#the bell jar tattoo

[sylviaplathink]

Submitted by https://dis-contented.tumblr.com/:

An etching and dot work style tattoo I got back in 2014, a mashup of the quotes below.

"To the person in the bell jar, blank and stopped as a dead baby, the world itself is a bad dream."

"I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I am, I am, I am."

--Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar, Chapter Twenty, 1963

Artist: https://www.instagram.com/heidivixenart/

#Sylvia Plath #sylvia plath tattoo #literary tattoo #the bell jar tattoo #i am tattoo #The Bell Jar #The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath #The Collected Poems #submission #book tattoos #sylvia plath quotes

[gossamerg1rl]

#cory kennedy #2000s grunge #girl interrupted #girlhood #fawn #girl blogger #grunge #2000s #2014 tumblr #sylvia plath #the bell jar #makeup #tattoos #just girly things #lana del rey #manic pixie dream girl #this is what makes us girls #2013 tumblr #female manipulator #lizzy grant #cassie skins #coquette #lily rose depp #pale grunge #mysterious skin #sky ferreira 2014 #female hysteria #virgin suicides #indie sleaze #soft grunge

[thesnaggletoothfairy]

I constantly feel that my tattoos are just a reminder to myself of how fucked up I am

I’ve done a lot of tattoos myself cuz I was feeling shit and fun tatts are always nice u know…

3 years later I fucjing hate myself for them, I like some but hate others good thing I got like 15 of them 🤠

I made them when I was at my lowest and my life is in a complete different place now I feel worthless and ugly for having them even tho I know I just should accept them… I wish I could change my skin

#tatttoos #tattoo #coquette #girlblogger #girlblogging #coquette fashion #dollette #coquete #coquette aesthetic #dolette #my year of rest and relaxation #lana del rey aesthetic #ottessa moshfegh #sad girl #sylvia plath #lana del rey #messy french girl #it girl #the bell jar #girl interrupted #lily rose depp #alana champion #sadgirl #kinda depressing #weight loss #put me in a movie

[theethlezprincez]

im still so in love with my Sylvia Plath tattoo ♥️

#booklr #books #book #bookblr #books and reading #bookworm #the bell jar #sylvia plath #sylvia plath tattoo #writers on tumblr #sylvia

[alphabetboyluvr]

habits of a clandestine nature | jjk

pairing: collegejk x female oc (angst, smut)

warnings: college!jk, rich!jk, he's a college nepo baby!!!, waitress!oc, flashbacks to summer, (mild) enemies to lovers, oc lives with tae (they're besties), jk is besties with jimin, mentions of parents infidelity, mentions of oc's virginity (lost prior to the story starting), a little angsty, jk is nawt a fuckboi, but he is stewpid, unprotected sex, bathroom escapades, multiple positions, oral (f), mentions of blowjobs, house parties, jackson wang!!!!!!!, yoongi has no lines but is also one of my fave characters lmao

wordcount: 16k

note from holly: this was written as a commission over on ko-fi!! it went through soooo many changes and edits - at one point it was over 24k lmao. i have so much lore and backstory for this couple, but I'll save it for a rainy day!! one of the main prompts was the 2004 classic a cinderella story, and there are little nods to it throughout the story, including the diner name!! a commenter on wattpad said the pairing reminded them of danny and sandy from grease and like... i see it lmao. anywaysss enjoy!! <33

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

It's a well-trained habit, your fleeting glance towards the door of Montgomery's Diner when the bell rings.

Though the clatter of cheap porcelain being stacked on a tray almost manages to drown out the chiming metal, it's never quite enough. Softening your hardened expression, you continue on with your work, careful to not let your contempt show too much.

You already know who it is—or at least, who it could be. Only saw the girl leading the pack, but know that where Claudia goes, the rest of The Untouchables will surely follow.

Gorgeous in a way that money can't buy, and careless in a way that money makes up for, she's never taken personal issue with you. Barely even registers your existence.

From your quick look, you know that it's not just the girls today. It's the guys, too.

All with parents on the college board, they're regarded as campus royalty. Are aptly known as The Untouchables, 'cause the rules that apply to you don't apply to them. They'll likely continue with their lives in a similar manner for years to come, and will pass these attributes off to their offspring, whom they'll name after countries or distant relatives who were once regarded to be regal.

Gathering up the last of the discarded napkins on the table, you take one final, fleeting look just to see if a familiar face is with them.

It's not that you actively want to see him.

You just haven't seen him in the best part of a fortnight, which is odd.

He's been in your section of the Diner near enough every single night of the past three months—but school is starting up again, and he's got appearances to keep.

God-forbid Jeon Jungkook—son of the Admissions Director and heir-apparent to an unholy amount of real estate tied to the university—ever associates with the lowly scholarship kids like you.

The only reason The Untouchables ever come to this Diner is because it's the last remaining place close to the university that hasn't been snapped up and integrated into the campus. You guess it must feel like freedom to them, in a way.

In fact, you know this is the case. Jungkook has told you himself.

Has told you a lot.

Told you far too much.

Such candid honesty from him, shared during the lonely heat of a sweltering summer, is what makes it so jarring when he looks away as soon as his dark eyes meet yours.

Tall, broad, handsome; he's everything the gossip magazines you read during your downtime swoon over, but also everything they warn against. Too pretty for his own good, the resident agony aunt would call him if she were ever to see him. Would assume his ego is far larger than his shoe size; superiority complex embedded into his skin like the ink of his tattoos.

And while you think that perhaps those assumptions could be true, you also know the reality of him; how gentle his hands can be. Helpful, too. Delicate. Ornate, almost, when they fold bills into five petal flowers. Strong, when they grip the back of your neck. Commanding, when they're wrapped around his leather steering wheel.

You shouldn't know the way his car smells. Shouldn't know how he presses the heel of his palm against the wheel when he's reversing, or just how easy it is to clamber into the backseats over the centre console.

But you do, and it rests on your tongue like a dirty little secret desperate to escape: I know you.

You're not sure if you know him better than The Untouchables, but you know him independent of them. Not many people do.

It's rare to find him without Jimin cracking a joke by his side, or Claudia making a slightly mean remark masked as innocent ignorance as she leads him astray.

But summer happened, and so did Jungkook. With his friends away at their holiday homes, and his father's infidelity ripping his family apart at the seams, he'd needed something to stitch himself back together. Let you thread yourself through his very being, and once you'd tied yourself in a pretty little bow around his heart, he'd cut you off.

Is that not what all craftsmen do, though? Discard what no longer serves a purpose?

Memories of him, in all the places you never should have let him in, ravage your thoughts.

The scent of his aftershave lingers on the childhood plushie he used to tease you for having on your bed, but would also automatically hug into his chest every single time he entered your room.

The things he did—and the things he didn't do—corrupt your dreams and leave you restless when you wake.

The smudged mascara under your eyes hides the bags from your lack of sleep, and your only respite is that the little puffs beneath his eyes are extra prominent today. He's tried, too.

For a minute, you feel vindicated.

It doesn't last.

For the past few months, if he's been sleeping badly, you've known about it. Kept him company in this very Diner, or in the basement of a party house he was dumb enough to take you to, forgetting he'd have to return there after summer finished, too.

The walls might not talk, but Jackson Wang certainly does. Jungkook knows it's only a matter of time until his dirty little secrets—no matter how pure they actually are—become the talk of the town.

He always slept well in your bedroom, though.

Funny, that.

He's dressed simply, today: white t-shirt, black jeans, chunky black boots on his feet. It's still warm out, even if the sun does begin to set a little earlier than it had been during the hotter months. He's got no need for a jacket, and you despise how undeniably gorgeous his arms are in the dewy humidity. Tattoos trailing up and down his skin, you'd be forgiven for thinking he was a man of complexities.

Turns out he's just like every other good-for-nothing fuck boy who wasn't worth your time.

The Untouchables sit towards the front of the Diner. Your section is at the back, and there's no way in hell you're deviating from your set section. Not today. Not when he's with them.

"I thought we were free," your colleague, Maria, grumbles as you bring your tray to the counter.

Like you, she's a scholarship kid. Is the one who got you the job at the Diner after you both moved into the shared house you live in off-campus. Three of you live there—you, Maria, and Taehyung—and you all share the same disdain for The Untouchables.

"It never ends," you tease in reply. Glance over your shoulder, back at the table.

They're laughing and joking about something you can't quite decipher. All of them, except Jungkook.

There's a sternness to him. One of which you'd forgotten about. With one hand on the table, the other in his lap, his thumb fidgets over his tense knuckles. Sunglasses rest on the crown of his head, pushed up into his hair to hold it back off his face. Staring at nothing much, he's chewing up his bottom lip until he feels the familiar burn of your eyes on him. Looks your way.

It's curious, how looking at you halts his body from its self-soothing actions. He no longer nibbles on his lip. His tightly balled first eases.

"What do you think, Kookie?" Claudia drawls, drawing his attention back to the group. "You coming tonight?"

"Hm?" He questions, eyes pulling away from you. He begins to rub his thumb over his knuckles again. "Sorry, was just looking at the menu board. What are we talking about?"

"Party at the Conservatory," Jimin says from across the table. Though he's the one sitting beside Claudia, everyone knows Jungkook is the one that she's really interested in. Has been since their first day of college. "First of the semester. It's one of their birthdays. Reckon it'll be a big one."

On campus, but close enough to the boundaries that it's never infringed upon by security or university officials, the Conservatory isn't what it seems. A boarding house for the creme-de-la-creme of the Botany and Conservation PhD students, it's surrounded by land. Has rows upon rows of greenhouses for their projects.

Of the few times you've been there, you've always thought it was like a maze. The perfect place to get lost. The perfect place to get found, too.

Unfortunately for the PhD students, the house custodian took on the role for one thing and one thing only: to throw the biggest ragers on campus. Knows fuck all about growing anything that isn't illegal. Only managed to get the role, 'cause like the rest of The Untouchables, his dad works high up in the college. He's a few years older than them. Belongs to a different generation of campus royalty, but is keen on making sure his legacy remains.

After all, there ain't no party like a Jackson Wang party.

Namjoon—one of the Botanists and the birthday boy himself—has started padlocking the greenhouses.

Another one of them—Yoongi—minored in mechanical engineering. Has a coin-operated lock on his bathroom door. Makes enough money from a single Jackson Wang party to sustain himself for an entire month.

Hoseok and Jin, the remaining two, are just as messy as Jackson. Have only started PhDs because they don't know what else to do and don't want their youth to abruptly end. Live for the parties; survive for the studying.

"Now, who's told you that?" Jungkook smiles, as if the prospect of showing up at the Conservatory doesn't make him feel a little bit sick. "Jackson?"

"Obviously."

"Well, of course he's gonna tell you it'll be big," Jungkook laughs. "Wants to rope as many of you fuckers in as he can."

"And it works every time," Jimin smirks back. "If everyone thinks it'll be a rager, everyone will want to go. He's a marketing genius, if you ask me."

Jungkook rolls his eyes. Is fond in how he interacts with his friends. Has grown up with most of them. Whether or not they're everyones cup of tea is debatable, but they're his people.

And yet he finds himself glancing back over to the counter. You're not there anymore. Are out back, he assumes. Knows the layout, now. Where the walk-in freezer is. The little nook that you sit in during your break. He doubts any of his friends have ever been in a commercial kitchen, let alone one at a place like this.

While yes, his friends have only ever been good to him, he knows that it isn't the case for everyone they interact with. Is well aware that his friends would be confused beyond belief if they ever found out he knows how to click through the Diner's cash register and find the discount section. Would be even more perplexed if they were to see his initials hidden in one of the codes.

But summer was lonely.

Or at least it was.

Lonely, until it wasn't. Isolating, until he sought solace in someone he can't even bring himself to speak to in front of his friends.

Casting his eyes back down to the table, well aware that he's got no reason to feel as cut up as he does, he fakes a laugh. Looks up again at his friends with a grin so sincere that they'd never guess the way it feels like his heart is in his throat. "Alright. You're on. What time?"

The conversation dissolves into plans—what to wear, what drink to take.

After a summer apart, Jungkook thought it would be nice to be with his friends again. Thought he'd be excited; that he'd welcome them all back with open arms. Ask them about their summers, and lament his time spent here.

When Jimin asks him why he didn't go to the Italian villa his parents normally insist they spend the summer at, Jungkook shrugs.

"Dad has some stuff to sort out, so it was better to stay here," he says, minimising the reality of what really happened. Even you don't know for certain. All you know is that his father did something incredibly immoral, to the point where Jungkook can't even stand to look at him.

Is why he spent all those nights in the diner.

Was confusing at first. He was always angry. Always frowning. Always ordering black coffees and nothing else, huddled up in the corner booth, away from the world.

But with summer comes monsoons, and with monsoons come terrible conditions for walking home.

He expected you to say no when he offered you a ride. You expected to say no, too—but then a please and thank you had escaped your lips.

A routine grew. Habits formed.

Curious little thing, habits are. 21 days. That's all the time they take to develop.

Jungkook spent 63 days of summer with you in varying capacities. Enough time to learn a habit three times over.

The one that haunts him most is how it felt to have your hand beneath his on his gear stick. Finds the absence of you when he drives unbearable. Knows he's got no one to blame but himself; not just for creating distance, but also for minimising it in the first place.

He's the one who offered you a lift. He's the one who messaged you on your days off to see if you fancied going for a drive. He's the one who didn't turn the AC on just to get you shaking your jacket off your shoulders.

And he's the one that drove you out to the coast one evening for no other reason than wanting to hear the waves. He's the one who opened up to you about his family. He's the one that made things more than what they were.

Had walked along the shore with you, too scared to hold your hand beneath the lunar light. Opted for playful banter instead, nudging you into the lapping waves.

But the waves got bigger, and Jungkook's unbridled desire to have you close did just the same. Like always, he took things too far. Drenched in sea water, you'd laughed with him for the entire ride home.

Invited him in. Said, "The salt will ruin your clothes. We should wash them."

"Hand wash only," he'd said, pinging his damp t-shirt against his chest. It stuck to him in such a way you learned all of his edges before you ever saw him naked—not like there was much time between these two instances. Ended up in your shower with him, clothes beneath your feet, the excuse of hand washing disregarded the second he had you naked.

You learned three things about Jungkook in that shower.

The first is that he giggles. Lips on yours, hands clutching your jaw, whenever the water was a little too intrusive, he'd separate with a laugh. Would kiss you again, a smile still on his face. Would pretend as if he wasn't giggling.

But he was, and it was lovely.

The second was that he's the type to lean his head forward, not tip it back. With his hands pressed to the shower tiles behind you as your fingers wrapped around his thick shaft, he let his head dip to his chest. Gave him ample opportunity to press kisses to the top of your head—or at least it did until you got to your knees and started taking his hard cock in your mouth.

"Shit," he had husked. Whined. Praised. "Fuck. You're so fuckin' good at that."

It was around then that you became aware he was a head pusher, too.

Almost as if he was saving the best until last, the third thing you learned was how he likes to cum; in your sheets, cock buried in your pussy, your hands clasped above your head. Missionary, 'cause he likes to kiss you through it. In your bed, 'cause he likes losing himself in everything you are. Prefers finishing inside you, but you refuse to fuck him without a condom so he never gets exactly what he wants. It's close enough, though.

Spent weeks—months—laying unfair claim to your body, and now he can't bring himself to look in your direction. It infuriates you.

But more than anything else, it embarrasses you.

Even your reflection laughs at you. Cackles 'told you so' every time you look in the mirror.

You always wondered why you never heard much about Jungkook's hook ups around campus. Everyone knows about Jimin and how his cock has been perpetually wet since the first day of freshers week, but there's always been a secrecy when it comes to Jungkook.

It's something you've teased him about; in your sheets, bodies clammy, his heart beating so fast in his chest you'd been forgiven for thinking he'd just run a marathon.

"When do I have to sign it?" You had giggled.

"Sign what?" He'd husked, voice all wispy and fucked out.

"The NDA," you'd replied as if it was obvious. "It's been, like, what? A month? Surely it's about time you made sure I kept my mouth shut like all your other girls do?"

On your front, your arms were folded over his chest, and he was gently rearranging the pretty little updo he'd made a mess of. Though he was looking at his hands as he replied, you kept your eyes on his. Studied his sincerity.

"Reason you don't hear about other girls is 'cause there aren't any."

A smile twitched at the corner of your lips, but you didn't let it shine for him.

"Sure."

There was a small jerk to his torso as a breathy smirk formed on his face.

"You think I can't be trusted?"

"I think it's foolish to trust any man."

His deep, dark eyes sank down to focus on yours. Offered you all the sincerity you'd be searching for, and more.

"That's all I am, huh?" He'd challenged you. "Just another one of your men?"

"One of the many," you'd teased just to rile him up a little.

"Ah," he'd played along. "So that's why I always have to wear a condom?"

With a saccharine smirk on your lips, you'd gotten back in position, legs straddled over his hips. Had kissed him. Whispered, "No. That's just because I know it annoys you."

"You annoy me all the time," he'd mumbled into your lips, hands gripping your waist to get you grinding against his still sensitive cock. Barely fifteen minutes since he'd last finished, there was no way he was ready to go again.

"Hm?" You'd hummed against his kisses, then began to work your way down his neck in a way that always got him a little moany. "If I'm so annoying, why are you getting hard again, baby?"

"You can be annoying and hot," he told you as he desperately tried to not let his insatiable need for you show.

"Is that how you like your girls?" You'd ribbed once more, just to piss him off a little. It was never serious. Never something you would actually fret over.

Perhaps you should have done, but then he told you with a little too much candour, "No. It's how I like my girl. Singular."

Loose lips sink ships, and Jungkook was one iceberg away from greeting the ocean floor. Closing his lips back down on yours, he was making sure you were just as insatiable for him as he was for you. He didn't cum again that evening, even if you did more times than you cared to count.

A greedy lover, is Jeon Jungkook. Edacious.

And so you understand, now, why the girls he gets entangled with stay silent; how the hoaxes he plays leave them utterly hysterical. They're subject to silence, because who would possibly believe all those sweet little lies he tells? How mad would they be considered if they tried to convince anyone he has a heart?

His brazen lack of humanity is proven when he comes to pay for the table. Any of them could have done it. Yet he elects to stand in front of your till and wait for you to serve him.

Have you not served him enough?

You refuse to utter a single word in his direction. Don't look at him, don't give him any satisfaction. He can read it for himself, he can pay, and he can fuck off.

"Keep the change," he mumbles tossing down the bills—but like fuck are you gonna keep anything he gives you.

He begins to walk away, a little shrunken in his stature.

"Excuse me, sir."

Stopping dead in his tracks, Jungkook is perplexed to hear you address him so coldly.

"Your change," you say, holding a closed hand out for him to hold his own hand beneath. He doesn't want to cause a scene. Obliges. Is surprised when notes, not coins, fall into his palm.

More specifically, notes folded into the shape of flowers. His handiwork, he's certain. Was something he used to do in the early hours of your late night diner shifts. If he said something a little mean, or bickered with you a little too hard, he'd fold his notes up like posies and give them to you as a remedy.

Never used those notes to buy you real flowers, mind you.

Back when things were still easy, you pulled him up on it. Told him that you'd be far easier to seduce with a little wooing. He'd told you that you were easy to seduce regardless.

You didn't speak to him for the rest of your shift.

Ended it with fourteen folded bills in the shape of a bouquet, and when the backseat windows of his car had a thick veil of condensation coating them that same evening, he'd drawn you flowers on them.

"No point in flowers," he'd told you. "They just wither up and die."

Which is funny, 'cause it kinda looks like Jungkook is doing that very same thing right in this moment. He goes to speak, but nothing comes out.

Disappointing, you think, then realise of course he is. Has done nothing but disappoint you.

You smile. Jungkook looks like he wants to cry. Good.

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

21 repetitions. That's how many times it takes to form a habit. You know this.

You also know that 90 days of this repetition will form a habit to last a lifetime.

As you hook up your apron, and free your hair of the ribbon that had been tightly wrapped around your ponytail, you know these are 'lifetime' habits. Apron, then ponytail. Always.

But when you say goodbye to Maria, and ask if she'll be at home this evening, you find yourself leaning into a recently formed habit. It's not anything particularly noteworthy. Not something anyone would notice.

