. He of all people knew how nasty his brother could get when he didn’t eat. You gave him a look over his brother’s head again, trying to tell him not to rile him up again, and he raised his hands in surrender.

“Yer doin’ it again,” Atsumu whined, though he’d lost the slightly bitter edge from before.

“If you don’t like it, then maybe you should turn and look at me, so I can’t talk over your head anymore,” you pointed out mildly, feeling a bit like you were dealing with a sulking toddler, but willing to indulge him for now seeing as these kinds of moods were rare nowadays, something Ojirou had told you was clearly a long awaited sign of maturity from the former Inarizaki setter.

Your boyfriend huffed, but in the end swiveled his seat to look at you as you took the seat next to him. However you knew exactly what to do to coax him out of his bad mood. Gently you cupped his face in your palms and pressed a quick kiss to his lips, pulled back for a second, then pressed a longer lingering one to his willing mouth.

“There,” you assured him nuzzling your nose against his affectionately before pulling back, “The kiss goodbye I owed you from this morning, and a kiss to say I’m sorry.”

“Ya forgot to give me a kiss hello,” he pointed out, though you could see the corners of his lips pull upwards as you coaxed him out of his mood.

You grinned and leaned forward to press another kiss to his lips, enjoying the feel and the warmth of it as he cupped your face with one of his hands and held you close for a long moment both of you ignoring Osamu who was fake gagging in the background.

“But why didn’t ya text me?” Atsumu asked you when you parted again, his forehead resting on yours as he peered at you with anxious honey brown eyes, “I thought ya were mad at me.”

“My phone is dead,” you told him, with an affectionate huff, pulling it from your pocket and handing it over, “I must’ve forgotten to charge it last night.”

“Oh,” he told you, playing with the power button and refusing to meet your eyes clearly a little embarrassed at his overreaction, though he did quietly clarify, “So yer not mad?”

“I don’t think I have anything to be mad about,” you admitted, then teased, “Unless you’ve done something I should know about…?”

“No!” he protested immediately hands waving wildly in front of him as he declared his innocence looking entirely too alarmed, “I haven’t done anythin’ I swear!”

“I believe you,” you told him with an amused giggle, grabbing one of his flailing hands and interlacing your fingers together.

“Ya shouldn’t,” Osamu interjected with a huff, “If he hasn’t done somethin’ stupid recently I’ll eat my hat, and if he really hasn’t then he’s goin’ to be due fer it in the near future.”

“I’m not that bad,” Atsumu hissed at his twin, thoroughly offended.

“Ya are,” Osamu jeered, though it was more on the teasing end of things, “Otherwise ya wouldn’t have come in here and moped around, floppin’ all over my counter like an ugly fish and makin’ a nuisance of yerself because ya thought yer girl was mad at ya.”

“How can ya call me any sort of ugly when we have the same face!” Atsumu complained, exasperated. The argument was one you’d heard a thousand times now from both twins and somehow it never ceased to amuse you.

“It’s cuz I ain’t a whiney baby like you,” Osamu huffed.

“Princess, tell him I ain’t a whiney baby,” Atsumu whined, completely proving Osamu’s point and making you giggle helplessly as he pouted at you, informing you, “Yer my girlfriend, yer supposed to be on my side.”

“I am on your side,” you assured him, leaning forward to press a kiss to his pouting lips unable to help yourself, even as you told him, “But you are a bit of a brat Tsumu.”

“A what?” Atsumu asked, thrown by your use of English. He’d gotten better at speaking it a bit, picking up words here and there, though he did get thrown off sometimes when you threw out random words.

“A BrAtsumu?” Osamu repeated, his head cocked to the side in utter confusion.

You gaped at him for several seconds repeating the word over in your mind giggles beginning to spill from your mouth as both twins looked on with identical looks of confusion on their faces. The looks only made things worse and you began to howl with laughter, nearly falling out of your chair if not for Atsumu’s steadying hands.

“Brat – Tsumu, Bratsumu,” you managed to stutter out, wheezing as you tried to catch your breath, “It’s perfect, Osamu it’s perfect.”

“I don’t get it,” the onigiri chef informed you flatly, though you could see the corners of his lips curled upwards, amused at your amusement if nothing else.

“Brat means gaki,” you explained as you caught your breath, clutching Atsumu’s forearms for balance earning a snort of amusement from your boyfriend’s twin.