Well, not anyone who matters. You don't think Jungkook counts as someone who matters, anymore.

But he'd noticed; how you'd started glancing across to his parking spot whenever you clocked out. Had teased you for it. Asked you if it was the highlight of your day, seeing him there, as if it wasn't the highlight of his.

You should have known the playful banter when he told you not to get used to it wasn't really banter at all.

Yet here you are, glancing across to his parking spot only to see it empty.

It's not even like it's his spot. Whenever he's with his friends, they walk. Live right on campus, so don't need to drive, and if they do, they'll park right by the doors.

In the height of summer, when the lot was empty and Jungkook wasn't driving for his sake but for yours, he liked to park in the far corner. Said dumb shit about not wanting any weirdos scratching it. Whined and moaned whenever someone performed the very human act of parking next to the only other car in an empty parking lot.

"So many spaces!" He'd blather on. Would speak with his hands. Get deliberately more animated, 'cause it always made you laugh. "And they choose here?!"

The memories make you smile, until the yellow headlights of another car flood into the parking lot. They reveal what's right in front of you; a crowd of cars and not a single one of them you care for.

It's not like you cared for Jungkook, either. Was just something to pass the time when the streets were quiet and his head was loud. 

In turn, you gave him quiet, and he made your summer feel loud.

But the leaves are turning brown and the water in the roadside puddles is becoming stale. The seasons have changed and so has the nature of your interactions. It's fine. You don't care. Really. Couldn't think of anyone you'd want to hang around less. Would rather die than associate with The Untouchables.

You never needed a lift, not really. Especially not when it always took you an hour to get home 'cause Jungkook just wanted to keep on driving.

Grumbling to yourself just to try and divert your mind from thoughts of him, your heart almost skips a beat when your phone vibrates in your pocket. For a second, you wonder if it could be him.

Where you at? It could read. I'm here.

Or maybe, I miss you.

I can't sleep without you.

This is so stupid. Can I come over?

It won't say of those things and you damn well know it.

Your text thread is dormant. The last message is from you, two weeks prior.

You: you not coming in tonight?

You: you'll be pleased to know my fairy godmother turned a pumpkin into a carriage to make sure i got home safe x

You: ... at least let me know if ur alive?

Rolling your eyes at how mortifying your desperation feels, the scowl that settles into your expression is comical. It's like you're fighting with the wind that's threading itself through your hair.

Pulling your phone out, the scowl only intensifies.

Jackass Wang: party tonight

You: so????

One thing about Jackson is that he's not gonna leave anyone on read, especially when he's trying to drum up attendees for his parties.

Jackass Wang: so i haven't seen you around for a while, montgomery

"Fuckin' Montgomery," you mutter at the nickname.

It's the one that all of Jungkook's friends seem to refer to you as, as if you don't have a personality outside of your job.

Still, at least Jackson is a little bit inventive with it. Calls you Monts. Monty, Monstera Plant, Monte Carlo, and god knows what else. If it starts with 'Mon,' he's found a way to end it with a cheeky smirk and smug anticipatory look in your direction, as he awaits your reaction.

You: i like it better when i don't see you x

Jackass Wang: you know that isn't true. loverboy will be there. come with him. or don't. i don't care. you can bring your little friends with you.

You: they'd rather die :) x

Jackass Wang: y'know, you're replying an awful lot for a girl who's not interested ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

You: you just can't take no for an answer

Jackass Wang: yes i can - but you haven't said no yet. c'mon. loverboy has been moping around all week. i can't be arsed with his mardy ass energy all evening.

You: so don't invite him???? i don't see why it's my problem?????

The fact that you don't need clarification of who Jackson means is proof enough that perhaps Jackson's onto something.

Jackass Wang: conservatory any time after 9. be there or be square montgomery. or don't be. i'm sure loverboy can get his dick wet without you, but it's easier for everyone if he doesn't.

You: charming x

Jackass Wang: it's why the ladies love me.

You: all of them except this one, apparently. have a nice party. stay away from the drugs.

Jackass Wang: can't be tamed, monte carlo. nor can loverboy. come keep him company.

The block button towards the top of your message thread looks incredibly tempting. Just a single click and you'll never have to deal with Jackson Wang and his dumb parties ever again.

Part of you can't believe you've ever been associated with them, as it is.

Summer defied the conventions of the life you've built for yourself. You weren't the person you thought you were.

Kicking off your shoes when you arrive home, the door slams shut behind you. A gentle voice calls through to check if it's you.

"Maria's still working," you say as you walk into the kitchen, tossing your bag down on the floor and your phone on the counter.

Taehyung, your best friend since your first week at college, is cooking himself dinner, but offers you a spoon of the tomato sauce he's making. Humming as you taste it, you're amazed by how he manages to make even the simplest thing delicious.

"S'good. What is that? Cumin?"

Nodding, he smiles. "A little paprika, too. You want some?"

His hair is dishevelled, blonde and sunkissed from the sweltering summer skies. He always looks great with a tan; radiant and full of youth.

Shaking your head, you really don't have an appetite. "Think I'm gonna have an early night."

He's about to reply when your phone buzzes. Both of you glance down. Your skin feels red hot, and when Taehyung almost chokes on the spoonful of sauce he's just tried, he's all sorts of confused.

"Why the fuck is Jackson Wang messaging you?"

"Hmm?" You hum as if you have no idea what he's talking about. Realise from the look on his face that he doesn't buy it for a second. "Oh! That Jackson Wang. Think he sent a text to his entire contact list. Something about a party."

"No," Taehyung asserts. "Absolutely not. You cannot bullshit out of this one."

"It's not bullshit," you whine as you pretend to look in the fridge for something to drink. Settle on a beer left by one of Taehyung's friends at a party held last semester. It wasn't quite a Jackson Wang level party, but nothing ever is. "He's just trying to drum up numbers for his stupid party tonight."

Taehyung is many things, but stupid he is not. Though he's blonde (thanks to a bottle of bleach and a few too many jack and cokes), he bends all the stereotypes. His tuition is covered by a scholarship for academic excellence.

"Don't give me that bull."

"It's not bull!"

"So you're telling me, out of everyone at our college, the Jackson Wang is texting you to make up numbers for his party?"

"Yes!" you exclaim, partially a little offended at it being such an unfathomable idea. "And he said you can come too, so maybe you're the one he's really after!"

His expression is flat. You are paper thin.

He's known you long enough to know when you're giving him half-truths.

He also knows you spent the summer alone in this house, and that there's a new toothbrush in the bathroom next to yours.

"You're hooking up with him, aren't you?"

"No!"

Out of everyone to be accused of sleeping with, Jackson Wang is, like, the worst of the worst. He's handsome, sure, but he's also slept with pretty much every girl on campus. Is a teenage boy in a grown adult's body. You'd rather not fornicate with a guy who still finds 'your mum' jokes funny.

Taehyung gasps at your immediate denial. "You are!"

"I'm not!"

"All that talk about saving it for someone special, and you mean to tell me you went and lost it to Jackson fuckin' Wang?!"

Everything about this conversation is making you want to punch yourself in the face. The topic of sex, and just why you've never gotten around to it, has dominated many conversations around this dining table. If you have to discuss it again, you might move out.

"Oh my God," you whine, throwing your head back. "We are not having this conversation."

"Yes, we are."

"No, we're not, because I didn't lose my virginity to Jackson Wang!" You stress. The more you think about it, the more offended you are.

"To Jackson Wang," Taehyung echoes, as he begins to join invisible dots. "But you did lose it to someone."

"No," you insist, but Taehyung refuses to buy it. Knows you too damn well.

He always thought he'd know when you lost it. That it'd be a boy you'd been dating. Committed to. Someone good. Someone worthy. Not someone you keep in the shadows.

"There's something you're not telling me," he frowns. "What the fuck happened this summer?"

With a sigh so deep it's a miracle you're still breathing, you relent. Never signed one of those NDA's you're convinced Jungkook must hand out like candy, as if he's some sort of celebrity and not just some college reprobate.

"Jungkook," you feebly admit. Take a sip on your beer. Don't look at Taheyung, 'cause you're afraid to see his reaction. "Wasn't Jackson. Was Jungkook."

You tell Taehyung everything. How Jungkook never knew you were a virgin. How he still doesn't. How you blame yourself for your hurt, but him for not getting you any band aids to help deal with it; for not kissing you better when he was the one to cause you such hurt in the first place.

As you recite you memories, you play a game against yourself: take a sip every time you want to cry.

By the time you've told Taehyung the nitty-gritty truth, the bottle of wine that had been in the fridge is finished, as well as your beer.

"I can't believe this," Taehyung says for what feels like the billionth time.

There's a certain shame that comes with Taehyung's confusion.

Embarrassment, like the way Jungkook would cringe at himself whenever he stumbled on his words, or the way you'd covered your reddening cheeks with your hands when he teased you for looking at him in the way you did.

Remorse of time wasted before him, and time wasted with him.

Regret of the things you did and the things he didn't.

It's all very confusing. Exhausting. If you were to really think about it, you'd spend a week in bed with a box of tissues. Would ask Taehyung why he didn't warn you that a heart could feel this horrid.

But he did, and you damn well know it.

Shrugging, you reach for the bottle and split the final few glugs between your glasses.

"We were just bored," you play it off. "Had nothing better to do. No one better to do."

But Taehyung shakes his head. "You don't have to do that, yanno. Pretend like it didn't matter. It's okay that it did. Even if he is a prick, and even if he's no better than the rest of them. It's okay that it hurts."

You're silent when he says this.

Despite your teasing, you never really thought Jungkook was much of a player.

But his friends are back now, and you've been relegated to the sidelines. Doesn't matter if he spent weeks—months—playing in no field but yours. Greener pastures have presumably sprouted. Your turf is wrecked from his carelessness, and he's left you to heal yourself while he goes and wrecks another.

Whoever he was pretending to be in the summer isn't who he is now that his friends are back—but when they're laughing and joking in the basement of the Conservatory that evening, Jungkook knows which version of himself he prefers.

"You need to get laid," Jimin tells Jungkook with a laugh. "Never seen a man look so bloody miserable at a party."

Of all the things Jungkook needs, getting laid is not one of them. In fact, he thinks it would be a very sensible idea if he never got laid again. Sex is messy. People get all emotional over it.

Or more so, he gets all emotional over it.

Had never been the type to, before. Always thought it was something that just happened to other people. Not to him.

He pushes the thoughts aside. Feels a little sick. Shrugs off Jimin's remark.

"If I wanted to get laid, I would get laid."

"So why don't you? Will do us all a favour. Claudia's been—"

"I couldn't give a fuck," Jungkook interrupts Jimin. "I'm not interested."

He never has been. Wants nothing to do with this university, and the men that run it, and so would never date one of their daughters.

They're all corrupt. Every last one of them. All cheat on their wives. All throw their families under the bus for their own selfish exploits. His own father's affair has proven this to him.

Jungkook pities his friends. Just because their parents haven't fucked up yet, doesn't mean they won't.

"Oi, Loverboy," Jackson calls from across the room, breaking the tension only to replace it with a headache for Jungkook. "Where's your little girlfriend? I told her to come."

"Who?" Jimin chirps.

Jungkook grates his jaw. Is deadly serious when he says, "Leave it, Jackson."

"Trouble in paradise for our lovebirds, huh?"

"I said leave it."

"Who the fuck is he talking about?" Jimin continues to ask, incredibly curious about this turn of events. Leave town for a couple of months, he thinks, and everything changes.

"No one."

"That one from the diner," Jackson just continues fuckin' talking. Jungkook wants to scream. "The one with a stick up her ass—"

"Jackson, cut it out," Jungkook snaps. "She's no one. Just fuckin' leave it."

"You ashamed, huh, Loverboy?" Jackson berates him a little bit. He isn't trying to be a dick, but he thinks Jungkook is acting like a tool. Jackson is no saint, but at least he doesn't ever pretend to be something he's not. "Poor girl. Wear her like your favourite pair of shoes all summer and then throw her to the trash when your friends come back? I thought better of you. So did she, probably. Shame."

Of all the people Jungkook ever expected to receive lessons in morality from, Jackson Wang was not the one. He parades himself around the Conservatory like Hugh Hefner reincarnated, his class attributed to money and not behaviours.

"The fuck have you been doing this summer, Kook?" Jimin laughs, utterly dumbfounded by his reactions.

They've all had their fair share of less than conventional lovers. If Jungkook has been fucking around with a girl from the Diner, then so what? Who cares?

"Nothing," Jungkook snaps.

It's not that he's ashamed. 

It's that you're separate.

When he's with you, all of this—the bullshit of college life and calamity of his family falling apart—dissolves into nothingness. He doesn't have to think. Finds himself at ease.

If you were to ever become a part of his life—his real one, not the one he got so used to living in with you over the summer—then it'd all change.

He doesn't want that.

He wants you to be a safe haven.

A refuge point can't be in the midst of a fire, though. He has to keep you away. At arms length.

But god damn, he wishes you would come and put out his fire. He's struggling. Finds existing without you so fucking hard. Doesn't know at which point he became so dependent, but knows his oxygen is running low.

He's suffocating. Isn't sure how much longer he can keep this up.

"Yeah, sure seems like nothing," Jimin smirks with a shake of his head as Jungkook storms off to get some much needed air. "Oi, Jackson, what was that all about?"

With a shrug, and yet another girl on his arm, Jackson grins. Puts on a pathetic little voice to mimic Jungkook's tantrum. "Fink baby boy has a wittle cwush."

"Girl from the diner?" Jimin implores, still smirking at Jackson's dumb humour. "Which one?"

"You really have to ask?"

For all of his mystery, Jungkook has never been a man of subtleties. His eyes give him away.

They always have done.

When he was looking at the menu board earlier that day? It was obvious.

Before college broke up for summer, and how Jungkook would always cast his eyes down to his hands whenever you, specifically, came to take their order? It was obvious.

How Jungkook would always make sure he was on the side of the booth that gave him ample opportunity to steal glances of you? It was so fucking obvious.

Sometimes he'd laugh at the slightly sarcastic remarks you gave Claudia whenever she would ask irritating questions about the menu.

When they were deciding where to eat, Jungkook would suggest the Montgomery's Diner, always.

So, no, Jimin doesn't really have to ask.

"Stupid prick," he sighs, sipping on his beer. Loves Jungkook to absolute death, but will never understand him. Figures that maybe you do. Worries that Jungkook is about to wreck it all. He calls after Jackson, "She here tonight?"

"Invited her," he calls back. "But she's got an attitude problem to rival his. Fuck knows if she's around. You'll feel her ice before you see her."

Which is funny, because the lingering summer heat sticks to your skin as you nervously meander up a driveway you know all too well.

The Conservatory is decidedly not a conservatory.

It's a complex. A maze of buildings, and greenhouses, and fuck knows what else. You've no interest in gardening, but if excelling at it meant living somewhere like this, maybe you'd consider taking it up as a hobby.

The buildings are mostly redbrick, with large windows, and even larger doors. It's the kind of place you'd imagine a Duke of some far away land prancing about in. Playing croquet, or secretly courting a lowly village girl that his parents will never approve of.

The irony isn't lost on you.

"Wait, how do I look?" Taehyung asks for what feels like the hundredth time. "Not too dressy?"

"You're wearing a waistcoat," you reply, face twisted in affectionate condemnation. He looks great, but he also does look far too dressy. It's his 'look', though, and one that'll get him attention, both good and bad.

If Kim Taehyung walked around with the arrogance his handsome face warranted him with, he'd be the heartthrob of the campus. You think even Claudia would want a slice of him—and given his distaste for the elite yet pining desire to be on their level, it'd be quite the complex pairing.

All of the other men here are in t-shirts, but Taehyung has never been like other men. It's part of the reason you like him so much.

One thing, however, you don't like about Taehyung is his domineering need to 'fix' things. It comes from a place of love, and he only ever does it because he cares, but it's not always in your best interest.

When he told you to go and get changed out of your work uniform, you thought he was planning on taking you to a bar. That you'd be drowning your sorrows over wine you can't afford.

You would never agree to go to the Conservatory. Not now.

Which is why he didn't tell you of his plan.

Instead, he ordered a cab and didn't give you the chance to protest. You were already halfway there by the time you realised.

"Why don't we just go home?" You whine, tugging on his arm as you stand by the gate that leads through the gardens—the same ones you used to traipse around in with Jungkook. "We don't need to be here."

"Uh-uh," he shakes his head, firmly standing his ground. "I've avoided this place for two years, and the second my back is turned it becomes your new home. The least you could do is invite me round for dinner."

"It's not my new home—"

"MONTGOMERY!"

The voice of Jackson Wang yelling across the front lawn makes you want to shrivel up and die. Sink down into the ground. You'd make great compost for the botanists.

"Y'know, you and Loverboy really need to stop lying so much," he says with an incredibly intoxicated grin as he lumbers towards you. You'll never admit it, but part of you is pleased to see him. "First you saying you weren't coming, then him telling everyone nothing happened between you. Both as bad as one another."

Nothing happened between you.

It doesn't surprise you, but it does sting. And it also confuses you. Why on earth would you be a topic of conversation? The people here know you as Montgomery. The girl from the diner. You're nothing but a background character to them.

"What did he say?" You ask, disregarding everything else, not even bothering to introduce Taehyung. He's finding all of this incredibly bewildering.

"Oh, Jimin was grilling him," Jackson waves his hands around, disregarding it. "Kept saying you were no one. Refused to admit that he'd practically tied his laces with yours for the whole summer. Don't you worry, though, Monte Carlo. I had your back. Set the record straight."

Jackson Wang having your back isn't something you ever expected to happen.

Jeon Jungkook's absolute denial of your clandestine affaire de cœur is, disappointingly, something you expected.

It doesn't mean that it comes without hurt. If anything, it's far more visceral, for you only have yourself to blame. These wounds are self-inflicted, even if they're carved with a knife Jungkook crafted out of silly affirmations he never should have made.

"Where is he?" You ask, cold in your tone.

Jackson shrugs. "Try the basement. S'where I last saw him."

As Jackson saunters off to find another poor partygoer to mildly offend, you're left with a bad taste in your mouth. You've been irritated since you saw Jungkook earlier that day.

How he can just show up at the diner and act like he doesn't even know you, let alone knows what it's like to wake up next to you, is beyond insulting.

"C'mon," Taehyung urges you along. "I need a drink, and you could use three."

Conversely, you think you need an entire bottle.

A bottle of what, you don't care. Just something strong. Anything other than the shitty, overpriced whisky Jungkook always insisted on drinking.

"Fine. But we're not going to the basement."

It's perplexing to walk the halls of the Conservatory without Jungkook; to pass by strangers who have no idea who you are, but who know and admire him as if he's some sort of Hollywood celebrity.

They don't know him like you do. Don't know what it feels like to have his hand around their throat, or his fingers gently intertwined with theirs. They've never heard him laugh like you have.

And yet when you're a few drinks deep, and on the verge of calling a cab to go home, you hear that laugh again and wonder how he can bear to be happy right now.

Glancing up, his face is unreadable. The lights are dim, and the shadows obscure the painful furrowing of his brows. He looks just the same as he did back in the diner earlier that day. Perplexed. In pain. Somehow perfectly fine, too.

The group he's in is small. Some of them you know, some of them you don't.

Claudia sits across from him on the lap of some other guy, yet she doesn't take her eyes off Jungkook. She laughs a little harder at his jokes. Directs questions to him. Flirts with other people in front of him to no avail. 

Not even now, after summer when her skin is sunkissed and her radiance is rejuvenated, can she keep his attention.

In fact, none of them can once he spots you from across the room. The big lights are off, fairy lights strung up, and a sunset lamp pours a clementine hue over you.

Summer becomes you, he thinks—adores—from afar.

The year is a body, and you're eternally condemned to its heart. That's where he'll keep you. Where you belong.

Had it been spring—the brain of the year—when he'd been hauled up in that diner, he never would have let things get as far as they did.

Had it been winter—the cunt of the year, for lack of a better term—he would have let it get that far, and he wouldn't have felt bad about it, either.

But Autumn is drawing close. The gut. The time to trust his intuition, and he damn well knows it.

A hand wraps itself around your wrist, dragging you away from his car crash eyes. Jungkook slips into the dull shadows of the room, right where he belongs. Was foolish of you to ever think otherwise.

"Do you mind?" you snap, but let yourself be dragged away regardless. Part of you hopes it'll make Jungkook do something. You're not sure what. Just something.

The man who is leading you astray is familiar. Recognisable. Park Jimin.

Though he's not aggressive, he definitely isn't gentle as he leads you out to the gardens. Lets go of your wrist by an overgrown shrub just beyond the benches that are made for drunken DMC's. He isn't after one of them. Wants the facts.

"Cut the bullshit," he says.

"No hello?" You chirp. "Nice to see you? Or better yet, an introduction?"

"You know who I am," Jimin tells you, expression flat. You hate that the arrogant fucker is right. "But I know fuck all about you, and apparently you're the reason Jungkook is walking around like death warmed up. So cut the bull. What happened?"

Frankly it's none of Jimin's business. Even if he's done you wrong, Jungkook trusted you. You're not gonna throw that back in his face and air his dirty laundry—especially not considering that Jimin is Jungkook's friend. If Jungkook wanted him to know, he'd have told him.

"Nothing," you tell him. "Barely even know him."

Jimin sighs. Jackson was right. There's a reason why you and Jungkook got along so well. Are both insufferable.

Glancing behind you, Jimin raises his brows.

You turn to face his line of vision, and fail to hide your surprise when you see Jungkook by the back door. Like a deer in headlights, he's frozen in place, his darling bambi eyes so startled he almost looks scared.

"So if you barely know him," Jimin continues as you and Jungkook stare one another out. "Why the fuck is he looking at you like he's seen a ghost?"

It takes a second or so, but you manage to pull your gaze away. Turn back to face Jimin. Shrug. Play dumb.

"Mistaken identity."

"Oh, I get it," Jimin smirks, knowing you aren't gonna give him an easy way out. Needs to bamboozle answers out of you. "You both went to the same bullshitting classes over summer? Is that it?"

You're surprised to find yourself smiling. Surprised that you find humour in Jimin's words. Surprised that you aren't rolling your eyes.

He's always been the Untouchable that has annoyed you the most. Is too loud. Laughs at the most obnoxious things.

"Top of the class," you reply because it somehow feels okay to joke with him. Perhaps spending so much time with Jungkook has lowered you Park Jimin-related intolerance. Not cured it, by any means, but definitely made it easier to manage.

"Academic rivals," Jimin supposes, realising that maybe there's a little more to you than he's ever given you credit for. "That's pretty hot."

"He seemed to think so," you lament, knowing that you're revealing a far more truthful rendition of your time spent with Jungkook. Or at least, admitting that time was spent together.

With a sigh, you walk a little further into the garden. Cross your arms. Look back over your shoulder to the door, only to find Jungkook is gone. It shouldn't upset you like it does, but you find your lips pressing together in a small pout.

"Look," Jimin says, exhaling a breath so deep you're sure his lungs must be empty. He comes to stand beside you, looking across the vast expanse of the gardens. "I'm not asking for your life story. If you don't give a shit about Kook, then that's fine, I'll leave you alone. But he's my best friend, and I've never seen him like this."

Glancing at Jimin, there's a taut discomfort on your face. Guilt, almost—but you've not done anything wrong. It's on him. He's the one who chose for things to be this way.

"I give a shit," you quietly admit as you look back out towards the garden, then sigh out a pitiful laugh. "You know him. You know what he's like. Of course I give a shit."

Quite honestly you think it's impossible to not fall for Jungkook. He's everything you're hardwired to appreciate: hardworking, charming, incredibly funny. You lost count of how many nights dissolved into laughter with him. Had never known your cheeks to hurt so much.

He was gentle, too. Stroked his thumbs against your cheeks just as often as he made them ache.

It's your heart that's aching now, and he's not around to soothe your woes.

Back inside, Jungkook feels so viscerally unwell that he thinks he might be sick. Or maybe he's actually dying. One of the two.

This is everything he didn't want. You were supposed to be separate. Supposed to be a sanctuary away from this all.

You're in the thick of it, now. Jimin is grilling you, and Jungkook doesn't know what to do. It's too much. All of it. The party, the people, the fact that you look at him with ice in your eyes when he knows damn well they used to harbour the warmest of fires.

Beelining for the basement, he kind of hopes the ground will swallow him up. Stop him from making the bad decisions he seems to find so god damn irresistible.

As he yanks open the small fridge at the back of the basement, Jungkook doesn't care what he drinks. Just needs something to help soothe his fragile mine; to make him feel better, 'cause lord knows you won't.

Reaching for a beer, he doesn't ask around to see if it belongs to anyone. Finders keepers. He's an Untouchable. This place is basically his by birthright. No one is gonna argue against him.

But Kim Taehyung isn't just anyone.

"So, when you apologise for being a gargantuan pillock, are you planning on also trying to win her over? Or will you just clean your conscience and wipe yourself clean of her, too?"

Jungkook's jaw tenses as his teeth grit together. "Don't know what you're on about."

"Had a girl in tears at my dinner table earlier tonight," Taehyung exaggerates. Just wants Jungkook to feel as awful as he knows you do. "Your friends might not give a shit about your well-being, but I give a shit about mine."

And for some reason, this irks Jungkook. He gives a shit about you. Cares so much he's been torturing himself by staying away. Thinks it's better for you both.

If it truly was, neither of you would be feeling so gut-wrenchingly awful.

He knows you're angry. You've made that perfectly clear.

But he also knows you do cry when you're frustrated. Was a lesson learned when you were stressed over the diner roof leaking one night during the monsoons when no one else was in to help you fix it.

It was the first night he offered you a lift home. Had taken pity on you. Had also liaised with the college maintenance guy to check it out the next day, even if the diner wasn't technically part of campus.

Because Jungkook does give a shit about your well-being, and he refutes the claim that he doesn't.

"So what? You here to tell me to stay away?" Jungkook scoffs as he prizes off the cap of the bottle. Swigs down a sip. Then another, 'cause he's not wankered enough for this.

"I'm here to tell you that you're an asshole," Taehyung asserts. "She didn't deserve to be used by you for the summer and then tossed to the trash just because semesters starting up again."

The roll of Jungkook's eyes is so weighted that it almost feels as if they'll get lodged in the back of his skull. The last time they'd rolled that deep was in bed with you. Back then it was because his body was so divinely out of sync that his muscles couldn't keep up with his actions. This time, pleasure is the furthest thing away from how he's feeling.

"You want me nowhere near her, but the fact I'm staying away makes me an asshole?" Jungkook petulantly laughs. "Can't ever fuckin' win, can I?"

"This isn't about winning or losing," Taehyung argues back. "She trusted you."

Jungkook doesn't understand what that has to do with anything. He's not betrayed your trust. Has kept all your secrets. Tried his best to keep you secret, too.

"What was she to you, huh? Some project? A virginity to get under your belt? Something to pass the time—"

"I don't know who you think I am," Jungkook snaps, fed up being accused of something he's not. "But not once did I ever treat her badly, okay? I—" He cuts himself off. Doesn't know how to articulate himself. "We— Look, you just don't get it. You don't know me. I was nothing but fuckin' nice. Okay? And she was nice. And it was nice. And we..." He trails off. Realises what Taehyung said. "The fuck do you mean, 'virginity to get under your belt'?"

It's about now that Taehyung realises he's said too much.

But every cloud has a silver lining.

"Talk to her," Taehyung shrugs as he begins to walk away. "Not me."

He leaves a scowling Jungkook by the fridge. Heads to the stairs, and once he reaches the top, is yanked away by a small but mighty force.

"You," Jimin asserts. "With me. Now."

The sound of three knocks on the bathroom door serve as a signal: let me in.

A panicked text from Taehyung had practically begged you to go to the basement bathroom and wait for him there. Said there was drama that he needed to talk with you about.

And you believed him, 'cause you're a few too many drinks deep and honestly could do with the respite.

Perched up on the countertop by the sink, you reach over and unhook the latch, giving Taehyung the all clear to come on in. Your legs languidly swing and your shoulders are slumped, this party well and truly over for you.

The only reason you're still here is because you know Taehyung's secretly been revelling in his first Conservatory party. You fear he'll want to come every weekend, now.

"You better not have your cock out," a playful voice you know all too well jokes, as the door pushes open. Eyes closed as he enters, he shuts the door behind him. Asks, "Am I safe to open my eyes?"

You're gonna kill Taehyung. 

In the most loving but brutal way, you will absolutelymurder him for setting you up like this.

"Safe," you grimace.

Jungkook doesn't open his eyes. In fact, he presses them even tighter together. Frowns. "Jimin isn't in here, is he?"

"We've been bamboozled," you sigh, and as much as he doesn't want to, Jungkook smiles at your choice of words. Tips his head down, and open his eyes. Is a little too scared to look your way, for fear of being greeted with wrath.

"Their days are numbered," Jungkook assures you, quickly glancing across to try and work out how you're feeling.

"My sentiments exactly."

Jungkook goes to speak, but you both notice a grating metallic noise by the door. Immediately, Jungkook presses his hand down on the door handle, but there's absolutely no give. It won't budge

"Jimin," he calls, voice strong and domineering through the wooden panels. Hastily painted white, they're chipped and tarnished; covered in numbers and Instagram handles, rumours and declarations of love. It's not your first time locked in this bathroom with Jungkook, but the last was of your own choice. Had been you turning the lock with a smile and glint in your eyes that had promised him trouble. "Open it up."

"No can do," Jimins smugly sings from beyond the door. "Sort your shit out."

Hopping off the counter, you nudge in front of Jungkook to pound against the door with an open fist. Though he steps back, it's still the closest you've been with him since he left your bedroom a couple weeks ago. Part of you laments the fact he moved away from you. Part of him does, too.

"Tae," you try calling instead, hand banging on the door, but you're met with the exact same response.

"Figure it out," he calls back, but also adds, "And if he's still an insufferable asshole in five minutes time, I'll come let you out."

Despite everything, you laugh at this. Not so much because of Taehyung's words, but because Jungkook's face screws up like an old newspaper.

"What is it with him and calling me an asshole?" Jungkook mutters under his breath with a shake of his head.

The bathroom is small—just a toilet and sink built into a cabinet. There's a mirror covering the back wall over it, and another cabinet above it that you assume is filled with empty bottles and misplaced lipglosses. There's barely even enough room to breathe, although there is enough room to make Jeon Jungkook come undone in the least dignified of ways. You should know.

You wish you didn't.

"He calls you one because you are one," you assure him.

"Excuse me?" 

"What?" You scoff, hopping back up on the counter, your eyes on his 'cause you want to watch the way he gets nasty. Wanna remind yourself of how horrible he can be. Replace the memories of him in this bathroom, 'cause in all reality, they're actually really lovely. Nice, even. Warm. Everything you're trying to convince yourself he's not. "Gone deaf as well as turned into a massive prick?"

"Jesus Christ," he says, rolling his eyes, turning back to face the door. Shakes at the handle. "Give it a rest."

"Why?" You ask as if butter wouldn't melt on your tongue. "Would it make life easier for you if I just wasn't around?"

Jungkook knows what you're doing. Has bickered with you enough times to understand your tricks. This is how you start; put words in his mouth that he can't defend against.

And so he doesn't try.

"Yep," he declares, turning to face you. "Way easier. Can you tell your friend I'm an asshole, still? Get us out of this place?"

You recline in defiance. Perched up on the counter next to the basin, your back is against a mirror. Legs crossed, you're in the same white summer dress you wore to your first party at the Conservatory.

Nearly everyone had been away for the summer.

You had spent the evening tucked up together on an armchair meant for one, him in the seat, you perched on the armrest, feet in his lap.

"People will talk, y'know," you'd assured him, elbows on your knees, chin in your palms.

"So let them talk," he'd smirked. "What's there to say? We're just sitting?"

It was strange for him to be seen with you. Even Jackson has been confused, but let it slide 'cause another partygoer is another partygoer. He cared for numbers, not names.

"Dunno," you had teased. "Might start talking about the way you look at me."

"Yeah?" He'd husked as his long fingers wrapped around your wrist. Gently pulled you closer.

"Yeah," you'd whispered, the sound of the music keeping your conversation obscure. "How long has it been that you've been looking at me for? A minute, already? Only one more until you fall in love, according to science."

"You tryna make me fall in love with you, Montgomery?"

"No," you'd innocently chirped, then pulled back. "Why? Were you?"

He'd shrugged. Sipped on his beer. "Guess we'll never know."

Looking at him now, you find it hard to believe he's the same person as he was back then.

"Why would I do that?" You feign naivety. "You're not an asshole?"

He doesn't reply. Knows you're going somewhere with this. Leans his back against the wall opposite you and folds his arms as if to say, go on.

"Assholes fuck people over," you state. "You'd never do that. And you'd definitely never spend your summer in some poor girls sheets and then pretend like she doesn't exist in front of your friends—"

"There is it," he confirms. Knew it was coming. Didn't expect you to actually try and speak about things like adults. So fuckin' childish.

"Oh?" You chirp. "So you're well aware of the fact you're an asshole? Good. Glad we have that one sorted out."

"Yep," he confirms, mouth drawing to a thin line.

The fact he isn't engaging in the fight infuriates you. Just proves he doesn't care. That he fucked you over for sport.

"I'm an asshole," he says, voice full of snark. "You know it, I know it. There's no reason why you should want to be around me. No reason why you should waste your time."

"It's so funny," you gasp in fake surprise. "I was thinking the exact same thing! Isn't it so great that you came to this conclusion after you already wasted months of my life?"

He's silent, now. Cowardly.

"Y'know I always knew you were an obnoxious prick," you say, voice now soberly quiet. "But I didn't think you were this cruel, Kook."

"You know that's not—"

"What?" You interrupt, voice growing louder with each question. "Not true? You woke up in my bed one morning, and then never spoke to me again. Who does that? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I don't know!" He shouts, and it surprises you both.

Raking his hand through his hair as he turns away from you, Jungkook wishes he had an answer. Wishes he could explain himself in a way that made sense to you both. Instead, he harshly swallows down his anger. Turns to face you again. Looks like he might cry.

Feels like it, too. 

"Why didn't you tell me, huh?" He quietly asks.

"Tell you wha—"

"That you were a virgin."

Your previous thoughts about murdering Taehyung return. Of all the things he could have divulged to Jungkook, and that's what he chose?!

Men, you internally scoff. All fuckin' idiots.

"Hardly relevant, is it?"

"Of course it is," he snaps, turning back to face you. "If I'd have known—"

"You'd have what? Ghosted me sooner? Made it into a fun little competition?"

"I didn't ghost you."

"Gaslighting, too, now are we?" You scoff. "Hold on, let me go and get my bingo card. Things Jungkook does that are absolutely fucking infuriating. Wanna cross it off the list. It's right next to how fast you drive your car, and how much I hate your stupid fucking alarm tone."

"Well good job you never have to hear it again, isn't it?"

"Why not? 'Cause you are ghosting me?"

"No, because this is fuckin' stupid," he says, yanking on the door handle, on the off chance it will finally budge. It doesn't. "You think I'm the devil reincarnated. You don't want me, so why bother with this? This is done. Us. Whatever the fuck it was. You never trusted me in the first place. Would have told me if you did. So just call your friend, tell him I'm an asshole. We're done."

"Oh, well you're two weeks too late for this conversation, don't you think?" you argue back with a cold laugh. "But has it ever occurred to you that my life doesn't revolve around you? That you aren't the reason I'm here? Jackson invited me."

"Ah, so that's what it is?" Jungkook sarcastically exclaims, your insatiable need to fight finally sinking into his skin. "You were just using me, huh? Getting those V-plates off, so you could be ready for him? Is that why you didn't tell me? Huh?"

The mere thought of hooking up with the college's very own Hugh Hefner makes you wanna gag—but if it'll piss off Jungkook, maybe you'll consider it.

"Why would you care if I let him fuck me?" You ask with such pointed anger Jungkook can't help but feel like you're driving knives into his chest. "Do that thing you like with my tongue? You think he'd like my pussy, huh? Maybe I'd let him fuck me raw."

You never let Jungkook go unprotected. Insisted on it each and every time, and he complied even if he was a little pouty about it after you'd been fucking for a while. The trust was there. You were on the pill. He knew he was clean and had told you as such, but it made no difference.

To even suggest you'd let Jackson fuck you raw is laughable.

With a smirk on his lips, Jungkook edges towards you.

Put his hands on your crossed knees. Waits for you to jerk him away—but you don't. Instead, you watch on with salacious confusion. Say nothing. Not even when he uncrosses them, nor when he spreads them apart.

With a hand either side of your head against the mirror, Jungkook stands between your legs.

Looks down at you.

Is so close you can smell his aftershave.

A month ago, in a position like this, you'd have kissed him.

"Hm?" You cock your head. Repeat your question. "You think he'd like my pussy? How long do you think he'd take to cum? Longer than you, I hope."

Jaw tense, Jungkook swallows down the way he wants to curse you out. Closes his eyes. Lets his head dip further, his forehead now resting against the top of your head.

The contact is minimal, but God, you've missed it. Trapped in position by him, you'd forgotten how lovely it was to lose yourself to Jungkook.

"You're not being fair," he whispers. Whines, even.

"Fair?" You laugh, but it's gentle. Matches his tone. "You can hardly take the high ground on fairness, Jungkook."

He nods. Takes a second, and then pathetically begs: "Don't fuck him. Please."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"You know why," he says. Stands straighter, now. Rakes a hand through his hair. Looks down on you with such pained desperation you almost feel bad. He tries to speak, but struggles with his words again. Takes him a few attempts to get anything out. "I didn't like you because I was fucking you. I fucked you because I liked you. You know that. You know it wasn't...Fuck. You know what it was."

The past tense he speaks in cuts you up inside.

Jungkook shrugs in defeat when he's met with silence. Purses his lips. Eyes on yours, they're glassy. Watery, almost.

Yours are just as bad, because what the fuck are you supposed to say to that? He's the one that cut you out. He did this.

"What did I do?" You ask, voice meagre and pathetic. Your vulnerability is mortifying, and yet you just can't help yourself as a tear streaks down your cheek. "What the fuck did I do that was so wrong, Kook?"

The heat of his hand scalds your skin as his thumb wipes away your tears. After his cold shoulder for the past two weeks, your body doesn't know how to respond. Should you be angry? Hurt? Comforted?

All you know is that you're more confused now than you ever were when you first started hooking up with him.

"Nothing," he quietly promises. Holds your cheeks in his hands. Rests his nose beside yours. Is far too close for a man who's been trying to stay away from you. Is beginning to realise that maybe his self-preservation was thinly veiled self-sabotage instead. "I thought I was doing the right thing, but it's been so fuckin' miserable, and then I didn't know how to fix things, and then it was all such a mess and—"

The words Jungkook is yet to speak are lost in the soft press of your lips against his.

Brows furrowed, Jungkook's grip on your face tightens. Keeps you close, 'cause he feels the pressure of your lips waning but doesn't want you to pull away.

And so you don't. Instead you apply more pressure. Harder. Deeper.

It's not like kissing Jungkook is a new experience. You've done it upwards of a thousand times, now. You know his lips and his tongue, and how it likes to flick against yours; his piercings, and the frequency of his moans that vibrate into your mouth.

Kissing Jungkook is just as easy as it is hard. Easy, in the way he takes not a single considered thought. Hard, in how it becomes your only tangible thought for minutes, hours, days afterwards.

An eternity and a millisecond is lost in the kiss, just like the summer that lasted an age and yet was gone with the wind.

When your lips finally part, there's silence. Forehead resting on yours, Jungkook shakes his head ever so gently. Doesn't know how to articulate his thoughts. How to say sorry, or how to fix his mess.

While his logic was flawed, and his execution careless, his intentions had been good. As much as he had a life to go back to, and friends that wouldn't get it, so did you.

He knows they hate him—isn't ignorant to the roll of Maria's eyes every time they walk into Montgomery's, and has experienced Taehyung's disdain first-hand this evening.

He'd spent his summer getting out of the house to avoid the fall-out of his father's infidelity. Knows how much his family is suffering all because of a man who just couldn't control himself. Was trying to be better. Trying not to wreck both of your lives.

As he stands in the dingy bathroom of a party house, the lingering burn of your lips on his still smouldering, he knows that he wrecked you both regardless.

And so it's up to him to put you back together again.