“Oy, oy, should ya really be callin’ yer boyfriend a brat,” Atsumu protested, though you could tell he wasn’t actually upset, just exasperated, “Especially when I just saved ya from either face plantin’ or crackin’ yer head open. What happens if I decide to drop ya huh?”

“Then I guess I’ll have to do this,” you told him lunging forward to wrap your arms around him instead to better brace yourself.

He caught you easily with a huff of amusement and cuddled you close pressing a tender kiss to your hair before he nuzzled his face into your neck with a warm chuckle as he asked, “So guess that means ya love me after all, even if ya are makin’ fun of me.”

“I always love you Tsumu,” you assured him affectionately, pulling back slightly so you could peer up into his eyes and hoping he could see how serious you were about this, “Even when you’re being a BrAtsumu.”

“Love ya too princess,” he told you fondly pressing a soft kiss to your hairline, “Gonna love ya fer ever, and m’sorry fer bein’ a pain today. Was just rough, cuz I thought ya were mad at me, an I woke up late, forgot my lunch, and didn’t do well in practice.”

“It’s okay Tsumu,” you assured him tenderly, “You weren’t that bad, though I’d appreciate if in the future you talked to me before getting angry.”

“I will,” he assured you nuzzling close.

You sighed in utter contentment, enjoying the feel of his arms, though you knew you probably shouldn’t stay too long. You were in public after all.

“Would the two of ya knock it off with the lovey dovey crap already, yer goin’ to scare away my customers,” sure enough, Osamu interrupted, though he looked more fond than annoyed, even if he was clearly giving it a go, “An where’s my apology huh? It was my counter ya were attemptin’ to merge with.”

“Thanks for putting up with us Osamu,” you told him sincerely, cutting in before your boyfriend could, meaning every word. The man really did put up with a lot at times and you really were grateful for it.

“Yeah well, the least I can do fer ya fer puttin’ up with my lump of a twin,” Osamu told you clearly a little embarrassed as he pulled off his cap and ruffled his hair, heaving a sigh, “Yer really good fer him ya know, too good if ya ask me, but thanks fer takin’ care of the scrub.”

“It’s my pleasure,” you told him honestly, “He may be a scrub, but he’s my scrub and I really do love him you know.”

“I know,” Osamu told you with a fond smile, “Of all people I’m glad it’s you that’s goin’ ta be my future sister-in-law.”

“Oy, what did I tell the two of ya about talkin’ like I ain’t here,” Atsumu protested, though there was a slightly wavering edge to his voice that told you he didn’t actually mind all that much, the pink flush on his cheeks letting you see how touched he was, even as he rushed to change the subject, “Besides we’re here fer food Samu so why aren’t ya feedin’ us?”

“Fine, fine,” Osamu told him, rolling his eyes and clearly deciding to concede just this once, “What do ya want ya big glutton.”

As the twins bickered a bit you couldn’t help but smile, enjoying the warmth of Atsumu’s arm around your waist and the way you could clearly see how both twins kept an eye on your comfort even as they argued, always sure to include you in the conversation and to let you know you were free to interject at any time.

Osamu had always made sure you felt like you were part of the family, and Atsumu, though he could be a brat at times, but he was your brat and he doted on you like nothing else. Looking at them you could almost see the future, with you solidly at Atsumu’s side coming to visit Osamu in his shop so you could all catch up together, hopefully someday with a spouse for Osamu too if he wanted one, and children that would argue the same way the twins did causing mayhem wherever they went.

It was a lovely dream for the future, one you hoped with all your heart would become reality, but for now you were content to simply enjoy the moment savoring every second of being loved by the biggest brat you knew.

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tacticaldiary · 3 years

Note

hi!! can i please have some headcanons of bakugou with a fem! foreign reader who’s like a childhood friend? they met at age 9 when the reader went on vacation to japan and stayed with his family since both of their moms are friends? and after realizing she’s got an impressive quirk and doesn’t annoy him, bakugou’s like “you’re alright ig” and they’ve been keeping in touch through phone calls and stuff after she left? and then one day, aizawa announces there’s a new student, which turns out to be the reader, leaving bakugou shocked at first (especially since she never told him she was moving to japan to begin with). but when she greets him like “hey! been a while since we saw each other face to face, huh?” bakugou smiles back and says “yeah”? everyone’s basically shocked to see bakugou and the reader intereacting without him literally yelling at her every few seconds, to which bakugou responds “well, she’s the only one who doesn’t get on my nerves, unlike you damn nerds!!” ☺️

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

Reunion

Kinda platonic but not really? :) - @klvbxlove

Pairing: Reader x Bakugou Katsuki

Genre: Fluff

Reunions aren’t always big and emotional. Sometimes they’re quiet and personal. Bakugou Katsuki isn’t a quiet person, and the class is left dumbfounded as someone manages to rein him in for the first time.