"I'm sorry," you say as you break the kiss, mortified at how stupid of an impulse it had been. You don't that. Not anymore. A month ago, sure, kissing Jungkook in a dingy bathroom at a party house would have been exciting. Now, it just feels embarrassing. "I shouldn't have—"

His lips are on yours again, stealing your words from you. He doesn't want to hear you apologise. Knows that you don't need to.  Also knows that he does need to.

"Don't," he quickly says between kisses. "Please, don't say sorry."

"But I—"

"Shut up," he smiles against your lips, shaking his head ever so slightly. He kisses you again, and this time it's soft. Pretty. Poetic, almost in how it makes you feel. And then he speaks, and you're reminded of just how easy it is to adore him, even when you know you shouldn't. "You know how much I've missed this? God, I've missed you so much. Please don't say sorry. I'm sorry. It's on me. I made a mistake, alright? I fucked up." 

He pulls back. Has your cheeks in his hands as he makes sure your eyes are on his. They're dark, now, in the dim light of the bathroom you're in, but they've never been warmer.

"I mean it. I'm so fucking sorry," he whispers. Brows furrowed, lips pouty, he's got the kind of face you're hardwired to trust. To adore. Or maybe, it's just him, in general, that you're inclined to feel this way about. "Okay?"

His large hard hands are still holding your cheeks, as yours wrap around his wrists. With a shake of your head, you shrug. Pout, too.

An apology is appreciated, but it's just words. It's his actions that have been upsetting you. Not his words (or lack thereof).

"We're gonna leave this bathroom and you're gonna pretend like I don't exist again," you tell him.

The frown on his face deepens. "That's not true. And that's not what I was trying to do in the first place, either. I just thought—"

"What? That it was a good idea to kiss me on my doorstep and promise you'd pick me up from work, only to never show? To ignore my texts? To—"

"No," he quietly admits, dropping his head between his shoulders. "I made the wrong calls—but I can make it up to you. I want to make it up to you." He rests his forehead against yours. Quietly begs, "Please."

Slowly, Jungkook nudges his nose up against yours. Waits for permission.

Beyond the door, loud music thuds through the room. It obscures the conversation you've been having, keeping you just as secret as you always have been.

It's not like you told any of your friends, either, and when it came to telling Taehyung, you weren't exactly forthcoming. Perhaps you would have been the one to pretend like he didn't exist, had he not done it first.

"I want you," he husks against your lips. 

"You wanna fuck me," you correct him, lips tantalisingly brushing his with every word.

"True," he admits. "But I also wanna send you dumb memes again, and go for drives after work, and wake up in your bed. I wanna go for breakfast, and I still need to cook you my world-famous makguksu. I want to have not been a dick for the past two weeks, but I can't change that. I just wanna be what I once was to you again."

"And what was that?" You encourage.

There was never any label. Realistically, there's no right answer. 

Or at least there isn't, until Jungkook just simply says, "Yours."

And what else can you do when confronted by such a pathetic, yearnful admittance from him, except to give into how you're feeling, too?

Frantic in the way your hands are on his body—his arms, his waist, around his throat—there's a neediness to you. One he's missed. One he reciprocates, as his large palms stroke up your spread thighs, then get your legs wrapped around his hips.

The movements of your bodies are so well nurtured by now that you know what comes next; how the bulge in his trousers will press against your covered pussy, and how you'll whine at the contact no matter how minimal.

"Fuck," you whine as his hands slip under the skirt of your dress. It's an old routine at this point. He knows exactly where to go, what to do. His fingers press against the wet fabric of your underwear, just gently enough to make you moan a little harder into his mouth.

"Oh?" He smirks when he realises just how needy you are, his fingers stroking against your slick panties. "Missed me, too?"

"You're an asshole," you tell him with a smile. As his fingers get firmer, you can't help but whine. "You know I have."

He pulls back to look down at your body. Pushes the fabric of your dress out of the way. Curses when he realises the underwear you're wearing. Is his favourite pair. Red and lacy, there's a suspender belt to match it. While you're not wearing it right now, he's got pictures of you in it that belong in a fuckin' museum.

"Did you wanna fuck me tonight, huh?" He mumbles into your lips.

"Not everything is about you," you say with a smile, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Except it is. They're your favourite pair too, simply for how insanely he reacted to seeing you in them. Sure you're not in the full set up, but it was enough to have you feeling ever so confident as you left the house with Taehyung.

As his lips press against yours, his finger hooks beneath your underwear. Tugs them to the side. Gets you exposed for him.

"No?" He husks, as his fingers begin to sink between your soaked folds. "So this isn't about me, huh?"

You shake your head. Lie. "Never been less turned on."

He plays into your little theatrics. Has always enjoyed them.

"So you don't want me to do this?" He asks as his middle finger sinks into your entrance.

"Can't even feel it," you pretend, as if his thick knuckles aren't stroking against you in just the right way.

"No?" He grits. Sinks a second finger inside you. Gets you whining again, nails gripping onto his arms. His fingers slowly pump into you, easing you into the way it feels for him to be inside you.

There's something electric about Jungkook. Sends shivers through your spine. Always knew exactly how to manipulate your pussy into doing whatever he wanted, and now is no different. As you clench around him, he's overcome with satisfaction.

"This is just my fingers," he reminds you. "I don't think you can handle my cock."

Scoffing, you're desperately trying to pretend you aren't melting for him. "Please, I can handle it just fine."

"Sure you can, baby," he teases with so much arrogance you kinda wanna fight him again—but it's also why you like him. He challenges you. Gets your brain in overdrive.

And when he crouches in front of the counter, eyes aligned with your exposed cunt, you think you might actually lose it entirely.

His hands are on your thighs, spreading you further, getting a good look at the mess between your legs. When he sighs, the shallow breath that escapes his lips feels like absolute sin against your wetness.

"Oh, you really haven't been fucked since me, have you?" He teases again. "Look at how fucking keen you are. Been missing my cock, huh?"

"My vibrator's been doing the job just fine," you assure him, but it has him pulling back to cock a brow in your direction. He knows many things about you that other people don't, but he was not aware you owned any sex toys. Finds that his cock only throbs even harder in his pants at this revelation.

"Maybe so," he husks, leaning closer just so he drags his flat tongue up your folds. Has to stop himself from moaning, 'cause the taste of you is somehow even better than his memories. "But it's not better than me."

With a point to prove, and a desperation to reclaim you as his own, Jungkook doesn't entertain chitchat any longer. He dives back in, tongue lapping against your lips as his fingers push back inside you. The way he curls them just right as his tongue flicks against your clit is enough to make anyone lose their head.

Hands tangling in his hair, you find your body responding to him in the way it always does; pathetically, needily, hungrily. There's no dignity to be found.

His tongue works against you like a well trained craft, until his lips latch around your swollen bud and begin to lightly suck on it. When he hums in satisfaction—which he does often—the suction only grows stronger.

Gets you whimpering, "Like that. Fuck. Like that."

The build is just as undignified as you are. Your grip on his hair gets tighter, and the shake of your legs grows stronger. Dragging his tongue up and down your folds, he settles back on your clit. Flicks his pointed tongue against you until he knows you can't take it any longer and begins to suck again. Curves his fingers just right. Strokes you so gently that orgasm pours out of you like liquid gold. Guilds him into the most gorgeous aureate glow.

He doesn't ease. Keeps his lips wrapped around your clit. Makes sure you're spent.

When he finally releases you, he's breathing just as heavily as you are. Gets to his feet, fingers still plugged in your tight pussy. Is pleased to find you're just as insatiable as he is, pulling him in for the messiest of kisses as soon as you can. There's no care given for the fact he's covered in your arousal. You just want that tongue of his in your mouth—and when it is, you find yourself moaning from the withdrawal of his fingers.

Your hands reach to the waistband of his jeans to unhook his button. Get his zipper down. Your hands down the front of his trousers, when his thick cock is restricted by his tight boxer briefs. By the tip of his cock, a small wet patch resides; his desperation for you obvious. Gently rubbing your thumb across the pre-cum, all you can think about is his slit, and how you wanna kitten lick across it.

But it's been two weeks of near-constant pining, and all Jungkook wants is to bury himself inside you.

"Let me fuck you," he begs. "Please, baby."

If the girl who had first seen Jungkook in a shared lecture hall two years ago would have known she'd end up in a shitty bathroom with him begging for her, she'd have laughed. Wouldn't have believed it for a second.

Fresh-faced and so out of your comfort zone, the first few days at university were full of potential. It was before you had wised up to your place in the pecking order; when Jungkook was just a boy in your orientation class.

Skin kissed by European sun, there had been a radiance to him that seemed to captivate just about everyone. You weren't the only girl who had been sneaking glances his way.

You'd thought about him a lot in those first few weeks. Came to learn of his family ties around the same time you befriended Taehyung. Stopped seeing him around campus so much, and rarely ever thought of him.

But on those rare occasions you crossed paths, your gaze would always linger.

As he frees himself of his boxers, trousers suspended midway down his thighs, he gently rubs the tip of his cock between your folds and husks, "Always thought you were so pretty, y'know?"

Looking up at you for just a second, he smirks. Looks back down. Continues to rub himself against you, prepping himself with your slickness.

"Freshers week," he continues. "You never came to any of the parties."

The tip of his cock kisses your entrance, but doesn't penetrate. You stay in limbo just shy of what you both want.

"Had a stupid fuckin' crush on you," he admits. Has never acknowledged it before, but has always known. Kept it hidden. Safe. Secret.

"No, you didn't," you smile. He didn't even give you a second glance. Was always you seeking him out in lecture halls.

"I did," he says with absolute certainty. "You wore that little black sundress on our first day. Had ruffles on the shoulders."

It hangs in your wardrobe, a little out of style but still sweet in the right setting. You know the exact one he's talking about, because he's right. You did wear it on that very first day.

His cock nudges a little deeper. Enough to make you gasp, but not moan. Not yet. Gripping his arms, brows furrowed, you nod. He sinks himself just a little bit further. The feeling is overwhelming; fire on ice.

"Would have fucked you in that lecture hall, if you'd have let me," he smirks.

"You didn't even know my name," you counter, but he cuts your questioning off as he edges a little deeper, still. His hand dips to gently rub languid circles on your clit. He's not pushing himself any further, not yet. Wants to ease into how this feels.

"I did," he admits. "Listened extra hard during the roll call."

"So this has all been some big elaborate scheme to get into my pants, huh?"

"Is it working?" he jokes, leaning over to yank the cabinet above the sink open. A few random bottles and packets clatter into the sink, but he doesn't care.

He's looking on the top shelf, rifling through old boxes, sending more miscellaneous objects to their untimely demise. Spotting what he's after, he's assertive as he knocks the cabinet shut. Passes you the box.

"S'all there is. They alright?"

"Sure," you say, pulling one of the foil packets from the box. You check the date stamped on the front—only to see it's a year out of date. Some protection would be better than none, regardless of the date, but fuck it. You're on the pill. "You haven't fucked anyone else? In the last couple weeks?"

"What?" His brows contort in confusion. "No."

His expression softens, but is still laced with confusion when you toss the box of condoms down into the sink.

"I don't care. I don't want them—"

You're cut off by the way Jungkook clasps your jaw, keeping your eyes locked on his. There's a seriousness to him now; the same demeanour he holds himself with when he was taking photographs. He's intentional. Assertive.

"Promise me," he says with stern certainty. "You want this?"

When he's got you like this—legs spread, body his to claim, your soul to take—it's impossible to do anything but comply. See, things with Jungkook are reciprocal. Your feelings, your tortured misunderstanding of how a relationship could ever work, and his seriousness, now, too.

"I promise," you swear.

As a chaste kiss is pressed to your lips, his hands stroke down your spread thighs, pushing you a little further open for him.

"Can't unfuck me," he softly reminds you. Is taking his time not for the anticipation, but because he's scared. "If you fuck me raw—"

"Then I fuck you raw," you simply repeat, knowing that it's up to you to ease his woes. If anyone should be scared, it's you—yet there's a safety that comes with being with Jungkook. Smirk, then say, "Trust me. I know I can't unfuck you. I've been trying to forget—"

"Ouch," he laughs, nudging his nose up against yours.

"—but you're just..." you tailed off, not wanting to compliment him too highly. He's still in the dog house. "Memorable."

With a sardonic smile that he knows only means trouble, you reach down to grip his incredibly pert ass cheeks. Squeezing, just because you can, you encourage him to push even deeper into you—and he's the one who whines, now.

"God, you're so fuckin' tight," he praises with such pained desperation it almost sounds like he'll cry. He won't. It's just that he can't quite believe that he's raw inside you right now, and that you feel just as good as he always imagined. Better, even.

"Yeah?" You question, as you pull his hips closer, gasping as he finally sinks his full length into you once more. His fingers were thick, but they've got nothing on his cock. Like he's taken all the air from your lungs, your voice is all light and airy. Makes Jungkook even more insane.

"Yeah," he mumbles as he nods into a kiss that is just as feverant as his need to pulse his hips. He doesn't dare do it yet. Is waiting for you. "Feels so fuckin' good."

"So just fuck me," you hungrily moan into his lips.

You're challenging him deliberately, and it works a fucking treat when he pulls back with a grin. He doesn't withdraw himself, but he does pulse his hips ever so slightly. Keeps you plugged. Is just nudging even deeper into you as he keeps a hold on your thighs, keeping them spread nice and wide.

"Say please," he grunts as his pulsing becomes a singular deep thrust.

Your argumentative streak wants to fight.

You'll berate yourself later for the way you whimper, "Please."

His thick cock withdraws just a little to push back into you. He groans. Curses. Builds momentum. Speed.

The sound of his skin slapping against yours as he pounds himself into you is impossible to ignore. Your moans build. Double. Treble. He's grunting too, and then his lips are on your neck. It's a mess, quite frankly.

In the sordid shadows of this bathroom, your bodies become acquainted with an intimacy not yet bridged before. You can pretend to ignore each other in the hallways of your shared lecture buildings, but you'll never be able to ignore the desperation you have for one another. Jungkook was right. You can't unfuck him. And now he's fucking you raw, it only make it even more potent.

Harshly pulling himself out of you, Jungkook almost fuckin' cums on the spot when he realises how soaked he is from your arousal. It's not like it's a new thing, but skin on skin, it's so much more intense. Gasping from the sudden loss of pressure, you're a little unsteady. Lurch forward as if your body could stop him from withdrawing.

Holding the base of his thick shaft, Jungkook spanks against your pussy with his cock. Rubs your slick wetness around with his tip. Hooks his elbows under your thighs. Pulls you closer. Instructs, "Arms around my neck."

Wrapping an arm around your back, the other one tucks under your ass as he lifts you.

He turns. Presses your back to the wall, and lines himself up.

"Legs around me," he tells you, and as soon as you do, his cock pushes up into you again. He keeps you pinned against the wall as he begins to fuck himself into you, his lips pressing wet kisses to the curve of your neck.

The sight in the mirror behind him is lethal; his broad back covered by his shirt, but it doesn't matter. You know what he looks like. Know his muscles, and the valley of his spine, like the back of your own damn hand.

You wanna see it though. Give it a tug. Send him the right message. Get him tearing his shirt off and dropping it to the floor for you. Victory is so damn sweet.

"Kook," you whine as he really begins to get deep. "You're gonna make me cum."

"All over my cock, huh?" He grunts. "Gonna cum on cock, are you?"

His taunting only makes you whimper even more. "I'm so close."

And because he just likes to get you all whiney and needy, Jungkook stops. Puts you down. Gets you facing the mirror as you protest his unfair stealing of an orgasm.

But then he's lining himself up again, getting ready to take you from behind. Spanks your ass ever so quickly.

Sinking into you again, Jungkook curses. "Tighter like this."

"Good?" You pathetically check, and Jungkook can't help but think it's sweet.

"Yeah, babe," he promises, and pretends as if it's completely usual for him to speak to you so tenderly. "Feels so fuckin' good. Missed you so much, gorgeous. You and this tight cunt."

"Romance," you joke through your needy whines. He smirks at this, and delivers a curt little spank to your ass.

"I can be romantic," he assures you, as if you aren't being soundtracked by the sound of your skin slapping together, his thick cock fucking itself into your soaked hole. 

His eyes rise from the steady gaze he'd had on your ass to your eyes. 

Slowing himself, Jungkook holds his cock inside you without thrusting. Says, "I made that photo you took of us in your room my fuckin' phone wallpaper. I listen to that asmr guy you like before bed, every single fuckin' night. I keep one of your ribbons tied around my gearstick. That romantic enough for you?"

There's an incredibly bashful smile on your pretty face, which contradicts the way in which your pussy is tightening around him in the most lewd of ways. You're giggling when you say, "Shut up and fuck me."

But then he's giggling too, just how you like him to be. Says, "I missed your body, but I missed you more. Stupid."

"You're stupid."

"You're stupider."

"Kook," you laugh, as he's completely forgotten the task at hand. The way that he looks at you, you'd be forgiven for thinking he has. Truthfully, the connection he has with you is so much more than what sex has ever been for him before. 

His hips lightly pulse, as he says, "Sorry. Where were we?"

"Think you were gonna make me cum."

"Ah, yeah. That. My bad."

His gentle thrusts begin to build pace once more. The grin on his face drops a little as he begins to concentrate on you. Watching him in the mirror, you're perplexed to be reminded of just how ethereal Jungkook looks when he fucks.

The deep ridge between his brows intensifies, as his mouth hands slack. His cheeks hollow a little, and his eyes remain entirely focused. Dark. Deep. Brooding.

As his hand dips around to gently stroke against your clit, Jungkook is just as taken away by the way you look. He isn't sure what it is that gets his heart so heavy in his chest, but he knows that he wants you to cum. Doesn't give a fuck about himself.

The walls of your cunt begin to tighten around his length as your moans deepen. You whine his name and he encourages a response, but neither of you can really talk. A numbness is washing over you, your balance unsteady.

"I'm gonna..." you begin, but find it impossible to finish.

"I know, baby," he nods all out of breath and desperately fucked out. "Give me what I want. Cum for me."

You trust and keep your eyes on him, but the nudging on his cock against your g-spot and the slow rubbing of your clit is just enough to tip you over.

"Kook," you whimper as your walls begin to tighten around him, but it's fruitless. There's a shake to your legs, and he's the only thing keeping you supported.

"Oh, fuck," he curses from the strength of your pussy around him. He's shaking just as much as you are. "Cream on this cock, baby. Oh, fuck. Yeah.Just like that. You're gonna make me cum, too. Gonna make me cum so fuckin' hard. All in your pussy. You want that, huh?"

It's as you're desperately whining, cumming all around his thick shaft that Jungkook feels his body lose control. There's a tightness to his balls, and a shudder to his sternum, that he hasn't felt since the last time he was in your bedroom. Last time he was in you, more specifically.

"Kook," you whimper his name, and that's when Jungkook really can't hold back.

"Yeah, babe," he rasps, as his hard thrusts become pathetic stutters. "I'm cumming."

The announcement isn't needed, for you swear you can almost feel it as his thick cum begins to fill you. The lack of a condom makes it all the more primal, the way his body shudders indicative of just how much cum he's filling you up with. 

His body collapses on yours a little, his clammy torso pressed to your back. The dress you're wearing is barely on properly, and the feeling of his skin against yours is catastrophic. As intimate as sex is, it's this right now, the beat of his heart thrumming against your spine that is the real disaster. How you can ever look him in the eye again is beyond you.

But then his lips are pressing chaste kisses to the curve of your neck, and his hands are squeezing at your hips. He doesn't pull out. Keeps himself warm inside you. Says, "How the fuck am I ever supposed to give you up, huh?"

That's the thing.

He isn't supposed to, and you damn well know it.

Reaching back for some tissue to help you out, Jungkook slowly withdraws. Holds his hand beneath your pussy, then replaces it with tissue. Turns you around and lets you take over.

"Here's a radical idea," you offer, not looking at him as you quickly make sure you're decent. Stay standing with your legs crossed, just in case. "Don't."

Pulling his shirt back over his head, Jungkook presses his back to the wall. There's a distance between you, yes, but you don't really feel it, 'cause it's purely physical.

And it's not like it lasts for very long either, 'cause Jungkook decides he needs to kiss you all over again.

"Alright," he whispers against your lips. "Say we don't. Say I wanna be yours. What the fuck do we do now?"

You shrug. The answers aren't yours to decide. It's up to you both.

"Well, firstly I'm gonna text Tae," you hum. "Tell him you're still an asshole and that I need to be let out immediately."

It's been half an hour.

He came to check on things about ten minutes ago.

The music might be loud, but not loud enough to drown out the way you guys fuck. 

Summer had been quiet. In his car, in your empty house, you've never had to keep it down before. Didn't even realise quite how loud you were being.

Which is why Jimin is the one who unlocks the outside bolt with a smirk a few minutes later, Taehyung watching on with a little disgusted grimace a metre or so back.

"Gross," he whisper shouts at you, but then he's smiling, too. Notices how Jungkook touches you—the hand he has on the small of your back, and the way he clasps your hand as you begin to walk ahead of him—and finds it impossible to be mad.

"C'mon," Jimin calls behind himself, leading you up and out of the basement. "We're going to the diner."

"We?" You question, incredibly confused.

"We." He simply says. Doesn't leave it up for debate. Gathers up the rest of the Untouchables (though Claudia is noticeably absent), and tells them the same thing he told you. Drags Taehyung along as well.

Jungkook was scared of integrating you into his life, but there's no other way to do it. Has to rip the band aid off.

As you walk into Montgomery's, hand in hand with the boy who had spent his summer wasting away with you in here, both of you realise that maybe it isn't such a huge deal.

Or at least, you do until Maria clocks you. Eyes darting from you, to Jungkook, and then to your gently clasped hands, she's in a state of absolute shock. Almost drops her tray.

"Sorry, what the fuck?!"

#byholly #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk ff #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #bangtan fic #jungkook fluff #college!jungkook #non idol au #bts fanfic #bangtan ff #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader #college au

[kooeater]

thank you gift | JJK

Jungkook x f.reader

smut/fluff

warnings : cuteness, smut, unprotected sex, impregnation kink, age gap (older!jk), dirty talk, boob worship, pet names, bigdickjk, virginity loss

|🌷🪷🌻🌹 |

-

-

You always wondered why you’d constantly get flowers delivered to your house. you didn’t have a problem with it at all, but you wanted to know who they were from. You loved getting all kinds of flowers that were sent to you, you’d take such good care of the flowers too. You watered them, gave them sun, made sure their soil was perfect so they’ll last long, and when the flower petals begin to die and fall off, you’d keep the dried petals in jars, you loved them that much.

Luckily, you found out who the flowers were from. They were from a neighbor who worked as a florist.

His name was Jeon Jungkook, 2 houses away from yours. He was older than you, by 6 years. He was 26, and you have just turned 20.

You seen him from time to time, wanting nothing more than for him to come up and make out with you. You were beyond flattered when you found out that the flowers were from him. So flattered that you gave him the perfect thank you gift.

“You’re so big.. love your cock m’gonna cum” you moaned out loud as Jungkook cock went in and out of your pussy.

It didn’t take you long to have him in between your legs. You weren’t easy, in fact you were a virgin, but you were in love with the man. You knew it was a bit silly, but him sending flowers every week for the past 6 months while stalking your every move was enough for you to fall in love, oh.. and his cock.

“Liked the flowers so much didn’t you princess? Letting me have this tight pussy all to myself yeah?” his tattooed hand went around your neck, cutting off most of your breathing but you didn’t mind.

“Mhm! Yes, yes I.. I did so much!” you managed to whelp out, his hips never stop snapping against yours.

His dick was so big, so long, so thick. He knew how to fuck, and he was fucking you so good. Your gummy like walls pulsing around his veiny cock making you moan out filthy words you never imagined that would ever come out of your mouth. He drove you to sin.

“Want me to cum inside this pussy hm? Knock you up, you’ll look so fucking beautiful. Let the whole neighborhood know how I fucked you so good.” his words and actions were enough to send you over the edge.

You orgasmed as you held him closely to you. Your arms wrapped around his neck as he let out his load inside of you. You smiled in ecstasy as you felt ropes of warm cum fill up your insides.

Jungkook wasn’t done with you yet, he still needed to show love to your big round twins. You whined in pleasure as he wrapped his lips around your nipples, sucking and playing with them making him smirk against you. He then kissed your body, from your boobs, to all the way down to your lower abdomen, he stopped and looked up at you, at your beautiful eyes.

You were staring at him with lust and adornment, and he was looking back at you with the same emotions.

At that moment he realized, every flower was worth sending to you.

-

-

-

I’ve been so inactive on here, I have so much stuff going on with uni and work 😭 a girly can’t even write no more :( but I still try !! Here is a short smut/fluff post I wrote for you guys !! Hope you guys like it, follow and like if you feel like it. Thanks !! 🎀🫶🏻

- belle 🍓

[that-basic-simp]

Girl With The Wave Tattoo

Mizu X Fem!Reader CW: None WC: 1.5k+

"Hottie alert," my friend tapped me on the back of my arm.

My back was facing the customers as they were coming and going. I was doing my work while my friend was looking at the customers. I should be more specific. The attractive customers.

"If it's another athlete with the typical body, I am not turning around."

"No, it's your kind of hottie."

"If this is another prank I swear I am going to--" I immediately shut up as I was face to face with someone who was indeed my kind of hottie.

They were tall, tall for a woman. Or at least they appeared to be a woman. It was kind of hard to tell as they were wearing cargo joggers with high-top Converse and a white tank top. There was a long chain necklace with the sword as a pendant. Finally, to top off their appearance, they had orange tinted glasses covering their eyes and a bun on the top of their head. Running up both of their arms was a sleeve tattoo of what looked to be water in the traditional Japanese art style. Similar to that of the Great Wave.

"W-What can I get for you today?" I asked.

"What kind of tea do you have?" they asked, in a bit of a raspy voice.

"We have all kinds ranging from green, black, oolong. You name it, we probably have it."

"Do you by chance have any hot matcha green tea?"

"W-We do."

"Can I get that in a large?"

"Yes. Name for the order?"

"Mizu."

"Alright. That'll be about 500 yen."

Mizu handed me a small coin and I took it from them.

"It should be out soon."

"Thanks," they walked towards the counter and waited for me to make the drink.

"So, what do you think?" my friend leaned over and asked me, whispering in my ear.

"I don't know about this one."

"What do you mean?"

"Their appearance. I can't tell if they're, you know."

"Nondescript?"

"In a sense. The bun isn't helping, but their eyes," I turned to face them.

They were reading something on their phone. As I looked closely, which is an odd feature to stare at, their fingers were thin and slender to be a man's. I mean, depending on the man, they can be long and slender. But they looked oddly feminine for someone who is trying to be neither gender. Or maybe one more so than the other. It's hard to tell. But it didn't matter. They were attractive.

"Did you at least get their name?"

"Mizu," I whispered, not wanting to confuse them with thinking their order was ready.

"Interesting name."

"I think so. Unique."

I finished making the tea for Mizu and I set it on the counter.

"Mizu?" I called out their name.

Their head picked up and they walked over to me, grabbing the cup.

"Thanks," they said, placing a couple pieces of yen in the tip jar.

"Have a nice day."

They smiled before turning around, walking off towards the door. The chime of the bell rang as the door opened.

"Is this the first time you've seen them?"

"Here?"

"Yeah."

"I've seen them in this area. I think they work at a tattoo parlor just down the road."

"Huh, interesting."

"Thinking about giving them a visit?"

"Maybe not like instantly. I think I'll give it a bit and see if they come around again."

"If you want to know that answer, talk to Ise. She hears and sees everything that goes on here."

"She doesn't come in until three, doesn't she?"

"Yes, but if text her and say you need details on one customer, she'll be here in a flash."

"I kind of don't want to because I'd rather talk to her when she's scheduled to be here."

"Suit yourself. Oh, Mr. Watari is here again. Be careful."

"I'm heading into the pantry then."

"To do what?"

"Hide from him."

After waiting a few hours, Ise came in and that was when my friend dropped the bomb on her and she came rushing over to me, excited and happy as a clam. If she was a dog, her tail would be wagging so fast she could fly off into the clouds.

"I heard you want to know something about someone."

"Mizu. I was told they work at a tattoo parlor."

"Mizu is a woman. When she's out in public or when she's in the tattoo place, she binds her chest."

"Why's that?"

"Bad history with another work place where they would only hire her if she was more masculine."

"That's backwards."

"It was."

"Is there anything else you know about her?"

"Other than she can rock two arm sleeve tattoos and make it look attractive, no. That's really it."

"Alright," I sighed.

"Why? Are you interested in her?"

"I mean, I thought I was."

"Y/N, everyone here knows you prefer women over men."

"I guess I was just ready to open the door to Mizu if she was in fact a guy. I just didn't want to jump to conclusions when I wasn't able to tell."

"You wouldn't be the first. People here had issues with her."

"Why's that?"

"She was a regular here before you started working with us. That was when she was a bit more feminine presenting. But when she started changing into what we see her normally wear, she went into the bathroom one day. It was also before we changed it to be single stalls instead of multiple. She went in to use the restroom and a mother and her young child came out, screaming at us for allowing Mizu into the bathroom. The mother thought Mizu was a man, and when explaining it to her that she is biologically female, the mother did not believe her. You'll never believe what Mizu said to the woman."

"What?"

"'Want to check yourself?'"

I almost dropped over, both Ise and my friend laughing.

"The mother was so disgusted, saying that she was being assaulted now by what Mizu said. The police got involved and after some extensive and some invasive work on Mizu, they deemed she was in fact a woman. The mother still didn't believe it."

"I feel bad for Mizu," I said.

"We all did. So whenever she comes in here, which isn't as often as before, we give her a discount on her entire order. She doesn't know that and the other customers don't know it either."

"It's hard to believe that she doesn't know."

"I'm sure she does. But she hasn't said anything about it. Although, she does tip generously."

"I think she's making it up for the many times you discounted her order."

"We just all felt bad for her and what she had to go through. Oh! I know. You should do something for her."

"What?"

"Yeah. She's going to be coming here in a few days."

"How do you know that?"

"Ise is able to track people's schedules," my friend said.

"No, I just know that Mizu is going to be tattooing a friend of mine. She comes in here whenever she has to tattoo someone."

"So I take it she was tattooing someone today."

"Yes. This is my friend's first session," Ise said. "She'll be going back in a few days to do the second session."

"I see. What should I do for Mizu?"

"Chocolate can't go wrong," my friend said.

"But she does like tea," Ise said. "When my friend goes to get her tattoos done, Mizu is always drinking tea. Mostly hot tea."

I nodded my head, "I see."

A few days had gone by and when the day Mizu was going to be making another return, I was ready. I didn't want to come off as stalkerish, which was why I had to make this perfect. When the bell rang, I picked my head up and found Mizu walking to the counter.

"Same as before?" I asked.

"How do you know?" Mizu looked at me with suspicion.

"Your order stands out."

"Does it?"

"You're the only one who orders the hot matcha green tea," I said.

"Out of all the customers here?" she perked an eyebrow.

I nodded my head, "Most people here enjoy coffee. You're the only tea person."

"Huh. I see."

"And some people here thought it would be nice to give you this," I pulled out a small bag and placed it on the counter for her.

"What's this? Was this Ise's idea?" Mizu asked.

"You know Ise?"

"She came in to accompany her friend one time. I tattoo her friend and she is getting her second session today."

"What is she getting?"

"Something similar to what I have."

Mizu turned around and moved her tank top down slightly. I poked my head over the counter and found there was a large phoenix tattoo on her back.

"It's not exactly a phoenix. Hers is going to be a turtle."

"Oh, I see."

Mizu turned around, "Thank you," she gestured to the bag. "If it was Ise's idea, I assume it will be tea."

"It was actually mine. Ise gave me the idea to give you something."

"Why's that?" she asked.

"I'm sorry, but she told me what happened to you. About the mother and child here that caused you issues."

A small smile crawled on Mizu's lips, "It was a bit of an unfortunate situation, but it just showed me that people will think what they want to think no matter what."

"Even though I don't really know you, I think you're a great person. For persevering through all of that."

"Thank you," she said.

"I-I'll get your tea ready."

"What's your name?"

"Am I not wearing my name tag?" I looked down at my apron, noticing it was gone. "Shit, I'm not."

She chuckled.

"It's Y/N," I said.

"Nice to meet you, Y/N," she said. "I hope to see you around."

#mizu x reader #bes mizu #mizu #mizu blue eye samurai #blue eye samurai

[kentosovertime]

(n.) beauty that is more than skin deep

➳ sex shop owner!megumi x afab!barista reader - 4.3k

➳ a/n: 'gumi baby cone 'ere lemme give you a kith :* drooling over the absolute brain rot of megumi covered in tattoos

➳ cw: explicit content, explicit language, unprotected sex, fingering, light choking, sex toys and their usage, bondage, ropes, blindfolds, use of pet names (daddy, baby girl, sweetheart, angel), pining

✨Masterlist | Tag List | Ask Box | AO3 | Ko-Fi✨

The door to the sex toy shop looms in front of you, daring you to enter. 

Take a deep breath. You chastise yourself as you stare at the door’s handle in apprehension. You’re an adult and this is nothing to be ashamed of. At this point you’ll draw more attention to yourself if you just stand here like an idiot. 

Maybe some of your apprehension comes from the fact the cafe that you work at is almost directly across the street from this place. What if a co-worker saw you go in and started asking questions?

That puts your ass in drive and urges you to grasp the door and scoot inside. You cringe inwardly at the loud jingling of the bells that the door hits as you step inside the cool space. 

Your eyes scan the large room, finding it devoid of any current inhabitants. Even the checkout counter is empty. It's perfect for your escape to the back of the displays to try and find what you saw online while you were figuring out what you thought would work for you.

If anything, looking at online listings was easier than this. You stare at the wall, filled with dozens of options of things you hadn’t seen before let alone considered. 

How many types of dildos were the- You catch one out of the corner of your eye that’s obscenely large and you shudder. How the fuck? 

Certainly it wouldn’t take this much effort to free yourself from the terrible run of men that you’ve slept with. You just wanted to get yourself off since none of them could manage it. 

Out of habit, you peek around the display that you were standing at, looking towards the desk for a worker. You realize your mistake when you see who’s standing behind the counter as you duck back behind the display and debate making your escape. 

The counter was next to the door. There was no way he wouldn’t see you leaving if you made a run for it. No way in hell would you be asking one of the coffee shop regulars where they kept the specific dildo you were looking for. 

Megumi? You ponder over the name that you’ve written on his cup the dozens of times that you’ve made his iced quad americano with caramel, no milk. 

It wasn’t that he was a creep… you just didn’t want to look him in the eye tomorrow when he came through the line thinking of you holding anything in this store. He wouldn’t even give any indication that he remembered you.  He looks just as standoffish here as he does in the warm lighting of the coffee shop. 

The newer hires were too terrified of him to make his order, afraid of what reaction would come out of someone like that if they got it wrong. Little did they know how good it felt for him to mutter how perfect the drink was before leaving a $20 bill in your tip jar. 

You weren’t scared of some tattooed and pierced man with a coffee, but surrounded by all… this? Your appreciation of him didn’t extend this far, no matter how attractive or how good of a tipper he was. 

Trapped in your nervous thoughts, you barely note the passing of time, looking back to the counter to see him no longer there, pulling a sigh of relief from your lungs. 

Fantastic now you’ll just- “Do you need help with anything, miss?” A low graveling voice hums behind you, making you jump out of your skin and whip around, almost nailing him in the face. 

“Fucking christ! You can’t just sneak up on people like that!” You squeak in horror, clutching the strap of your bag to your chest as you take a step back to give him some space, ignoring the fact that the display you were hiding behind has a wide variety of bondage equipment that was currently in the same field of vision as Megumi. 

“I called out to you a couple times.” He leans against said bondage display with crossed arms and a slight smirk, toying with his tongue piercing. “I hardly call that sneaking up on someone.” 

“You couldn’t approach me from where I could see you?” You argue, your eyes catching his playful smirk as your cheeks flush pink. “Not when you were so intensely focused on the spreader bars and gags, (y/n).” Scratch that. Your cheeks were a deep shade of crimson red. “I have to say… that's a shock. Did you want stainless steel or aluminum?” “I wasn’t- No!  I was just stuck in thought-” You sputter, trying to choke out an answer. “Wait, why is that…? Assuming preferences is so rude-” “Hey, now.” He throws his hands up in surrender. “You learn an awful lot about reading people and their tastes when you own a sex shop. I apologize. Again, can I help you find anything, (y/n)?” “Um… a… toy?” You struggle to get out an answer, wondering what alternate reality you stepped into where you were being asked to explain what sort of toy you were looking to use on yourself. He only stares at you expectantly, his smirk growing as you get more and more flustered, needing to fill the silence. “I was looking for something to use on myself.” “You know we have an online site if you don’t want to be here?” He chuckles and cocks his head, waiting for your reply. “I didn’t think I’d run into anyone that I knew while shopping for dildos, sorry.” You hiss. “Besides, it's hard to picture how big things are from a picture online and your site said there were testers that you could touch before buying...” 

You especially didn’t expect him. You had always assumed that he worked for the popular tattoo parlor around the corner with how he looked. 

“Well…” He hums and a conspiratorial sparkle glimmers in his eyes. “I’ve already seen you here so you may as well let me help you out with what you’re looking for.” 

You sigh in defeat because he has a point. You’re already embarrassed, you may as well get this over with and then never come back in here. 

“I’m looking for a dildo… just a normal one?” You force out, looking up into his gaze for a reaction, but he only looks pleased you listened to him. 

“It would help if you explained why you need it, If you’re comfortable.” He looks you over, loving how you seem to squirm in place. “You could also tell me your preference on what helps you finish so I can narrow down your options. 

“Its for self use… and I don’t know…” You think it over, frowning at how none of your hook ups were able to get you to finish by just fucking you. “I guess I’d like something that vibrates. I don’t… finish from sex.” 

God, you sound so pathetic, he’s probably embarrassed just speaking to you. 

“That’s completely normal. Only about 25% of women can finish from penetration alone. Follow me.” He leads you across the store and away from the traditional dildos you thought you needed. “I’d suggest either a rose or a rabbit vibrator.” 

You cock your head in question, not knowing what those were. Your skin flushes with heat as he gently grabs your wrist and tilts your hand so your palm is open to the ceiling before he presses a small hand sized item into your grasp that he takes from the shelf. You jump slightly when you realize it’s vibrating, sending shivers down your spine.. “T-that’s really strong.” Your throat swallows around a lump as you blink up at him. 

“Oh that’s the lowest setting.” His gaze seems to darken as he explains further, turning it up three notches. “This is the rose… this is the strongest setting and after this you’d have 7 other patterned vibrations to choose from. You use this one on your clit and you can grind on it too. You probably need to have your partner stimulate you too if you’d like to finish.” 

You find you need to press your thighs together as you picture yourself using it, but your previous fantasies of using a toy on yourself morphs. Now Megumi is sitting on the bed with you, coaching you through using it, bringing you to orgasm over and over. “You… suggested another one too?” Fuck you’re throbbing with need, you can feel yourself growing wetter with each passing second. 

“Mhm. A rabbit.” He picks up another example toy, this one is much heavier than the first and part of it is shaped like the dildos you were looking at, only with an extra appendage is attached. “This one will give you penetration and this part rests on your clit… it is good for using it yourself or your partner would have a good angle to use it on you.”

He watches your reaction carefully, as he’s sure it's not possible that you could get any redder. You blink at it, looking over the buttons at the base curiously, jolting a little when the tip of the toy rotates suddenly and ratchets up as you press the up button. 

“I don’t have a partner.” You mutter, clearly frustrated by the idea of the hypothetical partners he invented not being able to please you. He watches as you press the second pair of buttons, frowning when you don’t feel something immediately. “What does this one do?” 

“Keep turning it up…” He hums, watching hungrily as you immediately obey his commands, watching with barely concealed lust as the extra appendage starts vibrating harder. Your head cocks to the side and you graze a finger across the little rabbit ears that would press against your clit, gasping at how strong it is, pulling a dark chuckle from his mouth. “Like it, sweetheart?”

You look up at him through your eyelashes with a sheepish look on your face, nodding when you realize you can’t trust your own voice. 