Masterlist

We all know how Bakugou is very...hard shelled...

There are very few people who he actually tolerates being around, let alone being friends with them.

You were one of those rare people.

Maybe it was because of the fact that you two had met when you were young, about 9, and the fact that he had been much more open to people back then.

Regardless of the reason, the moment he laid eyes on you, however, he was immediately curious.

Your quirk was incredibly strong, not stronger than his of course, but it was up there. You weren’t afraid to talk back to him and you shared the same dream of becoming a hero.

Both your parents were good friends and so you saw each other often, for the duration you had stayed in Japan.

Bakugou had warmed up to you surprisingly quickly, as surprise to his mother. You could often be found playing Heroes and Villains together.

He had thrown multiple fits when he didn’t get to be the hero-

When it was time for you to go back home, after spending a few months on vacation with him, you remember him clinging onto you, though your sure he would deny it if he was ever confronted.

You guys had kept in touch after that through texts and the occasional facetime call. You were one of the few people he enjoyed spending time with, not that he’d ever admit that.

He learns the hard way that timezones are a bitch to deal with. There have been more than a couple of occasions where he’s had to yell at the rest of 1A for pestering him about why the hell they could hear his voice talking to someone at 2am?

It was obviously a hallucination-

He reckons he’ll probably never see you face to face for a while. The thought totally doesn’t hurt him a little

So imagine his surprise when there’s a new student in their class.

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

He rocks back on his chair, looking around the room lazily as he lets Kirishima talk his ear off about something. It sounds interesting, whatever it was, as evident by Mina’s excited squeals and Sero’s bright grin. His eyes scan the room, attempting to block out the noise and his eyes lands on an empty desk.

Mineta hadn’t shown up all week.

Not that Bakugou was complaining, of course. He didn’t like the brat at all. He was obnoxious and caused unnecessary trouble for everyone within a 5 feet proximity from him. Now that he thinks about it, he hasn’t seen the extra this whole week-

His thoughts are cut off by the arrival of their teacher opening the door. Aizawa steps in and the room slowly filters to accommodate the respectful silence. Nothing out of the ordinary. People slip into their own seats and finish whatever conversations they were having.

Bakugou leans over his desk, propping his head up with his chin, surveying the notebook in front of him. He vaguely hears Aizawa talking, something about making someone feel welcome and a new student…

A new student?

The phrase doesn’t really catch his attention. It would be another extra who he was better with, so what was the point. Still a little curious, he drags his gaze away from the piece of paper, and with a bored look, looks up towards the front of the class.

His pencil drops to the ground with a clatter as his eyes meet another pair of extremely familiar ones. Ones he had seen last night.

Holy fucking-

Y/N seems to be standing there in a slight daze as well, staring at him just as openly as he was at her. She seems to be the first one to snap out of it, turning back to listen to Aizawa’s instructions. She nods at the desk he points at, and Bakugou’s gaze follows her as she walks over to what used to be Mineta’s desk.

This was one hell of a dream. The rest of the lesson flies by in no time, Bakugou not processing a single thing he was being taught. As soon as break comes around, his gaze snaps back to her again. Y/N is surrounded by the others, welcoming her and exchanging greetings. Bakugou stays at his desk and stares at her again, a small furrow in his brow.

This was real? It couldn’t be. It was? What if it was? Why hadn’t she told him she was coming?

They lock eyes again, and Y/N smiles and waves a little nervously. Kirishima, who’s seated on Bakugou’s desk notices and raises an eyebrow, waving her over with a bright grin.

Bakugou watches as she make her way over to them slowly, and by the time she stands in front of him he’s concluded that this was not a dream after all.

“Hey! It’s been a while since we’ve actually seen each other, huh?” She grins, slipping into the seat in front of him. He holds his gaze, feeling much more confident now that she’d actually broken the silence.