“Aw come on, angel.” He grins, breaking you down slowly to trust him. He thinks he’s lost track of the amount of times you’ve pressed your thighs together to alleviate the pressure. “You can talk to me about it. You’re already playing with it in front of me.”

“Y-Yes…” You avert your eyes when his gaze becomes too much. “I can see that this one would be good for a… partner…” 

“Mhm.” He grabs one of each from the stock for you to buy, knowing you want them both. He places the testers back on the shelf before tugging you back towards the section you had been hiding in, pointing at the items hanging from the hooks, including self adhesive bondage tape, ropes, and gags. “And if you’d like, these can be good for play with a partner if you end up finding one that can fuck you right. It makes everything feel so much better.”

He expects you to squeak in embarrassment at this point, or maybe try to tell him you’re good and ready to check out with your two items, but you surprise him with your curiosity again, touching the bundles of ropes closest to you. 

“It’s softer than I thought…” You murmur softly. “I wouldn’t even know where to find someone who could handle doing this. All the guys I’ve been with are strictly… What do you call it? Vanilla?” 

You sigh, dropping the rope back on the hook with a look of disappointment on your face. You’d never meet someone who was decent at sex let alone experienced enough not to hurt you with all of this. 

“What here interests you the most?” He pries, wanting to know what he could do to please you and make you forget all the disappointment other men had put you through. 

“Um… the ropes and the blindfolds?” You supply shyly, slowly getting more comfortable with communicating with him. Something about him makes you feel safe giving your fantasies to him. “But I’d want to eventually be able to try all of it. I’m not one to knock something until I try it at least once.” 

“And you think that people don’t exist that can help you try these things?” Is it just you or is he getting closer to you?

“I’m sure they exist but it's the trial and error of sleeping with men until a woman is comfortable voicing what they want. I barely was able to walk in here…” 

“But listen to you now.” Oh he is absolutely getting closer to you. “Talking to me like you’ve known me long enough for me to be able to have this knowledge about you. What’s a guy to think when you’re so open with him?”

“... that I’m trusting you for your recommendations?” You guess with a harsh swallow. 

“I could also provide a… demonstration.” His hand reaches out and tucks a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “Given I now know everything I need to make you sing for me.” 

His voice is low with promise and heat lights up your insides and you lean into his touch as an invitation for him to take more. 

“What’s to say you won’t be like all the others?” You whimper with pure need, if this disappoints you, you don’t know where you’d go from here. 

“Oh, angel.” He coos with a light condescension to his tone. “It's my job to know how to make pretty girls like you feel good.”

“Y-Yes…” He blinks at you in surprise and you press on. “To your demonstration, that is.” 

“Well then…” He smirks and grabs a bundle of rope and the blindfold you were eyeing. “I won’t ask twice. These are all on the house.” 

A protest rises to your lips that you’re happy to pay for them, but he cuts you off with a harsh tug as his warm hand closes around your wrist again. He leads through the store to a door that opens to a staircase to the second floor. You pant with the exertion of keeping up with his pace when he seems to take two stairs at a time. 

You take in the tidy studio apartment, breathing in the masculine scent that clings to the space as he tosses the boxes with your new toys on the bed with the rope and blindfold. 

“You don’t like something, you just say so, ok? I’ll stop immediately.” He murmurs with gentle sincerity, as he steps back into your space. You can see how his muscles are bunched with the need to pounce on you, but he’s taking the time to make you feel safe. It makes the throbbing in your core intensify. 

His gaze takes in your cloudy expression, his cock screaming to be freed from the tight confines of his black jeans as he drags a hand up the column of your neck, relishing how you swallow audibly and shudder when his grip tightens. Dark, hungry eyes meet yours as his eyes bore into you, waiting for the moment of sweet surrender that will allow him to snap his control. 

“Ok, ‘Gumi.” Fuck you can already feel your legs turning to jelly and he hasn’t even started. 

“Fuck, angel.” He groans loudly as he easily lifts you and carries you to the edge of the bed, tossing you down like you weigh nothing. “My name sounds perfect coming out of those fuckable lips of yours.” 

You feel his control snap like the fragile thing it is. He doesn’t want one more moment to pass without you cursing and whimpering when he makes you feel more than all those shitty men you’ve let touch you while he’s been admiring you shyly from a distance whenever he goes for his coffee. 

He has you bare in seconds, your shirt and jeans thrown across the apartment before he growls in appreciation at seeing so much skin. 

“So fucking beautiful…” You whine out in frustration, not having his attention where you really need it yet. Your entire body squirms in impatience as you watch him grasp the rope and give you an appraising look. “Hands above your head, angel… There you go, so obedient and eager.” 

“M’gumi-” Your bra clad chest pants, arching toward him as he runs the rope in loops around your wrists, tying it in a neat knot, pausing just enough for your eyes to seek him out. “Wh-what are you? Ah!” The blankets drag across your skin as he takes the ends of the rope and hauls you up the body closer to the headboard. He loops the rope around the slats in the furniture, leaving you pinned and unable to stop whatever he decides to do. 

“Much better…” He mumbles and leaves you alone on the bed, going to stand at the end of the mattress to take in your prone form splayed out for him like a feast. 

“Aren’t you going to u-undress?” You struggle with the bindings, testing the strength of the knot with a low moan. Your body jolts when you hear the tearing of cardboard, your eyes flying to where he’s opening up the rabbit, testing the battery before the bed dips under the weight of his knee. 

“Not when you look like such a good slut all bared to me.” He snaps the band of your panties against your skin just to watch those cute little nipples pebble in your bra before he rips them off your body. He watches the slickness from your center drip from you as he kneels between your legs so you can’t shut them easily. “And this about making you cum, baby. Now tell me…” Your tongue darts out to lick your lips as you watch him spread lube across the toy’s length, eyes catching on how his hands flex around it. What you wouldn’t do to have those fingers in-

“Oh g-god-” Heat floods your system when those fingers leave the toy and press into your entrance, reaching deeper than your own have been able to. 

“... How many men haven’t made you cum?” Shame and embarrassment pool in your stomach with the growing heat as his fingers seek out the spongy spot inside of you. “Come on, you can tell me. I won’t judge.” “T-three-” The feeling in your stomach winds tighter and tighter, building past what you’ve been able to pull from yourself. At this rate you’d be making a mess of his fingers within seconds. 

“You let three men touch what’s mine?” He tsks, shifting to grind his palm into your clit in time with the thrusting of fingers, snapping the winding feeling in your gut with a shock squeak. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, muffling your moans as you shudder and shake helplessly. “We’ll start with three then.” 

“Three w-what? Megumi?” In the next blink his fingers are replaced with the length of the vibrator and your walls clench around it, sucking it deeper as he turns the rotation first. He watches in rapt fascination as your arms fight against the ropes to grip onto something, even as your hips shamelessly grind further onto the toy, bottoming yourself out. 

“Three orgasms, angel.” He palms his erection through the fabric of the pants, allowing himself a moan as he works the length of the toy in and out of your cunt, replacing it with his cock in his mind. “Fuck… didn’t even need the lube. You’re already fucking dripping.” 

Your breath pitches up, bordering on hyperventilating, your hips moving on their own accord to meet each thrust. He waits until your eyes are glazed and you look to him with needy desperation before he maxes out the vibration of the piece resting against your bundle of nerves. 

“Fuck-” You sob and try to escape the sensation, your legs kicking wildly to manage the stimulation. That commanding growl returns as his hand leaves rubbing his cock to dig his grip into your hip, pinning you to the bed as he doubles down with his speed, making obscene squelching pour from you as your cunts sucks it in deeper. “F-feels weird please you need to s-slow down-” 

“Let it go.” He commands without room for argument, wanting to see what your pussy does when it's overstimulated and desperate for the real thing. “Give me that mess, baby. Daddy wants it.”

The image of you soaking his wrist as you shriek out your high and writhe under him easily tops anything he’s done and he has to dig his teeth into his cheeks to hold back from coming prematurely in his pants. 

“Good fucking girl.” He comfortingly rubs the skin of your thigh, soaking up how you twitch and jolt at the littlest touch. He takes pity on you and gently pulls the toy from your center, leaning forward to kiss along your jaw. “You’re on birth control?”

He’ll get a condom, but he really doesn’t want to. 

“M’ on p-pills.” You hiccup, slurring your words heavily from the orgasmic fog in your head. “Want y-you inside…” 

The image of him filling your core with his cum has you shaking, wanting to feel a sticky trail leaking out of your abused center. He deserves it. You whine low, when he pulls away but it's quickly replaced by a loud moan when his skin becomes visible. 

Every inch of his strong muscle is perfect and when his boxers drop and he bops free, your mouth goes dry with anticipation. When he crawls back above you he’s holding something dark in his hand and your vision goes pitch black.

“Just a blindfold. You’re doing amazing for me angel.” He coaches you through as he acclimates you to his touch again. 

He wraps his arms around your thighs, tugging you down to take any slack out of the rope before he teasingly taps the angry, red tip of his cock against your clit, his length twitching as he slides himself through your folds. 

When he enters you he does so slowly, but it's not for your benefit. He can feel himself tighten at how warm, wet, and snug your walls are around him, ready to blow his load into you already. 

But he promised you at least one more orgasm and he wasn’t about to talk a good game without following through for you. 

“Megumi-” You whine in desperation, feeling the way your walls are pulling him against your cervix. “P-Please move. Fuck I need you to- fuck!” 

He rears back and thrust back into you before you can feel his actions. 

“Is that what you wanted, angel?” He coos down at you, gripping around your hips as he sets a brutal pace. “Finally get a good cock and you turn into my limp little fleshlight?” 

You suck down harsh breaths, your eyes watering beneath the fabric wrapped around your face. He tilts your hips just right, filling the room with the wet smacking of your skin against his. Each grunt and low moan that slips out of his normally calm composure builds your high and you thrash against the bindings, craving the bite of your nails in his skin as you cum. 

“Fuck you’re gripping me so tight-” He can feel your cunt squeezing him, urging him to give in and empty into your swollen little cunt. But he slows just enough to have you crying out in frustration, refusing to let you fall over the edge until he’s sure he’s ruined other men for you. “Awww… what is it baby? Need more?” 

“Please.” You croak, your voice a crackling, raspy mess from screaming. “Jus’ wanna cum, ‘Gumi.”

He almost pities you, but you’re just so pretty and drawn tight, your body fraught with tension, he has to play with you a little more.

“Say you’re mine, baby girl. Say you’re daddy’s and he’ll let you cum.” He teasingly gropes your tits, lightly twisting your nipple, just enough to add to your frustration.

You don’t even put up a fight or hesitate before you’re babbling that he owns you, that you’re his and only his. A sob of relief shakes its way from your chest as he reaches between you to stroke at your clit. 

The sob quickly turns into screams that you can’t hold back, realizing that the sensation at your core was caused by the low buzzing of the rose purring against you, catapulting you into your high. 

His eyes drink your trembling, vulnerable form greedily before his eyes roll as his head drops back with a satisfied groan, pumping his cum into as he paints your walls white, shuddering along with you. 

The light in the room hits you suddenly as he lazily tugs your blindfold off and unloops your hands, his touch gentle again as he rubs the angry red marks left behind. 

“I’m right here angel.” He assures, gathering you to his arms and rubbing your back with light caresses. He gently shushes you as you try to push yourself up and speak. “Rest, love. We’ll have time a little later.”

Cuddled to his chest and boneless with satisfaction, your eyes droop and you fall asleep with a satisfied smile.

tag list: @sugarbooger513 @sugarmapoops @roughwithfluff @severelytalentless @yelzoldyck @silversslut @aazaard @dreamyyholland @wobblewobble822 @vantastic210 @rafzaha @tirzamisu @chososhoney @littlemochi @bebechinas99 @firdaoz @saoney @meromelo @pelicanpizza @sukunassoulmate @damncakie @katgalle @honeyyjems [[ if your blog name is crossed out i couldn't tag you]]

#jjk fanfic #jjk x reader #jjk smut #jujutsu kaisen #jjk x you #fushiguro megumi #megumi fushiguromegumi #megumi fushiguro #jjk megumi #megumi x reader #jujutsu megumi #jujutsu kaisen megumi #megumi fanfic #fushiguro #kentosot masterlist #kentosot original

[upsidedownwithsteve]

Bad For Business: Level Four

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [2.2K] An enemies to lovers au. Arcade coworkers, who love to hate each other, get too competitive about Dig Dug and share a mutal annoyance for the kids that like to pester them. Choose your own adventure by picking an option at the end of the chapter.

There was a boy at the desk asking for you. 

He was tall and a little wild looking, unruly dark curls and tattoos peeking out from under the leather and denim he wore, all ripped off sleeves and silver rings. He was smirking at Steve like he knew something he didn’t, like was in on some sort of secret. 

Steve didn’t like him. 

“She’s on her break,” Steve told him, eyes narrowed like he couldn’t help himself. “Went to the store or something.”

Steve expected that to be the end of it, but the boy with all the rings just grinned, dimples on show before he hoisted himself onto the desk. “I’ll wait,” he said, too cheery. “I’m Eddie, by the way. Munson.”

Steve nodded, keeping his distance as he pretended to tidy away loose rota sheets, used up ticket stubs and a piece of paper Robin and Argyle had been drawing progressively larger dicks on. One had wings and a halo. 

“Yeah, I know,” Steve frowned. He was still suspicious. Why was the local drug dealer coming in and asking for you? The arcade was quiet enough that Steve didn’t have an excuse to leave, and honestly, he wanted to stick around and see. “Just didn’t realise you guys… knew each other.”

Eddie looked smug in an awful way, still acting like he was clued into something Steve didn’t have any idea about. Like he was trying not to laugh at him. The longer haired boy tilted his head to the side, all charm and bravado, still smiling. “Oh yeah.” He nodded, enthusiastic. “We know each other real well. Super close.”

You hadn’t mentioned Eddie before. Not in front of Steve. Fuck, you’d never mentioned any sort of boyfriend at all. But then Steve remembered nights that it rained, when he’d jog to his car only to see you run past him, jacket over your head and clambering into an old van, the windows dark enough that you could never see the driver. 

Maybe he’d been kidding himself all those times when he assumed it was your dad. 

“Oh,” fuck, is that all he could say? “Cool.” 

There was a beat of silence between them, smothered in arcade game jingles and alarm bells that announced a new winner, but the air was heavy enough to be felt, thick with a tension Steve wasn’t used to. 

Was this what being threatened felt like? 

No. No. Steve didn't have anything to feel threatened about. So why was he still talking?

“I guess - I mean - well, I just never knew she had a boyfriend.” Steve cleared his throat, all awkward and he found himself standing a little straighter, chest puffed out, chin held high.  

Thank fuck Robin wasn’t on shift, ‘cause Eddie was laughing and suddenly Steve felt about three feet shorter. What the fuck was this guys problem?

“I didn’t know you gossiped about your love lives, Harrington,” Eddie shot back. His smile was wolfish and it looked like a challenge, it felt like a dare. “You interested in who she’s hangin’ out with outside of work?”

“What?” It was jarring, the way Steve’s stomach dropped. A new kind of nervousness twisting around his guts, a heat that crawled from his stomach to his chest. His cheeks felt too warm. “What? No. Jesus, no, I just— we’re not even friends.”

It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it still tasted like one. Bitter and acidic, like swallowing a too big pill without water. It got stuck in his throat, made him wince. 

Eddie tutted, leaning back in his hands, taking up the majority of space on the counter top. His legs were swinging, rips across his knees in his black jeans, a chain hanging from his belt looks, glinting in the neon lights. He looked like he was having far too much fun. 

“That’s a shame,” Eddie twisted his lips, big eyes looking all sad, acting up like he was on stage or something. “She’s real sweet, isn’t she?”

Steve scoffed, a choked out laugh that made Eddie’s lips twitch up. Steve busied himself with more loose papers, bundling together things that weren’t supposed to be filed with each other, name badges and empty chocolate wrappers stuck between faxes. 

“Uh, sure, maybe,” Steve wrinkled his nose, squinting at the other boy. “I don’t know. She’s never, uh, all that sweet to me.”

And then Eddie was laughing, a full, bright cackle of a laugh and Steve was once again left feeling like he didn’t know the full joke. But he didn’t get to ask what he’d missed, what was so funny, ‘cause a kid who could hardly see over the desk approached him, a sticky hand full of equally sticky tickets that he wanted to swap for some knock off Star Wars toy. Disgruntled, Steve fussed with the glass cabinet where they kept all the ‘prizes’, his gaze flickering between Eddie and the door.  

Surely you’d be back soon. Right? To see your boyfriend.  

When the kid was gone, happily clutching his ‘nightsaber’ (even Steve knew that was wrong), Eddie was watching him again. 

“She’s pretty, right?” 

Steve froze. “What?” Was this some kind of trick? Who the fuck goes ‘round asking other dudes if they think their girlfriend is pretty? “I don’t— I’ve never—”

Eddie was grinning. Again. That Cheshire Cat smile, white teeth flashing somewhat threateningly. Steve didn’t know what the fuck was going on. Was this about last week? The powercut? Did you go home and tell your boyfriend how close Steve got to you, how he held your hand and for once in his goddamn life, Steve Harrington didn’t wanna argue with you?

“You don’t think she’s cute?”

Nothing had happened. Nothing ever would’ve. It couldn’t. You hated him, and Steve hated you. Right? Right. 

“Look, dude, I don’t know what your deal is, but I’m not trying to hit on your girl, alright?” Someone got a new high score on the pinball machine across from the desk and an alarm rang, tickets flying out of the dispenser, lights flashing red and green. It felt like a warning. “She— we— we don’t talk, alright? Not like that, god, we’re not friends, okay?”

Eddie didn’t really seem to believe him, but Steve was more than relieved when the boy shrugged and slid off of the counter, dimples on show, beaming at him. He dusted his hands off like he’d completed whatever task he’d come to do before dropping a set of keys in front of Steve. 

“Tell uh, my girl, that it was a radiator leak. No biggie. Car’s out front,” another flash of a smile, too charming now. Steve’s head was spinning. “Catch you later lover boy.”

What the fuck?

Eddie made his way past a crowd of kids, neon signs lighting up his skin in shades of lime green and fuschia. He spun before he got to the door, clapping his hands together and pointing back at the other boy, like he’d just remembered something important. 

Is this where Eddie threatened him? Told him to stop looking at his girlfriend and keep his hands to himself? It was a fucking powercut, it was pitch black, what was he supposed to do? Let her hurt herself? The argument was already playing out in Steve’s head, his defence at the ready. 

Besides, he could take Eddie Munson, right? Sure he was pretty much the same height but Steve was broader, stronger, surely. But maybe Eddie had that trailer park kid scrappiness, that feral sort of energy Dustin said Max exuded when she got ramped up—

“And, uh, Harrington?”

Steve felt his fist tighten around the countertop. 

“You’ll catch more bees with honey than vinegar.” Eddie saluted, a massive skull glinting silver and pink in the light, and then with a wink, he was gone. 

What the fuck?

He didn’t get a chance to ask what Eddie was on about, because Lucas Sinclair and Dustin Henderson approached the desk, ignoring how he was standing with his mouth agape, brows knitted together in confusion. Everything was almost forgotten about as he argued with the two young boys about how no, he didn’t know when Donkey along was getting fixed, and no, he wasn’t prepared to let them poke about at the machine with Dustin’s backpack screwdriver. 

And then you came back from your lunch, a flash of daylight breaking the darkness of the arcade as the door opened and shut behind you. Steve watched you hand a wrapped sandwich to Argyle before making your way around the desk to where he stood. 

Maybe he was staring, maybe that’s why you were looking at him weird. Maybe that’s just the kinda gaze you gave him on the daily. You were wearing a skirt today, black and swishy around your thighs, your staff shirt cut off so it hit just above your navel, much to Murray’s despair. There was a warning written up and stuck to your locker, but you hadn’t seemed to care. 

“What?”

Shit, Steve was still staring. He blinked, shrugged and turned back to the cash machine, despite no customers to serve. “What? Nothin’, god.”

You didn’t argue with him, just narrowing your eyes at his strange mood before pushing your way into the staff room. It was empty bar someone’s leftover lunch and a walkman that lay on the table and then suddenly Steve was barging his way into the too small room, a familiar set of keys in his hands. Your disco ball keychain sent rainbows over the walls, tiny glimmers of light across Steve’s cheeks, his hands, his arms. 