“...The hell are you doing here?” The chorus of groans from behind her would have left him amused if he weren’t in this annoying state of disbelief.

She shakes her head at his tone. “We moved to Japan a week ago. I wanted to surprise you, but-”

“Call me fucking suprised then.” he says, starting to relax a little, still a little shocked at actually being able to see her. He could just reach out and physically touch her and she would be there…

“Glad to hear my plan worked.” She smiles. “I’m happy to actually see your grouchy face in person.” He was...far more attractive in person, she had to admit. He was older than she last saw her and he had grown well. A handsome face accompanied by a body she could tell he worked hard for.

He snorts and shakes his head, a small smile on his face.

A smile, not a smirk.

“Yeah...glad to see your ugly face too.”

She scoffs in mock offence. They carry on a conversation, catching up with each other the whole of break, earning looks of disbelief from everyone in the class. Bakugou hadn’t raised his voice or yelled or lost his temper even once.

They hadn’t heard him raise his voice in about an hour…Who was this sorceress?

When the class is walking back to the dorms, Denki questions why he’s acting so...civil. He earns a classic scowl and a response.

“She doesn’t get on my nerves, unlike you damn extras” he rolls his eyes, purposefully avoiding eye contact with Y/N, who was walking next to him, a fond grin on her face.

222 notes · View notes

tojisveryown · 3 years

Text

𝙸𝚗 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝙴𝚢𝚎𝚜 | 𝟶𝟸

𝙰𝚌: 𝚠𝚃𝟼𝙸𝙳𝟸𝚀𝟺𝙰𝙺𝚄𝟿𝚏𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚠𝚝

𝚂𝚢𝚗𝚘𝚙𝚜𝚒𝚜: 𝚃𝚑𝚛𝚘𝚞𝚐𝚑𝚘𝚞𝚝 𝚢𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚕𝚒𝚏𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚗𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚛𝚎𝚊𝚕𝚕𝚢 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚟𝚒𝚜𝚒𝚋𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚜𝚊𝚝 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚋𝚊𝚌𝚔 𝚘𝚏 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚕𝚊𝚜𝚜 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚙𝚊𝚢𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘 𝚊𝚗𝚢𝚘𝚗𝚎, 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚍 𝚒𝚗 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚛𝚘𝚠𝚍 𝚘𝚗𝚕𝚢 𝚞𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚕 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚟𝚎 𝚋𝚎𝚎𝚗 𝚙𝚊𝚒𝚛𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚜𝚘𝚖𝚎𝚘𝚗𝚎 𝚝𝚑𝚊𝚝 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚎𝚖𝚋𝚕𝚎𝚜 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚙𝚕𝚎𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚙𝚙𝚘𝚜𝚒𝚝𝚎 𝚘𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊 𝚙𝚛𝚘𝚓𝚎𝚌𝚝.

𝚆𝚊𝚛𝚗𝚒𝚗𝚐𝚜: 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚊𝚕𝚌𝚘𝚑𝚘𝚕, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚜𝚎𝚡, 𝚖𝚎𝚗𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚜 𝚘𝚏 𝚍𝚛𝚞𝚐 𝚞𝚜𝚊𝚐𝚎𝚜

𝚆𝚘𝚛𝚍 𝚌𝚘𝚞𝚗𝚝: 𝟸.𝟻𝚔

𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚜: 𝙲𝚘𝚕𝚕𝚎𝚐𝚎 𝙰𝚄, 𝚛𝚒𝚐𝚑𝚝 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚜𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚘𝚘 𝚕𝚒𝚝𝚝𝚕𝚎 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎, 𝚏𝚕𝚞𝚏𝚏 𝚖𝚒𝚡𝚎𝚍 𝚠𝚒𝚝𝚑 𝚊𝚗𝚐𝚜𝚝

𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 | 𝙿𝚊𝚛𝚝 𝟶𝟸 | 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

(𝚄𝚗𝚎𝚍𝚒𝚝𝚎𝚍)

⋆ 💌⋆

3 am, it was three o’clock in the morning and you woke up to the sound of your phone going off. Who the hell would be up at this hour, especially since there was a lecture everyone had to attend in four hours.

You took a glance at your screen, slowly adjusting to the brightness, you allow yourself to wake up, you check your messages, and realize Gojo has been texting you nonstop

“Seriously, what the hell is wrong with this guy its three am..” you whisper to yourself trying not to wake up Utahime

“Who would ever wanna fuck you anyway?”