He held them out to you, cheeks tinged pink like something had happened and you’d missed it, ‘cause he couldn’t really look you in the eye either. You stared, taking your keys from the boy slowly, like any sudden movements would scare him. 

Not that you cared. 

Steve spoke before you could say thanks, leaning against Murray’s abandoned desk with his hands shoved in his pockets as he cleared his throat. The air was heavy with something, more tension than you were used to, a weight to it that was more than summer air and teenage hormones. 

“Your uh, your boyfriend dropped them off,” Steve was finally looking at you, brown eyes honeycomb in the too bright lights. “Said it was a broken radiator or somethin’.”

You frowned, confused at the word that was thrown out between you. Boyfriend? But once again, before you could manage to speak, Steve was talking again, all his thoughts tumbling out at once, swimming at your feet. 

“Eddie Munson, huh? I didn’t— I didn’t know you were dating him. Or anyone. Not that it matters,” Steve sucked in a breath, like he was trying to catch each sentence, like he could swallow back the words he’d already said. “It doesn’t matter, obviously. Why would it? I mean, fuck, s’not like we share updates on our love lives or shit—” 

“Harrington.”

“—like, I don’t care if you’re dating him, I just didn’t, like, except it, you know? Munson? Didn’t think he was your type, not that I know what your type is, s’not like I think about it or anything—”

“Steve.”

The boy stopped talking, jaw snapping shut as he looked at you, a little wide eyed. He was breathing a little heavier, hands leaving his pockets only to take through his hair. 

“I don’t have a boyfriend.” You played with the keys in your hands, disco ball keychain clinking prettily between the silver. The reflections scattered, rainbow coloured freckles on Steve’s cheeks. “I’m not dating Eddie, we’re just friends.”

You weren't sure why you were explaining this.

“But Munson said—” Steve stopped mid sentence, the abruptness of it hanging in the air between you. Eddie hadn’t said you were dating. Eddie hadn’t called himself your boyfriend, had he? No. That was Steve’s doing. “Uh, he called you his girl… I just assumed…”

You snorted, eyes rolling in a way that held a lot more affection than what he was used to seeing when it was directed at him. You shrugged, dropping yourself into a chair at the table, eyeing Steve with a new sort of curiosity. He really was acting fucking weird. 

“We’re close,” you said, copying Eddie’s words from earlier without even knowing. “Best friends, you know? Nothing… nothing more.”

“Oh.” Steve’s lips were a pretty ‘o’ shape, pink and pouting and you practically saw the gears inside his head whirring. “Right.”

“He was probably just trying to be funny,” you explained, unwrapping a chocolate bar you’d taken from your bag. You bit into it, licking caramel from your lips. “He’s not though. Despite what he thinks.”

Steve nodded, looking a little dazed, but he pushed himself off of Murray’s desk and sent you another look you couldn’t really decipher. Before he made it back to the door that led to the arcade, you stopped him, an edge to your voice that wasn’t there before. 

“Did he, uh,” you winced when your voice cracked, staring at the table instead of the boy. “Did Eddie say anything else?”

Steve almost kicked the desk leg, swearing as he spun back to you, eyes darting over your face, like he was trying to work something out. He thought about Eddie’s questions. 

If Steve thought you were sweet. If Steve thought you were pretty. 

“What?”

‘You’ll catch more bees with honey than vinegar.’

“Did he say anything? You know, stupid shit.” You licked your lips again, chasing sugar, looking nervous. 

Lover boy lover boy lover boy. 

“No,” Steve lied, feeling something burn in his chest. Maybe it was the breath he was holding. “No, he didn’t say anything else.”

#steve harrington #steve harrington x reader #steve harrington x you #steve harrington x y/n #steve harrington fic #steve harrington fanfiction #steve harrington fluff #steve harrington fanfic #steve harrington smut #steve harrington x reader smut #steve harrington oneshot #steve harrington imagine #steve harrington blurb

[rookthorne]

𝐒𝐮𝐠𝐚𝐫𝐲 𝐒𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 | 𝐉.𝐁.𝐁

Pairing ➷ Baker!Bucky Barnes x F!Reader Word Count ➷ 965 Warnings ➷ Fluff, pet names Author's Note ➷ My third and final submission for @the-slumberparty's week 2 creator challenge - and it is also my late contribution to Valentine's Day... so happy Valentine's Day to y'all!

Slumberparty Masterlist

𝑪𝑶𝑶𝑲𝑰𝑬 𝑻𝑰𝑵  : ̗̀➛ a sweet biscuit having a fairly soft, chewy texture and typically containing pieces of chocolate or fruit.

There were very few plans you had come up in your life with that rivalled the sheer brilliance of what you decided to do - ‘twas the belated day for it, anyway. 

Time had slipped through your fingers, so much so you hadn’t realised Valentines Day had already passed by with not even as little as a notice, nor a message. It was the curse of working so hard; late nights, early mornings, so on and so forth. 

Your morning commute didn’t differ in its crowds - people bustling back and forth, rushing to get to their 9 to 5 jobs, or rushing to get to class on time. Though, you did not mind, your thoughts were too occupied on whether you truly were going to pull off such a brazen idea.

It wasn’t reckless per se, but it was out of your norm. A bakery on your usual route to work had signs out, declaring their cookies and treats to be the best in Brooklyn. You didn’t disagree whatsoever, but it wasn’t thoughts of the baked goods that your mind was clouded with, no–it was the baker that occupied the counter. His smile was beautiful, bright enough to light up even the dreariest days, and you couldn’t help but be pulled under the swell of his ocean blue eyes. 

Subconsciously, or instinctually, you found yourself before the very doors to that bakery with no recollection how you had got there, though you weren’t sour for the thought. You could see him talking with customers, bagging up fresh loaves of bread and slices of cakes with that same damn smile that enchanted you. 

The door opened with a whoosh and a tinkling of the bell, and you were inside.

“Have a nice day, ma’am,” he said, his voice smooth. The woman smiled and waved, leaving the bakery with bags and bags of sweet treats.

Another customer stepped forward to be served and you browsed the selection, a little overwhelmed; chocolate this and chocolate that, strawberry this and strawberry that, it was a wonder there were so many ways to use the same flavour in entirely new ways. You were no connoisseur, but you knew baking was an art. 

“Hey,” he called. “Whatcha after today?”

You turned and smiled brightly, trying to will your heart to slow the tattoo it beat against your ribs. “I’m not sure actually,” you offered, sheepish. “I lost track of time and…” A better idea struck you. “I didn’t have time to get a gift before Valentine's Day, so I have to make up for that.”

The man laughed and rounded the counter. “Alright, now that is something I can help with. My name is Bucky, by the way.” You offered yours, and Bucky smiled. “What does your partner like?”

“I want to surprise them, see, they don’t have a favourite–I just know that they love your sweets.” It was a wonder you kept a straight face at the admission, your plan depended on it, and the delighted smile on Bucky’s lips almost broke your facade. 

“The choc chip is by far the most popular, and not to be biassed–one of my favourites.” Bucky directed you towards the clear glass jars where a label was connected with twine, neat script defined ‘chocolate chip’. “And then there’s these,” Bucky continued, pointing towards a cream coloured biscuit with a heart shaped indent, filled to the brim with jam. “They are a safe, but still loved, classic for Valentine’s; even if it is belated.”

“Do you like them?” You asked, peering closer at the dusted sugar and how it sparkled under the soft lighting. 

Bucky nodded next to you. “It was my ma’s recipe.”

“Perfect,” you sighed happily. “I’ll take some choc chip ones and these,” you pointed towards the heart biscuits. “Thanks, Bucky.”

“No worries, doll,” Bucky grinned. Oh, the things you would do to see that smile all the time. 

A few moments later you met Bucky at the counter to pay, a shy smile on your face when you felt the slight crinkle of paper in your hand. Under the guise of digging through your bag, you wrote your phone number on a loose piece of paper and prayed to whoever would listen that this would work. 

Bucky gave you the total with a happy smile and you waved your card. “Here you are,” Bucky said, handing you the bag full of the sweets he had ever so carefully packed. “I hope they like them, be sure to give my thanks for such high praise.”

“I will,” you rushed, grabbing the bag. Bucky turned to the box behind him and fiddled with something, and you took your chance; the slip of paper with your number fell neatly on top of the sealed boxes, its placement obvious and impossible to miss. “Actually, Bucky?”

“Yeah?” Bucky said, turning with a raised brow. “What’s up?”

Taking a deep breath, you offered the bag back to him. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”

Bucky stared. Shock, bewilderment, and amusement flashed in his pretty eyes as they flicked between you and the offered bag, before finally settling on endearment; a smile and wide eyes softening his features. 

“Oh, doll,” Bucky breathed, taking the bag back and brushing his fingers against yours. His gaze flicked into the bag and his eyes grew even wider. 

Before he could say anymore, you squeaked and skipped to the door. “Enjoy!”

Not even ten minutes later, your phone chimed as you walked through crowds to get to work. You pulled it free and let out a breath. It was an unknown number and an attachment, though what it contained told you exactly who had messaged. 

Thank you for that, sugar. 😘

The attachment, much to your utter delight, was a selfie of Bucky’s bright smile, blue eyes, and he was holding up the piece of paper with your number. You floated on cloud nine for the rest of the day as you worked; giddy, excited, and happy.

↠  𝐢𝐧𝐛𝐨𝐱 | 𝐦𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐭 | 𝐜𝐨𝐥𝐥𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 | 𝐥𝐢𝐛𝐫𝐚𝐫𝐲 | 𝐚𝐨𝟑  ↞

#bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes x f!reader #bucky barnes x reader #bucky x female reader #bucky x f!reader #bucky x reader #bucky barnes oneshot #bucky barnes imagine #bucky barnes fanfiction #bucky barnes fluff #bucky barnes drabble #navy and roo's sleepover #rookthorne’s works #Sugary Sweet

[britany1997]

can you write the lost boys having a lesbian bff? i feel like the dynamic would be sm fun

Shared Interests:

(When I first got this ask I was like, ‘Oh so you mean the boys and Star?’ Lol)

Poly! Lost boys with a lesbian bff

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

Paul whistled as he watched a stunning brunette saunter down the boardwalk. “Damn” he said, “I love Santa Carla.” You placed your arms on his shoulder and peaked around.

“She is gorgeous,” you said, “you think she listens to girl in red?”

“Hey back off!” Paul said back, brushing you off his shoulder, “I saw her first!”

“Yeah but I’m gonna get her number first,” you told him slipping away.

“Hey no fair!” He yelled after you, crossing his arms and pouting.

The boys laughed to themselves as they watched Paul sulk, while you spoke with the brunette. “Better luck next time Paulie,” David said.

After awhile you walked back over, hands behind your back. “So?” Paul asked. You smiled and flashed Paul a card with the woman’s number.

Paul sighed and nodded, “game respects game,”he said.

You laughed, “actually she’s straight, but I told her my handsome blonde friend was single,” you told him, winking.

You flipped the card over to display the other side which read -xoxo Sasha call anytime;)

Paul picked you up and twirled you in the air while you giggled uncontrollably. “You’re the absolute best!” He said “I owe you one!!!” Then he put you down as he ran off to catch up with Sasha. You rolled your eyes as you turned to Marko.

“Still wanna do it?” You asked him

His lip quirked up into a half-smile, “of course,” he said while slipping you a folded piece of paper.

You unfolded the paper and flashed him a matching smile. “Perfect,” you said.

Back at the cave, you had Marko sitting on the fountain, with your tattoo gun in your gloved hand. “Now I’m just going to tell you now, this is a pretty big piece and it might take a couple hours. Are you sure you’re gonna be able to stay still for all that time?” Marko rolled his eyes, “of course,” he said, annoyed, “what am I six?” You stared at him for a second in silence. He rolled his eyes, “ok ok, I’ll stay still, c’monnnn” You looked down at the picture he’d sketched out for you.

“Why is the bat flying away from a burning building?” You asked him.

“Because he set the building on fire,” he told you matter-o-factly

“Oh, so the bat’s you?” You asked back laughing to yourself

He smirked, “of course,” he told you.

You smiled as you dipped the needle into the ink and positioned the stylus so that your hand would be steady. The needle sprung to life and started buzzing as it made contact with Marko’s skin. You held your other hand against his arm, keeping the skin flat so you could have a steady canvas on which to place Marko’s design.

After an hour passed, you watched as Marko’s knee bounced up and down rapidly. His hyperactive spirit was, normally, one of your favorite things about him. But if he made you mess up this design, you’d have to stake him.

You sighed and turned the gun off, “need a break?” you asked him.

He whipped his head around to look at you. “Please?” He pleaded, “I’m dying over here.”

You laughed, “aren’t you already dead?”

He rolled his eyes, but smiled as you, “can’t you just shut up and let me run around a bit?” He asked.

“Go ahead,” you said, shaking your head at his dramatics.

You sighed as you watched him sprint off, placing your tattoo gun in its case for the time being. You picked up your tote bag and headed to Dwayne’s alcove. He was reading his beat up copy of Animal Farm as you walked in.

“Re-reading?” You asked him

“At least once every two years,” he told you, dog-earring the page he was on. “What’s up?” He asked you.

You dug around in your bag for a bit before pulling out his heavily tabbed copy of the Bell Jar, “brought this back,” you said, holding it out for him. “We’ll have to find time to discuss I have…thoughts.”

He smiled as he took the book back from you, “thanks, I’d love to,” he told you. “Let me grab yours,” he said before reaching over to his milk crates full of books, and pulling out a copy of The Collected poems of Emily Dickinson. “She’s a talented wordsmith,” he said, placing the book in your hands, “thanks for recommending.”

You flashed him a smile, “anytime,” you told him.

He grabbed Anna Karenina from his crates and handed it to you, “I put aside this one for you to read next” he told you.

You flipped through it groaning, “almost nine hundred pages Dwayne?” You whined, “not all of us have an eternity of time to read books!”

He smirked at you, “guess you better go ahead and get started then hmm?”

You sighed as you trudged out of Dwayne’s room, the massive book weighing down your tote bag. As you walked into the main lobby of the cave, you caught sight of David sitting in his wheelchair throne. He turned to face you as you strolled in.

“Got a light?” He asked you.

You fished around in your bag before pulling out your lighter, “only if you’ve got an extra cig,” you replied.

He rolled his eyes but handed one to you. You lit his before lighting yours, then the two of you descended into comfortable silence as you smoked.

“You think Paul’s scared that girl off yet,” he asked you out of nowhere.

You chuckled to yourself “are you really in any position to judge his flirting methods?” You asked, “he told me about Michael in ‘87.”

David grumbled something under his breath about muzzling Paul while you laughed. You looked around a bit, noticing Marko was still no where in sight. You looked down at your watch, grimacing when you saw how late, (or early) it was.

“I should probably head back,” you said tossing your cigarette to the ground and stomping it out with your boot. “Tell Marko I said we’ll finish outlining his tattoo tomorrow yeah?”

David snorted, “yeah good luck with that”

You rolled your eyes, “maybe we can sedate him or something, that should keep him still.”

David smirked as he took another drag, “till tomorrow night?” He asked.

“Till tomorrow night,” you replied.

🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇🦇

I hope you like this! Huge thanks to @crustyraccoon who reached out after I posted that I was feeling burnt out on inspiration and offered to help🥹 they were kind enough to help brainstorm some ideas for this w me and pre-read this for me:) so grateful for my amazing mutuals who encourage me❤️❤️❤️

(Note: I almost had Dwayne reading the Communist Manifesto in this but I thought that might have been a little too on the nose lol)

Taglist:

@ghoulgeousimmaculate @misslavenderlady @solobagginses @altierirose

#the lost boys #dwayne lost boys #paul lost boys #david lost boys #marko lost boys #tlb #tlb 1987 #the lost boys 1987 #lost boys headcanons #the lost boys fic #poly lost boys #lesbian reader

[sylviaplathink]

via @Golden Spiral-Studios on Facebook

goldenspiraltattoo.com, Greensboro, NC, USA

Tattoo done by @sierra_jacobs

...

“I took a deep breath and listened to the old brag of my heart. I  am, I am, I am.”

—Sylvia Plath, The Bell Jar, Chapter 20, 1963

…

“I saw my life branching out before me like the green fig tree in the story. From the tip of every branch, like a fat purple fig, a wonderful future beckoned and winked. One fig was a husband and a happy home and children, and another fig was a famous poet and another fig was a brilliant professor, and another fig was Ee Gee, the amazing editor, and another fig was Europe and Africa and South America, and another fig was Constantin and Socrates and Attila and a pack of other lovers with queer names and offbeat professions, and another fig was an Olympic lady crew champion, and beyond and above these figs were many more figs I couldn’t quite make out. I saw myself sitting in the crotch of this fig tree, starving to death, just because I couldn’t make up my mind which of the figs I would choose. I wanted each and every one of them, but choosing one meant losing all the rest, and, as I sat there, unable to decide, the figs began to wrinkle and go black, and, one by one, they plopped to the ground at my feet.”

–Sylvia Plath,The Bell Jar, Chapter Seven, 1963

#sylvia plath #tattoos #literary tattoos #sylvia plath tattoos #the bell jar tattoos #the bell jar #i am i am i am #i am tattoos #sylviaplath #fig tree tattoos #fig tree #fig tattoos #sylvia plath quotes #arm tattoos

[merakiui]

I feel like the Noble Bell Compound is very religious and cult like. It's gotta be rough to be a woman there, like handmaid's tale vibes

Terribly rough. T_T and you are so right. It's extremely cult-like. It's the situation in which the leader (Rollo) comes in to help when all hope seems lost and everyone thinks he's an absolute saint when he builds the compound up with sensibility and sturdier foundations and walls, as well as fostering such crooked ideals. A lot of people within the compound look up to him, treat him like he's some savior or a prophet, and Rollo always seems to know best. His two righthand men are so blindly faithful to him, and Rollo appears so kind and fair with everyone, including those within his close-knit circle. He's just so forgiving, so sweet. How could anyone distrust him? How could he lead anyone astray?

The entire compound feels like a utopia amidst so much dystopia, but the people who reside within don't see what lies beneath the compound in underground dungeons, where misbehaving nuisances are kept and silenced. Anyone who tries to question things, who tries to speak out against the little paradise Rollo has manufactured so dearly, so carefully, so graciously, conveniently vanishes to who-knows-where. No one questions anything because Rollo always has a perfect lie at the ready to keep the masses calm and collected.

Being a woman in the compound is not fun. At all. :( you're treated warmly (at first) just so you'll be tricked into a false sense of security, so you'll be more likely to accept the conditions in which you will be kept (and used). But the longer you spend amidst so many other brides, the clearer it becomes that you are not in equal standing with the others in this compound and Rollo certainly doesn't seem to think you are anything more than livestock meant for reproduction. However terrible his views are, Rollo still ensures the women are given adequate protection and care. After all, he isn't a monster (so he claims). You'll live comfortably (not as comfortably as those who are more privileged, but it's better than nothing), and you're given healthy meals each morning, afternoon, and night. You live like anyone else would, but there are a few rules that permit only to you.

For one, every woman within the compound must remain a virgin. If you don't bleed or feel any pain/discomfort the first time your husband takes you, you're seen as impure, a liar, a filthy slut. And when you're labeled as such, you're treated as such. Rollo conducts pussy inspections to make sure everyone is healthy and oh-so-pure (how he gleans that from running his gloved fingers along your folds or even forcing two inside your tight warmth just to see you squirm, you have no idea. He always spends extra time examining you; the brides gossip over this, eagerly insisting with hushed whispers that the compound leader fancies you. You shudder to think someone like Rollo would ever have his eye on you.)

Additionally, every bride must always wear white. It's a soft color, the symbolism of purity. You're meant to be demure and obedient things, subservient to the men who will choose from the lot of you as if you're nothing more than candy in a jar, eaten as easily as you are discarded. Every morning, it is mandatory that the brides stand before the compound leader and, in unison, list their vows, all of which have been stamped into your memory like a bad tattoo. Every morning, you promise you are pure, insist that your only hopes and dreams are to provide for the compound, to be good mothers, to be good brides, to remain untouched by sin, to remember these vows and hold them close to your heart. Essentially, by participating in this daily routine, you strip away parts of yourself and replace them with the parts the compound wants you to have, and by verbalizing them so often you'll begin to believe them, especially when everyone around you shares the same opinions and feelings on the matter. It is the finest form of brainwashing. And to make matters worse, to cement these ideals that have been practically engraved into you, Rollo always applauds the lot of you, smiles with so much satisfaction, praises everyone for such pleasant mindsets.