Sheesh.

Am I that un-fuckable? You walked over to the bathrooms and gave yourself a long and judgmental stare. “Shit, I am un-fuckable aren’t I?”

Before you let your insecurities get the best of you, you decided that it’d be best to catch some sleep and worry about your appearance later. It’s not that your body was ugly, or that your face was ugly, it was definitely how you dressed.

The way you dressed practically presented to everyone what type of vibes you give off, and as of right now you gave off pretty much “Hi, my name is L/N Y/N and I still shop at the kids' section from target.” and that is NOT the impression you wanted others to have when glancing towards you.

You sighed, “That fucking man whore really did a number on my self-esteem.” You rolled over and checked the alarm clock placed on the nightstand that was sandwiched into yours and Utahime’s bed. 5:38 am

“Maybe I should go shopping after the lecture.” you rolled off your bed and decided to get an early start. After finishing up you left the girls dormitory.

6:45 am

Coffee?

Coffee.

⋆ 💌⋆

You hurried to the coffee shop that was a floor below your first lecture, luckily there weren’t that many people waiting in line, after what felt like two minutes it was finally your turn to order.

“Hi welcome, what may I get you?” The barista said,

“Hi good morning, may I get an iced caramel macchiato?”

“Of course, that’ll be 5.47!″

You dug in your bag to find your wallet and before the lady could take your card a hand placed itself over your own “I got it, add a white mocha to it will ya’ make it for Y/N Gojo, thanks.” That voice belonged to none other than the pest you dealt with yesterday. “G’morin’ Y/N.” he smiled as he slung his arm around you leading you outside the small coffee shop.

“Mmm, so about yesterday.. I’ll forgive you if you let me take you out on a date? How ‘bout it?”

No. Seriously, what the fuck is wrong with this guy?

“Huh? I didn’t apologize.” You feel yourself leaning on the pillar that stood outside the coffee shop.

Gojo scoffed, “That’s exactly why, you won’t have to if you let me take you on a date. Think about it Y/N.” he leaned closer resting his forearm on the same pillar you were leaning against right above your head. He was practically towering over you.

“And if i don’t want to apologize?” He scoffed once more and held your chin, forcing you to lookup. His touch was cold, almost concerning really.. it’s probably from some sort of std.

“Y/N Gojo your coffee is ready! Y/N Gojo!”

Gojo stepped away to grab both cups of coffee, he handed you yours and walked alongside you. “You know Y/N, so many girls would kill to go on a date with me, you’re really missing out.” there he goes flashing that cheekily smile around again.

“Guess I’m not like the fuckable bimbos you go after then.”

“You know you could be if you wanted to,” he walked in front of you, turning on his heels so he was now facing you as he continued to walk backwards. “All you have to do is give me a call.” he pulled his sunglasses down and gave you a wink.

Cheeky bastard.

You shoved the iced coffee into the core of his stomach signaling that you wouldn’t be swooned so easily by his escapades, you held out your arm until he realized you were giving the coffee back. His fingertips grazed over your hand and you flinched at the subtle contact. Before Gojo had the chance to call you out you were submerged into the crowd.

“Y/N stop being so difficult.”

⋆ 💌⋆

6:58 am, you made it on time for your first early morning lecture and sat in the fourth row. As you began to pull your stuff out more and more people started filling up the seats. You were beginning to regret returning the coffee Gojo had bought for you due to the lack of sleep.

“Y/N don’t run off like that, I almost lost you in the crowd.” You turned your head and there he was, sitting right next to you while wearing that stupid grin “Sorry some of it spilled out, but it’s still perfectly fine.” he admitted as he slid the iced coffee towards you. You looked away, you thought Gojo would finally get the hint to leave you alone and yet he just kept going on Until..

“Good morning Satoru!” a girl smiled as she sat down in the row in front of us “Why do you have two coffees?”

He cocked a smile “Good morning Yuri,” he greeted before he took your coffee and handed it in her direction, “Ehh, they gave me an extra drink. But I wouldn’t mind giving it to you.”

You turned your head to watch the scene play out, that bastard and his cheap tricks. “That was supposed to be my coffee” is what you wanted to say, but you knew it’d be best not to get tangled in Gojo’s business. You turned away looking for a new seat. You packed your things and headed towards the back of the lecture hall.

The girls face lit up in excitement “Of cour-”

“Kidding, this is Y/N’s.” but before Gojo could turn his head back to you to flash that idiotic smile of his you were nowhere to be found.

⋆ 💌⋆

The lecture was finally over and just as you were finishing up your notes a figure appeared. “Y/N it’s rude to leave without saying anything.” He slid your cup of coffee on the desk.

“Thought you gave it to that girl.”

“I bought it for you, not her.” he stated firmly, he grabbed your bag and walked towards the door, “Are you coming or not?”

“Huh, where are you and I going? And give me back my bag.”

Satoru turned on his heels and leaned down to your height pressing his pointer finger on his lips. His crystal blue eyes met yours and you were at a loss of words, his eyes truly were beautiful and you almost let a compliment slip until you realized who those eyes belonged to.

“It’s a secret of course, and its ‘we’ Y/N, say ‘where are we going’, what good if there in having a parter if you aren’t even acknowledging them correctly?”

“You aren’t my partner, work alone.” you handed him the cup of coffee and seized your bag out of his arms. For the second time this week Gojo was now staring at your back as you walked away, your figure getting smaller and smaller each step you took before you were one with the crowd. Gojo stared down at the cup and noticed that you didn’t take any sips of the caffeinated drink that he purposefully bought for you.

“Warm up to me soon will you?” he whispered to himself as he passed by a trashcan throwing the drink away.

⋆ 💌⋆

The next morning you found Gojo patiently waiting for your arrival, in his hands were two cups of coffee, it doesn’t look like he’s noticed you so you take that advantage and walk behind a group of students going to their next class. As you were passing by desperately trying to avoid any form of contact with Gojo you unintentionally eavesdropped on a conversation he was having over the phone. Unfortunately you weren’t able to hear the other side of the line.

“Another bet? Sugu’ that’s shitty” He laughed “No, she already thinks I’m an asshole and making a bet with you involving her would make things worse. Okay okay okay one month right? Okay bye.”

Fucking bastard. Who does he think he is, making a bet to see if he can fuck someone he called unfuckable.

⋆ 💌⋆

Just when you thought you were finally free from the virus known as Gojo, the chair next to you became occupied by the person you thought you’d be able to ignore.

“G’morin’ Y/N!” he cheered gaining the attention of all the students that had the decency to come early “Got you some coffee, promise I won’t give it to anyone this time.”

You ignored him and reviewed the notes you took yesterday, as class began the thought of Gojo sitting next to you slipped your mind until he moved his elbow with the intentions of hitting yours but knocked down the coffee he brought you onto your notes.

“Whoopsies.” He laughed it off and gave you his notes for you to copy off of

“Gojo I can’t read this.”

“You don’t have to be so picky Y/N, who else is gonna let you borrow their notes you don’t have any friends.”

Asshole.

⋆ 💌⋆

The next morning Gojo showed up with two cups of coffee again and this time he brought a couple of napkins. He sat down next to you and placed the cup in front of you.

“Didn’t you learn from last time?” you questioned as you slid the cup back to Gojo.

“Well maybe if you actually drank it I wouldn’t have spilled it.” he pouted and pulled out a new notebook “Here, since I did ruin your old one.”

You opened the notebook and there was a drawing of a penis on each of the pages.

You took a deep breath and faced Gojo, it took almost everything out of you not to dump the coffee on this man whore again.

⋆ 💌⋆

As the next day came you expected Gojo to sit next to you but today he didn’t, you finally got to pay attention and take proper notes without anything getting spilled on them. After class ended, you found yourself going to get bread from a bakery near your school, but as soon as you were about to pay a pair of cold hands reached over yours handing his card to the cashier instead of yours. “’s okay I got it.” he said smiling as he slithered his hand around your shoulder. You slid his hand off and pulled him to the back of the bakery.

“Woah Woah Y/N we can’t do it here there are people from our class watching!” He teased as he threw his hands in the air as a sign of defense.

“What do you want from me.”

“What?”

You took a step forward, closing the little space you had between the two of you “What do you” poking his chest with your pointer finger you inched closer “want from me?”

Gojo leaned forward and whispered “Be my partner again Y/N.” Gojo felt you stepping away, furthering the distance you once closed. He pulled you into his chest and rocked himself, along with you following side to side due to his strong grip. One of his arms wrapped around your neck as the other slid down to the small of your back. “What’s so bad about being my parter? Afraid I’m gonna use you like the chick you saw me in the library with?”