Every month his voice seems less like the harshest, grating static and more like a heavenly choir because, for all you've endured and will continue to endure, he is still the only beacon of light in this dark, dismal world.

#twisted chit chat #twst apocalypse au #yandere twst #n/sfw #tw: misogyny #he is so gross!! so vile ew!!!!! >_< #but i would comply so quickly if he wanted to inspect me #anything for you mr. compound leader <3 <3 #i would say any other compound is better than noble bell #but when your compound is run by a man with the biggest breeding kink (*ahem* azul malleus kalim *ahem*) #there is no such thing as a 'better safer compound' #actually to correct myself when your compound is run by MEN there is no better safer compound lol ;;;;

[wileys-russo]

What your favorite book? I need some new book recommendations!!!

I recently updated my Good Reads so here’s a whole ass list!

All boys aren’t blue - George Johnson

The girl with the dragon tattoo series - Stieg Larsson

All the light we cannot see - Anthony Doer

Little fires everywhere - Celeste Ng

Sharp Objects - Gillian Flynn

Dark Places - Gillian Flynn

Gone girl - Gillian Flynn

Conversations with friends - Sally Rooney

My government means to kill me - Rasheed Newson

The lesbianas guide to catholic school - Sonora Reyes

The vanishing half - Britt bennet

You need to know - Nicole Moriarty

Nine perfect strangers - Liane Moriarty

Truly, madly, guilty - Liane Moriarty

Apples never fall - Liane Moriarty

Big little lies - Liane Moriarty

The girl in the green dress - Jeni Haynes (MAJOR trigger warning)

The perks of being a wallflower - Stephen Chbosky

Women don’t owe you pretty - Florence Given

A slow fire burning - Paula Hawkins

The girl on the train - Paula Hawkins

I’m glad my mom died - Jennette Mccurdy

We were liars - E Lockhart

To the lighthouse - Virginia Wolfe

A room of one’s own - Virgina Wolfe

The good son - Jacquelyn Mitchard

The bell jar - Sylvia Plath

Watching women and girls - Danielle Pendar

A little life - Hanya Yanagihara (also a trigger warning!)

The prettiest horse in the glue factory- Corey White (also a trigger warning)

#answered asks

[moodymelanist]

Trace The Lines

Happy first day of @sjmromanceweek, everyone! Thank you to @jump-on-winds-back for submitting the prompt<3

Summary: Gwyn falls hard for the shy, hot librarian who finally comes into her tattoo parlor.  

Read on AO3 here!

♡♡♡♡♡ Gwyn

Gwyn was the only one in the tattoo’s front room, idly sketching something on Procreate for one of her regulars, when she heard the familiar bell that signaled someone walking inside. 

“Hi!” she called out, waving a freckled hand toward the newest customer. “Welcome to Valkyrie Tattoos. What can I help you with?”

She looked up and almost swallowed her tongue once she recognized Azriel, the very cute guy who worked at the library next door. She’d seen him from time to time when it was her turn to pick up whatever Nesta or Emerie had put on hold for book club, and seeing him here inside their tattoo parlor instead of surrounded by books was almost jarring. 

“Hi,” Azriel responded quietly. God, he was so adorable, with his soft voice and his pretty eyes and the way he held himself in that cardigan. “I wanted to get a tattoo?”

“Okay,” she answered cheerily. She put down her iPad and switched over to the nearby computer, checking her calendar to make sure she had enough time for this. “My next appointment isn’t until 4, so if what you want isn’t too time-consuming I can squeeze you in now.”

“Thanks,” he told her. He reached for his phone and she pretended like she didn’t notice the way his shirt stretched across his chest with the motion. “I wanted to get something like this.”

“Game of Thrones fan, huh?” Gwyn asked once she studied it. It was a simple enough design — the top half read valar morghulis, and reflected over a thin line, the bottom half read valar dohaeris. “How did you feel about season 8?”

“I think it’s best we don’t talk about that,” Azriel replied, a hint of a smile playing on his lips. “Do you think you’d have time to do this today?”

“Oh, definitely,” she responded. “Where did you want it?”

They discussed placement and pricing for a few minutes before they were both satisfied, and then Gwyn was leading Azriel upstairs to her corner of the tattooing space. She’d worked hard to make it as inviting as possible, and left him to get comfortable while she bustled about the rest of the space. When she turned back to him, her mouth went a little dry as she realized just how muscular he was without the soft, dark material of his cardigan, and she forced herself to focus as best as he could.

He’s just a hot guy, Berdara, she told herself as she worked on the stencil. You’ve tattooed plenty of those before. Stay focused.

“It’s okay if you need me to move it around,” Gwyn told him once she’d composed herself enough to place the stencil. He’d wanted it on his right forearm, so it was easy enough to make sure it laid flat once she’d shaved the minimal peach fuzz away. “How does that look?”

She moved it twice before he was completely satisfied. “Do you mind if I take a before picture?”

“Not at all,” she answered, appreciating that he’d asked permission. “I’m just going to get set up, and I’ll let you know when I’m ready.”

Gwyn pretended she didn’t feel Azriel’s eyes lingering on her as she set everything up for his tattoo, hoping to any deity listening that she wasn’t blushing right now – or that Nesta or Emerie didn’t decide to come back from lunch early. She’d never live this down if they caught her being this flustered.

“Ready?” she asked once she was all set up. She made sure the area was clean one final time before situating him how she wanted him, using her left hand to hold his arm how she needed it. His skin was cool to the touch, even through her gloves, and she wondered if that was always why he had on those cardigans he favored so much.

“Yeah,” he replied, looking like he was holding back a smile. “I can take it.”

Gwyn’s mind jumped to all sorts of other things she wanted him to take, but she forced herself to take a deep breath and pay attention to what she was doing. “Let me know how this feels. If you need a break, just let me know.”

“I’ve gotten tattoos before, Gwyn,” Azriel responded dryly. “Just go for it.”

“I didn’t know you knew my name, Azriel,” she replied, deflecting slightly. She’d of course noticed the whorls of black ink peeking out over top of his shirts before, but she’d never trusted herself to look too hard.

“You come into the library at least three times a week,” he said with a snort. “Of course I know who you are.”

“Plenty of people come into the library more than once a week,” she retorted. She shifted her grip on his arm and continued tattooing him, pleased at the way the lines were turning out so far. “Doesn’t mean you know their names.”

“Never said I did,” he said simply.

Gwyn didn’t know exactly what to say back to that without making herself look like an idiot, so she decided to change the topic to be safe. “So you like Game of Thrones, except for season 8. Who’s your favorite? Are you a Jon Snow guy? Or – wait, let me guess. Tyrion?”

“Actually, I really like Sansa,” Azriel replied after a few moments. “I know a lot of guys hate on her, but… I really appreciate how good she is at other things besides violence.”

“Oh,” Gwyn said, only slightly surprised. Sansa was one of her favorites, too, but she wouldn’t let him keep the upper hand if she could avoid it. “Is this the part where you tell me you’re not like the other guys?”

He just chuckled under his breath, the sound making the butterflies in her stomach even worse. “I mean, I’m not like the other guys. I’m better, but only because I’m a librarian.”

“Whatever you say, Mr. Librarian,” she fired back, laughing softly. She shifted her arm one last time to go over any places that needed an extra touch, and then sat back with a flourish. “You’re all done.”

“That was pretty quick,” Azriel responded. Gwyn wasn’t completely sure, but she thought he almost sounded a little sad about it. “It looks good.”

“It’ll look even better if you take care of it,” Gwyn fired back, grinning. She let him take a couple of pictures before running through her aftercare instructions and placing a bandage over it. “Take it easy for the rest of the day.”

“I work at a library,” he deadpanned. 

“No lifting heavy books, then,” she retorted with a roll of her eyes. “Come on, let’s finish this up downstairs.”

She helped him slide his cardigan back on even though he probably didn’t need it, her touch lingering a few seconds longer than was probably appropriate. She just couldn’t help being drawn to him, couldn’t help wanting to know more about what his skin felt like against hers without any barriers in the way.

Gwyn shook her head as they walked downstairs to clear that thought. She didn’t know where it had come from, and she was a professional. She wouldn’t let herself get distracted so close to the finish point.

“I can do cash, credit, or your money sending service of choice,” Gwyn said once they’d finished going over the price. “Whatever’s easier for you.”

“Credit is fine,” Azriel answered. He handed over a card and she forced herself not to be mesmerized by the way his fingers gripped the pen as he signed. “Thanks again, Berdara.”

“Oh, first and last name,” she teased. She took the receipt back and took at a peek at his last name. “You’ve really done your research, Velasquez.”

“Have to, when it comes to you.” He flipped over the back of his customer copy of the receipt to scribble something down. “Let me know if you ever want to check something else out besides books.” 

Gwyn was so stunned at how smooth he was with his comment that she couldn’t think of anything to say back, but when she finally reached for it and opened it to reveal his phone number, she figured she could think of something clever to send back over text.

By the time Nesta and Emerie got back from lunch, Gwyn hadn’t quite thought of something snazzy enough, but judging by how quickly Azriel was texting her back, he didn’t seem to mind.

tag list: @perseusannabeth | @bookstantrash | @charming-butt-insane | @oversizedbats | @melphss | @sv0430 | @podemechamardek | @autumnbabylon | @live-the-fangirl-life | @julemmaes | @that-little-red-head | @jmoonjones | @sayosdreams | @thewayshedreamed | @hiimheresworld | @brieq | @houseofcalores | @swankii-art-teacher | @nerdperson524 | @snickerdoodlechittybangbang | @imsointobooks | @nesquik-arccheron | @sweet-pea1 | @champanheandluxxury | @dustjacketmusings | @mrs-shadowsinger04 | @unlikelypersonalknight1 | @goddess-aelin | @arinbelle | @talkfantasytome | @simpingfornestaarcheron | @duskandstarlight | @letstakethedawn | @vidalinav | @c-e-d-dreamer | @dealfea | @katekatpattywack | @burningsnowleopard

#sjmromanceweek2023 #acotar #acosf #gwynriel #gwyneth berdara #gwyn berdara #azriel shadowsinger #azriel #moodymelanistwrites

[steviebunny]

Pretty Astute Observations

Ouef

20:40

“Graham, how would you feel about a partner?” Jack asks stepping in beside Will.

“I’m sorry- what?”

"What if I could pull in a profiler from the BAU to help keep you on track, Dr. Lecter said I’ve been pushing you too hard, and Strauss knows the Behavioral Science Unit is understaffed”

“I don’t need a babysitter Jack.”

“She wouldn't be a babysitter, Will. She’s extremely knowledgeable in her field and has experience similar to your…particular situation. ”

“Another psychiatrist, Jack? Hannibal, too busy for your liking?”

The bell for the following floor rings, and Crawford moves off the platform just before the doors close he says “Not a psychiatrist actually, a marine.” The elevator doors close and Will Graham is left in stunned silence, having just missed his floor and apparently been assigned a new partner. 

—-

09:00

“Most of the time in sexual assaults, the bite mark has a livid spot at the center, a “suck bruise”. In some cases it does not. For some killers biting may be a fighting pattern, as much as a sexual behavior.” 

Jack slams the class door, open and shouts at the room full of students.

“Ok, class dismissed. Everyone out! What did I just say?! Let’s go!”

“You’re making it difficult to provide an education, Jack.”

Despite the previous evening's barrage by his pseudo-employer will still managed, to put together a lesson plan for the day. Little did he know it would not be necessary.

“ We found a match to a set of prints we pulled from the Turner home. They belong to a thirteen-year-old boy from Reston, Virginia. His name is Connor Frist.”

“Another kid?” Will wondered aloud.

“Another missing kid. Vanished ten months ago, case was never solved.”

“How many kids in the Frist family?”

“Three.”  Will’s head snaps to the door of his classroom, he hadn’t noticed the red-headed woman approach. She had a delicate and sturdy build 5’5, maybe 5’6, and dark jeans and a tank top exposing her muscled biceps as well as the tattoo ‘semper- fi’ wrapping around her left arm just above the elbow. “just like the Turner family.”

“Agent, Lena Gibbs, I’d like to introduce you to Will Graham.” 

“It's a pleasure to meet you, Will.” The man offered a nod in return. “Jack eluded to the fact you’ve had experience with empaths.”

“Quite the opposite actually, I spent some time in London with a man who self-identified as a high-functioning sociopath but it's a very similar skill set the two of you possess.”

“Well…we’ll see about that. I’ll meet you at the car.” Will bristles and collects his coat, just barely brushing shoulders with the woman as he makes his way out.

“He’s a tough nut to crack, but he’ll warm up to you.”

“I’m not worried, Crawford. It’s nothing I haven’t experienced before.”

__

“Mr. Frist and the children killed first, saving Mrs. Frist for last. Same as the Turners.”

“Not exactly the same. Something went wrong.”

“Not a single present under the tree for Mrs. Frist…Are we all not going to acknowledge the Navy Brat in the room?”

“Always a pleasure Bev, the unsub took her presents, he took her motherhood.”

“Shooting her once wasn’t enough. The first bullet, travels beneath her scalp…to its final resting place, base of her neck.”

“Do we know the type of bullet? Trace the bullet, trace the possible gun, trace the killer.”

“No, the shell exploded on impact, what we could piece together wasn’t identifiable,” Price told her passing over a small glass jar with bullet pieces rattling inside.

“Do you mind?” She asked. No one in the room answered so she pulled out her phone and called an often-dialed number.

“Fortress of solitude at your service.”

“Hey, Babygirl can I ask a favor?”

“Anything for my favorite agent”

“Don’t let Morgan hear you say that. If I send over some photos of an exploded shell do you think you can use the naval ballistics database to piece it together”?

“I’m insulted you even have to ask.”

“You're the best, Garcia”

“I know.”

Turning back to the stunned room full of BSU agents and in Will’s case, an outsourced professor. “I give it thirty, minutes before we know the bullet type. Not that I don’t have faith in you guys but the Marine Corps has the largest database of fragmented shells and an algorithm made by a forensic analyst at NCIS to predict their shatter pattern, that most of the FBI just doesn't have access to.”

“And how do you have access?!” 

“My father,” she answered Zeller before moving back between Jack and WIll. “So who is our additional corpse in the fireplace”?

Will cleared his throat and said “I’d say Connor Frist. He’d been prepped to shoot his mother, not watch her suffer”

“Connor couldn’t put his panic back in the bottle. So he got shot too.

"Whoever shot him…disowned him.”

—

“Garcia got a hit on the ballistics match.”

“C.J. Lincoln disappeared six months before his mother’s murder. He hasn’t been seen since.”

“ He has none of the characteristics of a sadist or a sociopath.”

“Right, no shoplifting, no malicious destruction of property. No assault, no battery. He was kind to animals, for God’s sake.”

“Firearm says we are looking at Peter Pan to our lost boys.”

“ But it takes a sophisticated level of manipulation to convince young boys to kill their families in cold blood.”

“ Kindness to animals doesn’t suggest that particular kind of sophistication.”

“Well, he’s older, he’s been out in the world. Maybe he picked up a few things.”

—

01:00

Will walks through the entrance of Dr. Lecter’s practice holding a gift, he drops it by the foot of Hannibal's desk before moving further into the room.

“Good evening, Will. Please come in. Has Christmas come early? Or late?”

“Was for Abigail”

“Was?”

“I thought better of it, I wasn’t thinking straight, I was upset when I bought it. Maybe still am.”

“What is it?”

“A magnifying glass. Fly-tying gear.”

“Teaching her how to fish. Her father taught her how to hunt.”

“That’s why I thought better of it.”

“Pretty paternal, Will.”

“ Aren’t you?”

“Yes. Our good friend Doctor Bloom has advised against taking too personal an interest in Abigail’s welfare. Tell me why are you so angry?”

“I’m angry about being assigned a partner, I’m angry about those boys, I’m angry because I know when I find them, I can’t help them. I can’t, I can’t give them back what they just gave away.”

“A partner?”

“Yeah, Lena Gibbs. Jack introduced her as a marine though.”

“Fascinating…Tell me did she mention anything about the UK”?

“Yeah, actually. How did you-” Hannibal stood from his position to retrieve his tablet, he typed out a phrase and handed the device to his colleague. “I keep an eye on media around the world,” he said, taking in the man's reaction to the words.

“She was engaged to Sherlock Holmes, I’m sure you heard of him. She and a man by the name of John Watson both contributed to Mr. Holmes’s private detective work, right up until the moment he threw himself from St. Bart's hospital, according to speculation he did do to prevent Ms. Gibbs and others from being attacked by a terrorist known as Moriarty.”

“I didn’t take you as one for speculation, Hannibal.”

“Sometimes it’s a necessary measure when secrets are so heavily guarded.”

“Is that a warning?”

“Who said they were her secrets?”

“Well, that's not vague at all.”

“I’m sure with time, you will come to bond with this new partner. Now tell me more about this ‘murder family.’”

“We call them “The lost boys”.

“Ms. Gibbs is likely lost too. And perhaps it can be our responsibility to help her find her way.”

—

04:00

“Bangor, Maine. Stamford, Connecticut, and recently Reston, Virginia.”

“Right.”

“You’re trying to establish a geographical pattern, when the murders were weeks apart.”

“ Other patterns too. Our shooters are minors middle children from traditional affluent families.”

“ We know they’re moving South, so that means we wanna cover the border of North Carolina and Georgia. We need to get files on every missing boy within two hundred miles of North Carolina.”

“There’s a pattern, less to do with geography than psychology."

“What kind of kid does this?”

"And what kind of kid follows a kid who does this?”

“There’s no indication that these kids came from abusive families.”

“No, no, no. Capture bonding. A passive psychological response to a new master has been an essential survival tool for a million years. Bond with your captor, you survive. You don’t…you’re breakfast.”

—

As the S.W.A.T vans pull into the scene Lena, and Will rush to the home, an agent passes the woman an M-4. She remains behind to steady herself for the shot as the rest rush forward. The eldest boy of the group raises his pistol to his “sibling’s” father, Gibbs pulls the trigger and sends off a round through the teenager's shoulder.

The scene erupts into chaos and the youngest boy runs off toward the pool. She and will chase after him, at the edge of the water the child grabs a pistol of his own aiming it at Will’s chest, 

“Don’t shoot!” Will isn’t only talking to the boy, he’s telling her.

Don’t shoot.

“Chris, wait. Don’t shoot. It’s OK. You’re home now, put the gun down, Christopher.”

His kidnapper emerges from the pool shed, and grabs the boy “Shoot him, Christopher.”

Don’t Shoot

“Christopher, please.”

*BANG*

Will freezes, and the kidnapper drops to the ground his ears ring out slightly as Lena moves to disarm the young boy.

“Chris, buddy are you alright?” Will can’t tell if she's whispering or if his ears are still ringing from the shot. He stands like a statue his gaze on the kidnapper's body, a single round through the middle of the eyes. Efficient, he can’t help himself but think. He doesn't even notice as his partner picks up the child and takes him over to the SUV. It’s not until Beverly taps him on the shoulder he breaks out of his trance.

—

05:00 The next morning

“I seldom have patients that ask to see me at such an early hour”

“Am I burdening your routine Dr. Lecter?” If he didn’t know better he’d think the question naive.

“A friend is never a burden.”

“A friend?”

“Would you like to be, or I could simply be your psychiatrist, someone to who you tell everything?”

“The last person I told everything…Killed himself, Doctor. I don’t think that's a track record you’d want to be a part of.”

“I think you and I both know that’s not why Sherlock did what he did.”

“Are you trying to defend him?”

“No merely seek the truth.”

“He was swayed by an evil hand.”

“Evil is subjective.”

“Evil is something that consumes. It digests. The rest of time it waits hungry and unseen waiting for the time to strike.”

#sorry to everyone who knows me from matvel but....yeah i made a thing. #hannibal x criminal minds #criminal minds #ncis x criminal minds #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds x ncis #hannibal x reader #will graham x reader #hannibal lecter #will graham #hannigram x reader #Hannibal