“I don’t want a man whore as my partner.” you huffed. Gojo flinched at the harsh words you used to describe him, nonetheless he still held you close, his cold hands grabbed your wrists guiding your arm to his back wrapping them around himself.

“What do I have to do to prove to you I’m not a man whore?” he asked rubbing your back and pulling you closer to his chest. God how many layers of cologne does this man lather on himself.

“You can start by getting off me.”

“Mmm.” he pulled you even closer to the point where you two had little to no space whatsoever between your two bodies. “Only if you agree to take me back as you partner.”

You sighed giving in “Let me think about it?”

“M’kay!” he said pulling you even closer before letting you go.

⋆ 💌⋆

You walked back to campus with Gojo, the walk was quiet and peaceful. The sound of cars passing by along with the birds chirping filled your ears and it was a much needed break after eating at the bakery with Gojo filling your thoughts with nonsense.

You and Gojo were on your way to the next lecture of the day until Gojo stopped walking.

“Gojo?”

“Sorry Y/N I have to take a leak, can you please wait for me? I wanna be able to sit next to you in class.”

You nodded and waited on a bench that was within a few feat of the bathrooms, moments later you heard footsteps approaching.

“Hey that was fast, did you wash your hands?” You questioned finally looking up realizing it wasn’t Gojo but the girl who Gojo offered your coffee to, Yuri. “Oh.. Can I help you?”

“Is Satoru really dating you?” She began to laugh and the two girls behind her joined after giving you a hard gaze.

“What no-”

“Probably one of his bets with Suguru. Like Satoru would ever wanna date you. What are you after? His money?”

“Huh no.”

“Please, save the bullshit, how much did you sell yourself for Satoru to hold you in the bakery like that? Or did you force yourself on hi-”

Before she could continue the stinging sensation that was both on your hand and face shut her up. She held her hand up and you flinched waiting for the contact that her hand would soon make with your face, but instead when you opened your eyes Gojo’s hand had grabbed her wrist before the contact was ever made.

He shoved Yuri’s hand away and grabbed your hand dragging you to your next lecture.

⋆ 💌⋆

During the long boring lecture the only thing you were able to think about was everything that happened moments before class began. Losing yourself in your thoughts Gojo slid a piece of paper with the words: “are you okay :( ?”

You replied with: “Yes. I’m fine, thank you.” Gojo smiled to himself as he replayed the scene of him coming to your rescue, cocky bastard.

Ripping off a piece of paper from the corner of your notebook, you wrote down a few words and placed the folded piece of paper onto Gojo’s open palm.

“I guess, you can be my partner again.”

That day Gojo Satoru wore the smile that you gave to him proudly.

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𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚞𝚜 | 𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 | 𝙼𝚊𝚜𝚝𝚎𝚛𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝

𝙽𝚘𝚝𝚎: 𝙻𝙼𝙰𝙾𝙾 𝙸 𝚊𝚖 𝚜𝚘 𝚜𝚘𝚛𝚛𝚢 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝙶𝚘𝚓𝚘 𝚜𝚕𝚊𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚛 𝚒𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛, 𝚒𝚝'𝚜 𝚓𝚞𝚜𝚝 𝚜𝚘 𝚏𝚞𝚗𝚗𝚢 𝚝𝚘 𝚖𝚎. 𝙰𝚜 𝚊𝚕𝚠𝚊𝚢𝚜 𝚜𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚊𝚗 𝚊𝚜𝚔 𝚒𝚏 𝚢𝚘𝚞'𝚍 𝚕𝚒𝚔𝚎 𝚝𝚘 𝚋𝚎 𝚘𝚗 𝚝𝚑𝚎 𝚝𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝 𝚏𝚘𝚛 𝚝𝚑𝚒𝚜 𝚏𝚒𝚌! 𝙷𝚘𝚙𝚎 𝚢'𝚊𝚕𝚕 𝚎𝚗𝚓𝚘𝚢𝚎𝚍(っ◔◡◔)っ ♥

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𝚃𝚊𝚐𝚕𝚒𝚜𝚝: @peppytine @enesitamor

𝙽𝚎𝚡𝚝 𝚌𝚑𝚊𝚙𝚝𝚎𝚛 𝚘𝚗 𝚃𝚞𝚎𝚜. (𝟺/𝟸𝟶)

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